Cheers!

I am what you’d call Star Struck. Whenever Anthony and I are in an airport, restaurant or on a big city street, my eyes are always wondering around to see whom I can spot. It hasn’t failed me yet.  My knack for star spotting has given me the chance to see and even meet many celebrities. My star-stalking resume includes Susan Sarandon, Ed Begley Jr., Jude Law, Seinna Miller, Robert Downey Jr., Macaulay Culkin (I think he’s still a star), Michael Jordan (I collided with him in a hallway-ouch), Tim Allen, Faye Dunaway, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Leslie Ann Warren (this one was funny, it involved an accident report-look for the future blog) and actually shared drinks and dessert with Darryl Hannah (again, another blog).

My most recent star encounter happened in the salon.

It was 5:00 on a Wednesday night. I was getting ready to go home and the front desk asked if I could “cut this guy’s hair”. He was staying at The Townsend Hotel, which is right across the street and he wandered in for a haircut. We had just gotten back from Paris the day before and I was a little tired, so I blame jet lag for my behavior.

I’ve been told from time to time that I have “the gift of gab”. I don’t think of it so much as a gift, but more of a skill. I read in a book once that people love to talk about themselves. If I don’t have anything interesting to share, it’s best to simply ask them questions about their lives and let them do all the talking. Most of the time, my little skill is a great  conversation tool, but once in a while, when I’m tired, hungry or insecure it can get me into trouble.  

After consulting with my client I started to cut his hair. I also started to talk. A lot. “Where are you from” was my first inquiry. The familiar looking gentleman said he was visiting from southern California. “Oh, you are so lucky, I love it there” I babbled, “it’s one of my favorite places”. I continued with “I have a really good friend that lives there, although I doubt that you know her, her name is Dana, although maybe you do, wouldn’t that be weird? I just got back from Paris, blah, blah, blah”.

I haven’t the slightest idea why in this situation, I felt the need to try and impress this guy. For some reason I felt it necessary to let him see my “cool” side. 

Trying to put the focus back on him, the next question in my line of fire was “so, what brings you to Michigan?” He told me he is an actor and was in town shooting a commercial for a health drink. I’m still not sure why I couldn’t simply have told him a little bit about our city and offer restaurant suggestions. Instead I replied with “I’m an actor too, I also direct, sing and I write a blog” Inside I was telling myself to shut up, but I couldn’t, I just kept going and going and going.  I continued with “living in California, you must see a lot of stars. I’m really star struck, I’ve met so many stars, I don’t know why, but I always seem to see them, I even had drinks with Darryl Hannah once".  On and on I went. I finally took a breath by asking him what famous people he has seen.

This poor guy finally had a small window to say something. “Well, actually I know Darryl Hannah too”. At this point during our one sided conversation, I started to think not only did he look familiar, but he sounded familiar too.  If I only allowed him to talk, maybe I could have figured it out. Instead I went on by asking him if he thinks she’s prettier in person too.  He said, he thought she is pretty inside and out. I’m a hairdresser, that’s supposed to be my line, I thought. 

“Who else have you met?” I asked as I continued my nervous chatter. He paused and told me that two of his best friends were Kirstie Alley and Ted Danson. This was followed by a very looooonnnnng pause. The light bulb was starting to flicker. I was slowly beginning to recognize my customer and I was clueless what to say next.  So, out came “oh, they’re kind of funny”. “Kind of funny”, not “really funny” or “very funny”. I had to say “kind of funny.”

If I could have simply disappeared, I would have.

The reason he knows Sam and Rebecca from Cheers is because he starred right along side them. I couldn’t believe it. How did I not recognized this man? I was a huge Cheers fan. He was in my living room for 30 minutes every Thursday night at 9 p.m. And the reason his voice sounded so familiar is because on the plane the very day before, I watched Toy Story Three and he was the voice of the pig.  I was cutting John Ratzenberger's hair.

I had no idea how to get out of this. My tongue was so tied it couldn’t form a single word.

I had spent the past twenty minutes telling this successful actor all about me. I had a golden opportunity to be discovered and I blew it.

Needless to say, the next time I have the opportunity to meet someone famous, like Johnny Depp, I’ll be sure to tell him that I’m a hairdresser to the stars and offer him a haircut.

You Gotta Have Art.

One Summer I was bored. It takes a lot for me to be bored because I'm always either involved in a theatre production or I am writing. It actually was a new experience for me. I’m usually really great at entertaining myself, but this particular summer it just wasn’t happening.

Anthony had taken a class at the local art school. He and a friend signed up for Drawing 101. I told him it was so he could see the nude models, but he insisted it was to fill his artistic need. Previously, we had both taken a private water color class taught by a retired art teacher. We used to go every Monday morning and paint. Mine always had a slight “naïve” edge to it as the teacher would put it.  Of course, I took this as a compliment. She thinks I see life innocently.

To cure my summer boredom, I convinced my friend Chrissey to enroll in a water-color class with me. Before moving to California, my best girlfriend and I used to dabble in all sorts of activities. We always wanted to better ourselves and we made this pack to do all the things we’ve always talked about doing. One time we decided that we had to learn another language. So, we took private Spanish lessons. We found this high school tutor and we met every week at a Starbucks. I think in ten classes, $400, and many Vente Cappuccinos  later all I could say was “the white cat is drinking milk”, a phrase that would totally come in handy if I was ever in Guadalajara and saw a feline named Snowball drinking milk and felt the need to report it to the local authorities. Another time, Chrissey or “my Ethel” as I liked to call her,  and I took a Ballroom dance class. It was during that period of my life that I realized I have absolutely no rhythm. “No, step, two, three Jeff” Ethel would scold, “not back, two!” When Chrissey started to lead, because I  didn't know how, I finally realized that my dream of becoming the next Fred Astaire was not going to happen. 

