Haircut.

Since it's spring break and I'm not down in Florida going to wet t-shirt contests and turning over cars with packs of drunken frat-boys, I decided to get a haircut. Yep, I'm a man of action. I tend to only get my hair cut three or four times a year. But despite only getting my hair cut occasionally, I hate having my hair get too long. I don't have anything against long hair, mind you, in fact, ten years ago during the grunge days I had hair longer than J. Mascis from Dinosaur Jr. But now that I'm getting old and decrepit my once flowing locks are falling out at a rapid pace. On sunny days I can signal aircraft with my shiny bald spot. When my hair gets a little too long, I look in the mirror and cringe at how I end up looking unnervingly like the late Carl Sagan. Then I have an overwhelming urge to say, "Billions and billions.". It's a horrible sight. It's a wonder I don't run into the barber shop screaming, "Cut it off! Cut it off!"