Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Click clack get your hair trimmed back.

Hair cuts. You all get hair cuts don't you? I used to hate them when I was younger. Getting dragged to some small room full of mirrors in the middle of a shopping mall while some girl (gross) touches your head with her long nails and sprays water in your face with no intention of apologizing or telling you to move your face out of the way. I was a crazy fidget when i was younger as well. If i sat down for longer than 30 seconds i'd start sweating and panicking because i always thought i'd miss out on whatever was going on wherever i wasn't sitting. That was my biggest fear as a child, being stationary. That, and Tori Amos. This one time, i was getting my hair cut and that Tori Amos song 'Professional Widow' came on the little radio by the hair gel display and i started physically crying. So, not only was i stationary, but Tori Amos was in the building as well. It was the most traumatizing 4 minutes and 31 seconds of my life and every time i hear that song now i get slow motion flashbacks of hair falling to the ground and red-headed girls submerged in bathtubs with their eyes open.

During my teen years however, i came to appreciate the calming atmosphere and artistic applications of the hair salon. That, and it was the only instance during those years in which semi-attractive girls would willingly touch my head and spray water in my face without apologizing. As i grew older, my fondness for hair cuts grew older as well. I don't even know what that means. The only time i'd ever wash my hair was before i got my hair cut and i'd always be sure to make whoever was cutting my hair aware of this for brownie points and maybe an extra 30 seconds of head massaging at the end of my trim. "You know, i washed my hair especially for you this morning" was always a hit with the girls down at Floreat Forum. It helps conjure up an image of you in the shower for them and makes things less awkward all round.

Nowadays, the hair cut has become less of a necessity and more of an excuse to go and get my hair played with and read trashy gossip mags in a safe place surrounded by people that won't accuse me of being gay, or just really switched on. I've swapped salons a few times for a wide range of reasons (out of date magazines, bad music, inelegant conversation) and have only in the last few years realized the benefits of the old home salon. What's better than getting your hair cut by someone you don't know in a public place? How about getting your hair cut by someone you sort of know at their house? Yeah, thought so. Now while you simmer on that, allow me to highlight the benefits of getting your follicles fussed over by an independent hairdresser in a private environment.

1. You control the music. Public salon's don't take kindly to requests, especially if they involve the words "wow, this music makes me want to kill myself". Private salons are generally home to iPod docks, which means you can bring your own music and the hairdresser can't do anything about it because you're paying them to cut your hair, not to DJ.

2. You don't have to listen to other people's mundane exchanges. Why do i want to hear about how unfair your daughter's netball referee was last sunday when i could be discussing whether or not Robert Pattinson and Kirsten Stewart are going to last or if their relationship is one big publicity stunt without any interruptions?

3. The floor isn't covered in human hair from other humans. I never really noticed how much trudging through millimeter thick layers of other people's hair offended me until i experienced my first private trim. The only hair you'll be trudging through is your own, which is only as offensive as you make it

4. I'd say that thought i told you to simmer on before is well and truly cooked by now.

So, being the proud supporter of locally owned businesses in this city (particularly those operated by my close friends) that i am, i figured i'd be doing my good will a major injustice by not shedding some light on Perth's latest (and by default, most awesome) private salon, Peggy Sue's. Did you know that in Latin, Peggy Sue's actually translates to the best haircut you will ever have and good snacks as well? Look it up if you don't believe me. Don't look it up.

Peggy Sue's is located on the upper floor of the highly regarded 'Last Chance Studio' at 456 William Street, Northbridge. Upon entry you'll find alpine walls decorated with the Last Chance collective's latest works and if you happen to be traveling with a certain lady luck, you may even catch them in action, applying paint to raw materials and discussing the finer points of Chess or the social implications of entering nightclubs with a vintage walking stick. I actually became so sidetracked by the outlandish array of art and good vibes floating about the studio that i forgot what i was even there for. Then i remembered, hair cut, which is good because i happened to require a hair cut at that point in time.

