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Today is the one-year anniversary of my last cigarette. A full year later I am still a non-smoker. This was something I never thought I would become. I smoked through half the 80’s, all of the 90’s and almost all of the 00’s, all those years I thought that my addiction was far stronger than my willpower to destroy it, and that I was forever doomed to the life of a smoker.

Doomed to the life of dirty clothes that always smell. White shirts I had to keep in a closet in a non-smoking part of the house. Doomed to walls and ceilings covered in that oily yellow dust, the same dust that covers lampshades and curtains and my computer and all my books. A life where I don’t know for sure if I’ll have an old age, a life where my athletic endeavors are limited, as are the levels of whiteness I can expect in my teeth. A life where I am rigidly timed… how many hours between one cigarette and the next? If I do this thing or that, go to this movie or get on this flight, go shopping in this mall or visit these friends, I have to time everything just right so I can minimize the impact of withdrawals that I will be experiencing 2 hours after my last cigarette.

Doomed to be a smoker in a non-smoking world. A world where I am viewed with the eyes of the average stranger who sees smoking as a habit which designates me as part of the lower-classes and the criminal element. A non-smoking world where the smoking areas are disappearing before my eyes… not only in public and private property and mass transit, but in my town there are even public pedestrian streets where smoking is illegal. There are apartments and condos I can’t live in as a smoker, there are insurance programs that won’t accept me, and there are employers who can legally discriminate against me as a smoker and fire me or refuse to hire me based solely on this. This same non-smoking world that will tax the smoker more heavily than any other person, reaping millions of dollars a year from these people whose addiction forces them to pay the taxes, and no one can cry foul… because smokers aren’t people who matter anymore in this world we live in.

I still want the cigarettes every now and again, but that passes. The smoking “lifestyle,” however, is not something I miss. I’ve found other things to do while I wait for a file to download, I’ve found other ways to enjoy a ten-minute work break, and I’ve found other ways to unwind after dinner.

I managed to find a way to break free from my chemical slavery, and today is my new life’s birthday.

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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I haven’t updated my online gallery very much lately, however, that’s not to say I haven’t been putting new works to paper. Some of my more recent illustrations, all of which are a combination of carbon pencils and watercolor pencils on Bristol plate…

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(Four More After the Cut…)

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abandoned-salon.jpgWhen I started writing about my experiences in this new school, I was a man in a class of sixteen students. That might not sound like a whole great big army of pupils, but it sure felt like it. When you think of a classroom in a regular university, you’re picturing a teacher lecturing a mass of students listening and taking notes. It’s a quiet setting that you’re picturing in your mind, where everything is nice and organized and people pay attention. It’s higher education, the students are more adult than child, and things are accomplished.

Then there’s hair school.

Hair school is nothing at all like the serene and mature setting you would picture as representative of higher education. In a lot of instances, even university classes can miss this mark, but not quite so profoundly as in hair school.

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So today started out rather dreadfully, my first client started out wanting one haircut, then once I was completed she decided she wanted another one altogether, then one more. After three haircuts in a row I was awarded the “attaboy” that only a one-dollar tip could provide. Yepper, a single dollar. I didn’t get a lunch break today because of this multi-cut of indecision, and to say “Thank you I love my hair and I really appreciate you going home starving and exhausted” she heralded me with a single, wrinkly dollar bill. I would have rather gotten nothing at all, it would have said to me “I don’t tip anybody” rather than “This is how much I value your time.” However, I perked up a bit with my next client.
I was starting up a haircut with a lady, we were talking about graduation day and I talked briefly about hours and the concept of banked hours, saying “Might be tempted to take a couple days off just to watch Olympics on TV.”

She replied “Huh, that’s interesting. So you like the Olympics?” and I said “Love ‘em! Especially the Winter games.” “Why the Winter games?” I replied “‘Cause they’re faster and more dangerous. Summer games are OK but they seem to be all about ordinary beach sports.” She replied “Well I’m sorry that I may be a disappointment to you, because the medal I have at my house was won in some of those boring slow summer games.”

I wonder if she could feel my mental pause as I was shampooing her. Did she just say she was a Silver Medalist? Must be kidding, busting my stones for pooping ever so slightly on the Summer games.

“Really?” I asked “What event?” “Rowing. Won the silver medal for rowing back in 1984. I was SUPPOSED to go to the 1980 games, but…” and I finished her sentence “…because of the Moscow boycott. Are you serious? That’s awesome.”

