Monty Byrom and N.L. the Metro hairdresser - By N.L. Belardes
I suppose I was guilty recently of looking like a Metrosexual. I mean, that’s the only way I can figure it. Even chingpea later said, “Yeah, you kinda look like a Metro today.”
I had been sitting with big brother Monty Byrom, downing a Starbucks coffee (that he paid for. No, he really did) and he was already talking to some of his fans: a couple of 40-something-year-old women, one of which grew up on the same street as he did back in his Bakersfield High Days. Oh that was long before he was on MTV, or rubbing noses with Eddie Money, or dating the girl from Bosom Buddies. I sat there wearing a dark pair of jeans, black Docs, and a black-ribbed T-shirt.
I sat and listened mostly. It’s what a novelist like me does. I listened to Monty’s smooth talk and these ladies dote over him, joking they could be his nanny. They were walking boob jobs that smoked. Boob job smoke stacks I guess you could say. Monty and I were out to have a marketing conversation. But I felt more like I had stepped into groupieville. And then one of them finally said, “Hey, what’s your story? Are you a musician or a hairdresser?” Now that was funny. Monty and I started laughing and he said, “This guy’s a celebrity.”
Yeah right, Monty.
I’m a controversial asshole writer. He’s the celebrity. But do I look like a hairdresser? “You look so trendy,” one of them said.
I’m so lazy and cheap about getting my hair cut that I literally snip it myself in front of a mirror. I have curly hair, and half the styles are uneven these days… The only advantage I ever see in going to a salon would be to have some luscious woman in a Swedish yodeling uniform rub my scalp. Otherwise, I’m just a disheveled writer who doesn’t want to listen to anyone’s stories while getting a trim that I can do myself.
I think I need to wear more punk shirts. Maybe that would do the trick.
But then I can’t always be as good-looking as that punk guy, Mike Generic.
I had been sitting with big brother Monty Byrom, downing a Starbucks coffee (that he paid for. No, he really did) and he was already talking to some of his fans: a couple of 40-something-year-old women, one of which grew up on the same street as he did back in his Bakersfield High Days. Oh that was long before he was on MTV, or rubbing noses with Eddie Money, or dating the girl from Bosom Buddies. I sat there wearing a dark pair of jeans, black Docs, and a black-ribbed T-shirt.
I sat and listened mostly. It’s what a novelist like me does. I listened to Monty’s smooth talk and these ladies dote over him, joking they could be his nanny. They were walking boob jobs that smoked. Boob job smoke stacks I guess you could say. Monty and I were out to have a marketing conversation. But I felt more like I had stepped into groupieville. And then one of them finally said, “Hey, what’s your story? Are you a musician or a hairdresser?” Now that was funny. Monty and I started laughing and he said, “This guy’s a celebrity.”
Yeah right, Monty.
I’m a controversial asshole writer. He’s the celebrity. But do I look like a hairdresser? “You look so trendy,” one of them said.
I’m so lazy and cheap about getting my hair cut that I literally snip it myself in front of a mirror. I have curly hair, and half the styles are uneven these days… The only advantage I ever see in going to a salon would be to have some luscious woman in a Swedish yodeling uniform rub my scalp. Otherwise, I’m just a disheveled writer who doesn’t want to listen to anyone’s stories while getting a trim that I can do myself.
I think I need to wear more punk shirts. Maybe that would do the trick.
But then I can’t always be as good-looking as that punk guy, Mike Generic.
This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on
Friday, March 24, 2006.
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I got some shirts you can borrow... As long as your metro sweat doesn't bleed into them.
Heath Dobbler
A metrosexual hairdresser! hahahaha... Now that is the funniest thing I've ever heard anyone call you!
Nick the Metro!
Talking about haircut, I'm on the same boat with you Mr. Belardes.
I'd ask to cut your hair, but you know how Heath gets...
Tell me more about the boobjob smoke stacks!
That's too damn funny! You can now label yourself as the Metrosexual Latino-writing Hairdresser! Latte's anyone?
But you really do have great hair Nick. You do a great job cutting it. :)
It was definately the t-shirt. I mean, ribbed?
BTW, my hairdresser has lots of stories. She's Bakersfield Rock Hair history. The Examples even wrote a song about her.
Talk about memories of a geisha hairdresser...
I need to go buy Puck a damn latte.
Ribbed... that's the best way I could explain it... damn.
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