Undercut

I own a cat. I do not own a dog. I have always owned cats partly because they match my personality and partly because I am good with cleaning out a catbox and not stooping and scooping with a plastic bag on my hand. Gross. I don’t truly care for dogs as they are “needy”, social, attention demanding. And they get that sad look when you yell “get the hell off of the couch you filthy smelling animal” (we have dog sat once; my family had a few dogs when I was young.). Cats will just ignore you or at best get up and run away to sleep somewhere else though realistically you’d never say such things to a cat because they are generally clean and smell nice.

Cats go outside without you needing to.

Cats wash themselves and do not shake their wet fur around like an animal powered sprinkler.

Cats do not bark.

Cats are the animal equivalent of a self cleaning oven.

I have had this new haircut for about a year. It is the haircut equivalent of a dog. Known as an “undercut” it is sported by many men now and is reportedly one of the most requested cuts across all of North America. It is needy. It results in compliments (social). I have to actually mess with it when I get out of the shower but not immediately after. I need to let it dry JUST enough before I slap in the pomade and slick it back then over to the side then back then the side then pull the bangs across a bit then push them back JUST as it dries. It looks pretty damn good. But it gets out of sorts. It is hard to configure when pressed for time. It does NOT like hats (and it gets cold where I live). It requires a haircut every 2.5 – 3.0 weeks else I look like a freak. My old haircut did not.*

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But I will keep it. I like it. Even though my wife keeps saying that short hair makes me look longer, I don’t care. It’s mine. But I will say I yearn for the days of old, my fifteen year haircut, the, what will we call it, the “No I’m Not a Cop, Seriously” cut. It took all of thirty seconds of preparation each morning and could be left for upwards of 4.5 weeks without a trim though I usually stuck to a 3.0 week regimen.

I’m forty-eight. I have lots of hair. This is a success in my books, dog or no dog.

Thank you David Beckham.

* Three finger length on top, thinning shears through it, ends of bangs razer cut, #2 clippers side and back, over the ears (my name is not Sally) and squared back.

Seriously.. Stripes?

zebCurtain rises
Soft lighting, blue. Music pulls in slowly
A man (Ted) walks from darkness of backstage to fore.
He beings to sing.

Ted
Oh savannah, savannah wide
From mountain far
Nowhere to hide
But in this grass,
With all my kin
I shake my ass
And We Begin
Lights up, stage in yellow, hot

Jesus H. Christ on a Popsicle stick.  What did I do.  I am supposed to be writing a follow up novel, a sequel but not quite a sequel, to my 2012 book Losing Jules.  I started one full year ago. How far am I you may ask? About seventy pages.  Not exactly great progress,

I have my excuses.

I was busy at my meat-space real-world job.  I entered two script writing contests (no, didn’t win, short listed once). I started a script for a world war two adventure movie (I may actually finish that). I wrote an article for The Good Men Project on getting old and generally wanting to take care of myself more. I wrote the beginning few chapters to three, count em, three other novels. I filled my friends and colleagues Facebook ™ notification pages with quips and the occasional political or science article. I wrote a few thousand posts to twitter (some of my best damn stuff). I watched a lot of TV shows and movies.  I went to the gym a lot. I took up painting and now (most recently) knife making.

What do I have to show for the past year?  Not much in terms of writing.

Oh, and I also wrote a three act thirty minute five person comedic play (complete with music, well, lyrics) about five zebras coming to grips with sudden human level cognizance. Yeah. Zebras. With music and dancing.  Live stage play. Whinny.

When you hit your late forties, you start thinking about retiring.  Then pretty girls from university walk by and you start thinking about sex.  Then your wife calls and asks you to pick up paper towels and dish soap and you go back to thinking about retirement. Okay I promise this won’t be another “youth is wasted on the young” tirade, but let me say this, if you are in your twenties, screw everything that walks that you like the look of and will let you take them home. That and start dropping money into mutual funds really soon. Oh, and don’t start pretending you are older than you are.

I digress.  I do that a lot.

So, yes, zebras.  I looked at it and thought “what the glorious fuck is that”.  Its funny.  Its useless.  Its funny.  It needs a score and formatting and it might be marketable to some university arts program.  Okay, its useless.  I then realize that I do a lot of useless things and get sidetracked way too easily.  This needs to be roped in Hoss.

Yesterday I woke up with a funny thought.  Did I write it down  to drop into my new book?  Nope, I tweeted it for the couple of hundred of  people who follow my nonsense.  I looked at it and promptly deleted it.  I shouldn’t be giving this stuff away.  I hoarded it . I wrapped it in oily rags and hid it behind the chest in the dark recesses of my mind (behind that old furnace in the basement of the lighthouse from the Tom Baker era Doctor Who ep “Horror of Fang Rock” when they fight Rutons).  Oh.. Leela.. Darling Leela.

I thought about Facebook, twitter, social media.  They are frankly tools when used properly and catalyst for NOT FINISHING SHIT when abused.  I’ve been abusing them for so, so long.

I need to buckel down.  I need to spell buckle correctly. I need to get the funny back and stop letting it leak out willy nilly.  I need to not be that precious flower who goes away to college and gives away her love freely not saving it for the boy back home who pines for her as he tills the field, being a dumb farm boy who in reality will probably get fat and watch NASCAR all day from November till march ignoring her pleas for attention and her complaints that her degree is going to waste and that they could really use the money after that ginseng debacle.

So yes.  I am going to finish the book.  I am going to steal the best parts of the other books I started (not that war movie script though) and slide them in.  I am going to use social media to try out material and drop that in where appropriate.  I am going to ditch the political because really. as my father would say:

Being funny is good. Being serious is for Presbyterians.

And that play?  It’s called Stripes.

Prance prance prance
In unison we dance
Run Run Run
At the slightest sign of danger
Quiet we wait
In our camoflagey stance
FLEE FLEE FLEE
THE FUCKING LION ATE THE RANGER