I was directed upstairs by Miss Bee Rizzi, who is the sole employee at Peggy Sue's and also the most accomplished. The studio is perfect, it's a cosy little room with a cosy little chair and a mirror and even more artwork. I was most stoked on the mirror, i figure if you need anything in a salon, the mirror is at the top of the list. I've known Bee for a while now and i can safely say (with no bias) that she knows her way around a head of hair. Every strand is treated with the same respect as the last and her scissor control is not of this world. So smooth was Bee's work with the clippers and so fixated i had become on June's issue of FAMOUS weekly, that i once again forgot what i was meant to be doing there until Bee kindly reminded me of the hair cut, which was convenient because i actually happened to be getting my hair cut at that point in time.

Even more impressive than the quality and precision of the cut was the vast array of snacks at my disposal during the proceedings. There was a heavy Japanese theme running through the selection as i indulged in wasabi peas, weird little soft/hard jelly things covered in sugar and chocolate coated sesame sticks. It was definitely a more attractive spread than the public hairdressers i'd frequented in the past, most of which don't serve snacks at all. I pretty much ate her week's supply in one sitting and Bee didn't even get upset, which is another rare quality that i always look for in my hairdressers.

All in all, it was the best haircut experience anyone will ever have ever. Refreshing, cultured locale, engaging staff, unique decoration and intimate customer interaction. Haircuts are available by appointment only so if you're thinking of just rocking up out of the blue, don't. Peggy Sue's prides itself on maintaining exclusivity with it's customer base, a direction that will only improve the quality of the cuts and the odds of Bee remembering your name whenever you go in there.

After the ceremonial brushing of the collar and application of talc, i looked in the mirror and told Bee that i looked incredible. She agreed not by obligation but with regard to her personal opinion, which was great because i actually happened to look incredible at that point in time.

*Word on the street is that Peggy Sue is currently plotting some super extravagant, turbo classy opening party in the near future. Keep the date free. You're not invited yet.

You can keep your fingers on the Peggy Sue pulse at peggysueshair.com

This site is also relative to your interests: last-chance-studio.com


Monday, May 17, 2010

Team Sports.

As soon as i walked onto the train i knew it was all on. Senior citizens, babies, women, adults, children, the disabled, bikies and businessmen, all garnished from head to toe in 2010 Dockers paraphernalia talking about how awesome the Dockers are because of how well they're doing this year compared to how they were going last year and whether or not it will affect the franchise next year and the performance of any rival franchises with which they have no association with on account of them being rival franchises. It was so enthralling that i put my headphones in and dragged the volume knob to an intangible level through fear of becoming overstimulated by the epic conversations i was surrounded by.

I kept to myself for most of the journey, only looking up to check for potential fisticuffs between the aforementioned Dockers fans and the severely outnumbered supporters of whichever team were playing the Dockers that night. Much to my dismay, they were all getting along, which i didn't really understand. For a country as passionate about sports as we claim to be, the lack of rival club related fights on the notoriously violent F-Line that night was embarrassing and, well, a little bit gay. As the train reached the end of it's journey (as far as football is concerned) at Subiaco train station, the unified wolf whistles and team chants faded and the general dick-pulling and bromance came to a halt, i noticed a kid decked out in a third, unrelated team's colours with his head down and a face painted with shame, and black with a little bit of red.

This kid couldn't have been older than 10 and was nearing the doors when some asshole in a beard calls him out for supporting 'that' team. This guy literally stopped dead in his tracks, directed the entire train's attention to him and proceeded to let loose with some immensely uninspired regional diatribe, somehow managing to convince his friends, a few complete strangers and even this kid's family to do the same. His dad was actually APOLOGIZING to the instigators and joked that his son was on the way to the airport and got lost. Hilarious! Better sleep with your eyes open for the next ten years, friend. I've seen some pretty lame shit in my time, but this particular occurrence was up there with the smelliest. Any pride the young victim had for his team and any hope of an affirmative upbringing by anyone without a striped scarf and a rear window 2010 membership sticker was dismissed in a few seconds by the braindead taunts of a bunch of silverback, redneck, yellow-bellied, pillow-biting chimney sweeps.

