Best Haircut Ever!?!

Ok, it's been a long time since I got excited about something to blog about and well there is so much going on in my life right now that I must forewarn all you readers that this will be chuck full of unrelated anecdotes and me interrupting myself to fill you in on completely different stories but that being said the main thing I would like to write about today is is getting my haircut.

SO.  I guess I should begin with that in Berlin, it's chic to look shabby.  I've found that I now shave less than once a week (for those of you who ever knew me to even have stubble in DC you know my facial hair is absolute nonsense, it looks like patches of dirt on my face).  Also, i have not had a haircut since before Molly's wedding which was at the very beginning of May. 

FIRST INTERJECTION:  Why is June almost over already?  Why does time go so fast when you're quasi-unemployed and having so much fun?

Anyway after my boss told me yesterday that I needed a haircut pointblank and then followed it by asking "Please don't tell me you're going for that shit hipster, emo look?" I decided it was time.  Plus this weekend is CSD which is Christopher Street Day (aka Berlin Pride or something).  I think this city seems to be pretty prideful every weekend in the summer, not sure what exactly is special about this one...  I digress...  So had to pretty myself up a little for all the out of towners.

Does getting your haircut universally bring anxiety?  Granted I'm prone to anxiety, but really, people who have their "hair person" stick to them and then it's a BIG ordeal when they go to someone new.  Well I'm cheap as shit in Berlin, you know with my big 9Euros an hour job (big spender), so try to spend less than the going rate 10euros on a haircut without looking like I did it myself. Well there are about 37, 529 options for said place in the city of Berlin.  Some are chic and have baristas and fancy leather sofas, some are dingy holes in the wall, some seem like your standard barbershop.  Bottom line is you have all this selection and all offering haircuts at around the same price. 

Well I went to the more chic variety the first several times and was not terribly displeased, but also not blown away.  In Germany it's required that you practice hair for 3 years to be certified, so the talent is actually pretty good, universally.  In my first few experiences I only had a guy one time who I must say was far better than the women CLICK HERE FOR EXPLANATION.  God I love Daniel Tosh.  I just discovered him when I was back in May.

This time I wanted to go out on a branch and try one of these Turkish Barbers that I've heard so much about.  A good friend of mine, Simon* (who's a combination of 80% aloof, 10% crazy, and 10% more put together than you think) was raving about this crazy Turkish Barber that he went to and I decided I wanted to give it a try because his "fade" really was top notch.  Well we made a date to meet after he got out of Uni so he could show me where it was. 

Well the place is called Friseur Magic (picture that in script in black font on a background).  Kind of like "Beautiful Nail"...just one.  It's literally in the middle of like little Istanbul (not far from my house) and there are no English, nor German speaking people inside.  It's obviously a popular spot because I am told upon my arrival that it will be a 30 minute wait until he can see me.  I was a little nervous to speak much so I let Simon do the talking at first and then we decided to walk next door so Simon could get something to eat. 

When we came back, Simon had only a few moments before a dinner appointment he had to run off to leaving me by my lonesome.  What was going through my head about what I was seeing just really can't be done justice in a blog but I will do my best.  There were 3 Turkish guys loitering in the doorway smoking cigarettes and drinking red bull talking to one of the barbers.  One of the guys in the doorway jumped in front of me to get the back of his neck shaved.  I had already been waiting for 30 minutes and really couldn't understand a damn thing he was saying so decided to just stay put until he made it explicitly clear that it was my turn.  It really wasn't a problem though because it gave me more time to take in my surroundings.  There was a collection of hair tonics and things that, assumptions based on the texture and pictures on front, are NOT intended for blondes...think the hair product aisle at the Howard University CVS.  Oh, important anecdote, after cutting your hair they ask YOU to sweep up the hair on the floor so they can get right to the next customer.  Interesting concept, but somehow, it works. 