I acted all smooth and stuff, like I wasn’t at all phased by having a world-class athlete in my chair, but as we were just passing time talking casually about Olympic stuff I couldn’t help but be terribly aware that I was talking with someone who was IN the Olympics. In the way that it feel awkward to be casually talking about the Olympics as an ordinary spectator, with someone who viewed them through the eyes of a winning competitor.

Even if it wasn’t one of the more “rockstar” events like gymnastics or speed skating I couldn’t care - a medal is a medal. A medal means “Say what you will about the Olympics, I came here to compete against a world of other competitors in this event, and I beat them.” All but one of them, anyway.

So, I had already forgotten about the woman with the three haircuts and the dollar tip. My day was now brightened just that little extra bit.

So, if anyone knows a Gold medalist who is in dire need of a haircut…

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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fs-01.jpgThis week our school participated in a student body fashion show. After more than two months of meetings and planning and brainstorming, followed by weeks of preparation and stress, all our efforts came to a close during a two-hour event. My synopsis of the event? A little stressful (but not enough to matter), a bit of fun (at least in the preparation part), but somewhat disappointing and a lot of anti-climax.

As far back as October we have been aware that there was to be a big-deal fashion show occurring in January. This event would display our talents and drive to the local populace inside and outside the industry, and could result in us making great network contacts. It was drummed into us time and again that this was a big deal, and that we should take it seriously. This was also a competition. We were four teams competing against each other, each representing ideals of “Earth,” “Wind,” “Fire” and “Water.” The prize was reputed to be something substantial, something good that we would actually WANT to compete for.

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The other day I set a few cookies onto my bedside table, I was going to have a can of beer, a few cookies, and read my book before bed. I set my cookies down and immediately had to grab my camera because when I drew back my cookie-eating hand this was looking back at me…

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Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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I’ve been spoiled in the jobs I’ve had for the last ten years. If nothing else, my decade-string of low-ceiling jobs has kept me isolated from the general public. It also kept me in small offices staffed by low numbers of young single nerdy males with no family. I haven’t been prone to catch so much as a head cold for as far back as I can remember. Even when the roommates would come home with one ailment or another (and they always do, for almost the entire winter and half of the non-winter), I seem to dodge every one of those germy bullets.

Then I came to hair school.

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On the weekend just before our visit, Stephen Colbert from Comedy Cetral’s “Colbert Report” paid a visit to Lake Placid.

With a swarm of cameramen, producers, assistants, fans, athletes, event staff and curiosity-seekers in tow, comedian Stephen Colbert held forth at Mount Van Hoevenberg Sunday afternoon, filming a segment in which Colbert tried in vain to make the Olympic bobsled team.

As you can see above, he also made a skeleton luge run down the track (which aired on his show last night). It was neat to see all the footage on TV considering we were Just There.

The Colbert Nation has been active with the 2010 Olympics. They are now official sponsors of the financially-strapped U.S. speed skating team, and the Colbert Nation logo will adorn their uniforms. Later, Stephen started a letter campaign to demand the Canadian Olympic committee give the American speed skating team equal time to practice on their oval. The campaign was successful, and Stephen was even offered a job as an official ombudsman of the events, and last night on TV he accepted the job.

From his bid for a presidential run in 2008 (on BOTH party tickets), to his amazing roasting of then-President George W Bush, and now this Olympic activity… I am just always amazed at the proactivity of Stephen Colbert.

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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When I was in 5th Grade, the Winter Olympics came to my neighborhood. It was a proud time for us, and all of us kids had Olympic Fever that winter. It was my first introduction to the Olympics, it left an impact and ever since then I’ve been a total fanatic for the Winter Games.

Naturally I’ve been excited with the Vancouver Games just over two months away (only 74 days to go!), so when we had some vacation time I suggested we head NOT eastward to the ocean, but westward into the Adirondacks.
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diyourself.jpgAfter three and a half weeks on the salon floor I’m starting to get a little more pep in my step. Still, the schedule and the work wears me out by the end of the day. It’s been years since I’ve had a stand-up-all-day job. A lot of years. It’s good though, because now that I’m not smoking any longer I’ve managed to gain nearly 20 pounds. If I was still working in a cubicle sitting in a high-backed chair all day I’d run the risk of getting even softer around the edges than I can feel comfortable with. So getting a little more physical with my job will be better for me. That is, once my body has gotten accustomed to it. At the present I’m not quite there yet.

