Our mission? To remove my thinning hair from my scalp.
John's vision? Twisted, twisted, twisted...
Me in the chair
The hair begins to come off. Long tresses were bagged for the Potlatch auction this weekend, while some were saved aside for special requests.
First stop, the psychotic Dutch boy.
Next, the mullet. (Or as John called it, the "ape drape".) Where's my Firebird?
Then we went with the Cary Grant.
Followed by the Mr. T.
I react to the Mr. T.
When we went chemohawk, I lamented the lack of a crossbow, Road Warrior style. John said, "Oh, wait a sec," went into the back of the salon, and returned with a crossbow. This is why he does my hair. Because he is freaky, randomly, cool. Does your stylist keep a crossbow around?
Another view of the chemohawk.
John attempts to convince me to keep the chemohawk. davidlevine loiters in the background.
More dinosaur spines.
The return of Anton LaVey, with a guest appearance by my tongue. Horny little devil, ain't I?
Sad devil is sad.
The new me.
As a coup de grace, and revenge for a dreadful chemo fart, John decorated the back of my scalp.
© 2010 Camille Alexa and Sarah Bryant.
This work by Camille Alexa and Sarah Bryant is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
As usual, more at the Flickr set.
John is a Hero of the Revolution, I say again. He took what could have been an emotionally difficult fifteen minute clip job and turned it into an hour or so of shear madness. A lot of silliness, a lot of laughter, and I left smiling.