Monday, July 29, 2013


My hair has become lifeless.

It feels like straw.  It has a washed-out look, like pencil lead.  When my barber cuts my hair, what falls to the floor is alarming.  It's gray, with strands of white.  But not an appealing gray.  A deathly gray.

I remember when my hair was a vibrant brown.  It would fall to the floor in bouncy, supple waves.  It was flexible, resilient, vibrant.  I had a wistful feeling losing it.  That's coming from me, I thought.  It's a shame to lose it.  It's so alive.  When the assistant came with one of those industrial brooms to sweep it away, for the briefest moment I thought, Wait! That hair is too good to throw away!

Maybe, I thought, I could give it to some orphans with thinning hair.

Back then, women liked to run their hands through it.  Now, they bypass it.

These days, after my haircut I look on the floor aghast.  That's my hair?  Those gray strands?  Who did they come from?  Not me.  No, not me.

Sweep it away.  Now.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

That's what T.S. Eliot suggested in "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."

I've always been intrigued by that look in old men.

The question is: why do old men roll the bottoms of their trousers?  I always thought it was because they were at the beach and didn't want to get their pants wet.  That doesn't explain everything, though.  Old men aren't always at the beach.  Sometimes they're at the mall.  Or at their grandchildren's home.

More important, do you have to be old to do that? 

No, I discovered.

A quick search on Google for "old men roll the bottoms of their trousers" reveals no old men at all, just young men with their trousers rolled.  Hipsters, it appears.  Which leads me to believe that T.S. Eliot may have been way ahead of his time in terms of fashion. Well, hipsters, find your own look.  I want that look back.  That's my look, hear?      

Want to see what I mean?  Check this out.