Now, this all made me wonder. If i was in Modern Warfare 2 right now, would the Commando Pro Perk be beneficial right now? It'd definitely give me the increased melee distance that i wouldn't normally get from say, the Ninja Pro perk, which only really silences my footsteps and still leaves me vulnerable to anyone in my peripheral. Hang on, none of these guys look like they even know what a UAV is which renders Ninja Pro even more useless. And even if i do take all these guys out with knife class, is the ACOG sight on my M164A going to hinder my close range firefight abilities? Should've chosen ACR with the holographic sight. No Marathon Pro, so my escape is probably going to be a little slow, but i'm Lightweight Pro so if sprint in short bursts i should at least make it to ground level wounded. Then once i'm on ground level, those four previous frags have earned me a care package, with the potential for a Harrier AirStrike being a solid 1/9. Do i even need a care package? Another five down and i'm up to my elbows in killstreak rewards. Pave Lows, AC130's and Chopper Gunners, more than enough rewards to teach John a lesson for camping on every fucking map and Tim going AWOL on party chat so he can get more throwing knife titles. Yeah nice one guys, way to make me rage quit before i try and eat my controller out of childish anger and blind fury.

You hear that John? STOP CAMPING!

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Pretentious Dining Guide 2: A big night in with Alex and Trish.

Dish: Continental Cup-a-soup's exciting new flavour: Chilli con Carne.

Where: At home silly! Or anywhere for that matter!

It'd been another big weekend for Trish and I, making sure we were seen at all the hot new restaurants and mixing with Perth's edible elite had taken it's toll by Tuesday night. We decided to commit a little suburban blasphemy and skip the half price Tuesday night pictures to treat ourselves to a little down time with Charlie Sheen and Natalie Bassingwaithembergerstrom. How middle class chic!

Now, just because we were at home it didn't mean we had to eat like we were! Trish was in the mid-stages of a breathtaking Coq Au Vin ('chicken and potato' for the public schoolies) and I was busy setting the programme timers for our blue-collar night out, taking the occasional sniff to make sure Trish wasn't skimping on the Brandy! I felt like one of the characters from the sitcom i was watching, Trish was in the kitchen and i was on the couch watching shows about men that sit on the couch while they're wives are in the kitchen! It was all very chauvinistic and funky. 15 minutes passed and i became slightly suspicious in regards to the whereabouts of our Coq Au Vin when a familiar shriek sounded from the kitchen, a shriek generally initiated by either a shortage of peeled eschalots (french shallots for the public schoolies) or even worse, an empty bottle of pinot noir!

Things weren't as bad as they seemed, it was in fact the eschalots that hadn't been taken into account and we still had enough wine to get absolutely legless beyond all human comprehension. Alas, i was a little bit upset that Trish had failed to retrieve one of the more essential ingredients in the dish, but resisted the urge to enforce any kind of discipline on her due to a court summons last year after a funky incident at Balthazar's involving myself, a steak knife and a spilt bottle of red. Without indulging too much, i'll just say i got a little bit too zany on that particular evening! We reluctantly bagged up the half-prepared meal and began scouring the cupboards for something quick, sharp, zany and totally funky. They say necessity is the mother of invention, but we were far too paralytic to invent anything at this point in time so we opted for a good old fashioned cup-a-soup and some fermented sourdough ('bread' for the public schoolies!).

We found a cute little pack of Chilli Con Carne flavoured Continental soup that Trish had picked on impulse at the local supermarket. We had a good few minutes before Two and a Half Men started so we indulged in a few more glasses of red, plugged the microwave in and within 30 seconds the scent of blue collars and middle class crashed our nasal passages like a group of rowdy, un-invited baby shower guests. As we sat down to our impromptu meal and the theme music to Charlie Sheen's cash cow filled the air, i had a premonition. Sometimes it's really funky to just come home from work, drink red wine like it's water and eat dinner in front of the television like a peasant. Sure the soup was absolutely terrible (it somehow managed to smell like authentic Chilli Con Carne and taste like the armpits of a unemployed Mexican foundry foreman) but the price was right and Trish learnt a valuable lesson about the importance of a fully stocked pantry, this time without me having to get the old steak knife out again!


*If any of you funky readers would like your restaurant or dishes judged, drop us a line at pigeonencroute@hotmail.com!