An arch nemesis in the 21st century = good reason to excel at photoshop

When I was in the first grade I was exposed to a few things that were completely new to me. The first thing that would blow my 6 year old mind was real live twins.  I remember sitting there ready to start class when two more kids walked in…. looking exactly the same!  Up until that point I was a “twin denier” I mean, yeah the Olsen Twins were on Full House credits but until I saw them at the same time…

But even having to admit that twins existed was nothing compared to the torment further down the track. After a few weeks of sizing everybody up physically and intellectually we, as a class started our daily fitness regime with a shuttle-run. We were paired up and took to the edge of the grass to start. I had no real experience in physical activity at that point and I never stuck around to see how “The Tortoise and Hare” ended. I’m also an asthmatic which didn’t mean much because at that point I hadn’t had an attack yet so I guess I was an “Asthma Denier” .  Scientologist in the making.

Anyway I was paired up with probably the smartest most slickest guy in our class, and boy did he wear a lot of hair gel. How was I supposed to compete? Anyway needless to say I was beat pretty quickly.  I fell to my knees and shook my fist at him and vowed that he would forever be my nemesis. However he wasnt looking at the time, he just kept on running with every strand of hair firmly gelled back to make it look like he was running fast even if he wasnt even moving.

We both played basketball through high school because at that point we still around the same height. He was on a team full of super athletes while I was on the reject team full of Joshua Jacksons with a coach who was alcoholic since he missed his shot at the big league. We would get beat pretty badly. I think the first time we played them they beat us 40-2. They thought they were soo good with their non-alcoholic coach.

For the next 7 years of grade school I would compete with him. We would be the final two in all the mathematical showdowns like a couple of multiplication gun slingers, we would go to all the extra curricular classes on UFOs and other things important for 11 year olds to know. Didnt see him much through high school, mainly because I didnt do many phys-ed classes and I dont think he played hakki sack very much. We were in the same mathematics classes and he was trumping my Bs with his B+ in calculus. Then he hit the bigtime and became a school prefect. I on the other hand, was told I wasnt enough of a role model. Something about not using apostrophes…

Its now 8 years later and Im still in my lab constructing a weather machine to exact my revenge. Actually its a photolab, and instead of a weather-machine Im just getting his photos off facebook and photo-shopping genitalia onto his head. Although I dont see him often, I know he is directly responsible for everything that goes wrong in my life: from the butter going missing when I wish to apply some to some milk arrowroot biscuits, to the time a dog bit my Dunlop volley when I used to deliver pizza.

I then find out he lives in the suburb that I was aspiring to live in and that he had taken up photography. What a douche. I bumped into him at the supermarket once. Earlier that morning my friend had started drawing a comic about me. Would of been great had she not used permanent marker and marked a surface on the boss’s printing machine. So now I had to run back and forward from the supermarket with cleaning products to remove a gigantic and incriminating “NATE”. I jump into the queue with the next round of cleaners to try when I see him. He goes on about just getting back from Thailand. Douche much,

Oh man the worst bit was when Ansell condoms was having a competition for people to get one of their photos on the condom packets as an anniversary promotion. I got to work coming up with a witty concept and set it up with my professional gear and put in a lot of effort getting permissions and post production. So what happens? My arch nemesis takes a simple snap of two turtles having sex and gets on the packet!

The saddest part of all this is, that Im pretty sure he has no idea that we are even competing. He has just been living his over-acheiving life completely oblivious to the fact I have dedicated my every breath to taking him down. Curse you!!!!!!

Checkered Floors – $18 = 1960s haircut

As I walk down the mall passing an eclectic mix of stores, from tattoo parlours to French literature I see a man in his 70s smoking a cigarette by himself. I enter Gerry’s and in the reflection in the mirrow I see the smoking man flick away his half finished cigarette. Rather than start with the cheery “How can I help you?” that I usually get at the speed-orientated hairdressers, he walks right past me with no acknowledgment and removes the towel from the nearest seats. “Have a seat”. Straight down to business. It’s a barbershop – we both know what we are there for.

When I’m not getting my hair cut I work in a photolab. A few days earlier I had printed a roll of film handed in by a group of people notorious for causing disturbances in the mall that barber is located in. I asked the barber about them and we agreed that there wasn’t anything that he, I nor the police could do. Unless of course the three of us try to make the area even more unaffordable by adding some more coffeeshops until the vagrants get pushed further and further away from things.

I look up for a moment and see a through a strategically placed set of mirrors… the bald spot forming on my head. I imagine any modern hairdressers would have these removed to appease the vanity of modern men such as myself.

For the rest of our ‘one on one’ session I treat my baldspot like an eclipse and I stare straight ahead like Im on a Bryll cream rollercoaster. On stage right the barber kept his products. They each were in their own compact little containers,  a lot different to the supersized products we are all used to now where they somehow manage to squeeze an extra 25% into them. Times were good before we had to jumbosize everything.

Gerry started rubbing something on my neck. I thought it was a traditional way of finishing up a haircut. This is where I get uneasy. Im going to let you on in a little secret. I have a little bit of hair on the top of my neck/back. A little bit of scruff, and when I go to the conveyor belt hairdressers they only clip what they cab see without moving any textile. They do a little look of contemplation, then a “meh” kind of look and move on. Gerry on the other hand assessed the situation like Michelangelo standing before the Sistine Chapel licking his finger and measuring the wind in the room. He leans past me and opens up a cylinder, in it was a straight edged blade. It sounded like a sword being drawn from its scabbard, I see my reflection in it as it passes my face. Gerry takes one more step back to compose himself.

When I was 16 I told my father I would marry into the mafia, but right not I have an old italian man with a blade to my throat and I am literally terrified. I started looking back at my ties with the italian community over the years. Ciao Italia in South Perth, photographing the Italian Club dances, dating and breaking up with my old boss’s daughter… hang on.. what if Domenic has put a hit out on me! What better opportunity to “make me disappear” than at the barber where its perfectly acceptable to hold a blade to someones throat! All italian guys catch up and talk over espresso, Domenic could have asked a special favour of Gerry in his nice quiet barbershop! I bet if I go behind the counter there will be a photo of me there, no wonder Gerry was so quick to get rid his cigarette earlier,  payday had just walked in the door! I was just about to blurt “IT WAS 4 YEARS AGO!” when Gerry cut me off. Not with the blade but with his gruff two word sentences that are a product of 50 years of customer service. “All done” he says.

I slide my sweaty behind off that leather seat squeaking like a couch in summer. I pay for my haircut and while he sweeps up I take a few photos. “Its been a long time since someone has taken photos of the chairs” he says. He then says he needs to hurry to catch the bus. I imagine him sitting there at the bus stop surrounded by teenagers with his blade in the pocket ready to deal italian justice… or maybe just proper grooming.

Jokes aside Gerry gives good haircuts. Check it out in the Westgate Mall in Fremantle. It beats sitting there listening to squawky hairdressers talk about how messy their partners are.

Gerrys Barbershop