I was excited about last night's performance of Jukebox Stories: The Case of the Creamy Foam because I got to show off my new haircut and hair style to the audience. (Unfortunately, I'm not near a preteen girl so I don't have a camera phone or other picture-taking device handy to show you. What I do have is this drawing that an audience member made for us. Thanks!)
On my way to lunch and having given up on finding a suitable place to cut my hair (Friday appointments were booked up all over), I accidentally parked across the street from a shop with a big sign in front that read "BLOW." I noticed that it was a salon with a lovely transsexual receptionist in the window, and I was like, "Hell yeah, I'm going to a place called 'Blow' with a lovely transsexual receptionist in the window!" She was friendly, flirty, and can wear a tight sweater like nobody's business.
My stylist looked like a rocker chick, tattoos and all, but promptly informed me that she actually sang Scandinavian folk music. I'm not kidding. It's a totally bitchin' combination, so I told her that I would put my performance hair in her hands. "Make me look FABULOUS," I declared. "You're responsible for what goes on stage tonight."
She cut my hair carefully with scissors and gave me a faux hawk so cool that I could turn any straight man (at least temporarily) gay, which, as you know, is pretty much one of the only goals I have in life.
The receptionist told me she liked my haircut. And she liked my wallet. And she liked my shirt. And that it all made me look...made me look...she couldn't find the right word.
So I interjected, "SEXY?!"
She smiled, a bit flustered. "Yes. Sexy."
If you couldn't already tell, I highly recommend Blow Salon on Berkeley Way and MLK, one block west of University. Ask for Juliana, get showered with compliments by the receptionist, tell them both that I sent you, and pay the $40 to look fabulous and, yes, sexy.