Sunday, November the 7th, 2004

My mom has frizzy and curly hair which she’s sort of artificially conditioned to appear straight and manageable. My dad has straight, arbitrarily long-growable hair which just happens to be extremely weak and brittle. Due to the marvels of genetics, I get the pleasure of enjoying hair that’s weak, and frizzy. As in, I lose it at an alarming rate, and while I do have what I have left, it is unmanageable and extremely painful to work with. Yipee. Now I could follow this stream of thought that will go about to mock the chicken scientists (not scientists who work on chickens, scientists who are chicken) who don’t think it’s right for humans to play god and mess with an unborn child’s genes. You know, “moral values” and all, but I won’t. That is not the purpose of today’s update.

I digress, obviously.

I just wanted to let the world know beforehand (as in warning you so you don’t freak out when it happens) that I plan to get my hair cut. As in, really. I don’t mean some sort of 0.72 cm trim, a real cut. Why? No, it’s not some sudden change of heart regarding the pseudo-bohemian-rugged image the current locks pull off. I happened to come across this group that makes wigs (from real hair) for cancer patients who’ve lost their hair to chemotherapy. And I think that’s one hell of a worthy cause.

It is obvious they need it more than I do.

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