Too Good

As I write this, I am admiring my hair. It looks really good today, which makes me glad. It also frustrates me tremendously, for multiple reasons. I try every day to shower and get dressed as though something will happen. The idea is that things are more likely to happen when you're ready for them, but nothing necessarily will happen. When my hair is just perfect, I suddenly really want things to happen, but if they don't I feel like this great hair day is wasted.

I didn't do anything really different today, which is where the frustration really originates. If I knew how to duplicated it, that would be different. I showered, I conditioned without using shampoo, I put my contacts in and then I applied some deep shine oil before picking the hair out. After waiting a while, I further fluffed the hair with my fingers. That's when I noticed how good it looked. I entertained the idea of taking a picture, but it seems that only professionals can capture it adequately.

Career Beard

I have lately been going without shaving. As I may have said at some time recently, it began during that trip to Big Bear. It made little sense to shave on vacation, and moreover it was problematic to shave with the restroom being shared by an awful lot of people. On returning, I reasoned that there was no sense in shaving until something like an audition came up that compelled it, and so I have been letting it grow during a period of idleness.

Being an actor with headshots and audition tapes floating around puts you in a unique position. You depend on your look being a part of how you get auditions and how you win parts (and this, I should say, is the understanding of this humble novice). Consequently, I am not exactly at liberty to do whatever with my appearance as someone else could. Changing way I have my hair is not simply a way of expressing myself differently. It's a career decision.

Peers

I had one of those experiences recently that reminded me that I am in a select group. It's nothing I earned. It's just something I was born with, and there are plenty who it doesn't impress one bit, I'm sure. Certainly I myself find it more an irritant than a boon of any kind myself. It's nothing mysterious. It's just my hair, about which I've written in the past. Not too many have hair anything like mine, but there are some who do.

Those who do have hair like mine tend to have a shared experience of others trying to meddle with it. For my part, many people imagine they have the license to make a lot of suggestions on what I ought to do with my hair. I tend to bristle at that, as those with lots of hair tend to do. I also recoil when someone starts getting grabby with my hair. I don't react well to any sort of sudden touching, but that is particularly bad.

Chagrin On The Chin

I have not shaved lately. It's been a few days at least. I would say it's been nearly a week. I'll have to shave it soon enough just because it isn't part of my look for acting. My headshots are me clean-shaven (or at least close to it) with a moustache and lots of curly hair, and looking like that is probably my best chance of working. I will, therefore, undoubtedly shave before long, as I can't go this way to an audition. Still, it's interesting.

I never have had good coverage for a beard, as I'm sure I've said before. It gets awfully patchy. I've been advised that if I let it go long enough, that will be less a problem, but it's the awkward phase that would present a problem even if a bear was feasible for me. If a bear was part of my look and I could hole up for a few weeks, maybe I'd do it. If I was back in college, a beard would be a good summer project (or Chistmas, given that I spent breaks back home in sweltering Phoenix).

Cut Cut Cut Cut

Something that I imagined would be behind me by the time I got to be as old as I am now is shaving badly. It's common enough to miss a spot here or there, and certainly the two areas at the opposite ends of my jawline could stymy anyone, but I feel as if all too often I do such a terrible job that it might have been my first time with it. I sure thought that I practiced enough times with a blade-less razor as a boy, but there it is.

I think that I have finally learned the lesson of not using cheap disposable razors enough times. It took me more times than it took to learn that a straight razor shave from a professional isn't instantly good, but I got it. I even figured finally that I needed to use decent shaving cream, because the charm of Barbasol just doesn't outweigh the pain any longer. Still, I commonly shave and find that I have inflicted some wounds on myself.

Short In The Front, No Party

I had a pretty full schedule for the time I was back home for that wedding. One of the things I found myself doing was patronizing a hair salon. I am eager to learn how to better care for my hair, and what better way than to consult with professionals. I did get some useful information as well as a very slight trim (the purpose of which was to enhance the health of the hair, not to shorten it). I also was granted some anxiety to take with me.

