... The Buzzman was checking out the Westside hispster scene, even contemplatin’ the unthinkable — getting a haircut — at Rudy’s barbershop on Main Street last Monday when a harried hairy man burst in with a fervor.
“The cops are hot on my trail” Eyeing the reservation book. “Oh, can I make an appointment to get a haircut?”
Lest you think said fugitive was just kid-ding the clipper sect, the cops were indeed on his tail, entering the barbershop moments later. They didn’t seem to need haircuts (might even want to let their hair down a bit, if you ask Buzzman). Those beautician babes are good, but they couldn’t change his appearance to throw off the heat that fast.
Yeah well, he’ll be able to get a trim where he’s heading. As for Buzz, the scene was all too upsetting. There was little to do but walk back down Main and let the freak flag fly...... Strolling on the promenade last week, Buzz took his ear off the grindstone (whatever that means) long enough to overhear an aged man talking with a pair of bike cops about the heating-up political scene. While Rip van Wrinkle didn’t bash any incumbents, he did relay to the boys in blue how he felt about the state of affairs over at City Hall.
“I’m going to run my dog for mayor,” he said, pointing to a golden Labrador seated a few feet away. “Check her out right there. Goldie for mayor. You can’t find no better.”
If Goldie prevails, and sometimes new blood is a good thing (even if its a few degrees warmer) then this city will certainly have gone to the dogs (groan alert). Sit, Ubu, sit......Congrats to the city on their recent hire of a new “Greeter of Santa Monica,” or so that’s how the man with blue sneakers and a fuzzy red hat presented himself to Buzz the other day. But when Buzz asked Big Fuzzy for the time of day he just kept on struttin’. It’s cool, he never said he was the “Departer of Santa Monica.” Buzz doesn’t do good-byes either, unless she made him breakfast in the morning...... Buzz is all about the sustainables, be it walkin’ about town in their flippity-flops or their Bourgeois-boy designer tennis shoes. It’s good for us and good for the big ball of water and magma we call home planet. But Buzz gets a burr under his saddle (and has the marks to prove it) when walkabouts linger in the crosswalk, like the man and two women crossing Main Street to go get coffee juice at Urth Cafe. Pick up the pace, beautiful people. Buzz’ll be the first to congratulate ya on your well-gelled hair and frappa-macca-soystuffs once ya acknowledge us car dudes waiting for you to stop checking your hair in the crosswalk. A “Falling Down” moment was narrowly avoided. “You forgot the briefcase.” Even still, their hair was nicely coifed.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on October 23, 2006. Read the original PDF.