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Dialog

Stylist:Ryan?

Myself [instinctively raising my hand]: Present.
Stylist: Hi.  Follow me.
Myself: Is there some place I can set this?
Stylist: Sure, over there.  So… what are we doing with your hair today?”
Myself: I need a trim.  Badly.
Stylist: OK. Where and how much off?
Myself: Like three-quarters, all around.
Stylist: Uh, three-quarters of an inch or three-quarters of your hair… what?
Myself: … of an inch.
Stylist: What do you want to do with the back?
Myself: Leave it!
Stylist: …and the sides, what about them?
Myself: I’m not sure.  Can you make me look half-way presentable without taking too much off?
Stylist: I guess.  Can you give me a little more to go on…?
Myself:  Alright.  I’m growing my hair out because I’ve got band pictures coming up.  I’m planning to sport a style that I need to grow my hair out for.
Stylist: Uh, alright… can you tell me what?
Myself: Yeah I guess… It’s kind of embarrassing — a Mullet — there I said it.
Stylist: Ha ha!  That’s really horrible.
Myself: Yep, that’s the idea.  This mop has been driving me crazy for months.  I hope the end product will be worth it.
Stylist: Glad you finally gave in and told me.  At least now I have an idea of what I can do.
Myself: I just want to look presentable without having too much cut off.
Stylist: Does your band have a photographer lined up?
Myself: Kind of.  Sears.  We’re gonna get their package laden with 11×17″s and wallets.
Stylist: Will you get to choose your own backdrop?
Myself: Counting on it.
Stylist: Is the rest of your band doing this?
Myself: No.  The mullet thing was my idea though my buddy has got a bad sweater in mind.
Stylist: You know what’s gonna happen, don’t you.  The day you get that cut it’s gonna snow or something and all the shops will be closed and you’ll be stuck with your “hair of the gods.”
Myself: Worse yet, I’d probably end up on the news or something.
Stylist: For sure.  Well I’ll do my best though it goes against all of my training and instincts not to do something with the back; you’re starting to get some wicked curls goin’ on.
Myself:  Don’t worry.  I don’t got to look good right now.  These have got to be the strangest instructions I’ve ever given a hair-stylist… like ever, ever.
Stylist:  Maybe so, but they’re far from the strangest I’ve ever heard.
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Reality Check

Now, I know OSX is not impervious to computer viruses.  However, I switched OS loyalty years ago because, compared to Windows, it was barely preyed upon.

Well, this past week I’ve had a DVD stuck in my disk drive. The disk would rebound off of some mechanical obstruction every time I tried to eject it.  I figured my laptop is 4+ years old, it’s about due for some issues; this must be the first of them.  Not a major problem, however my poor ass has no other means of watching DVDs.

This afternoon, following the recommendation of U-Dub’s IT department, I downloaded, installed and ran their newly endorsed anti-virus software.  Lo and behold, much to my embarrassment, it revealed the OSX/DnsCha-E QuickTime plugin trojan resided on my hard drive since January of 2009.

I cleaned the turd off and Dirty Harry ejected straight away.  From someone who actually programs for constructive purposes to all authors of viruses, worms and trojans: Destruction is a shit-ton easier than Creation.  Remember that flunkies.

Anyways, so much for living dangerously.
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How I know I’m nothing but a lameass(ed?) POSER

“Fantastic” emanated from my adviser’s lips this morning — at the end of a meeting I much anticipated/dreaded.

Probably mistakenly. 

Recent months of anxiety I had all but forgotten for that brief instant.  Validation I felt… as if he were capable of granting it.

Being the lofty idealist I am, my creed has always been: “Truth is your only validation”.

The problem is, the older I get, the more elusive “Truth” becomes.  Perhaps my adviser’s appraisal of It is the only criterion I have left.

Pathetic.

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The Way Things Should Be…

All psychologists should themselves get psychoanalyzed.
All surgeons should themselves get cut on.
All bus drivers should themselves ride a bus standing up.