Blond again

With the return of the summer comes the return of the return of hair colour tomfoolery. Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced my camera — I’ll bet I left it at my parents’ house — so I have provided the photo above, which is a reasonable approximation of what I’ll look like for the next few months.

Normally, going blond is something that happens without incident. This time, however, I think my hairstylist Roxy got a bit too liberal with the peroxide, which has left my scalp a little sore for a day or so. Being a guy, I machoed my way through the pain during the bleaching, only to dicover later that I’d earned a small Mikhail Gorbachev-like burn at my hairline, right where I part my hair. Thankfully it’s small, noticeable only if you really look closely and already fading. I must have a word with Roxy when I see her next.

I can still take comfort in the fact that:

• On the scale of disastrous results of male endurance rituals, it’s pretty minor.
• I look mahhhh-velous.

Compatibility test result #2

Super-sexy Brit chick, Queen of the Inappropriately Funny Adventure (and the person I know who’s most likely to end up as a character on Bobbins) Helen Waters submitted her results for the compatibility test:

you are 89% similar

you are 77% complimentary

Helen writes:

Wow, I’m a more likely mate than George, and more likely to sleep with you too!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sweet Lord Jesus, for answering my most fervent prayer.

Soccer: a bridge to other cultures

Stavros the Wonder Chicken, a Canadian expat living in Korea, has been doing the occasional bit of what’s been happening with the World Cup off the soccer field in his blog, EmptyBottle.org. In his latest posting, he has this photo of a soccer player doing one of those second-grade-kid-who’s-never-been-anywehere imitations of his hostesses’ eyes:

His hostesses should’ve countered with Brazilian stereotypes: they could’ve had a cab driver hold him for ransom, or maybe they could’ve subjected him to a rabid monkey attack.

Gun-toting Catholic girls? Count me in!

Apparently, women and girls from Mafia families are helping out more and more with the Family Business. We’re talking well-dressed black-skirted women with a taste for blood. Being Italian, I’m sure they dig guys with accordions (especially since I play a mean Speak Softly Love, a.k.a. The Theme from The Godfather).

Or, given that neither of us can resist a good Mafia movie, this could be the germ for that sitcom George and I have been threatening to write. Whaddaya think, George — Gilmore Girls meets The Sopranos? Bianca the Slackjawed-fucking-rat Slayer? Work with me, paysan.

They “Look Asian, think Spanish, act American“. They’re called “flexible, industrious, and frequently skilled”. They’re long distance commuters, travelling thousands of miles away from home and sent back a total of US$6 billion last year. They’re OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers — also called OCWs, Overseas Contract Workers, back home). As this Wired article, One Nation, Overseas puts it:

…the Philippines has discovered the future of work. At any given time, about 10 percent of the country’s 76.5 million population is hard at work – outside the country. During 2001, more than 800,000 people headed out on a commute that makes Rye-Grand Central seem like a milk run to the corner store. They went to Italy, Saudi Arabia, Canada, Singapore, and Uzbekistan. They went to Mongolia and Equatorial Guinea. Unlike Mexicans, who flock primarily to the United States, Filipinos traveled to 162 nations in all. Unlike Indians, who fill mostly tech and medical positions, Filipinos toil as domestic helpers, engineers, nurses, bricklayers, teachers, farmers, seafarers, stenographers, hairdressers, crane operators, cooks, and entertainers.

Using stronger foreign economies to help sustain their familes and technologies such as SMS and instant messaging to stay in touch with loved ones, OFWs make for a significant portion of the Philippines’ GDP. The price they often pay is terrible — between mistreatment by employers (especially in Singapore and the Gulf States) as well as long-term separation from family (especially rough on Filipinos, whom Neal Stephenson observed in Cryptonomicon as “incredibly family-oriented. They make Jews look like a bunch of alienated loners.”)

Check it out.

The first person to report his scores from the compatibility test I mentioned in a posting yesterday is my old pal of almost 15 years, George Scriban. His results:

• you are 88% similar
• you are 61% complimentary [sic]

(The word they want is complementary, not complimentary. Dumbasses.)

George writes:

big fucking surprise.

it should also add “you two think you’re funny, but you irritate others around you when together.”

I prefer to think of us as “the thinking man’s Beavis and Butt-Head“.

Your final reminder

Got this e-mail yesterday evening:

From: Global Pop Conspirator Kevin

To: AccordionGuy

I’m wagering you’re bringing the accordian tomorrow and I had an idea, if you’re into it… We cut the music at some point in the night, you break into the opening bars of a song and then we drop the original version of that song. I was thinking Just Can’t Get Enough (everybody and their grandma knows it). If you think that’s tacky (or not tacky enough), I understand. Anyway, let me know. Could be a moment.

There you go, yet another reason to go.