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Sheer Boredom

Cousin It
Hair Today

Samsonite
Gone Tomorrow

It’s been nearly two years to the day since my last haircut and, in that time, I’ve grown some impressively Fabio-like, flowing locks. But as with Samson, all good things must come to a (split) end: as of 10AM today yesterday, I am now among the follicularly-challenged, with little more than some scrub brush where a luscious mane once roamed the frozen steppes of Northern New England, staring down every shiny (or, more often than not, greasy) bald pate, widow’s peak, and crazed, built-by-meth, mullet that dare rear its ugly, uh, head.

As for the remains of the mane (remanes??), they’ve been shipped off to Locks of Love, so that my good fortune in the genetic lottery (the Sib1, sadly, getting the short end of the dihydrotestosterone molecular chain in the family) might benefit those far less so and I heartily encourage anyone reading this to do the same. (They’ll even send you a certificate (suitable for framingTM) to show to all your friends how big-hearted you are, putting the lie to any notion that you did this purely out of some desperate need for approval. Cough.)

(Slightly) More seriously: yeah, it’s no cure, but anything that would make the lives of these kids just a little bit more normal is worth doing, especially for something that’s painfully trivial for so many of us. (As for those that can’t (like the Sib2), there’s alway the financial donation route. Cough.)

As for the fast, I am bored to death with it, but soldier on, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow I’ll be…even more bored with it. (And then, only 30+ more days: it’s like I’m in the homestretch of a reverse marathon–It’s practically…beginning!)



1 The official, Waxing Erratic, designation for the sibling, the bro, the brother from the, err, same mother.
2 Because he just loves being reminded of a fact that has stalked him like a, starving, bloodthirsty, Moreauian-spawned3, hybrid vampire polar bear, every waking hour of every day since he was 20. (The upside is that, with today’s medical tech, he only has to deal with this for another 70 or 80 years.)
3 The movie (the one w/ Val Kilmer and Marlon Brando playing…himself), so you know it’s really, really, bad.

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  1. The Sib
    03/04/2010 at 18:36

    f*** you

    love,

    The Sib

  2. katex
    03/04/2010 at 18:41

    A) only a dude would use those produce rubber bands in their gorgeous, lusterous ocks of love. Split ends? Those rubber bands are split end factories, Eric! A) I want a nickname too.

    • katex
      03/04/2010 at 18:42

      um, I just realized my little fake html tags actually messed up that post. and they were SO CLEVER. dang.

  3. ECM
    03/04/2010 at 22:14

    But, but…the rubber bands were merely in place to hold the locks down so that they could be sheered off (they didn’t go quietly, let me tell you!), otherwise it was free range hair all the way.

    And you don’t get a nickname until you replace that mandelbrot with a real avatar! (The Sib gets grandfathered in because he was named thusly back in the magazine days, even if he was never aware of it.)

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