I was convinced this water-color class was going to be my calling. I was destined to be the Rembrandt of the 21^st Century.

The teacher was again a former retired high school art teacher. Not the kind of art teacher that wears moo-moo’s, a headband and eats granola. This one was the unmarried, uptight, hair in a bun sort of teacher. I always thought art was subjective until this class. She made me understand it wasn’t and there is indeed good and bad art.

On the first day, we had to go around the room and introduce ourselves and share a little bit about us to the class. I’ve always despised this sort of ice-breaker. I’m always so nervous about what I’m going to say that I don’t even listen to the others. But seriously, no one cares that Susie over in the corner is a stay at home mom with two children and spends her days working on her annual Labor Day Luau, or if the guy that looks like the uni-bomber has six pit bulls-really! When it was my turn, I’m not quite sure what possessed my body, but something inside me blurted out “I’m Jeff, I’m a hairdresser, I write, I act, direct community theatre and I’ve had extensive training as an artist” Extensive training. I don’t think I’ve had extensive training in anything, let alone art. Needless to say, I set my own bar pretty high.

Our first lesson was to sketch something that made us happy. Easy, I thought, I’ll just draw a big bottle of scotch. Chrissey told me that maybe I should think of something a little deeper, so I settled on flowers. They don’t really make me happy, but I faked it. As the two of us sat side by side, the teacher would come over to observe our work. “Interesting” was her comment to me. “Very good composition” is what Chrissey got. Followed by “Jeff, look at your friend’s work, isn’t she good?”

The next week, we had to take our sketches and paint them. Patience has never been one of my virtues, so water-color isn’t the best medium for me. I’d be better suited creating my masterpiece with something that doesn’t have to take the time to dry, like crayons.

Again, the teacher made her way around the room critiquing our work. I’d hear, “very good work Teri”, “nice eye for detail Bob”, “Oh Chrissey, your choices of color are marvelous”. I got “Hmmm, well…., hey, did you get a haircut?.” Of course followed with “Look at Chrissey’s, she is just so talented”.

By week three I was starting to develop an attitude toward this teacher. Chrissey would laugh it off by trying to convince me that I was good and the teacher really didn’t mean anything by her comments. Easy for her to say.

One week she told me I would be a good children’s book illustrator. I couldn't believe it. She had finally thrown me a bone. My praise was short lived though, because she followed it up with “because you draw so, well now,  how should I say it, well, because you draw so big and without all those details”. I thought “listen you old maid, your bun is ugly and I hate you”. I replied with “why, thank you, it is something I’ve always thought about doing, especially  because I just adore sticky little children”. I concluded by telling  her I’d work on my tendency to draw big and next week I’ll make it my goal to to draw smaller and with more detail. “Good Idea” she said before moving on. This was war.

I know I draw big. I think big and I live big, so it only makes sense, but I decided that the next week I would make an effort to grow my skills by taking her criticism and making it constructive.  As we all sat at our drawing table, with our brushes and paints, our darling teacher announced that this week we would be illustrating a sunflower and she wanted us all to do it larger than life. Meaning big. The bitch knew I was going to work on my details and make an effort to slim it down. Chrissey finally admitted that maybe this lady did have it in for me after-all.

Again, I did my usual “big” piece of work and again, she said for the twentieth time “look at Chrissey’s, isn’t she good?” This little mantra of her's was really working my last nerve. Every single class, I had to look at Chrissey’s rendition and hear a commentary about how her style is so graceful, and how her pieces each tell a story. All the while I got things like “well, Jeff, you sure look like you have fun when you paint”.

I missed the second to the last class and I was really happy too. She made them all paint a self-portrait. I’m sure mine would have been over-sized and resemble The Jolly Green Giant- without any details.

On the final day of class, Chrissey couldn’t attend. So it was just going to be me. Well at least she can’t get in one last “look at Chrissey’s” I thought. As everyone in the class started their final day of painting, Satan once again began creeping around. When she got to me I really wondered what she was going to say. She didn’t have Chrissey to compare me to this week, so I couldn't wait to hear what other evilness was she going to evoke on me. “Well, look at your’s Jeff” She followed this with “you know, you really should have been here last week and saw Chrissey’s.” That was it! My blood started to boil.  I had taken ten weeks of this and today was going to be my last chance to tell her a thing or two. It didn’t go as planned. Do you ever wish you knew in advance that you were going to have the perfect opportunity to say something just right? I can think of a million things I would have loved to say to this troll, but I couldn't think of any.  So I decided to insult Chrissey's self portrait instead. I screamed in a somewhat shaky voice  “I SAW CHRISSEY’S UGLY PAINTING AND SHE MADE HERSELF LOOK LIKE HILLARY CLINTON! IT WAS NOT GOOD (dramatic pause) AT ALL!!!!! So, instead of seizing the opportunity to put this fiend in her place, I made myself look like a spoiled, jealous, and slightly angry starving artist.

As I left class for that last time, I decided it was time to take a breather from my water-color period.

Two weeks later, I found myself sitting in a pottery class-without Chrissey.