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David Spates Oh, how we fret over our hair My, we are a hairy bunch, aren't we? It's a wonder we ever get anything done at
all. We're obsessed with our hair, and not just the hair on our
heads. From head to toe, we're covered with the stuff, and managing
it all seems to give us fits. For me and my fellow grunting men, our biggest
hair concern is whether we will lose the hair on our heads. If
we have already taken a step down that shiny-domed road, we then
concern ourselves with where the retreat will halt, the thought
being that a little hair is better than no hair at all. The pool from which my genes were quarried
would indicate that my hair is not long for this world, and yet
here I am starting my 30s and everything seems to be where it
should be. My mother's father is bald(ing) and my father's father,
who has passed away, was bald(ing). My father also has lost a
considerable amount of hair over the years. Yet despite a deck genetically stacked against
me, Carol Ruhl, who has been cutting my hair for decades, seems
pretty certain that I won't be going bald. Apart from Shaquille
O'Neal, she's seen more tops of heads than almost anyone I can
think of, and I'd like to think she can spot a Kojak candidate
before the first follicle hits the shower drain. Given the choice,
I'll take Carol over Mendel any day. I have noticed a gray hair or two, however.
I'm torn with the appearance of gray hairs. On one hand, it means
my body is changing and bodies usually don't change for the better
with age. If they did, no one would ever die. But on the other
hand, at least it's a hair. I've got to be happy about
that. Hair care is a multibillion-dollar industry.
It's truly a growth industry. (I know, I know -- that was a cheap
one. I feel ashamed. I'm not sure what came over me. A professional
like myself should be above dorky lines like that, and yet there
it is. I'll request that the judge strike that line from the
record and instruct the jury to disregard it.) Anyway, like I said, hair care means big money.
Without a doubt the most ambitious hair-care product is the Flowbee.
In case you missed the commercials from the late 1980s and early
1990s, the Flowbee is the revolutionary invention that allows
you to cut your own hair, saving thousands of dollars in barber
bills over the course of your life. Using the power of your very
own vacuum, the Flowbee sucks up our hair and then precisely
cuts it to whatever length you desire. According to the fine folks who make Flowbee,
"With the Flowbee Precision Haircutting System, you get
professional hairstyling results in the convenience of your own
home. In fact the system is so simple and precise, you can give
yourself a perfect cut ... even with your eyes closed! The results
should be a refreshing haircut without the prickling sensation
of hair all over yourself." Now, plenty of products look intriguing when
you're watching TV at 3 in the morning. Many's the time I've
nearly dialed the toll-free number for a George Foreman grilling
machine, a shoe-slicing Ginsu or a Popeil Pocket Fisherman, but
the day I connect blades to a Hoover and proceed to shear and
vacuum my head will mark a new low in personal judgment. I'm
just not sure who thinks the Flowbee is a good idea. Have you
ever known anyone who owned one? I haven't, and let's just say
that I'm fairly certain I could identify a Flowbee user in a
crowded room. We love -- and hate -- our hair. It's a constant
battle and an ever-present source of worry. Sometimes I think
it would be easier to be a reptile than a mammal - just shed
your skin every so often and move on. |