Screams of a First Haircut
The variety of pitches is impressive,
ranging from "Diving Falcon"
to "Deer Death Bed."
With such a selection at his disposal
it's a wonder he can settle
on a single tone.
If this is what a haircut elicits
I can only imagine the pain of injury,
though perhaps that is a distinction
drawn too readily.
If someone explained to me
that a hundred thousand of my appendages
would soon be hacked at mercilessly
by a brightly-dressed, overweight butcher,
I can only assume I would react as passionately.
And if my own mother bodily restrained me,
pinning me to the booster-seated swivel chair,
I would at the very least be affronted
by this ultimate betrayal.
"Can I comb? is met with refusal,
but the question is just a formality.
No jailer needs permission from an inmate,
and the hair is swiftly slicked back.
And as a screaming boy is led away
the shine of his shortened hair
as bright as his eyes,
he clutches his sucker
his reward for being "good."
Poem:
I jotted this down at Great Clips hair salon and thought it hilarious that the kid still received a sucker after screaming for a good fifteen minutes straight. But I could obviously understand why he didn't enjoy the experience. If I remember correctly, it once took a doctor and multiple nurses to hold me down long enough to give me a shot. So on the one hand, the kid was an annoyance, but on the other, it would suck to have no say in the matter. Also, I like the idea of selecting a tone to scream like you're selecting a color for a paint chip. "Ocean blue," "seafoam green" etc. as type of color as opposed to "deer death bed" or "screaming falcon" as types of sound just struck me as amusing.
Observation:
This also comes from the haircut place. I was looking around after the departure of the entertainment and took note of the various pictures they had up in the waiting area. Let's just say that I would have to be completely stupid to miss their objective. Like it's a coincidence there are six people pictured and among them they happen to represent every single demographic? There's the black guy with glasses, the older Asian woman, the young blond girl, the young latin-skinned man, the older, graying man, and the white shaggy hipster. I live in the middle of Iowa. Trying to be a hipster here is like trying to be an Eskimo in Florida. Yeah, you can dress the part, but the very fact you care that much makes it painfully obvious you don't actually belong. And that poster is one of the least obvious in its pandering for mass appeal. Not to mention every single person is ever so slightly less than beautiful. I guess this is to prevent me from feeling self-conscious. But all I wonder is why they couldn't find any real models. My gripes don't end with the hipster. Iowa is equally lacking in any other sort of diversity, only being edged out by Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, and West Virginia in the battle for "whitest state." Our population is over 90% white, and I'm supposed to look at these posters and think "Thank goodness they know their demographic?" It's like when I found out Iowa State photoshopped a black guy into their brochure picture. What a creepy thing to do. So they're trying to lure minorities into their obviously white-dominated area. Not a great message to send. And looking around at these pictures of men and women doesn't put me at ease. I know what Iowa is like, and this isn't it. Nice try, Great Clips.
Exercise:
"In the Closet: Questions & Commands"
Questions and commands add texture to the sound of your writing. The former ends in a rise; the latter can be thrusting or jabbing. Have your character go into his or her walk-in closet and fall into a dither about what to wear to a work interview. Write the scene as internal monologue using both questions and commands. (I'm not gonna lie. I chose this once because it sounded like it was going to be about a different topic.)
José spun around, still incredulous that this was the outfit his girlfriend had decided upon. "A tie? Really?" He muttered to himself as he tried to recall the exact sequence of motions that resulted in the perfectly-centered knot at his throat. "I do look good, though. Dashing even. But it's not like I'm running for congress. All it's missing is the lapel pin." And it was true. In an effort to compensate for his nationality (obviously foreign until he opened his mouth, obviously Mexican after that), Marie had decked him out in a blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. And to top it off, it fit perfectly. "She does have an eye for dressing people," he admitted before returning to his close examination of his reflection. "I've heard of dressing to impress, but is it really necessary for landing a job at McDonalds? I guess it's true when they say women will use any excuse to shop."
Me:
I had a good day today. It was an ideal combination of productivity and relaxation, a balance I seldom achieve. Needless to say, I'm content, and the day even culminated with a couple of games of bowling. I somehow managed to avoid falling over long enough to have two separate opportunities at a "Turkey" (three strikes in a row, in case anyone is as ignorant of the sport as I am). The first chance naturally resulted in an instantaneous gutter-ball. The second came closer than I really want to remember, since thinking about it too much will just have me believing it's something I could do on purpose. If I have trouble recalling how bad I am at bowling, I'm sure I will be afforded ample opportunity to remind myself, since I seem to have convinced my parents it will be fun to bowl as a family once a week or so. It's fun to pick up new things, though, and I'm sure bowling will be no different. I'll doubtlessly remain transfixed by it until I stop making rapid improvement and then conveniently become too busy to work it into my schedule. Oh well. Knowing the outcome doesn't make it any less enjoyable. Besides, it's a good family activity, and there are always some interesting characters at the bowling alley. And if I'm going to take this writing thing seriously, interesting characters will probably come in handy.
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