Can you think of anything more self-absorbed than showing people your haircut? Can you think of an easier blog post to write? Can you think of a surer way to get Whoorl to comment on this blog? Can you think of a weirder hair salon than one where after the haircut is finished, the stylist unexpectedly massages your shoulder for five minutes with one of those electric gizmos from Sharper Image, scaring the shit out of you (it’s one of their “gimmicks” so they can charge ten bucks more than Supercuts)? Is there anything more satisfying to a man as watching a nice-smelling woman with really nice breasts washing your hair? Is there any doubt that I left a 35% tip? Was it stupid to have spent the whole cut talking about my “wife” and how she hated my messy hair? Will I ever get laid again? When am I moving out of this house and getting my life in gear? Will I ever be done outlining this screenplay? Should I go to New York for Passover? Is Obama really experienced enough to be President? Will there ever be peace in the Middle East?
The before shot (bohemain, but shaggy) This cut says that I’m irresponsible and poor, but wild in bed.
The after shot (boring, but clean-cut). Now I am an accountant. Which is ironic, since I haven’t even touched this year’s taxes. I was going for a sarcastic, David Sedaris-look, but not sure I got it. My mouth just looks crooked.
Sophia got a haircut too. Her haircut is better. But she spent more on it. We are looking into the bathroom mirror, standing in front of our toilet. We have a pretty cool toilet seat in this bathroom, with seashells embedded in the glass and drawings of fish. The toilet seat makes you think of the beach when you are sitting there. I asked Sophia if I could take a photo of it so you could see it, but she said “no.”
Now, was that a POST — or what?!