So last night someone said my hair was going thin on top.
I’m not down with this. Not at all. I’m a big hairy dude. I can’t be going bald. If I go bald, I’ll look like a Bond villain. And not one of the cool Bond villains, or Smallville era Lex Luthor, not one of those guys who has money and power and beautiful women throwing themselves at them. Oh no. I’ll look like a freaky Bond villain, probably played by Donald Pleasence. Or Dr. Evil.
Okay, I might be over-reacting. There’s genetic precendence for me losing my hair though. And, while, say, Patrick Stewart can carry off the bald thing, I don’t think I could. I’m going to die, bald and lonely, in a house full of comic books and cats.
And news like this (and here and here, the idea that the London Planetarium should be shut down in favour of a show about celebrities, will just make what hair I have left fall out even quicker, so fate is working against me. Can we dumb down much further? It’s like the whole world’s going crazy; some branches of religion hate science, science is made to take a back seat to celebrity ‘culture’, the arts are shunted in favour of reality TV, and faith, science and the arts all lose out in the process because a) the world’s getting smarter but simultaneously dumber, which is quite a trick, and b) because the three can’t somehow work together to illuminate the full range of human experience. Weirdly enough, this article at Relevant seems to have something to say about all this, even though I’m acutely aware I keep touching the top of my head while I’m reading it. This hair-loss thing can become an obsession. Maybe it’s time to buy a hat and visit the Planetarium…
So that’s been the last 24 hours – baldness, impending lonely death, no more star-gazing, and a headache brewing. Whoopie-doo!