Thursday, April 19, 2007

The Blog That Wasn't

OK, I just spent an hour working on the blog, and then my computer crashed, and I lost the entire thing.

I have no time to recreate what I wrote, so I'll simply telegraph it for y'all, Rosie O'Donnell style:

Stressful week.

Can't wait for Hawaii.

Tonight is my Gay Bash at Comix, starring Judy Gold.

Unspeakable horror in Virginia. Awful for those people and their families.

Back to me.

Biblical storm Sunday night. Almost canceled Therapy show. Decided to go ahead after all.

Here's what room looked like when I arrived:

http://adamsank.com/images/EmptyTherapy.jpg
Two guys in far right corner sit at same table every week.
I call them "Statler and Waldorf."

Nice crowd after all. Comics rocked. Fun show.

http://adamsank.com/images/JackieAllisonJeffAdam.jpg
Jackie Monahan, Allison Castillo, Jeff Mac, Me dressed as Gay Tom Sawyer.
Photos by Waldorf.

http://adamsank.com/images/JackieGregAdamAllison.jpg
Ate french fries, drank a lot with Comics and Greg Walloch,
who came by to watch show and hang with buds.

"Friday Night Lights" season finale made me cry. But NBC bringing it back for at least six more episodes. (Yay.)

"The Tudors" on Showtime my new favorite show.

Davis, gay guy on "Real World," bitchy loudmouth with drinking problem.

http://www.mtv.com/onair/realworld/season18/assets/flipbooks/cast/davis/04_davis.jpg
But still hot.

The End.

Come to the Gay Bash tonight.
Come to Electro Shock Therapy Sunday night.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

From Hair to Eternity

I decided to get my hair blonded again, as I tend to do every year at this time. For one thing, I'm going on an Atlantis cruise through Hawaii in a couple weeks, and getting bleached puts me in full-on vacation mode. Also, weird and wonderful things tend to happen to me when my hair is blond, comedy-wise. I have no explanation for this; it's simply a fact.


A blond me, opening for Hal Sparks. June, 2005



A blond me, on "Best Week Ever." March, 2006


A blond me, on the cover of Next Magazine. April, 2006.

You get the point.

Anyway, in the past I've gone to a wonderful colorist at the Service Station in Chelsea, but that place closed down last year. So I decided to try a place right around the corner for me with the innocuous-sounding name, "Hair Design."

It turned out to be staffed entirely by Chinese immigrants.

Now, that in and of itself shouldn't have been of concern to me; many Chinese people have lovely hair. What might have concerned me, on the other hand, was the fact that it was midday on a beautiful Saturday and the place was completely empty, save for me. But stupidly, I pressed onward.

The Chinese colorist -- whom I'll call "Satan" -- began by showing me various samples of hair and asking me, in barely decipherable English, to select the color I wanted. I chose one that was more or less the same yellow-y blond I always get.

With that, Satan was off and running. The first thing that struck me was how obsessively thorough he was. He literally went through my entire head with a fine-tooth comb, coating every single strand over and over again with his toxic goop. It took him about a half hour just to apply the first layer. (And I'm not exactly Rapunzel here.) Then he had me sit for another 40 minutes, before finally bringing me over the wordless, scowling shampoo girl, who managed to injure both my neck and my scalp in a matter of seconds.

Back in the stylist's chair, Satan began to apply the toner. I could see that my hair was already a pretty cool shade of yellow, with a few scattered brown low-lights. "You know," I said, "you don't have to make it all the same color."

"Eh?" he grunted.

"It's OK if the hair turns out different colors."

"Different color?" he repeated. "Oh, you want different color?" He ran and grabbed the hair samples.

"No -- no," I tried to explain. "I want the color I chose. I'm just saying it's OK if some of the hairs are darker than others."

He was utterly baffled.

"Never mind," I said. "Just do what you were doing."

Satan shrugged and when about his OCD way, coating and re-coating every hair with toner.

By the end of the second hour in the salon, I began to fantasize that I was being held in a Chinese prison camp. "When do you think I'll be able to leave here?" I asked at every 20-minute interval.

"Oh, 20 minutes," came the answer every time.

Finally, Satan brought me back to the hostile shampoo girl for another painful rinse.

Then it was back to his chair. But before I could even get a good look at the results, he began coating my hair again with yet another bowl of putrid cream. "Wait," I protested, "what are you doing?" Never in my life had it taken three processes to turn my hair blond.

"Yeah," he said.

"No, I don't understand. What is this?" I asked, pointing to the creme (which was now turning pink).

"Yeah," he repeated and continued to glop it on.

I began to panic. It had been nearly three hours since I first walked into Hair Design. My scalp was raw. My neck hurt. My eyes stung. I felt like Meryl Streep in "Silkwood." And still the cream on my head grew ever pinker.


"Oh, no!"

Finally, Satan led me over to the Shampoo Fingers of Death one last time. And as she rinsed that hateful pink glop out of my fried hair, she made the first sound I had heard from her all day.

She gasped.

Satan came running over. "Ohhh," he said. "Wrong color!"

They toweled me off and brought me over to the mirror. Wrong color, indeed.

My hair was silver. So silver, in fact, that it was almost blue. Blue, with patches of raw, pink scalp showing through. I looked like Bea Arthur.


Thank you for being a friend...



Combed and styled, I looked like more like Bam-Bam.

It was hideous. Shockingly hideous. "Come back tomorrow," Satan kept repeating. "We fix color! We fix color!" As if I was ever going to set foot in this torture chamber again.

The next day, having cried myself to sleep, I went to Duane Reade and bought some L'Oreal ash blond hair color. I brought it to my trusty Russian barber on 10th Avenue. "Who do this to you?" he demanded. I explained what had happened and asked him to give me a trim and do what he could using the drug store hair color.

A half hour later, I looked far more normal. And by Therapy that night, people were no longer pointing at me and laughing. At least not because of my hair.



Natural blond Scott Sussman, Vanessa Hollingshead and Me.

I can't wait for the cruise.

Come see me host the Electro Shock Therapy Comedy Hour this Sunday, April 15 at 10 p.m., when my special guests will be Allison Castillo, Jeff Mac and Jackie Monahan! Details on my web site.

And come see me host Adam Sank's Gay Bash on Thursday, April 19 at 8:00 p.m. at Comix, with headliner Judy Gold and special guest Bob Smith! Purchase tickets here!