All Entries in the "Soft News" Category

JUST A LITTLE OFF THE TOP & WATCH THE EARS

by Uncle Pahgre

“Omnibus notum tonsoribus.”
(Every barber knows that).
– Horace
“This is a man’s world.”
– James Brown

(San Juan Horseshoe September 25, 2014) Did you ever wonder where James Brown got his hair cut? Was it in some fastidious beauty salon in Atlanta or New York, or some dusty, corner barber shop along the Salkehatchie in his home state of South Carolina?
We presume he went to the barber shop — a place where those of his gender can let relax and converse in one of the few male havens not under siege by the righteous forces of political correctness.
Most of the people who pay attention to the comings and goings in this country have expressed concern over the direction it is headed. They have used terms like breakdown of traditions, social decay, moral collapse and detachment in a futile attempt to categorize just why we can’t all get along. History tells us that the ancients had similar concerns. One of the first references to barbers (barbe translates as beard in Latin) was in Rome, where barber shop was hallowed as a place of gossip and discussion.
The surviving social icons become even more important when we consider the homogenization of life and they mass-hype that is becoming inherent to our culture. We need something to hold onto. We need something constant, something real and consistent, like the corner barber shop.
Hey, we know there are plenty of these hideouts left all over the country but we also know that most of these redoubts are squarely in the path of progress. Someday all the scissors in the world will be wielded by some McDonaldlike hair cutting corporation in New York or Chicago. Straight razors will come with warnings and disclaimers. That barber that boys knew as a kid will be gone, his son selling paint at Wal-Mart. Stop.
Most males that have evolved past rudimentary stone age thinking are aware that this is not a man’s world. Why would men want it? James Brown is simply taking poetic license, isn’t he, or did he lose that too in another scrimmage with the cops?
Our only contention is that barber shops are healthy, nostalgic escapes for males. Since men make up roughly 47% of the current population, it stands to reason that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.
Most men would rather get a good follicle chop at the hands of a tobacco chewing ex-Marine than go under the scissors of some bimbo who doesn’t even know the Dodgers left Brooklyn. Sorry, but sometimes the truth takes no prisoners.
I remember the first time my father brought me to the barber shop on a Saturday morning and I was accepted into the inner sanctum. It was my bristly coming out party, a babe in the barber chair, my one-and-only whiskered debutante ball. No women were allowed, not even a nurse who might bandage up a sliced ear or heaven help us, an botched Adam’s Apple.
Speaking of nurses, did you know that the barber pole represents the bandages wrapped around a barber chaired patient prior to bloodletting? Barbers were surgeons before King Henry IIIV prohibited such procedures. He also forbade surgeons from barbering. For centuries barbers had to make ends meet by cutting hair and pulling teeth. Finally the law was rescinded during the reign of George II. 17th century barber, Jacques Jasmine, supplemented his income by singing to patrons. A Provencal poet, he is known as the last of the Troubadours. He is also known as the Father of Barber Shop Quartets, or at least we think so.
Saturday morning was never like this. Imagine a little kid, primed for a buzz cut, swimming in that giant revolving chair. The barber wraps tissue paper (also known as barber paper) around his neck, followed by a draping in a semi-immaculate, often pin-striped sheet. Then he looked at the dad for instructions anxiously waiting for the word buzz. Then the scissors flew. (Editor’s note: If the child in question had the devastating fortune of going to the barber shop with his mother this subtle exchange never happened and the language was sterile. The unfortunate experience was known to have led to serious psychological problems down the road.)
But in this man’s world, customers spoke freely, spit tobacco and passed wind, making no attempt to edit their colorful language. I’m sure 90% of the boys who grew up in the Fifties learned to curse in barber shops. A clandestine pile of dirty books was stored under the Popular Mechanics and the Sports Illustrated, the latter still years away from its heralded swim suit issue. Etiquette, if you weren’t shaving age, was to keep your trap shut unless someone asked you something.
Witch Hazel was in the air. Personalized shaving mugs hung from above the mirror. We even had an altruistic trimmer who would make lots of scissor noise above the heads of bald customers, whack the curly locks off wailing babies and marvel at the manly sideburns thriving in the pre-pubescent peanut gallery.
The Cincinnati Reds were on the radio and everyone smoked at least three cigars at the same time. Sure, some of the ball games were on TV but barbers hated TV since they couldn’t watch a double play unfold and administer a symmetrical flat-top at the same time without a one act taking the backseat.
The conversation between barber and customer was sacred, like the lawyer-client or priest-confessor privilege. It ran from politics to romance to cars to sports. One always knew he had made conversational strides when the barber kept talking, after the sheet was removed and the Brylcream applied.
One sullen barber, who has probably been six feet under for some time, was famous as a roustabout. He had been carrying on a romance with the bottle since his twenties. The inside joke in our barber shop was to yield to a newcomer when that barber’s chair opened up, especially if he needed a shave. Soon that straight razor looked like a wobbly guillotine, the prestigious and effective hair loss apparatus employed during the later stages of the French Revolution. Lord only help the customer who wanted his nose and ear hairs trimmed too.
In the Italian barber shops young barbers were instructed to shave everyone around the ears and neck. It was believed that this service insured the growth or healthy hair there and invited repeat business when the customer got older. That, according to our reliable source, is why so many older Italian men have tufts of hair on their necks. Ask the shoe shine boy.
From ducktails to dreadlocks barber shops have been a part of our culture since the Sumerians first invented scissors. Remember Figaro, the Barber of Seville. What about Floyd Larson, Mayberry’s main male gossip? These guys knew how to celebrate life’s small treasures. The King of Kansas City knew all about it too when he sang: …I got credit down at the grocery store and my barber tells me jokes. Try that tune the next time you check out at City Market or visit the hairstylist, the only rooster in the hen house.
– Kashmir Horseshoe

