Vanity, thy name is woman . . .

Yeah, I know it's really "frailty", but today I want to write about vanity. It's a characteristic I've always struggled with, well, always. I don't want to be a vain person. I'd like to think that I'm good, basically honest, somewhat kindhearted, maybe too liberal and naive, and that's what ought to count, right? Right. Often when I face my own vanity I feel like my friend to the right here is readying to say his famous line: "You're despicable!" Then I try to remember that a little vanity is normal, healthy even.

Where's this going? Well, it has something to do, I suspect, with what my dead white guy crew, Donne and Herbert, and I suppose Blake would have obliquely or directly referred to as the visage of pain, that look that people(yeah, I know they were mostly talking about Christ, not 40-something English teachers) have when they're in a lot of pain. You know the one, especially if you've ever lived with chronic pain; it's alternately a grimace or a blank stare. It's taut lips and a wrinkled brow. It's not attractive by any means, and makes its wearer (at least if I'm that wearer) feel less than competent, old, worn out, and for some reason very short.

Let's add to this visage the overall effect of my new, failed haircut, which I believe makes me look like I should be on the cover of an old Air Supply album. Hey, I know they're big in Germany (anybody get that redesigned Tom Waits' allusion), but frankly their look isn't one I want to emulate. Yes, they got the moon; they got the cheese, but they also have crappy, dated, somewhat mulletudinous hair.

So, what am I gonna do? Well, I'm going into survival mode. When Pin comes next week, she's going to do what she can with her phenomenal hair cutting ways. That's a lot of pressure to put on one very small non-professional hairdresser, but I know from past experience she gonna do some magic. And getting a haircut from her is so much fun -- she yells, barks out orders actually, and all around bosses me around while alternately jumping around and straddling me to get a better look at what she's doing. I'm aware that while I find these behaviors charming, they are important reasons why she should not become a professional hairdresser. Thank Gawd, as my family would say, she has a trade already.

But that's next week. What am I gonna do in the interim? Well, I'm going to dye my hair dark red brown and hope it makes me feel a little better. I'm going to eat a peanut butter/wheat germ toasty treat, and I'm gonna sit in my newly vacumned house, jubilant over the fact that I defied my doctor's orders and (very slowly and carefully, mind you) sucked up at least one dog's worth of dog hair yesterday. And I'm gonna grade some freshman papers, so I can feel like I'm doing my job, sort of.

I'm also going to upload a pic that my buddy Dave Loomis took of me in March to remind myself that better days are ahead, an icon of optimism of sorts. I hope you all have reasons to be optimistic as we charge into this beautiful autumn weekend.