On having red hair

July 31, 2007

cantchoose

Being born into a world of yellow, brown and black haired people isn’t easy. From birth, you get more attention than you could ever want. Some good, some bad. But even the good attention becomes an annoyance, while the bad attention is occasionally a great source of amusement. Regardless, redheads are a minority. Out of an entirely Caucasian sample of 10,000 people, a mere 345 are redheads. And here in Vancouver, it would seem to me that Asians are the majority, with a large melange of other races making up another significant chunk of the population. It’s entirely possible that redheads are the smallest minority in this city. With that assumption in mind, I’m going to treat the redhead as a separate race. Laugh it up, whitey.

To have red hair is both a blessing and a curse. It boasts some great advantages while simultaneously providing tremendous grief to its bearer. How could the gift of such uniqueness–to be the rarest-looking person around–manifest itself in such vexation? Well, just ask Prince Harry, Carrot Top, or better yet, Rocky Dennis.
Instead of blaming it on intelligent design, my parents, Vikings, or thalidomide and turning to self-mutilation for solace, I’ve decided to face the issue and break down the bad and the good of having red hair.

Without further ado, The Bad:

1) The vast lexicon of cruel schoolyard taunts that haunt you at least into your late 20s–Red, Big Red, Little Red, Ginger, Gingie, Firecrotch, Copper Cock, Amber, Annie, Backdraft, Brindy, Burning Bush, Duracell, Torch, Testarosa, Raggedy Andy and so forth.
2) The way people stop and stare. I’m not handicapped. Nor am I belligerently screaming profanities at anything or anyone (most of the time), so please, kindly guide your beady little black eyes back to from where they came.
3) The way old ladies always try to touch your hair and say shit like “Does this come in a bottle?” while smacking the wet, moving parts of their mouths together like they’re about to mow down on a tasty treat.
4) The way children fear you and often cry at the sight of your presence. That’s ok, kids. I hate you too.
5) The way adults fear you and often cry at your presence.
5) Ghastly white, nearly-translucent skin. It’s bad enough that I have to apply SPF 45640956 in 10 minute intervals, but is it necessary to put on sunglasses anytime I remove an article of clothing?
6) Fibre-optic eyebrows. I don’t think this applies to every redhead. Just me.

And with much contrite, The Good:

1) Attention. I’ve met quite a few interesting people based solely on the fact that I have red hair. I’m grateful for it.
2) Ladies. Though the majority of women tend not to find redheads attractive, the ones who do, do so with fervor. As a result, I have a few impressive notches on my belt.
3) Getting away with murder. If I had a nickel for every time I should have had my ass beat down as a result of something I said, I’d be a very wealthy man. However, with red hair, people look at you a little differently, and because of this I’ve been very, very lucky–though exceptions certainly exist. This may have something to do with 4.
4) Intimidation. As mentioned above in my “The Bad” list, people fear redheads. I wouldn’t be surprised if this had something to do with the myth that redheads have tempers as fiery as their hair. But for whatever reason, a serious redhead is something that many think twice about fucking with.
5) Unrivalled sense of humour. Though easy, you can’t stay mad forever. And given all the bullshit us Gingies go through on a daily basis, one has to be light-hearted about it lest he find himself on the crown of his local University’s bell tower with nothing but a high powered rifle and a very expensive scope. I’m happy to report that I have a great sense of humour. It’s probably my best trait.

There are plenty more pros and cons to add to the lists, but these will suffice for now as they’ll give you at least a peek into the wonders and woes of Gingerdom. Remember, everyday is an uphill battle for us. In snow. Both ways. Instead of perpetuating the hate with your “harmless” quips and comments, try to understand the strife that is our day-to-day lives, and embrace us for our uniqueness and the greatness we offer in our friendships, relationships and professions.

I was thinking about starting an advice column called “Ask a Redhead”. You would email me questions on any topic, and I, as a redhead would answer it, to the best of my knowledge, in the most irreverent ways. It would actually have very little to do with being a redhead, and more about the great insight we can offer on a variety of topics. Think Groundskeeper Willie meets Anne Landers.

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Guten ta..ewwwww

July 25, 2007

Real content coming soon. Promise. In the meantime, here’s how Germans teach their kids about sex. I wanted to break up the image into individual cells and do frame by frame commentary, but going to Dairy Queen is higher on my priority list.

germans

July 16, 2007

Being home from work sick isn’t much fun when you’re actually sick. Especially when you check all your favourite sites and there isn’t any new content to help pass the time. Instead, I decided to read some old posts from a few blogs I frequent. I found this amazing video of my old friend Clive from fishingfury.com catching a fucking shark with his hands. Yes, his BARE hands. I’m not much of a fishing enthusiast, but I think that everyone can agree that is one of the most badass things anyone can do.