You see, I hadn't previously considered there to be anything really wrong with my hair. It's longer and curlier than that of most, but it's at least normal for those who have it as long as I. That's what I thought, in any case.  The woman looking after me set me straight on that point, though. I gleaned from some offhand remarks that she made that she though I'd trimmed the bangs area personally. It took sever attempts to convince her that I had not.

Another Hair Piece

I have mostly got the hang out of caring for my hair these days. Tangles are not a real worry anymore, provided I have the proper conditioner and have worked it into my hair. Frizz remains a periodic problem, and of course there is the matter of clogged drains. It is terribly hard to keep drains clear of the high volume of hairs that I lose on a daily basis. I guess that really becomes more of a plumbing problem than a hair one, and who's so good at plumbing matters?

There is one thing that I occasionally struggle with, and that is when a tendril of hair falls from its ordinarily secure position and comes to rest over my face. This is very annoying, and there's a strong possibility when it happens that I will curse. It's like if your shoelace comes undone, but there is no way of fixing it except for a few seconds. That hair is just bound to come back down again and again, and there is no remedy for the issue.

Other People Do It

Something that occasionally occurs to me is that other people periodically get haircuts. It's not something that I always have in my mind. It comes to me now and then, but mostly is mostly not there. I obviously do not get haircuts. My last one was in December of 2009, I believe. Since I don't get haircuts, and since I am not invited along when my friends get them, I'm not aware of them generally. Maybe that's not so remarkable. I mustn't be alone in that.

I do notice when someone I see often gets a dramatic haircut. That doesn't happen much. I notice when my roommate trims his own hair, because I see the trimmings in the wastebasket. I think about it when someone makes reference to the experience of having had a haircut, but it seems to not be something that people talk about openly so much (unlike politics and religion, which were once more private matters for the very reason that they made trouble to discuss).

Incident On Fifth Street

My hair has begun to arouse some interest, as I believe I have mentioned here once or twice. By and large, it draws female attention, which is fine by me. The mustache does me no favors in that area. Women like the hair plenty, usually being courteous enough to ask before touching it. Not everyone is accommodating with that, but I am. Of course, there are exceptions about who is interested. It's not always women, and it was not a women the other night.

I was downtown, returning home from a friend's performance. On my way to the subway station from there, I passed by some club with crowds of people outside. I never have been much for places that make you wait in line hoping to give them business, but these people were fine with that. In any event, I heard a guy say something that I assume was about me, and I think it was reasonable to do so. Perhaps you will disagree, but then you were not there.

The Key For Me

My hair continues to gain lady admirers, while my mustache remains tolerated at best and at worst a magnet for compliments from guys who I don't imagine I'd like if I got to know them. Let's focus on the hair. I've gone over this ground before, but I do not tire of it. My hair moves people, and women particularly. Many wish to touch it, and generally they are considerate enough to ask first. Perhaps they are used to unwanted touching themselves.

I tend to consent. I let the ladies touch my hair, though I caution them that they might get lost in there. I also usually am agreeable to having my picture taken, although I wonder sometimes just in what spirit the desire for a picture may be. I would like for it to be real affection or admiration, but I can well imagine how it could be a matter of irony or ridicule. Who knows what caption they might choose to put with a picture of me?

Style By Force

I have written in the past about people's deep personal interest in what I do with my hair. As I have noted, many call for corn rows. Some wish to see just how big my hair can get if I really apply myself to it. This I indulge from time to time in moments of restlessness. The other thing I fear, believing that it will likely hurt badly. There are other things besides that I am not utterly opposed to trying, particularly at the suggestion of a woman.

Pigtails could be fun. Those are mainly a thing for women, I suppose, but then my hair has always drawn me more into the camp or the fairer sex since I let it grow long. A lot of those I'm fond of have had pigtails, Pippi Longstocking being among them. It would really be something to see me with pigtails, especially if I wore a hat. The hair juts out at the sides as it is, and I might as well make the whole thing a little neater on days where the sun shines in my eyes.

The Sink Is Beginning To Stink, I Think

My bathroom sink is in a fragile state right now. It drains rather slowly, taking a minute to clear all the water when I've had it going for long. This is an inconvenience, but it's one that I find I'm prepared to live with rather than deal with. This would not be so bad, except that mine is the sink near the door in the bathroom that guests are at liberty to use (since the other is in the master bedroom). This makes it something I should deal with.

