A Little G in a Big D

” … When I came home from school my head started to get really hot. So I drank some cold water, but it didn’t do nothing. So I laid in the bathtub for a while, but then I realized that it was my hair that was making my head hot. So I went into my kitchen and I shaved it all off. I don’t want anyone to see.”

One of the more frustrating things about going bald is that my choice of available hairstyles has dwindled rapidly. In my formative years I was fortunate enough to wear a variety of different haircuts — from ages six to 16, I sported everything from a “mushroom” to shoulder-length mane. I had a lot of hair, complete with all manner of waves, curls and kinks. Then, around 18, my hair started to straighten out; I was thrilled about this, until I realized that, additionally, it was thinning faster than Kate Moss on a bender.

Almost 10 years later, I’m stuck with the same haircut — short and combed a little forward and to the side; it’s an improvised “Roman” cut that I’ve affectionally renamed the “pre-combover,” as it does a somewhat decent job of disguising a deliberately receding hairline.

I do have another option — one I indulge in periodically — that does little to disguise my impending, genetically-linked fate. In fact, it emphasizes my hair loss, throws caution to the wind and says, “Hey there — I’m Gerry, and I’m totally going bald.” It might also fool people into thinking I’ve joined the military or some strange cult.

I talk and talk about shaving my head all the time. It drives Michelle crazy, and probably annoys my coworkers; “Just shut up and do it already,” I see in their faces.

The thing is, as much as I want to shave my head at a given time, the thought of the “unknown” basically makes me chicken out at the last minute.

-How much less hair do I have this time?
-Why give in to the baldness? I’m only 26!
-What if, since I last shaved my head, I’ve actually grown lime green spots!! (hey, it could happen).

Basically, if I’m to commit to it, I need help. Enter Michelle …

I’d been talking about shaving my head this Spring since last Fall — no joke. “I really think I’m going to do it,” I’d say, to which Michelle, eyes rolling in their sockets, would respond, “Riiiiight.” I knew she was mocking me, and it hurt a little, but it’s as if I needed her approval to do it; moreover, I needed her help. She’s an incredibly perceptive person, so I think she figured it out pretty quickly.

I said it again the other day — “Do you think I should shave my head? The weather’s getting warmer … “ Rhetorical in every sense of the word, but this time, her response was different. “OK — let’s do it right now.” She’d been sitting on the couch all night, drinking chard right from the bottle and yelling at this season’s contestants on “America’s Next Top Model” … “That chick is totally puking when the cameras are off, believe me!”

A part of me was apprehensive about letting her near clippers, but then again, her vigor energized me. She leapt off the couch, grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me into the master bathroom. After digging around in cabinets for all the right peripherals (clipper, guards, bandages), the scene was set.

I was ready. It was time. I’ve had the same haircut for like the last four years, so the change will do me so good.

Wait … is it me, or is Michelle a little too eager to do this …

Pardon my suspicion, but as deep as our love and respect for each other are, even deeper is our need to habitually play jokes on one another. A part of me was convinced she’d be shaving “butt muncher” into the back of my head. But, I let her proceed. I was committed when I felt the cold, vibrating clippers and plastic guard chomp deeply into my hairline.

This is it. You’re going through with it …

Sweet merciful crap!! What the hell am I doing?!? Stop, man, you’ll look like a fool … “they’re all going to laugh at you … they’re all going to laugh at you …”

Too late. In about five minutes, the damage was done. Michelle helped me sweep up the remains of my “do.”

“Feel better?” she asked, walking briskly back to the living room, where libations and bad TV awaited. I stood there in the bathroom for a few minutes, staring down at the floor — at my hands and feet — taking notice of the short, black, thin strands of hair that escaped the broom. They were everywhere, except the one place I wanted them at that moment — back on my head. I kicked on the shower, and got ready to wash the old me off.

Sure, I may look like “a monkey about to be shot into space,” but I feel surprisingly free … and a little cold, but I’m getting used to it. Honestly, I’m just really impressed at Michelle’s skill with a No. 4 guard, especially since she’s never done this before. Something tells me she can get a lot better at this … and then decide to start charging me.

Until the next adventure,

- gerry, sans hair -

Remember this post? Well, believe it or not, I’ve now been three weeks without a drop to drink. Actually, that’s not entirely true; I’ve had some small “slips” on a few occasions — I consumed a much needed beer following a stressful week on the road (which kinda defeats the whole purpose, no?); I had a beer on St. Patrick’s Day (isn’t that a Catholic holiday?); and, the other night, I had a few sips of white wine that I’d over-poured while making risotto (I swear it was an accident, people!!). Anyway, I’m feeling much better lately, and like I’d thought, I’ve already dropped a few pounds.

