A while back I decided it was time for something new with my spiked short hair. It was right about the time my friend's 5-year old was trying get his hair to look like mine. Now, the only real different thing I can do is grow it out. So, as I'm sure some of you may have noticed recently, it's been longer. And poofier. And wackier in general. Basically, it's been a nightmare and every time I see a friend the conversation ultimately steers toward my head.
Last Saturday on the town in Owosso someone asked (on behalf of their mother in law) what are doing with your hair lately? Today, a phone call turned into this:
Friend: State has a chance. Who do you have in your Final Four?
Me: Pittsburgh, I also like---
Friend: Bye the way-- what's with your hair? We were watching the other night and it was like-- 'What in God's name?'
Me: (sigh) I also like Memphis.
A few days earlier a co-worker sent out this email to the newsroom:
"DOES ANYONE HAVE A LIVE TRAP? I'D LIKE TO CATCH THE WOODCHUCK PERCHED ON JASON'S HEAD."
Then I had to listen to my wife's rationale-- which amounted to 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Which makes sense. So, next week, I'm going to chop it short again and bid adieu to the dream of a style that was so-- well, take a look for yourself--
I'm not smitten with Christian Bale in any way, I just liked this hair style. It's just that damned transition phase that is so tough to hide on television for a month or two. You know, I'd better end this post, because looking back on it, it doesn't sound very manly. In fact, they may kick me out of Clinton County just for writing it.