OK, I’ll admit it, cars can do some pretty cool things. Do you remember the first time you saw power windows? How about the first time you experienced cruise control first hand? Do you remember how amazed you were when you realized that there’s an iPod cable in the center console that connects to your stereo? It displays the track names right there in the dash. You can change the track from buttons on the damn steering wheel. With the new Ford Sync, you can control your iPod by just shouting commands. It will even read you your text messages! We’ve got solar powered ventilation systems. Your car knows where you are, when to turn right and what traffic to avoid. They put cameras in the back bumper so you don’t even need to turn your head around while you back up for Chrissakes. But here’s the deal: Why isn’t there an in-car refrigerator yet? If I can’t leave a delicious Coca Cola in my car all day long without it warming up to piss temperatures, than how am I supposed to fully enjoy owning a car?
Car manufacturers, the ball is in your court.
This is a clip from the November 30th episode of The Colbert Report, featuring a representative for The Ploughshares Fund in a Better Know A Lobby segment. This is clearly the best impression of a nuclear explosion ever. My favorite part? Well the part with the bicycle of course.
If you’ve seen me in the last few weeks, you may have noticed that the top of my head has been getting a little…ummm…shitty. Today I decided it was time for a haircut. This is a big deal because I was going to actually go to a barbershop and pay somebody to cut my hair for me. Since high school, I have probably paid for a haircut once, maybe twice. (Special thanks to Kaylee, Gina, Ashlinn’s friend Anne and Ashlinn herself for donating time to my trimmings.)
I stopped to get coffee and then made my way to Old Town Ballard. By the time I got to the barbershop, which employs almost entirely women, I’m freaking out. My brain will not let go of the fact that I should feel improper about these actions. Paying somebody else for something that I should be doing myself? This is filthy. My brain is treating this like I am at a bordello. My legs are weak, my brow is sweating and I might have a partial.
I write my name down on the waiting list sheet. Next to my name, they ask me if I have any preference. I pause for a moment and decide writing “brunette” would be inappropriate. I sit down and wait for them to call my name. When they do, I look up at my barber…a brunette.
She leads me to my chair right next to the window and the first thought that pops into my head is “What if somebody walking by recognizes me!” I’m such a freak.
I make nervous small talk, and probably embarrass myself on multiple levels. I eventually shut up and let her do her thing. I notice her styling license and almost tell her she has a pretty name, then I realize that is the most whorish thing to say to a girl that is providing you with a service.
I guess the whole experience peaked in absurdity when she asked me if I wanted to rinse off. I had no clue what this was going to entail, but I said yes anyways. She could have asked me if I wanted to go out back and take turns punching orphans and I still would have said yes. Turns out “rinsing off” is exactly what it sounds like. There are only sinks in the back room, so you have to walk from your chair to the other side of the building while still wearing your reverse cape. It really seals the deal to make you feel like everyone else is watching you.
In the end, I paid my $10 plus tip and left with a colder scalp and the feeling that I should be ashamed.
It also could have been due to my sensitivity to caffeine.
Attention any dudes that I met between the years 2003 and 2008, there’s a very good chance that we have shared some memorable experiences shooting each other in the face, butting each other with rifles and filling the chateau with smoke grenades. This week, Call of Duty “Classic” was released on Xbox Live and the far inferior Playstation Network.
Go buy yourself an Xbox.
Yell “Where’s the damn map!?”
Die by the wrath of my gewehr.
To anybody that isn’t interested in Call of Duty, here’s something that may take care of you.