Sorry, I’m just too much of a chicken to show how much I actually weigh. Here’s a hint: I weigh more than Tony Parker, but less than Nick Van Exel (Go Spurs!!). But again, I’m already seeing progress, and that’s really encouraging no matter how small or large. The hard part has been trying not to replace booze with another substitute that meets the same end.

See, the underlying culprit here — if I might self-diagnose for a second — is that I get bored easily … or maybe I’m just depressed, but the latter is just too depressing a thought to handle right now (har-har). Seriously, though, I’ve always been an easy to bore fellow; and it’s not boredom in the traditional sense of the word … it’s a little stronger sensation … it’s like the sad realization that I’ve no way to rid nervous, mental energy. Man … that’s deep.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes — bored. So basically, I’d be here — home alone and bored — and would have a couple of drinks to keep myself occupied. Sounds silly, I’m sure. At this point, my big fear has been finding another bad habit to fill the void, so to speak. Take food, for example.

Remember that post about me being fat when I was a kid? Well, there was good reason for it — I spent a good part of my childhood and adolescence being what can best be described as a “problem eater.” If I was angry, I ate. If I was sad, I ate. If I was bored, I ATE!! Food equated to comfort, plain and simple, and it was a notion that my loving, Hispanic family encouraged. I don’t fault them — it’s the culture.

So here I am, years and pounds later, worried I’ll go down that path again. I’m usually pretty good about what I eat, but I’ve found it’s been a little harder since I quit the sauce. I mean, pretend you’re me for a second … what sounds better — fruit, or an entire frozen pizza??

Believe it or not, there’s something that scares me even more than food (aside from the clowns and sharks and flying thing).

I spent a good part of my life a smoker, too. I started well before I was of legal age, and didn’t quit until well into college. It was tough to stop — they say kicking smoking is harder than kicking heroin (which I somehow doubt, since I don’t know many ex-smokers who hold up convenience stores to buy more Dorals). The hardest part for me wasn’t fighting cravings, it was removing the habit. Smoking was habitual. It was something to do when I was studying. Something to do when I was driving. Something to do when I was bored.

Thankfully, this probably isn’t going to happen again. Last time I quit drinking for a while, cigarettes were the first thing I reached for. And to be fair, it was a stressful time for me anyway, so the whole not drinking thing made it tougher. This time around, though, I just don’t feel like smoking. And it’s a crazy feeling, too, since I spent so long thinking I’d never feel that way. But I do. Having a cigarette just doesn’t sound good to me right now. I’d much rather have an entire frozen pizza …

Right about now I bet you’re thinking (that is, if you even read this far) — “What a wimp!! Piss, moan; piss, moan. What’s with all the complaining?? You’re bored? BORED?? Read a damned book or something.”

Good idea …

The problem with that is, I get bored with that really quick, too. Funny, since I was a voracious reader as a kid, but as a pseudo-adult it takes me MONTHS to get through a novel (I’ve been working on that one for like three). Books just aren’t an option to fight boredom for me right now, especially when I find out they’re showing “Who’s Harry Crumb?” on Encore for like the third time this week. Sweet!!

**

So anyway, thanks for taking the time to hear out my ramblings. I’m going to get through this, I know it. I feel better, I probably look better, and I know this is better for me in general. Plus, there’s only about three weeks left in Lent, and come April 14, I’m getting trashed. Trashed!!

Just kidding.

- g -

[Editor's note: As I've said many times here before, I'm capable of actions that often defy rational explanations; time after time, I find myself after-the-fact thinking aloud, "What was I thinking!?" Accordingly, this is the first in an ongoing series that will explore the mistakes I make, and -- when plausible -- the many excuses I come up with. Enjoy.]

Fried chicken. Hamburger and fries. Mashed potatoes. Ice cream. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Call them by any other name, but for many folks out there, these are comfort foods — plain and simple. They do more than just satiate hunger — they raise spirits … and most raise cholesterol, too, but I digress.

For me, rice and beans have always done the trick. That’s right — rice … and beans. Preferentially, I usually crave those of the Latino variety — Spanish rice, and either pinto or refried beans; if they’re homemade, I’ll never pass up a cup of frijoles borrachos. I grew up eating this staple almost every day … sometimes for lunch AND dinner. My grandmother’s arroz y frijoles (isn’t it pretentious when people italicize colloquialisms??) is the stuff of legends — not a day goes by that I don’t miss eating a nice, warm bowl … all mixed up, fork in one hand, and a fresh, homemade tortilla in the other [incidentally, my grandmother's tortillas were known to start many a fight at the dining room table ... an uncle of mine is said to have threatened to stab with a knife anyone at the table who touched the last tortilla ... it's funny 'cause it's true ...]