Well I sat in the big throne only to have my Barber who I found out later to be named Suat, puts the paper thingy around my neck and then does a 180 to walk outside and light a cigarette.  He takes two puffs before returning and then puts on the apron.  Once I'm all set he asks ok, so sehr chic or normal chic.  At first I did not understand the question (Turkish accents are CRAZY) but I opted for normal, with the hopes of foregoing the epic Euromullet.  Suat begins cutting my hair with clippers hardly glancing at my actual head and stopping about every 30 seconds or so to take a drag off his cigarette.  Meanwhile he's talking the ENTIRE time to the loiterers in the doorway about god knows what.  I overheard the one (who cut in front of me) say that he wanted to loose some weight while rubbing his Buddha...it's true.  He needed to. 

Sidenote:  Turks are SUPER vain.  Actually very much like Jersey Shore.  Anyway a torrential downpour began outside so the three smokers simply move out of the doorway completely inside to shut the tiny barbershop into a smokers lounge.  I mean of course, right?  It's all fine and good, Suat finished up with my haircut and got out the straight razor.  He then proceeded to clean up the back sides and around the ears like normal, but THEN runs over my cheeks, temples, and forehead.  Had NO idea about forehead hair, but whatever, I was in no place to ask questions.  Then stepping to the side for a second he grabs shears with tape around the point which he douses with lighter fluid and proceeds to light on fire.  Suat then set the little blonde hairs on my ears, cheeks, and back of my neck on fire.  FIRE!  The dude set my hair on fire and then patted it out.  Once my nose was fully engulfed in the lovely smell of burnt hair, he patted my back and showed me the back of my head with the mirror. 

All in all...the haircut (and experience) was AMAZING.  It really is a fantastic haircut.  I decided I am sick of my hair so I left it long on top and had him just clean up the sides really, but aside from me now looking basically like the next coming of Hilter Youth, I am very pleased.  I will absolutely be a repeat customer.

I should also mention that after this charming experience I asked his name and tried to have a little smalltalk with him because I wanted to show my approval and then he gave me a high five.  HAHA.  I mean, I felt like such a tool giving this dude a high five but whatever, I darted outside still in POURING rain and rain to the metro only to catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror to realize that my white tshirt was now completely see through and it was speckled with tiny hairs all over the shoulders.  I got a LOT of looks on the ride home, but I can assure you, it was not because my hair looked bad.  That, I am sure, they were merely admiring.

As for my next blog...this weekend is Christopher Street Day as I mentioned which is the weekend following the Schwule und Lesbesche Strassenfest (which I am STILL recovering from).  I have to work Sunday-Tuesday so not sure when or what will come up that is blog worthy, but I'm sure there will be many things.  I'll try to take pictures this time.  I know that adds to the whole reading experience.

Anyway, until next time....  Bis bald und gute Nacht!

*For those of you who know Simon, try to succinctly describe him.  It's tough, but really I love this kid. 

What the hell is FKK? ...and how do I make it go away?

German lesson of the day:  FKK stands for Freie Körper Kultur - loose English translation Freed body culture.

It basically means men and women (almost exclusively) over 50 find a beautiful park or lake to go to and then strip off every last article of clothing to bask in the not strong (at 52°N Latitude) sun.  Problem is, well it's twofold.

1. No one wants to see that...even if you grew up with the culture...no one wants to see tons of saggy boobs and uncircumcised penises all over the place.  And do not say "well you just don't have to look at it" because guess what you do when it's the WHOLE park and then talk to you while you go to put your feet in the water.  
2. I'm American, and it's true.  We are close minded and have many hangups about our bodies, but I refer you back to #1

When it's the contestants on Germany's Next Top Model out there...perhaps I'll change my tune...until then I need darker sunglasses.  I guess I'll just have to continue feeling awkward.

And I'm back! This time for real

Okay, so I have lots of fun stuff to write about now and I'm going to make a point to actually start jotting it down.  I have an iPhone and have so many fun pictures...it's really an injustice to not share them all with you.  So if there are still followers of my blog...

Good news, I'm not dead (yet) and yes I'm still having adventures in Berlin.  LOTS of them.

Brian