A while back we saw one of the old Beanhouse vagrants at a local bus stop. He looked cleaned up, for him, with a whitelike t-shirt and short brown pants. Capris, I guess, for the warm weather. Hobo cabana wear. And — he had a haircut. As we drove past him, MB and I wondered aloud who cuts the homeless people’s hair. After a few moments’ musing, we hit on it — a truly inspired idea for urban renewal and beautification:
What if a bunch of gay stylists went around sedating homeless people and giving them makeovers? You know, a little “Queer Eye for the Hobo Guy.” Or, well, cut the whole sedating part — which, I dunno, could be assault and battery or something — and just wait for them to pass out, which always happens, and go to town on them: Cut their hair, trim their beards, wax those brows, update their wardrobe, etc. It could be a new hit show on Bravo. (Don’t be stealing my idea, Bravo! Copyright me, 2008.)
I mean, come on. Wouldn’t you like to see your city’s homeless people look fly and dope while they’re digging in your dumpsters?
I thought so. My work is done here.
Heh. If Queer Eye won’t take them, I think the local vo-tech school would.
The street I used to drive down to work from my old apartment was lined with totally deteriorating twin houses–but they all had satellite dishes. I wondered if it was some sort of TV reachout thing. You know, so they wouldn’t miss Queer Eye!
I think this is an idea whose time has come. Inspired!
One of the saints- Philip Neri? Alphonsus Ligouri? can’t remember exactly- kept a credit at the local barbers so they could invite beggars in for a shave and haircut.
Good company, Tracey.
Well, I’m not sure I’m totally on board with this idea.
Because it takes away another marker of Teh Crazy.
Already, I can no longer use “talking to one’s self” as an excuse for crossing the street when I see someone – sure, it might be a crazy street person who’s going to stop and accost me for change or ask me if I’m “one of THEM” but it might also be a perfectly normal person with a Bluetooth in their ears.
I spent too many of my college days being hit up, hit upon (ugh) and nearly HIT by people who were, shall we say, reality-challenged. It was pretty traumatizing. And so, to paraphrase Homer Simpson, I like my beer cold and my street people disheveled.
And yeah, I know, that’s kind of hard and cold of me. But after being chatted up for six blocks by some guy who then “breaks bad” on you, my only other choice in the matter is to become a hermit.
(And yeah, normal-looking people can break bad on you too. So maybe my only option IS to become a hermit. Carry on.)