San Juan Horseshoe Recipes

(September 25, 2014)
Grandma’s Pickled Marmot Kidney Pie
YOU WILL NEED:
3 eggs with shell on
2 baby aspirin
8 cups corn meal
2 pounds marmot organs, varied
Some local dirt
16 – 18 pickles (Kosher dills work best)
3 quarts organic pickle juice
Quart Old Forester
8 packages of baseball card gum (hold the cards)

INSTRUCTIONS
Take off clothes. Carefully place all contents in a shoebox.
Shake and stir. Serve that evening semi-chilled.

Catfish Jello Salad
Directions: Take two packages of lemon or banana jello (Live dangerously and use one of each!). Cut a 4-inch opening at the end of each box. Catch 8 catfish, 5 – 6 inches long (Leopard Carp or Tomichi Blowfish may be substituted here). Filet fish and smother in Wonder breadcrumbs. Cram catfish filets into little jello containers. Shake boxes till hell won’t have it. Remove coated fish and place in organic rubber dish. Pour liquid residue into mold and hold between your knees for a full minute. Cook over hot fire for three minutes per side. Place in mold with jello and cool.
Marinade mixture with brown sugar, salt vinegar Tabasco and club soda. Cook for while.
As a special family activity take the hopefully uneaten heads of the fish and construct swell little puppets out of them with toothpicks and material from mom’s sewing basket. A resourceful young camper will soon experiment with al sorts of applications here such as fish pantomime and improvisational dance

“Here in the United States everyone hates everyone else. It’s nothing personal.”

– Muffy Hollandaise, Sociologist

Press Accused of Liberal Tendencies

(Montrose) The Montrose Daily Press has been linked to “radical liberal groups,” according to conservative watchdog groups here. The accusations come as a result of the paper’s handling of issues as remote as animals at the pound and the goings on at a local breakfast club.
“We haven’t chalked up the goods on them up until now because they are experts at shrouding their liberalism with conservative dialogue,” said Melvin Toole a spokesman for Stay The Corpse, a conservative think tank located on Log Hill Mesa.
“It’s the little things that show through,” he squawked, “like the honor system candy boxes and the gum ball machine on the front desk. Just where do you think the profits from these enterprises go? They go to socialistic societies like the Lion’s Club and the Special Olympics,” he barked. “We know one of the pressmen carries a AK-47 and that the proofreaders are fluent in Russian. They probably even send a monthly contribution to Boris Yeltsin and his Commie buddies!”
Press publisher Scott Allen could not control his laughter in the face of these charges and was unable to comment.
“That Scott Allen character has even had Ted Kennedy over for dinner and once considered placing a George McGovern bumper sticker on his Scout,” said Toole. “We have photographs!”

