I was going to combine my posts about the hair color and pasta class, but then I realized something.
I'm 45. That's half of 90. I'm a tenth of 450! I'm the square root of 2025!
|INSERT OBVIOUS ARTHUR C. CLARKE JOKE|
I'm older than dirt (judging from the contents of my composting bin). It's funny, when the year begins, I consider myself whatever age I'm going to turn that year. This year, I considered myself 44 until... Well, I still consider myself 44.
So, I'm stretching these posts out another two weeks. You're not a year older until you've finished blogging about your birthday. This week is hair. Next week is pasta. The week after that is about what I didn't accomplish. I'll keep going on this theme for the rest of my life.
|Matthew Kagle: Born 90 years ago. Dead at 45.|
So, let's talk about my head.
Every year I dye my hair a weird color. I started with blue but was put off by all the attention I got. The next year I didn't color my hair, and was put off by all the attention I didn't get. Next year I did yellow, which just involved a gallon of bleach and an hour of screaming. Then came green, which became a disappointing, light teal color. Then orange, which became a disappointing natural color.
Actual quote: "My grandmother asked who the guy with the lovely auburn hair was."
This year is purple.
|As always, my hairdresser is more photogenic than me.|
Nice color, but it's leaking out. I had to buy purple pillowcases. My fingers are purple from where I scratched my head.
|Does some awesome things in the morning, though.|
I'm going through the rainbow, so I have four more colors left. You'll have to guess which.
I've been thinking about why I color my hair, why I was disappointed the year I didn't color. Last night it hit me (along with my son, need to work on his anger). When my hair is a funny color, people look at me.
It's like being famous.
People smile. Kids whisper to their parents. I get approached by people who ask questions about it. Every now and then, my agent drags me to rehab.
It's a good feeling. I can see why so many people are addicted to fame. When I finally run out of colors, I'll crash and burn. Drinking. Arrests. Ex-wives on talk shows talking about my sexual proclivities. Reality shows. On Ellen to talk about my fall from fame. Endorsing cheap haircare products.
Man, I can not wait!