HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2011-03-10, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, MARCH 10, 2011. PAGE 5.
Guess what? They’ve just announced a
cure for baldness! Seriously!
Researchers at the University Of
Pennsylvania School Of Medicine have
discovered that bald guys don’t really lose
their hair – it’s merely ‘out of service’. Their
study claims all bald guys actually still have
hair generating stem cell embryos sleeping
just under their scalps like so many dormant
rhubarb bulbs. All those dozy cells need is a
biologically induced wake-up call and hey,
presto! Deserts bloom again. Luxuriant
fulsome foliage where only shiny skin once
reigned.
Of course nobody’s figured out exactly how
to stimulate those stem cells yet, but as George
Cotsarelis, the chief researcher told a reporter
for New Scientist magazine: “This is pretty
exciting and lowers the bar for (baldness)
treatment.”
Pretty exciting, indeed. Aren’t you excited?
Nah, me neither.
As a career skinhead who hasn’t carried a
comb or fretted over dandruff for about thirty
years, I’m okay with bald. Sure there’s a
slightly increased risk of frostbite and
sunburn, but that’s why they make Stetsons,
Panamas, toques, fedoras, watchcaps, derbys,
berets, deerstalker hats and Thunder Bay
Border Cats ball caps. And bald guys suit
hats – unlike men with full heads of hair.
When a hairy guy takes off his hat his head
looks like the Liberty Bell.
As a matter of fact (and pardon me for
baldly pointing it out) but I am, when you get
down to it, rather trendy. Three-quarters of the
droopy-drawered multimillionaires who play
in the National Basketball Association shave
their heads in an attempt to look as cool as me.
Lots of football players, boxers and pro
wrestlers ditch their head fur because a bald
head makes them look, well, studlier. Tennis
great Andre Agassi has less fuzz on his noggin
than the balls he smashed over the net.
And any hockey fans who think bald is
wussy should try mentioning it to Mark
Messier.
Hollywood embraced skinheads years ago.
Back in the day, a male lead with vacant
acreage above his eyebrows was condemned to
roles like country store grocer, machine shop
union steward and small loan appraiser. Yul
Brynner changed all that. He looked so good
bald you didn’t even want to think of him with
hair. And after Brynner came Sean Connery,
Samuel Jackson, Ben Kingsley, Telly Savalas
and Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Okay…also Homer Simpson, William
Shatner and Mini-Me. I never said bald was
perfect.
I mentioned the new so-called cure for
baldness to a sarcastic (and fulsomely
thatched) pal down at the coffee shop. He
smirked.
“Gimme a break,” he said. “You know that if
you could have a full head of hair tomorrow
without surgery or drugs or a taxidermist,
you’d jump at the chance.”
Hmm. Would I? The answer is yes – on one
condition. That I could have hair like Jeff
Bridges. Have you seen him in a movie where
he sports a full head of hair – like The
Fabulous Baker Boys or Crazy Heart? The
man looks like he’s got a full-grown male
African lion sitting on his head.
But of course my hair would not grow in like
Jeff Bridge’s hair does. I remember how my
hair looked when I had it. My hair would grow
in like a cross between Bride of Frankenstein
and an abandoned heron’s nest.
So my final answer to my sarcastic friend is,
no, I wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a full
head of hair. I’ve actually reached a point in
my life where I’ve been without hair longer
than I was with it and the truth is, I like being
smooth of pate. My friends are used to it. I
don’t frighten small children or make dogs
growl. And I don’t miss the hair dryers, the
shampoos, the tubes and cans of mousse and
gel. Or waking up on a pillow that looks like a
drop cloth from a service station oil change.
But that’s just me. I recognize that some
men have their identities wrapped up in what
grows out of their skull.
Like the rich, bald Californian who swooped
into a barbershop and said to the barber: “I was
going to have a hair transplant but I couldn’t
bear the idea of the pain. Toupees and
wigs look silly on me – I WANT REAL
HAIR!”.
“In fact,” he told the barber, “if you can
make my hair look like yours without causing
me any pain, I’ll pay you $5,000!”
So naturally the barber whipped out his
razor and shaved his own head.
Arthur
Black
Other Views Hair today, gone tomorrow
Remember that episode of Seinfeld
where Jerry cited statistics stating that
people are more afraid of public
speaking than they are of death? It wouldn’t
surprise me that at a funeral people would
rather be in the box than reciting the eulogy.
Attending at the Brussels Legion’s public
speaking competition last week, I was
reminded how hard it can be to speak in front
of a crowd when you’re young and in school.
The winner of this year’s Academy Award
for Best Picture, The King’s Speech,
documents the trials and tribulations of King
George VI, who stammered, but had to lead the
Commonwealth through The Second World
War, performing many historical speeches
along the way, proving that public speaking
doesn’t necessarily become easy when you
reach a certain age.
He went through extensive speech therapy to
become a confident public speaker and a king
behind whom a nation would eventually unite.
I felt the same way when I had to speak in
public school. Oddly enough, in subsequent
years, I have become a speaker who is
comfortable in front of a crowd and can even
be engaging if the planets align that night.
In public school, I performed a speech on
Jim Abbott, a former Major League pitcher
with only one hand who would go on to throw
a no-hitter later on in his career.
In high school, I discussed the perils of diet
pills in science class featuring a ‘hilarious’
overhead projection of my drawing of a person
before and after using diet pills. One of the side
effects of diet pills is impotence and I am not
good at drawing, so to say that speech didn’t go
well would be putting it lightly.
However, in subsequent years I have come
into my own in front of an audience,
performing notable speeches at weddings and
other functions. After I spoke at these events, I
had people ask me for my speech cards. I guess
that was the start of my career as a writer.
Although I had an increased level of
confidence, the difference had to be that I
cared deeply about whom I was speaking.
