Last month, I took an extended vacation to Israel. Before leaving, I had a million things to take care: Laundry, personal grooming, toiletry shopping, drinking all my alcohol before it went bad. But one of the things I never got around to was getting a haircut. Indeed, the grandmother’s crotch quilt growing out of the back of my head was becoming unruly, but nothing a light saber and ironing board couldn’t fix.
But all that changed one balmy evening in Tel Aviv, when my relatives drove by what was positively the most mind-blowing hair salon I had ever laid eyes on. There, in giant, stainless steel letters, stood a name that I would soon never forget: MIKI BUGANIM. Say it a few times. Miki Buganim. As in Boo-ga-neem. It’s catchy, it’s “now”, it’s completely addictive. And in the window of the Miki Buganim salon stood the most glorious man, like a fat gay unicorn, with long golden locks, a certain sexy heft, lipstick, and a blow dryer. This, ladies and gentlemen, was Miki himself, “just bein’ Miki!”
At the time, I was immediately put under this glittersplosion’s spell. Little did I know, Miki was actually something of a celebrity in Israel: He was a judge on Israeli’s Next Top Model, sort of like their Miss Jay (only not as gay, somehow), SO well known that he actually has a page on Polish IMDB (a thing I never knew existed until today). It was meant to be: I was to have my hair cut by Miki.
So I called the salon, and found out the cold and brutal truth: Miki had no time to cut my hair — he was VERY busy — and I should try calling back in a couple of decades when maybe Miki would care….
I told a few friends (and MTV associates) who I was lunching with in Tel Aviv about my Buganim-related troubles. They looked concerned, and a girl named Hanna, a dear if I’ve ever seen one, told me to hold on while she made a call. Everyone began to whisper. Hanna was dialing ISRAEL’S MOST FAMOUS ROCK STAR, named Ivri Lider. (A quick Google searching will prove that he is also, in fact, adorable and Israeli.) She went on to tell Ivri that “a big American TV (Ed. Note: That’s Hebrew for ‘blog’) personality” was in Tel Aviv for a few days, and was “dying to get her hair cut by Miki.” (This was sort of true: I was hooked up to an IV drip of Goldshlagger and hummus, but it wasn’t life-threatening.) Ivri understood the urgency, and proceeded to call hundreds of his famous Israeli friends, giving them only one mission: Get Michelle a haircut with Miki Buganim.
And you wanna know what happened?
.
.
.
I’ll tell you what happened.
MIKI NEVER GOT BACK TO ME.
My hair?
(looked fabulous, clearly)
My heart?
(broken)
So why share this entirely too long tale? Namely, so you’ll understand how painful it is for me to watch the following video, sent by one of my Israeli coworkers. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Miki Buganim. (Sure, it’s in Hebrew, but still fully to extremely enjoyable):
UPDATE
I believe this is the first video:
