Hair: Lost in Translation

I chose yet again to be a sacrifice for education, of course not for any kind of higher morality push, but merely due to the attractive £4.50 student friendly price of the haircut. Last time it worked fine I though... so happy jumpy smiley I walked down the road of vanity and reached the crazy school of hair care.

My experience there before made me believe that there is a whole science behind the way they cut your hair. I bet it is… But in every science there are different approaches one can take to reach the desired outcome. That’s assuming that the desired outcome is the same for everyone. For example, my desired outcome was to have descent hair, without white parts in it and no split ends. Plain desires you would think… I should put more art and colour in my life (or on my head) you would think… but would you tell me that? Well they did.

(His Excellency) The Hair Master described with vivid words and expressive movements his creative vision of my humble hair. I was convinced. What he proposed surely was out of the ordinary but still acceptable for little plain me. Yes yes I know. He should be a politician… but I did not tell him that. I think he would find life around the parliament lacking passionate hairstyles.

So H.E the Hair Master brought in his minions to perform the task. They are supposed to learn you see, my dear blog. That was the reason of my presence there after all. Help education in every shape or form, or so I keep telling myself… not the money! H.E. was German. His minions were from Japan and Italy. How Second World War of him! So in this Axis meeting he explained to the Japanese minion (who was way beyond retirement age where I come from… but then again the new pension’s law has not passed yet) all about his vision of my hair.

And here is the root of the problem. Execution. The Japanese minion could not speak English.. nor German! His Excellency could not communicate in Japanese, but he believed he could… as I was informed by the translator that H.E. the Hair Master in his attempt to say: “I like your work” he said “I want to sleep with a squid”.

Can you imagine the result of this on my head, my dear blog?

Simply lost in translation…

A traveller's life

Just before enjoying the fruits of my efforts I feel the wind of restlessness coming my way again. I just wonder when it will touch me... I know it is close.

"a traveller's life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are forever on the stretch; and when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties."

Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

Politics of Suicide

Lately Goethe entered my life and provides a critique that makes reality hilarious.

The Sorrows of young Werther, Goethe’s first widely read novel, ended with the suicide of poor emotional Werther, and caused the suicide of at least 2,000 of its readers. Now that is what I call success.
Goethe, of course, was not very pleased (he was losing devoted readers) and neither were the authorities that had to collect all these bodies of successful Werther wannabes, and to try to reduce this Werther fever. That was Germany in the late 1700s.

A new Werther Fever outbreak has occurred in Greece of 2008. This time the suicides were unsuccessful. A wave of unsuccessful suicides, this time not inspired from a book on unfulfilled love but from a DVD on fulfilled passions. I rather not go into detail, especially because the corrupt politician starring in it is fat and naked.

The scandal involved sex, money, and little favours. The media focused like always to the one that sells the most.

These right wing government officials unsuccessfully tried to take their shame to a different world, since this one would not vote for them again despite the entertainment value of their unlawful deeds. Maybe they can go govern in one of the seven circles of hell. I am not saying they are evil and have to go to hell. It is just that heaven is a divine monarchy. Hell is much more democratic, pluralistic and has catch-all parties! Thus corrupt politicians stand a chance of winning the hellish elections.

However they failed to succeed. Or, since life is the highest of all commodities, they succeeded by failing.

The question remains though, since they were incompetent to even kill themselves effectively… what does this tell us about the effectiveness of the right-wing government that chooses such incompetent people for important positions?

Gordon Brown presents: McEdu

Forget about the PhD... I will go do a Diploma in flipping burgers!

Life tailored education, that is what I need. A multinational corporation to give me values and skills for life.
Gordon Brown once again has shown his concern for his people. He finds the best solutions for every problem. He even creates more future problems so the next generation politicians do not lose their job because their position is made redundant.

Everybody needs education more or less in the same way everybody needs food. The quality and long term implications are not important. First fill yourself up with whatever you can get hold of and face the consequences later.

So here it comes, McEdu in several variations. McAs (A-levels) and McDiplo (Diplomas).

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/7209276.stm

Miss Haversham and the semantics explanation to spinsterhood

My flatmate pointed out to me that the house is cursed.

The core of the curse lies in the power of words. Apparently the name of the road we live in has cast its weird magic on us. But the spirit of the road (assuming it has its own spirit) can’t spell. Not all road spirits are literate you see, and this one that is, got a really low mark in spelling. So instead of the curvy letter C that gives a certain femininity, and puts the seeds of great expectations being the letter starting Cupid, the road spirit spelled our address with H. Harsh lines implying the unimaginative emotionless stability of a building and one and only –though unwanted- connotation without great expectations. Miss Haversham.

Changing the C into an H makes the tenants into Miss Havershams and that is the reason of their love misfortunes.

Miss Haversham’s curse complicates relations to the opposite sex. We have not yet found out how exactly this happens or which of Miss Haversham’s attributes do we inherit as time goes by, but at least we know the root of evil.

And there are only two ways to solve it. We either move out of this road, or we teach the road spirit how to spell.

I have already bought a dictionary and a “Spelling for dummies” book. Never give up!! I have taught worse things in the past. You cannot convince me that teaching theories of voting behaviour to hormonal English 19-year olds is easier than teaching a road spirit how to spell!

London mornings

Bike in the shop for service makes a great opportunity to use alternative methods of transport to get to work, which at morning rush hour can only be my own two legs. Busses, trains and the tube are just out of the question on a cold winter morning, because they are defined by the very combination of conditions that can guarantee nausea. Since me and my stomach have a very special relationship… I choose to listen to its voice of reason, so I walk to work.

And oh so many wonderful things I discover!

Kentish Town Road at 8am is full of people, but none of the shops are open. The area is full of young professionals who wait for the bus or walk purposefully. As I make my way south the amount of white people drops and more colourful skin tones catch your eye – and by that I do not mean any green skins! I have not reached Camden Town yet!

The more south I go the later it gets, so more shops are open and the streets get more populated. Hitting Euston station I stand in front of an urban revelation. The people here look like an updated model of the people in NW5. Better clothes, better hair styles, better shoes. And by better here I mean more expensive, more elaborate, closer to the fashion trends set by Vogue and other such magazines. The last phase of my journey is full of young university student faces, clearly unhappy that they had to be dragged out of bed to have a 9am lecture.

What struck me in this morning adventure was the fact that I did not see a single happy face. All, and I mean ALL, of the people that crossed my chosen path, had but this in common. People of all different races, colours, ages, financial backgrounds had the unhappy, indifferent face in common.

I was the only one sticking out. Not fitting.

And wondering what was that made them all unhappy. That it was a Monday? That is was so early? The fact that they had to work? The cold? The stupid silly rain? And are all these things enough to give every single person this expression?

Of course one could argue that the only other thing apart from unhappiness that these people had in common was that I crossed their path. So logically… that would make the perfect causal relationship. Oh... the effects I have on people. (nononono I should not be that paranoid)

Or is it London (and my infection is just in its incubation period)?

Refurbishment

Even Billy Gates left Microsoft, so why would I stay?

Considering that whoever takes over will be even more focused on enhancing the monopoly than the charitable founder of the corporation then there is nothing left for me to do there. I can store my thoughts on a different bank.

So here we are. New storage, new name. Hopefully more regular payments.