Friday, May 22, 2015

2015 Birthday - Part 8: Purple

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!

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!

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