Hairy palms

July 11, 2007

I mentioned it in a previous entry, so let’s talk about it now. Does anyone else with a WordPress account check the search engine terms that people used to find your blog? I’ve had some of the most amazing ones ever. You can’t see them after a day or two, so I’m just going to post whatever ‘terms’ people typed into Google.

Today’s gem is: “is jerking off everyday bad?”

I wish I could answer my new reader’s question and relieve him of his natural Christian fear of spending an eternity in a fiery chasm donning nothing but the humiliation of his nakedness and two permanently-worn sandpaper gloves–alas, he probably stumbled upon this page by mistake.

Also:
Dog Goes Crazy After Drinking Slurpee – Watch more free videos

My company released a Policy on Blogging today stating that we are not to speak of the company in any sort of negative light, amongst other things. Although I found it to be quite amusing (I’ll cite an example of the Policy’s what-not-to-do), it’s slightly alarming, too. I mean, is my employer scanning the internets for content about them? That’s lamer than adding your own name to your RSS feed.

Ok, example of what not to do: “My manager is such a&%!! jerk! He always takes like two hour breaks and then yells at me when I’m 5 minutes late! I heard he hates jews. that’s it. he hates me because I’m jewish!”
Yeah. It’s because you’re Jewish. Or maybe it’s because you come into work late, act like the snotty little privileged piece of shit that you are, and then play the victim. You’re probably stupid, too. Or ugly. Or both.

Regardless, this really won’t be a problem for me as a) I actually like my company b) I’m not Jewish. Or stupid. Or Ugly. Or both. Well, maybe a little ugly but at least I’m not both. The fact of the matter is that the company is big. Really big. With that sort of size, you’re bound to displease a few.

All that said, I’m going to delete any reference to them in this blog and not use the Company’s name here. It’s just not worth the risk. However, most of you know where I work, and I’m sure that those who don’t won’t find it too hard to figure it out should I decide to sass talk them on the internet in the future.

Aight. I’m gonna go kill some kittens, then off to bed.

This blog really isn’t the type of thing you want your co-workers or family reading. However, against all better judgment, I forwarded the link to my father. After all, he’s hip, smart, has a great sense of humour and is about as open-minded as men of his age come. Well, I was very flattered to hear that he enjoyed the read. I explained that I’m not exactly creating anything profound here–just blathering on about this or that, and throwing in a bit of lowbrow LuLz for good measure. I was even more flattered to hear that he forwarded the link to a few others.

But then I thought, “who, exactly, are a few others?”, and then asked him in an email.

His response? “Everyone.”

Everyone? Really? That means that family, family friends, his co-workers, and goodness knows who else have access to the recent detailed chronicles of my ne’erdowellism and debauchery. While I hope that when they read this they’ll somehow appreciate it for the iota of insight and intelligence it provides, or, at least, walk away and think “Well, he’s not a complete idiot”, the overall opinions are likely to be much less flattering than my father’s.

Now that the cat’s out of the bag and the readers are no longer just my friends and people who type fucked up shit into Google (oh man, that’s a post on its own.), I can no longer go on about sharing needles in cracktown because I didn’t have enough money for beer, or escorting older gentlemen to seedy washroom stalls because I didn’t have enough money for beer, or pounding three ounces of Listerine chased with a TravelPak-sized bottle of cough syrup because I didn’t have enough money for beer!

I know I’m a grown man and all, but these are people that I try to make at least a decent impression on. These are people I shower for. People that I, bi-annually, write to or call to tell them about my “job”, “apartment”, “girlfriend” and “how great everything’s going”. People I say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’ to. People that I even go through the labouring efforts of wearing long sleeves to cover my meth-scabs and track marks for.

Just as well, really. Keeping up a facade of that magnitude is taxing on the soul, and there isn’t all that much I can do about it now.

Did anyone hear that deafening tearing sound at about 7:30am PST (10:30am EST)? It started out as a creaking noise–slight, but enough to warn you of impending disaster, then evolved into a sound-barrier breaking sonic boom, followed by a disturbingly elated “aah” sound? Chances are you did, as it was impossible to ignore.
That, dear readers, was the sound of my blood-ripened anatomy ripping through my trousers as I unwittingly clicked a link that would ensure that, as of Fall 2007, I will never leave my apartment again.

Also, I kicked an injured bird today. Oops.