Montrose Cops Set 6 pm Curfew

(City Hall) The Montrose Police Department has announced that it will begin enforcing a new curfew for teens on June 15. The restrictions clearly state that any teen seen on the street after 6 p.m. will be subject to detainment and possible arrest.
“Most of the time we’ll just give them a ride home and leave the punishment up to the parents,” said Officer B. Dogberry, of the anti-gang division. “We are making a valiant attempt to control crime and the beginnings of a gang problem here. If kids spend all their time hanging out at night they are more likely to find something entertaining to do,” he said. “More often than not, entertainment leads to crime.”
Many residents are up in arms over the seemingly strict ordinance, saying that law enforcement officials have no right to instigate such a rigid code.
“My kid works at night,” said one citizen. “Are they going to arrest him while he’s out delivering pizzas or what?”
Another parent, who favors a strong police presence on the streets, stopped short of condemning the new program.
“Let’s just wait and see what happens before we fly off the handle,” she said. “Maybe the curfew is for the kid’s own good. It does send a clear message to the criminal element within that age group.”
Skateboarders and kids hanging out in their cars at such hot spots as McDonald’s and City Market will be targeted in the beginning, according to an inside source at the cop shop.
“The kids have plenty of time to do their thing during regular business hours,” he told the Horseshoe. “They don’t need to be out raising hell at all hours of the night!”
The source added that kids in the company of their parents would not be subject to the new rule unless the parents look sleazy or refuse to wave back at passing patrolmen.

Hell Freezes Over

Refugees are evacuating Hell after the asylum for lost souls froze over on Thursday morning. Officials down under say the current state of affairs is temporary and that back up fires have been started in an effort to maintain temperatures, generally hovering around 100 degrees Celsius.

Hellians have been instructed to camp out in the vicinity of nuclear reactors until the “standard acclimatizing can be accomplished”.

“Everything should be back to normal,” said a spokesman known as Old Scratch, “before any real damage ensues.

Meanwhile the comfort level for our cherished sinner population has gone down significantly. Imagine spending eternity freezing in the dark.”

Beyond a little paranoia and the proverbial gnashing of teeth the situation appears to be under control. Dark angels had feared that the regular influx of the damned might be interrupted.

“With those humans killing each other upstairs we have a prominent stream of warm bodies to torment,” continued Scratch. “Most of our guests here in Hell are charlatan religious zealots who were too stupid and timid to realize that life on earth is the paradise that the mullahs, rabbis and priests keep preaching about in the afterlife.”

The interruption of services gives Hellians a chance to see how the other half lives, said Scratch who added that if the source of the problem can be determined, revenge would be taken.

“We are in no hurry to even the score,” he smiled. “Down the road we will extract retribution. Reprisals will not be pretty and vengeance will be our top priority.”                                    -Alfalfa Romeo

A HIKER’S GUIDE TO HIKERS

Curious observations of human behavior in the San Juan & Elk Mountains

with Melvin O’Toole

One of the most dangerous threats to hikers on our San Juan and Elk Mountain trails is other hikers. From National Forest to State Park, from Wilderness Area to mountain peak, growing numbers of hiking and backpacking enthusiasts are creating perilous conditions for themselves, for you and for posterity.

In an actual hiking situation it is essential to identify various types of hikers, so that you might better understand how to interact with them, or get away from them altogether. Avoidance of certain species of incompatible hikers (called trekkers in more anal circles) may save your life or save you from an afternoon of unremitting anguish.

Learn to spot all kinds of hikers from a safe distance, identify them with rapid-fire accuracy, and be prepared to take evasive action to avoid detection and/or direct contact, “No I don’t want a drink of tepid creek water from your saliva-caked water bottle. I have my own cold water from town sans parasites.”

Here are some of the more common categories of hikers. The well-rounded outdoorsman will be quick to assimilate these classifications into a early warning system of his own:

The Elegant Hiker

Able to negotiate steep, winding San Juan switchbacks in high heels and a cute tennis skirt the female looks good on short hikes but the make-up fails on the longer jaunts. Characteristic markings: jewelry glittering from the fingers, earlobes and neck along with the perfect unruffled hairstyle are sure to attract predators such as mountain lions and bandits. In some cases the male dons priceless treasures too since he is concerned with plumage and first impressions in the woods. Both ascend and descend the trails as if they were negotiating a grand ballroom staircase (Frankly, Rhett they do give a damn).

Head held up high in designer boots, they fail to study the path before them for all kinds of debris both dangerous and simply annoying. These are the kind of people who are appalled by a pile of elk shit but aren’t the least bit offended by miles of parking lot asphalt poured over former pasture, at their local shopping center. NOTE: The Elegant Hiker NEVER ever perspires. In a hiking costume that costs more than a used car, they keep up if it’s not too steep and breathe deep if it’s not too high. Mountain Goats and Bighorn Sheep are safe when one of these comes gingerly up the trail. Bears like the jewelry. These hikers are likely to invite you to party at their condominium and often carry credit cards on their hikes.