Single at the time of my friend Matt’s
wedding, I found that a tear-jerking speech at a
wedding is just the thing to get lovely girls in
lovely dresses to approach you.
At my friend Chris’s wedding, I was asked to
emcee. It’s a great responsibility when a
couple puts the most important day of their
lives in your hands. I, of course, did the
responsible thing and wrote my speech and
entire program in a hotel room hours before the
event.
My biggest challenge may still lie ahead, as
I’ve been elected to be my friend Scott’s best
man at this wedding later this year.
Maybe I’ll be more responsible this time and
write my speech before the night prior to the
wedding, but maybe not. As a journalist, I’m a
deadline-driven person, so this will probably
be no different.
But area students have taught me plenty
about speaking through their organic living
speeches and odes to Justin Bieber. Pick
something you care about and the rest will
follow. And while my speech this September
may not be under a judge’s microscope, there
are bigger concerns at play.
Again, it will be the most important night of
Scott and Sarah’s lives, so setting the stage for
that (the best man is traditionally the first to
speak) carries with it a heavy responsibility,
but like the aforementioned area students, I’ve
chosen to speak on something I care about
(was chosen actually) and I’m sure the rest will
follow.
Our next presenter
Montreal’s food is definitely unique. I
can’t really speak to good or bad
when I talk about my trip because
there was some of both, but I can’t help but
shake the feeling that what I thought wasn’t
good was simply because it was something I
wasn’t used to.
I guess the best way to tell the tale my taste
buds travelled is to follow the timeline they
travelled it in.
With Clinton in the rear view mirror before
7 a.m. on Friday, Feb. 25, I clutched a
breakfast sandwich with both hands (as
Ashleigh, my girlfriend, insisted her car is
more comfortable) from Tim Hortons.
I was nervous.
Normally, on a road trip of this magnitude, I
would look forward to stopping at every
greasy food spot I could, but, given that I was
going to be spending a work day on a train, I
resisted that urge. I was entering unknown
territory.
See, my mother and I, on a recent trip to
Florida, joked about our itineraries. Where as
she had stores to visit and landmarks to check
out, I had places I wanted to stop at to try food
out.
I won’t call myself a “foodie” because, to be
honest, I find the idea of labelling everything
unsettling, and I find that label in particular
ridiculous.
Everyone likes food. Everyone has a favour-
ite food, people who say a person loves eating
to the point where they need to find a title
makes me wonder if they shouldn’t have some
kind of clinical label attached to them first.
Anyway, as I said, my mother and I had very
different itineraries.
There were stores she wanted to visit that
had become a mainstay of her trips to Florida,
but I wanted to see all those American
restaurants you don’t get a shot at in Canada.
I had a similar notion for this trip, but,
really, no idea where to start.
Clutching that Tim Hortons’ breakfast
sandwich would probably be among the top
unique things I tried (given that it was on their
new english muffin).
On both the train there and the train back I
had lunch.
While incredibly expensive, it was also
mysteriously good. I never knew a shrink-
wrapped ham sandwich could taste so fresh.
Upon arrival I had ideas of visiting some
uniquely French restaurant where I would
need my cell phone’s translator just to order a
drink, but both Ashleigh and I were so
exhausted from the near-half day spent on the
train that we made our way to our hotel room
and ordered pizza from a local pizzeria.
We struggled with whether we should order
something familiar or be risky, and, at our
concierge’s suggestion, decided to chance it.
The pizza was unique. It was soft, doughy
and not unpleasant, but certainly not
something I’ll be trying again.
Saturday morning was probably tied for the
high point of the trip, as far as the cultural
uniqueness of it went.
Maybe I’m just a small-town guy, but when
we walked into the restaurant area of the
underground beneath our hotel, I was drawn to
a small restaurant that made crepes.
I had had a bad experience with crepes and
hadn’t had them for years, but the idea of
having a chocolate and banana filled crepe for
breakfast was just enough to overwhelm that
quirky memory and make me try it, and it was
good.
For lunch on Saturday, both Ashleigh and I
had been looking forward to visiting the Hard
Rock Café.
I wanted to go because I have fond
memories of the Toronto Hard Rock, as I
visited it with my father some years ago
during an impromptu tourist trip to Toronto.
Ashleigh wanted to go because she has hit
every Hard Rock Café she has ever been
within 40 kilometres of for a t-shirt.
We were both disappointed, unfortunately,
as the restaurant seems to have closed.
This lead to, by far, the best dining
experience I had on the trip, but one that isn’t
exactly unique to the area.
We stopped at a restaurant called Les 3
Brasseurs, a restaurant I had never heard of, to
have a lunch/dinner (as our walk to the Hard
Rock had taken us long past noon).
The uniqueness of the spot is that is is a
micro brewery as well as a great restaurant.
They brewed all their beer on site.
While I’m not normally a beer drinker, I had
to take this chance to enjoy something unique.
Upon return, and description of this great
culinary experience, my editor Shawn
explained that there was one in Toronto that he
had visited (called The 3 Brewers).
Despite its bilingual nature, the experience
will forever remain a memory of Montreal,
and not one of food.
After that, we tried some fast food we were
familiar with, and visited (upon tip from a
reader, you know who you are) a sandwich
shop for some Montreal Smoked Meat and
made our way home.
For once, I felt that not getting the unique
culinary experience I had envisioned wasn’t a
problem.
The desire to taste all these unique things
fell to the wayside when I was seeing all these
one-of-a-kind buildings, exhibits and
experiences.
Oh, yes, I tried some true poutine, but don’t
tell Ashleigh, I ate it before it made it back to
our hotel room.
Next week, the last in the series most likely,
I’ll discuss the only low point in my trip.
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
I’m not a foodie, I just like food
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den