Gah. It's a little early for me to be feeling this way, but I want a haircut. It's been nearly a month, and I'm way overdue for one. I'm a firm believer that no man over the age of 40 needs to be sporting long hair... especially when one has the hairline I inheirited.
Here's the rub, though. And no, I don't mean that really tasty Cajun rub you put on your meat the night before you're going to barbeque it. I mean the "thorn in my side" rub: The theater I'm about to go work for has asked me to stop cutting my hair.
If I ever give up acting, it's gonna be because someone made me stop cutting my hair. There's a reason I don't wear long hair, my friends. It's because I look awful in it. I look like a shaggy dog. Or at least I used to look like a shaggy dog, way be before my hairline reached the arctic circle. Now I just kinda look sad and wispy, like a crazy orchestra conductor who's seriously lost his leonine shit.
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