Race Relations

I need a haircut now.
I need a haircut often.
People are always suggesting that I grow my hair out.
This is an easy suggestion to make when it's someone else's scalp.
I can suggest that you pierce both of your nipples.
And run a chain between them.
It's not like I have any investment in your nipples.
Unless you are someone from a choice list of my unrequited loves.
Dana what's-her-face in Saskatchewan, I'm talking to you.
It gets incredibly dry when it's long.
I ruin bathtubs with it.
I have to use large globules of conditioner on a daily basis.
My long-haired days are over.
I have been to college.
My button-down years are beginning.

I intend to get my haircut at a new place in St. John's.
Apparently it is geared towards...urban customers.
This is what I have been told.
"Urban" and "black" became interchangeable so quickly, I'm surprised 'urban' isn't a type of crayon already.
Anyway.
I need options.
So this is my current course of action.
Or, it will be when I go there.
If I ever go there.
If this place even exists.

Did I ever tell you about the first time I spoke to a black person?
Shawn Tate.
He lived with me in residence.
He was next door to another Shaun who had no personality, but managed to lose a bunch of weight.
Which is the next best thing.
If you're wondering how he did it, he consumed drinks made with colored powders.
And ate nothing but cans of tuna. For months on end.
Nothing to it.
That new dress size is out there, and it's waiting for you.
Anyway. Fuck that guy.
I was talking about Shawn Tate.
Shawn Tate was from a rather 'urban' area or Toronto.
He dressed the way that black people were depicted on TV.
Which was all I had to go on up to this point.
And he drank Colt .45 from brown paper bags.
Even when he was inside.
He used to leave the bottles on the heater in his room prior to opening them.
Which is awful.
He once took his penis out while in the boy's washroom on our floor.
I missed that, luckily.
Anyway, I got hammered once and began speaking to him in September one night.
And I said, "There are no brothers in Newfoundland."
Which is embarrassing now.
But this seemed like an important thing to tell him at the time.
He was cool about it.
Other brothers may have reacted very differently.

Some other guy on our floor took his penis out in the bathroom once, too.
While I was in there.
I was shaving the three hairs from my (virgin's) face.
While he groomed his chest hair next to me.
Without any sort of announcement, he took his penis out and laid it on the bathroom counter.
I would have told him that this was an unsanitary practice.
But I was too terrified.
Though I'm still not sure about urban myths, TV had things right with the Italians.
It's best not to stare at another man's penis in a bathroom.
Even when he's sort of inviting it.
So, I did a glance.
I can't say that Italians have large penises.
But I can say that this Italian's penis was certainly larger than mine.