May 11, 1998

I'll make this brief. I got a haircut today.

Now, when I say "Short on the sides, but long on top and in the front...", why did this woman interpret that to mean "Please shave my head and make me look like the biggest fucking moron on the planet..."?

I've gotten two really awful haircuts in my life, and they both happen to have been here in Kalamazoo ("The City that Shaves Rob"). Coincidence? I wonder. In any case, now I look like some sort of freak, and I have to go to work in about an hour. And the truth is that I look so incredible stupid that I am actually having a hard time making myself leave the apartment. I mean, as you can see from the photos on my pages, I'm hardly someone who obsesses with my appearance. But this is too much. (Or too little, I guess.)

The biggest problem when I get my hair cut is that I have to take off my glasses. I am extremely blind; my lenses look like ice cubes. If I looked directly at the sun, I think my head would burst into flames. So when The Butcher of Kalamazoo takes a Weedeater to my poor melon, there's not a lot that I can do since by the time I get my glasses back on, the damage is done. What can I say then? I want my hair back? They could put it in a box for me, I suppose, so I could take it home and weep into the clippings.

Well. I didn't expect this today. Not too much point in trying to write anything funny here since a) I'm extremely pissed off, and b) there can't be any humor lurking inside my head that could in any way match the comedy currently residing on the top...