Haircuts and Our Weekend
However, it’s the first time in my adult life my hair’s been this short, and the direct cause of it is frustration with the fact that the more hair you lose, the less the hair you have left wants to do anything. It’s like it gets depressed, like an assembly line worker in a factory that’s chronically laying people off. Oh, look, another fifty follicles shut down. I don’t even see why I bother. Point is, it’s difficult to make what’s left look good, and I’m not one of those people who would choose to spend a great amount of time on it anyway. So off I went to the barber — not the hair stylist. When you go to get your head shaved, you want a barber, damn it.
Who, incidentally, approved of my desire to crop my head close. She told me about the men who came in with less hair than me but with a greater sense of self-denial, demanding she do something with their heads that implied they were still carrying around the hirsute wealth of Fabio. This struck her as sad. You work with what you have, and don’t make what you have work to be more than it is. Good salt of the earth wisdom that you can only get in small-town barbershops. And for only nine bucks, to boot. Most psychological counseling sessions are far more expensive, and don’t include a trim as a throw-in.
I think the barber did a fine job with the haircut, but to be honest I don’t know if the buzzed look is really me. A friend of mine sent me an e-mail after he saw the picture I put up on Friday, saying that it makes me look like a bad-ass. And I’d agree, but I can’t decide if it’s the “Sullen mysterious man that all the chicks crave” sort of bad-ass look, which would be good, or the “Straight outta the Aryan Brotherhood at San Quentin” sort of bad-ass look, which, needless to say, would be kind of bad. Today’s picture is somewhere in the middle of this; I call it my “I’m the new bassist for Metallica, and the publicist told me to scowl like I was unhappy about it” look. Incidentally, I’m not the new bassist for Metallica.
My birthday was swell; I got birthday wishes from friends, had dinner with the in-laws, and then Krissy and I went off to see X2: X-Men United, which I thought was fine. I’m not a big Marvel Comics guy, to be entirely honest with you; it’s like the AL of comic book publishers (DC is the NL, obviously), and as such all its characters feel about ten degrees skewed (and in case you’re wondering, Marvel’s DH is clearly The Hulk — “Hulk Smash!” Yes, Hulk. That’s what we want you to do). But as far Marvel comics movies go, X2 is probably the best one out there, and it’s nice to see that Patrick Stewart still has a viable gig now that the Star Trek movies have imploded around him.
There’s your weekend wrap-up around the Scalzi Household. I didn’t mention the constant 25 mph winds that’s been blowing more or less constantly since Saturday morning or the thunderstorms that have been swinging through on a regular 6-hour basis, because I assume most of you out there have been experiencing this over the weekend as well. Let us never speak of it again.