Men's hair

At about thirty years of age, everything changes for the male part of the population. Your hair is no longer significant. Before, you could signal to fellow human beings your inclusion in a specific subculture by styling your hair in a certain way. It mattered. It could very well be the factor that enabled you to get that tiny chance, in a crowded nightclub, full of young people, all loaded up with hormones, to get to the situation that really mattered; the particular intercommunication between opposite sexes in which it is possible to engage in the activity that may result in the biological act that contributes to the continuation of the human race. Conversation, that is. Conversation with a chick. And that may lead to sex.

But afterwards, when you're a father, with a mortgage, busy climbing the ladder at work, what with all the political problems both home and abroad, you don't have time to stand in front of the mirror and do your hair no more. You don't go to the nightclubs. Most likely, you're stuck happily off in a relationship with the chick that spotted the awesome, multi-coloured construct on top of your head years ago. You can't be bothered to use hair styling products anymore. You forget about dyeing. You begin to find it a nuisance to go to the barbershop every N weeks. Anyway, you only go out to push the perambulator around the neighbourhood, and to get groceries from the store nearby. And when you do, you wear a woolly hat anyway, because it always seems to be winter. There's hardly any point in constructing a gravity-defying post-modern sculpture out of your hair, or washing it and then spending hours to make it look like you just woke up in a frozen pool of barf, like you used to.


If you're lucky, like I was, you begin to get bald at that point. Then it's relatively easy to make the decision to cut the most of it away. You could cut all of it, but IMHO it's better to leave a couple of millimeters. That way you don't have to shave it too often. And you don't look too shiny either. I, myself, prefer to have a stubble on the chin too, at all times. I'm hoping to look like a friendly kiwi fruit.

Then there's the long hair. In a way, having a long hair is a no-hair. You've accustomed to it, you don't have to maintain it, you mostly have it ponytailed up. Therefore, you might as well shave it off, it's just dead weight.

In my experience, there's a limited number of groups of men over 30 that really need a hairstyle:

• Heavy metal musicians: it does look cool when a group windmills their hairs in unison.
• CEOs: everybody knows that you need a thick, silver hair to become a CEO. It's exactly the same with gorillas; the silverback is the leader of the troop.
• Clowns: the clown hair signals the audience that you're supposed to laugh at everything the guy does and says. Take this clown for example:

• Fabio: the hair is where his power resides in.
  

Near non-existent pulse on the lifeline

What with all the other activity, it's been ages since I've wrote anything in this blog. As a faithful reader, you should already know that I lead a busy life, having some 17 children, being a political activist, writing blogs for a living, and having a part-time job as a programmer, to make a few quick extra bucks on the side.

Also, I've been somewhat employed writing my post-humous autobiography beforehand. It's best I put it all down before forgetting everything. My earliest memories, from about 3 years and so forth, are already getting vague. Beware, kids, alcohol will ruin your memory. On the other hand, alcohol will make you want to reminisce about the good old times, thus improving your memory. Go figure.

So, here's a few (non-bicycling related) thoughts I've been thinking about lately. (The bicycling-related thoughts are in the other blog.)

• Dimmu Borgir. While I think that it sucks that they kicked out ICS Vortex (and to a lesser extent, Mustis), the new album kicks ass.
  
• Peter Hook. He's coming to Helsinki to sacrilege the classic Joy Division album "Unknown Pleasures". Which is good. I don't mind the sacrilegion, I just want to see my idol and witness if the strap on his bass is indeed as lengthy as they tell me. I'd pay money if he sat on the stage and drank beer.
  
• Rush. They're coming to Helsinki this spring, and this time we'll have a party! (I don't know what happened the last time. I suppose I was depressed. As were most of the people in the audience.)