I’m not a spry eighteen-year-old striking out, I’m a good bit older than that. My brain feels sharp and young but my body needs a little convincing these days! I spend the day standing on hard tile floors. There is no sitting down in a hair salon, and add to that the amount of leaning and squatting and bending and holding of awkward positions I do in a day and I’m just plain wore-out proper by the end of the day.

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Hey! Ever wonder how stylists learn all those tricky haircut details? Below you can observe M.K. performing our goofy mnemonic device for the various elements used in cutting hair:

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…yes, we are indeed that ridiculous sometimes.

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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I’ve finally finished my extended project, a “Look Book” as it’s called. It’s a book filled with inspirational photos that can be used when looking for a cut or a color example. Most students bought scrapbooking material and clipped everything out of magazines, however, that’s not the route I selected. Why? Well for one because the scrapbooking route tends to cost a bit of money. Between the books and the decorative paper and all the other little bells and whistles added, I’ve seen a few that have cost the student in question over a hundred bucks to put together. Second, I wanted to put something together that was different, and more “me.” So I utilized my years of publishing experience as well as some hobby bookbinding experience to put together my own book, from the ground up…

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…it had been years since I’ve put something like this together, and it showed - considering all the steps I’ve forgotten about. Either way, it’s not perfect but it’s perfectly good. More pics follow…

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pophater.jpgOne of the first things I noted about my school in my recollection of my first day, is the constant presence of pop music. Or at least the predominantly hip hop, synthesized dance music that passes for pop music these days. Daily. Constantly. Relentlessly. Remorselessly - I am exposed to the soul-melting toxic waves that come out of one radio or another, probably sterilizing me or, at the very least, rendering my sperm retarded and my future offspring hopeless. My eardrums aren’t so much punctured from the din as they are branded with logos, mass-duplicated, and sold to children in pop music crack houses.

In case you’re new to this blog: I absolutely detest pop music.

I don’t think of it as “music” really, but rather an artless, sleazy commercial product with no originality, no soul, and no guts. Its marketability is of greater import than its merit as an artistic statement, and therefor the music all sounds the same to me: find the formula that sells records, and duplicate the formula. Find someone who looks good in a bikini, use auto-tuners and harmonizers on her porn-movie voice so it’ll sound like someone with vocal talent is doing the singing, pick a synthetic musical background out of a book and hire some dancers. Bingo! Pop music for the masses. Teenage girls will love them. Meat market dance clubs will love them. All-nude full-contact stripper bars will love them. However, do you know who DOESN’T love them? ME!!

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gos150.jpgToday I am home early. My whole class is home early today. Why is this? I suspect it’s probably to make an example of us to the other classes, and I have mixed feelings on the subject.

During afternoon attendance there was an announcement that talking smack about other students will not be tolerated, and that they were not above suspending an entire class for this behavior, and they have done it before. A few moments later, they came into our classroom and did just that - sent us all home, as if to say “See? We told you we could do this.” So for the same infractions I spoke about last week in a blogging, our entire class has been suspended for the rest of the afternoon. For gossiping.

I said that I have mixed feelings on the subject. While I have myself noted how catty a lot of these people I school with can be, I can hardly understand why we would be singled out for something I’ve witnessed half the entire student body do. It’s something that people do, all people are guilty of it at one time or another. Why OUR class? I suspect that there were several complaints from people about members in my class. We weren’t told any specifics, but it was suggested that we would be addressing the issue tomorrow. On the one hand I think this is ridiculous, but then on the other hand I think it’s a good idea.

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logo_right.gifThe Japanese have always been very fond of very sharp blades. They’ve spent centuries turning sharp tools of all sorts into functional fine art, and so it’s no surprise that some of the very best hair cutting shears are made in Japan. As a bit of a Japanophile myself, not to mention being a fan of high quality in simple tools (ie; my radio will be very ordinary, but I will prize my favorite hardwood spoon), I’m very pleased to have a set of Kasho shears as the main tools in my arsenal.

Today we had representatives of Kasho come into the school to give us a little class on these shears. One was a Japanese man in a fine, brown suit (and apparently he was supposed to be someone of larger import within the company… an owner maybe? I really don’t know), and the other was… well a character. The Japanese man was washed out after jumping from jet to jet so he didn’t stay for the class, just did the tour of the school, but the “character” stuck around.

