Today Scylla died.
(pause here for my ghostly laughter)
I have had a lot of shit go on in the last six weeks, more than in the last fifteen years.
I’ve realized that I’ve been hanging on to some decaying corpses for a long time and pretending that they still live. I guess we can call this thing a midlife crisis, but the motherfucker was fucking precipated by events.
So, yesterday I went out and bought the Essential Bruce Springsteen. I grew up a Jersey Boy, and all through my life the soundtrack (whether I’ve willed it or not) has been Bruce. It’s been about fifteen years since I’ve revisited this soundtrack of my life, and last night I listened and drank beer and meditated (that is to say I drank beer and got maudlin listening to Bruce, but “meditation” sounds so much more significant.) The thing I like about Bruce is that he lays it all down and tells you what it all means.
So, I awoke and felt I needed a change. A superficial one perhaps, but one that nonetheless would symbolize my inner rebirth and abondonment of the detritus of the past.
I looked in the mirror.
I’m going bald. I’ve known this for sometime, but it’s one of those things that creeps up (or in this case back) on you. I looked at the tuft of hair on the front, and the “flock of seagulls” action I have going on to deemphasize the bald spot.
One of the things I’ve been holding onto is the corpse of my hair.
“Fuck it,” I said and grabbed the clippers.
“Do I really want to do this?” I asked the face in the mirror. It appeared he had misgivings, too.
So I did it. I started at the sides so I actually a rakish mohawk for a minute or too. Meanwhile, the kids and the wife are wondering what’s taking so long and are banging on the bathroom door.
When I’m done with the clippers I grab the razor, then I shower.
I open the door to the three women in my life.
“AHHHHHHHH!” says my wife
“AHHHHHHHH!” Says number one daughter.
“Hi!” says number two daughter (this is the only word she knows, but if you can only have one it’s a pretty good choice.)
“Daddy’s bald,” says number one daughter.
“That took some guts,” says my wife. “Maybe not a lot of sense, but I will give you guts.”
I am a fucking cue ball, and they all laughed over the death of my hair.
Today though, at Lowes, God gave me a boon, and I swear this is true.
I’m in the checkout line, and there’s this attractive young lady ringing up the customers. She does a double take and then gives me a huge smile.
“Oh my God! For a second there I thought you were Bruce Willis. You look just like him!”
Then my neighbor saw me. “Hey, it’s Bruce Willis!” he said.
So I looked in the mirror again. I really do look just like Bruce Willis except younger. HAH!
Hahaha!
I practiced some steely-eyed squints, and goddamn if I didn’t look tough as shit.
Ironic isn’t it? By listening to one Bruce I became reborn as another Bruce!
“Hey honey,” I called. “You ever kiss a bald guy?”
I will be sure and fill you in on more details of my rebirth as they occur. I’m still working it out, but so far I’ve decided to renounce being a Republican, I’ve determined to sign up for Bullride Mania, I’m going to do the 100 mile Western States race, and the Iron man triathlon withing the next five years (JFK 50 miler this fall,) and take 4 vacations a year instead of the one I’ve been taking. I’m going to be a more open husband, a better father.
And I’m going to give up having sex with livestock.