So anyway, when life’s got me down and I need a little pick me up, I make rice and beans. Or I get really, really drunk and find some neighborhood kids to beat up …

(… for now, let’s forget I just said that.)

Take last night, for example …

I got home from work, but there was still plenty to be done. I’m in the middle of finishing off a couple of projects, and find I get a lot more done when I work at home. So before I dove into a bunch of toning and editing, I thought I’d make a pot of Spanish rice (the seasoning comes from a bottle, and accordingly, it’s not bad at all, but it’s nothing close to abuelita’s, either) and a can of beans. We had a can of refried beans in the pantry but that didn’t sound good. Enter pinto beans …

Ahhh pinto beans — one of my favorite legumes, really, next to chickpeas. High fiber, low fat and surprisingly satisfying — it doesn’t take a whole lot to make me full.

But last night I was damned hungry — it’s a common problem with the night shift, where I often can’t make time to eat dinner at a decent hour, and consequently end up gorging around 9 p.m. or later because I’ve not eaten since noon. Anyway, I wasn’t that thrilled with the rice I made — it’s difficult work to get the proportions right, so I either end up with too much seasoning or not enough. Additionally, I’m trying to get into shape again, and although low in fat, all that rice is high calorie (I don’t count carbs), at least more so than the beans. So I ate more of the latter. The whole can , actually.

When I told Michelle later what I’d done, she gave me the same look of shock, disappointment and pity she gave me that time I ate a bunch of playdough (it tasted good and I don’t regret a thing, damn it!!). I thought none of it at the time, nor did I head much her foreboding statement that I’d “pay for it tomorrow.”

See folks, pinto beans are high fiber. Really, really high fiber. And if you eat them with another high fiber food like rice, and polish it all off with an apple, you’re essentially doing a self colonic. Look at it this way:

One serving of Hyvee brand pinto beans contains 28% of your daily, suggested intake of fiber. Eat the whole can (3.5 servings), and you’ve essentially consumed all the roughage your body needs that day … in under and hour. Not good.

So what happened?

Well, obviously I didn’t die, though right about now I wished I had. I spent the better part of my morning in “the john,” regretting every bite I took last night. I was mostly home, save a brief, 45-minute period at the gym (30 minutes on a treadmill, and two 7.5 minute trips to the locker room’s only sit-down toilet … oy vey!)

Until the next adventure,

- gerry -

So, you all remember how in my last update I talked about making a “big step” that would expedite a lot of things … namely, finishing off my website? Well, friends, I gone and done it.

At its best, said step should make me more productive in my field. The things I normally do should, in theory, get done a little faster … a little more efficiently … a little cleaner. Above all, I will leave behind the small — but surprisingly vocal — minority in my profession for those of the proverbial “band wagon” … I’m catching the train … I’m raising the white flag … I’m tired of the bullies (why are you all so mean?? I’ve not had lunch money since the fourth grade …)

At its worst, I’m now more in debt; I’ve unwittingly joined the hordes of snobbery; I live under the constant fear my cats will sell newfound, household technology for clean litter and better toys (not to mention fresh salmon!).

Sweet Christ, man … what the hell are you blathering about?!?

Need hints, eh??

#1

Still confused?? Fine, another clue:

What?? Still have no idea?? OK, one last chance …

Sweet merciful crap, man!! … You’re as dumb as I am! Open your eyes …

… And enjoy the fruit!!! … I know I am.

Until the next time, friends. The end of website procrastination is nigh …
… and the time for work (that is, the kind I don’t get paid for) is near, too.

Cheers,

- g -

Since I’ve already received a couple of phone calls and emails, I figured I’d get this out there for other folks who, perhaps, watch as much of The Weather Channel as my mother does.

Everything is A-O-K here — thanks to our hilly topography (which, coincidentally, does make for some wicked flash flooding), Columbia and most of Boone County were spared any big damage from last night’s Midwestern Tornadic Bonanza. About all we had here was some decent hail and wind damage on the north part of town (Michelle and I are “Southies”). Of course, our friends to the southwest and northeast were not so lucky. Regards to them.

My paper’s done what it can to cover the story, considering the most significant damage from these storm systems occurred outside of our coverage area. You can see our offering here. Be sure to check back after 2 p.m. today and tomorrow (we’re an afternoon paper) for more of our coverage.

Also, check out the nice job the folks over at our “competition” — The Missourian — did last night. They had a nice-looking front page, to boot.

**

In other news, thanks to the technical handiwork of my father-in-law (you are “the man,” DBM), all of the files from our old hard drive were recovered. Phew!! I’ll be making a pretty big step in the next couple of days that will expedite the eventual resurfacing of my website. More info to come.

Cheers,

- gerry -