Mike Buzzelli

Column Mike Buzzelli

Mike Buzzelli is a stand up comedian and published author. He is a theater and arts critic for 'Burgh Vivant, Pittsburgh's online cultural talk magazine, and an active board member of the Pittsburgh New Works Festival, the Carnegie Arts Initiative and the Carnegie Screenwriters. His book, "Below Average Genius" is a collection of essays culled from his weekly humor column here in the Observer-Reporter.

Shedding like a yeti

January 24, 2014

I was starting to look like a mad scientist and knew it was time to get my hair cut. My hair grows sideways like Albert Einstein’s. My hair was so bushy, I was waiting for pygmies to hide in it.

I don’t go to a barber. I go to a stylist. Though I have barbershop hair with delusions of grandeur. There’s not much you can do with my ’do. It’s kind of looks like a Brillo pad, wiry, stringy, black and gray.

I should just go to one of those places with Clips or Cuts in their name (Sports, Super, Great). Just take a razor and mow it down, like an overgrown lawn. I don’t have hair to flip. I never wanted to look like Hermey, the elf who wants to be a dentist. I just want a decent cut.

My stylist noticed an abrasion on my ear. I think she was assuming I had someone nibbling on the ear and it got out of hand. She asked, “Fun weekend?” I wish it was the result of a fun weekend.

I told her the truth.

“No. I was trying to shave my own ear hair, and I had an accident.”

Weighing my options, passionate earlobe bite sounds way better than self-grooming incident.

I shave my ears, and I groom my eyebrows. Every once in a while, there’s a lone eyebrow hair that sticks out like a cockroach antenna.

I am concerned about my ear hair. It’s starting to grow in my ear canal. I am worried that my hair is growing inside my head and not on the top of it.

I am an excessively shaggy human. I have been mistaken for a beast of the wild on more than one occasion. On the beach or in the pool, I have been called Bigfoot. I always thought it was because of my size 13 flip-flops.

Every morning, I clean enough hair out of the shower to make a Tribble. I shed like a yeti. The only problem is, it’s not growing on the tippy-top anymore. It’s not growing where it’s supposed to be growing. My hair is on a migration southward.

Tall people know I’m going bald. Luckily, the bushiness hides my baldness to most people of average and below-average height. I am so vain that I cover the top of my head when a helicopter flies over. To be honest, helicopters don’t fly over my head very often, but if they do, I’m ready to hide my balding pate.

I don’t want to become Comb-Over-Guy or Baseball-Hat-Guy, but I don’t want to become Trappist-Monk-Guy, either.

I know a lot of people who went bald at a much younger age, and, frankly, I’m about due to start losing my hair. I’m just thinking there should be a cheap way to get it from my ear canal back to the top of my head. Maybe if I hold my breath and blow.



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