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Showing posts from November, 2010


There's a scene in City Slickers where Billy Crystal's character bemoans middle age as having hair where you don't want it and not having hair where you do.  I can relate as I view myself in the mirror these days.  The bottom of my crowning glory is changing.  What had been a perpetual autumn on my chin is stalked by winter.  The copper and chestnut (and occasional stray blond and brunette strand) is changing one by one to a pigment-less white.  While my temples have a spot of gray or white--I can't tell which--that doesn't bother me.  But after having adjusted (sort of) to the trauma of losing my hair ( I did experience my teens in the metal years after all) my beard/goatee was all that was left to me in terms of Samsonesque glory.  Now, even that is fading.  Oh, Cruel Age, with every swipe of your sickle you turn a red hair white.  You even violate the hair on my chest.  Four white intruders have appeared.  Is there no way to avoid your swinging, inevitable blade…