I liked the character. I generally DO like “characters.” This one was wearing a black pinstriped suit with pastel-colored fish printed along his shirt, a rockstar-style cowboy hat, tattoos, long hair and facial piercings, and a belt holster holding what looked like 20 sets of shears. He looked like a character right out of this movie I watched this weekend called “Blow Dry.”

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Three weeks back we moved from our first classroom to our present one. Before doing so we stripped the classroom clean of all traces that our class ever existed in that room. That includes the dismantling of our array of those accursed posters, and disposing of them.

One of the girls in the class bumped into me as we were both about to tear down the last one. We looked at it for a moment, and she said what I was thinking: “Awwww, it’s our first one.” Sure enough, we were both in the same 4-person group when we made the first of, I think a zillion, posters. So naturally I did what would be expected of me…

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…I snagged it and took it home with me. A souvenir of my experience.

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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scarymeano.jpgI’ve said it before: Being one of 6 males in a school filled with females is a learning experience. There are some subtle differences, such as singing along to the radio like an unofficial soft-voiced chorus. This is something men don’t do. We don’t sing along in a group unless we’re drunk fratboys bellowing songs about beer or partying or fighting, while walking through residential neighborhoods at 3am.

There are some not-so-subtle difference, such as the quantity and frankness of conversations of a very personal nature. That’s right guys, women are talking about you when you’re not around. They talk about what you guys do in bed, they talk about your body parts, they talk about awkward situations that have occurred sexually between you two (or at least the ones in which you’re the offending party), and they talk about it out loudly and in groups. Suffice it to say, if you’re a man dating one of the girls in my class, I know personal things about you that you would prefer I didn’t know. Things I myself would prefer not to know! I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your wives and girlfriends are handing this stuff out like bead necklaces at Mardis Gras.

Then there are the downright sinister differences. The scary differences. The differences that make me want to just blend into the background and hide.

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tom_delay_mugshot.jpgI’m home from class, listening to the re-play of the Stern Show, and hear an ad for “Dancing With the Stars.” Not a big deal until I hear the names of the contestants they’re hyping for this latest season of my parents’ favorite show. The usual line-up of has-beens and reality TV show people… far from “Stars” in the conventional sense, and then another name surprises me.

WHAT?? Wait a minute, let me rub my eyes in cartoon-character-styled disbelieving double-take:

Dook-itta Dook-itta Dook-itta PING!

…you absolutely, positively MUST be kiddi… Tom DeLay? Really? Dancing with the Stars, Tom DeLay. Are we talking about a whole different person? Some reality TV person with a name ironically similar to an actual celebrity?

Really? Tom “Campaign Finance Criminal” DeLay? Tom “Jack Abramoff lobbying scandal” DeLay? Tom “ReDistrict Texas via FBI” DeLay? Tom “Congress Sez Keep Terri Shiavo Alive” DeLay?

What’s next? Trent Lott on “American Idol?” Larry Craig on “Survivor?” Rod Blagojevich on “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Outa Here?” Just when you thought Reality TV Inc. would stoop no lower!

Originally published at BlueSmoke Studio. You can comment here or there.

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This past weekend, Beth and I enjoyed Burlington’s annual “South End Art Hop.” Well to be more precise, we spent most of it in S.P.A.C.E., which was more than enough really… not only was mine and Beth’s art hanging in that location, and not only is Beth’s studio located there, but the location was just full. Full of work, full or people, full of energy. A lot of fun, saw a bunch of friends new and old, and we received more than our fair share of praise for our work.

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Want More? 

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Our chemistry chapter wrapped up this morning with a nice test that almost no one was happy with. I did very well personally, but half the class flunked the test completely. It was a tricky chapter really, a whole lot of details to remember of a somewhat more scientific nature. A chapter like this requires some good study habits. We chose “Team Jenga” as our study aid.

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Yep, Jenga. Simple really… we set up the Jenga blocks, then read each other questions about the chapter from flashcards. Get the question right, you make someone pull a block out, but if you get it wrong, ypu have to pull the block yourself.

I don’t know if this was a good study aid or not, but it was an awful lot of fun. We’re going to have to get together when it comes time for our Section B review, and combine Jenga with study questions… and a case or two of beer.

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