From Punk to Monk: Or, Why I Shaved My Head

I shaved my head. Immediately previously, I sported a somewhat absurd mohawk for a couple weeks. It turned out I looked nothing like David Beckham, like I'd expected. But now all my hair's gone, and I feel free.

Probably because I routinely spent a lot of money on haircuts, I was constantly being told how nice my hair was. Hair-fellation is undoubtedly the first chapter of stylist training. (Chapter Two: Holding client's hair out with one hand, tilt your head and look at it wonderingly.) But you tell me my hair is nice enough times, and I'll start to believe you. And so I began to feel pretty vain about my hair. I'd been starting to believe this recently and it bothered me. Someone once told me that the only reason girls have hair was to attract guys, and she was right. Well, a few weeks ago, I decided I should try to rid myself of my vanity, even if only temporarily. And so I waffled for a little bit, and then went for it. The same way you do when you are about to purchase a plane ticket somewhere far away and finally click the purchase button.

And now all my hair's gone, and I feel free. What a feeling. Shower times have been minimized. Hats, caps, and helmets pose no second thoughts. I lost two pounds. I can now jump as high and with the same aerodynamic-athleticism as Michael Jordan. Why just yesterday, I even spoke to a bald man with deeper human understanding and mutual respect.

Let me tell you: now that I've gotten rid of all my vanity, I feel pretty damn good about myself.

Protesting Guns in America.

Of course I'm afraid of the NRA. They have guns!