I don't, of course. After weeks of thought, I finally decided on buying one dollar's worth of baking soda. I understood that this makes for a potent drain-clearer when combined with vinegar (which I knew we had some of in under the kitchen sink). I still haven't used it, because I am looking for the right three hours to render the sink unavailable while that cocktail is doing its business. It just seems all too possible at any hour of the day or night that I might need a sink and some privacy.

The Beard Feared

When I was in college, I had a beard. It was a very modest on, and covered only my chin. That was the only area where it grew reliably. Elsewhere it was very patchy, but in that one area it thrived to the point that I had to be careful that it didn't get caught in my winter coat's zipper. Ultimately I decided that the beard didn't suit me in that form, and as I could grow one in no other, I opted to go without a beard altogether. I decided on just a mustache, and that is where I stand now.

Recently, circumstance prevented me from shaving for a couple of days, and several days after that held no events for which I felt obligated to be clean-shaven. I decided that it would be a good time to test the waters and see if anything had changed as far as my facial hair coverage. There is always that awkward time when the beard is still coming in, and this seemed an opportune time to experience that. I could then decide at the end of the few days whether I had something worth pursuing on my hands (or, I should say, on my face).

Herr Holbrook

It's interesting what has happened since I grew back my moustache and stopped getting my hair cut. The moustache always has been polarizing, with favorable and unfavorable comments regrettably breaking down along gender lines, with women on the wrong side of the debate. Only recently, with my curls becoming more pronounced as the volume of my hair has grown, have there been any opinions on the matter of the hair which adorns my scalp. It's a considerably more complicated thing, the feedback with which I have been furnished free of charge.

There are calls for me to get my hair cut from men and women alike, but the support has been similarly cross-gender. I usually tell guys who are critical of any such thing to pound sand. I listen more carefully to women, but naturally grant the most consideration of all to those who are unattached. Men and women alike who are offering a job also get a fair hearing on the matter of my hair. I think that's all quite reasonable of me.

Coverage

Years ago, I had what I would now term regrettable taste where facial hair is concerned. Many would say (and do say) that my taste now is as bad as ever in that area, but for the sake of argument we'll say they're mistaken. My opinion is what matters at the moment, and I have to say that I looked lousy wearing a beard. I just had this billy goat-looking thing on my chin which was just substantial enough to nearly get caught in the zipper of jackets. Looking back, I'm not really sure what I was thinking. I guess that the condition of being in my late teens and early 20s is explanation enough.

The trouble is that I have poor distribution of facial hair. There are two spots where it thrives- the upper lip and the chin. Outside of that it looks like an untended lawn, with overgrowth in some places and nothing at all in others. I don't like to let it go very far without shaving. I think that I look not terribly bad with stubble, conjuring up the image of a Hungry Joe of 'Catch-22'. I guess what that's saying is that with stubble I look like a demented, emaciated war veteran. When I look at that in writing, I feel compelled to retract my belief that I look good with stubble, especially since I dislike 'House' and others for purely that reason, but maybe I'm the exception.

Call Me Samson

I've had two haircuts in the last twelve months. The most recent was in December. The one before that was last May. It's my understanding that the average is about once every five weeks, so that puts me a good bit behind the typical pace. It's probably unsurprising that I obtained neither of those two haircuts on my own initiative. I don't like getting haircuts, and there is no mystery as to why. I don't like paying for them, for one thing. It seems like a needless expense, in a way. You don't walk away having gained something tangible, and what does result from it doesn't last. I'd rather have a new hat.

Christmas

It looks to be as good a Christmas as ever for the family. There's plenty of food and plenty to do with those I care about. Very little gives me pause apart from the many changes that take place here in between my visits home.

Should it interest anyone, I will say that I got a haircut. It's very short right now. The mustache has been trimmed, but lives still. I also had my first professional shave that I can recall. I can't say that it's likely to recur, but was pleasant and worth doing at least the once.
More about the holidays likely to follow.