A Red Hat And A Head Of Curly Hair

Pat Motro and I have known each other for over xxxxty years(a gentleman never tells)since she was a freshman at Barry College and I was their photographer. When I went over to Bonnie Schwartzbaum's house last Sunday there she was! Busy getting stuff organized for the door to door campaigning later that day. But this isn't about the campaign. Or the hat.

This is about HAIR!!! Everybody is always telling me to get a haircut. This has been going on since I was a kid. Today started out by my going over to my ex's house to change the plug on a lamp cord and get the two packs of cigarette tobacco that she'd brought back from Germany last week. Fritz, Claudia's dad, rolls his own like I do and always sends me a couple of pouches. Then I had a cup of coffee, played with her two dogs, and listened to some variation of the theme "When are you going to get your hair cut? You look like a bum!" Finally I said goodbye, I left, and I headed over to the Chamber of Commerce.

Penny Valentine immediately started in on me with "When are you going to get that damned hair of yours cut? You look horrible, simply horrible like that!" and on and on and on...but the rest of the day was uneventful. Until tonight.

I went to Starbucks, got some coffee, and was sitting out on the patio about to light one of those cigarettes I'd rolled with that nice strong German tobacco. A sexy looking blond woman in a black dress came out of Starbucks, and as she walked by my table she said "I have to tell you that I just LOVE your hair!" but she just kept on walking. When my head stopped spinning I looked back over my shoulder. She was sitting at a table with a guy who was completely bald.

I Wonder What I Was Thinking?

Here's another one of those photos of me from the era of wide collars, bell bottoms, wild prints, and long hair. I remember the shirt was sort of a royal blue with an off-white pattern of what looked sort of like rope. It was most likely shot by my wife Stephanie. She also would have chosen the location because of the way the light highlighted my curly hair, played with the structure of my face, and accented the luminosityof my light blue-green eyes.

Of course there is that ever present pen visible clipped in my shirt pocket, along with the bulge of a pack of Camels. Someday I'd love to meet a reporter who actually carries their own pen and paper when they're not actively on a story, and most of them seem to forget it when they are! And they still bum cigarettes with an "Oh, I finally quit, but every once in awhile I get the urge..."

As for what I was thinking? I ain't got a clue!

Damned Hair Is Turning White On Me!

I guess that I should consider myself lucky. My scalp isn't showing and my hair is still nice and thick but as I look back through the photos here on the blog it's pretty obvious that it isn't as brown as it once was.

A few years ago the city put in this plaza in front of the art museum and next to city hall. I honestly don't remember exactly what this "event" was all about but the Public Works guys set up a bunch of these little pavillions. As usual I was early. People were still setting up and the crowds had yet to arrive. Just out of frame on the left is a Starbucks. It's maybe 80 meters away from me, smack dab in front of the art museum. I walked over to get a cup of coffee while waiting for some people to show up.

Now there's talk about Starbucks closing that location. Not enough business. But across the street to the north is the Luna Star Cafe. Alexis was pissed when Starbucks opened there and now she can't wait for them to fold up and leave. If you're at N.M. City Hall, the Museum of Contemporary Art, or just visiting some of the many galleries in the area stop into the Luna Star Cafe and tell Alexis that you read about it here. She also has a variety of food items and something no Starbucks carries ~ imported beers and wines.

Your Tax Dollars At Work (At Last)

The very first day of the month you turn 65 you're suddenly covered by America's version of socialized medicine, Medicare. If you join an HMO you discover that even the co-pays are minimal or non-existant. My "primary care" doc even suggested which HMO to join. Decisions such as this are likely based on such important medical considerations as which HMO lets him see me the most often for a minor chronic condition or which HMO has the largest roster of his golfing buddys on their roster of approved doctors.

Within days of the start of that Magic Month I was suddenly getting referals to get every possible medical test known to science as eager doctors and medical testing labs seemingly came out of the woodwork, buckets in hand to milk the Cash Cow. I think that the only thing that they overlooked was whether or not I might have a propensity towards ingrown toenails (I don't). For a couple of months the week didn't go by when I wasn't subject to a test or two, or off to see a specialist.

Going from seeing a doc once or twice a year, mostly because I really HAD to, to becoming such a fixture in their examination room that we're now on a first name basis sure is different, as is discussing whether or not the knockers on the new receptionist are really that high and firm sans bra. I've also discovered that doctors, male docs anyway, are constantly kvetching about sex, or lack there of. "My wife never puts out, but if I divorce her she'll take me to the cleaners!" is a common refrain. Another frequent complaint is hair, or lack there of. It seems that a lot of guys in the medical field start losing it early. They look longingly at my big mop of the stuff, and they never fail to inquire about my secret. I tell them "Hell, you're the doctor! What do I know! I dropped out of college in the first semester!" Then I try to make them feel REALLY bad. "The secret to having a full head thick curly hair at age sixty-five is to screw lots of young chicks on a regular basis" I tell them.