The Last Good Day for This Haircut

Well, I’ve reached it.  This is the end.  I’ve run with it as long as I can, and now I’m here.  This is the last good day for this haircut.  As hair tends to do, its been growing the last few weeks and has now destroyed what was originally constructed on my head by the Korean lady at Supercuts.  Yep, it’s pretty much through.  From here onward it’s an inevitability that I’ll just have to get it cut again, and in the meantime I’ll be trying to just make it look passable.  Good is out of the question.

Cause really, even if I wanted to redesign myself as some manner of shaggy long hair, there would be a pretty severe learning curve while I determined how the hell exactly to make that scheme function on this old head.  I ain’t no Giuseppe Franco, I tell you what.  Even in the first week or two after visiting with shears I still have days where I don’t know what the Christ is happening up there.  It’s all over the place, and getting thinner, so my follicle problems are multifold most days.

I think it stems back to the one time I shaved my head, a good five years back now.  It was a Saturday night and my plans for the evening fell apart at the last minute.  So instead of killing time as was my custom in 2003 (Colt 45 and Shannon Tweed movies), I looked in the mirror decided I should try to fix what was happening scalpwise.  Hell, I thought, my dexterity and skill can’t be any less than a Korean lady.

So I pulled out the clippers, snapped on an attachment that looked plenty long enough to leave me still well coiffed, and commenced the attack.  it went pretty well for about a minute.

See, I wasn’t looking in the mirror as I hacked away at the afro I’d developed.  My apartment at the time had a carpeted bathroom for some reason, so I was half in the tub shaving away so as to make clean up easier.  It was only once I stopped for a breather that I checked out the mane in the mirror and was surprised to find that the attachment I’d been using wasn’t remotely as long as I thought it was.

Halfway to bald, I decided I couldn’t very well leave this punk hairdo as it was, especially considering I’d recently gotten a role in a local production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest(a decidedly un-punk role at that), so the rest of it had to go.  When I showed up at the read-through looking remarkably different than when I’d auditioned for John Worthing, let’s just say the production team wasn’t entirely pleased.  The term “Shit Hemorrhage” comes to mind, even though I don’t know anyone who uses this colorful phrase besides my old man.

Ever since then my hair has grown in all manner of peculiar.  It lays in all different directions, sticks up intermittently like Alfalfa, rejects the best efforts of mousses and gels, and makes a general nuisance of itself.  I mean, I’m a guy, after all.  How much fretting over my goddamn hair should I have to do?  I’m not bald yet, I shouldn’t have to spend all this time and effort in an epic struggle with what I’ve got hanging on up there!  Not fair, life!  Not fair!

So haircut times are nice because at least most of the directional issues get solved when it’s short.  But not anymore.  Not after today.  This is the end of the line.  We’ve come to the close of yet another chapter in the tale of my silly ass hair.  Gonna have to try to keep it inoffensive until I get a chance to head back to the Supercuts.  It’s not gonna be easy.

Life.  Don’t even talk to me about life.