Hair

I need a haircut.

Most people probably realize they need a haircut when folks start to laugh at them, or when they're walking down the street and somebody yells "Get a job, ya stupid hippie!". But since people laugh at me all the time (I suspect it's for my uncanny resemblance to Soupy Sales, and I take it as a compliment), and my hippie days are far, far behind me -- I must rely upon other clues to determine my readiness to undergo the shears.

I don't spend a lot of time looking in the mirror, either, for obvious reasons. No, the way I can tell it's time for a haircut is when I can feel the long strands tickling my ears, or when I run my hand across my head in my habitual gesture of deep thought, and realize that it feels like plush shag rather than stubbly astroturf.

With my right ear still being extra-sensitive after my skin cancer surgery, I'm getting constant tickle signals. It's definitely time to whip out the clippers.

But allow me to digress for a moment. With my reputation as a Shameless Capitalist and a Tireless Fighter of Communism in All Its Forms (including the current disturbing tendency toward Socialism in the US Congress -- write your Representatives and tell them to STOP this madness, people!!), you may find it hard to believe that I was once perilously close to becoming a full-fledged, tie-dye-wearin', long-haired hippie freak. Yes, it's true; when I was in 9th Grade or so, many of my friends were joining the ranks of the counterculture, and were almost successful in dragging me into their "Down with the Establishment" world. But while I truly liked the ideas of peace, love, and long improvisational guitar solos (still do, actually), I just couldn't get into the whole long hair and no bathing thing. And since well-groomed people have no credibility within "Stick it to the Man" society, I was unable to ever fully merge into the hippie milieu.

So I concentrated on school and swimming instead, earned a letter jacket, and got a job. My hippie friends shunned me.

I did go through my own small version of "Big Hair" during the eighties, but that was more about fashionable blow-dried puffiness than about sheer length. But once I gave up putting any effort into being trendy or looking good, life has become much simpler. Instead of going to the salon and paying someone to sculpt my scalp, I can just run the clippers over my head a few times, fire up the vacuum cleaner for about 30 seconds, and be done with it. No cost other than 5 minutes of my time, and I'm back in action. Life is good.

But I'm not going to get to it this morning, so you'll just have to put up with my unruly tresses for at least one more day. But I'll get it done by the weekend, so I won't subject the general public to my unkempt-ness for too much longer. In the meantime, keep fighting the Commies, and have a great day!