The Slob Hiker

The perfect antidote, or anecdote, to the Elegant Hiker. The Slob Hiker is perpetually unshaven, grimy, uncombed and in need of a shower. He or she thinks bad hygiene is compatible with the forest. His gait is heavy, a stomping, assertive, destructive stride patterned after Godzilla or an oil exploration crew. He appears to have just awakened from a long hibernation and smells the part. Trailside wild flowers are often his first victims. White t-shirt and canvas shorts are tinged gray with wear and age. Grease-stained handprints are clearly detected.

This type of forest visitor can be identified by a strange call, a hoarse bellowing that sounds tragically like a badger in heat, which could lead to countless tribulations as the hike goes on. He loves to chatter to himself on the trail breaking serenity for others while he points out painfully obvious points of interest. “Look! A pine tree!” or “Look… A rock!” He pees everywhere. This hiker is loaded with spittle which is discharged constantly, leaving signs of his presence embraced by pack rats and deer flies. The Slob Hiker is happy to take your picture or pose for one. Watch your camera.

The Survivalist Hiker

This one would never think of breaking trail without an assault rifle or at least a pistol holstered to the side. High caliber is the key here…not his person but his weaponry. His pack is full of ammo but he has a granola bar hidden away in case of emergency. He carries a knife or bayonet for potential hand-to-hand combat with aggressive alpine creatures or topographic terrorists. Difficult to detect due to a barrage of camouflage that blends well in any environment – be it the Iraq desert, the Congo rain forest, the Rockies or the chic El Lay hip-hop disco, this person carries enough to win whatever competition he has imagined. He has provisions and supplies enough to feed a small militia along with buried emergency rations and backup gear to keep him comfy in the forest for about three years.

Then there is the cyanide pill in case he or she is captured. Away from his bunker he is often anxious and clearly nervous when approached. He can be unpredictable and downright ugly when it comes to right-of-way on the trail and electric storms on the ridges. Paranoid people like this should not go into the woods. They should stay home in the cities and suburbs where the secret police can monitor their daily activity. Just because he points a gun at you doesn’t mean it’s loaded.

The Name Brand Hiker

Easily recognized due to his or her resemblance to a pretty LL Bean or Eddie Bauer model from the respective catalogues, the Name Brand hiker should not be confused with the Elegant Hiker although the species share many common traits. The manufacturers label is always proudly displayed on clothing, footware, gear, hats and even socks. A T-shirt proclaiming Old Navy, Nike or GAP completes the outfit. Rarely seen on the actual trail, this hiker prefers to stay home and do laundry and shop on the internet. Name Brand hikers also exhibit the best smiles, the best tan, the best canteens, the best dogs and the best cars to take them to the trailhead. Their Day-Glo packs are crammed full of unnecessary but tasteful accessories along with clothing options for any change of weather.

These strollers can be easily identified by two unmistakeable traits: They are the only ones wearing fanny packs (apparently nobody has let them in on the joke) and they actually consume boring handfuls of trail mix, chocked full of nuts, seeds, roots, bark, herbs and dried fruit that even the local squirrels and chipmunks won’t eat. Some of these folks are more informed than experienced in that they have read all of the guidebooks and maps but never seem to have time to get into the woods.

The Back-woodsy Hiker

Aka: The Natural, this hearty breed not only tackles the most challenging, death-defying trails and summits but does so with a minimalist demeanor. He or she can spend up to a week in the wild with just a bottle of water, a toothbrush and some crackerjacks. He climbs in flip-flops or barefoot, running circles around the hiker that just spent $300 on some glorified flatland Chinese footwear, made for the mountains. He likes the feel of rocks, pine needles and horse manure on the trail. When he wears a shirt it is a bit of tattered memorabilia from some masochistic triathlon in Leadville or Maui. If he wears trousers, they are of the cut-off variety with lots of room to hang loose.

Not to be confined by packed gear he or she relies solely on wits, finesse and luck. For the evenings the Backwoods species carries a Swiss Army knife, a pair of backup thongs, a few waterproof matches and a boat bag filled with homemade wine. He can then subsist on the trail mix and water all day then let it all hang out in camp by adding a handful of party wine to the fare. With this beverage he can survive another few days, with no serious after-effects, when the crackerjacks and toothpaste run out. Helpful in a tight spot but likely to leave you behind so you can get lost again. Always has the answer, or at least a light.

CU Miracle Many Years Ago

Next to the discovery of gold, this has to be one of the finest moments in Colorado history. It was back in 1994-CU vs Michigan. A last minute hail mary from Kordel Stewart to Michael Westbrook for a comeback like no other in the annals of University of Colorado football.

How the team will perform in the Pac-12 in 2014 is anyone’s guess.

Maybe this photo could provide inspiration?