I think They Might Be

I think They Might Be Giants said it best: Everyone in this town is trying to burn the foreheads down

What is the deal with bangs on TV? First Elisha Cuthbert with her unfortunate hairdo on 24, now Jennifer Garner on Alias and Portia deRossi on Arressted Development. I’m sure there are more, but I can’t bear to watch. The bangs are hideous. Long, scraggly, hanging over eyebrows. I miss the foreheads. PLEASE, STUDIO EXECS, BRING BACK THE FOREHEADS.

And on a totally different hair note… Fauxhawks are out? I love the fauxhawk. If I was a gay man (or even just a friendly metrosexual) I would totally wear my hair in a fauxhawk. Fauxhawk fauxhawk fauxhawk. But apparently they’re out. And I just found out what they’re called. Damn.

********edit 5/16/04********

I’ve noticed a lot of people are searching for "fauxhawk" and the lovely google is sending you here. For your appreciation, a picture:
It’s David Beckham, the most fabulous metrosexual there is, sporting the grandaddy of all fauxhawks. You can also check out Bradley Cooper from Alias. Back in season one he had a mean fauxhawk going on. It was more subtle than Beckham’s, though. A second-generation fauxhawk, I guess.

I am an asshat Half-assery

I am an asshat

Half-assery vacuuming – not moving chairs / toys / dog out of the way

Half-assery dusting – not moving pictures / remotes / dead bugs out of the way

Half-assery laundry – leaving clothes in the washing machine for three days before finally having to wash them again, but in cold water this time (to preserve miraculous tiny-numbered gas bill)

Half-assery book writing – playing with blog / journal thing for an hour, editing book for ten minutes, eating some chips

Half-assery posting – realizing half-way through post that “half-assery” really sounds better as “half-assed” but refusing to change anything because ten minutes ago the word “half-assery” was the funniest thing I’d thought of all day.

Now I don’t even remember what I thought “half-assery” meant.

3-< (that's supposed to be a picture of my butt head. Looks like a boob head. Eh. Either way.)

Come here you underbelly, you.

Come here you underbelly, you. Would you like a nice wittle tummy rub?

Just a few days ago I was making fun of the narcissitic bloggy underbelly. But deep down inside I knew the underbelly and I would get along just fine.

So here’s a haiku to mark the occasion:

web narcissism
forcing my mundanes on you
where is my mirror?

mundanes? eh. poetic license.