hair lip

Hair probably has its evolutionary roots in the cilia of single celled organisms. We begin life with but one hair, victoriously whipping around the ova in which it has embedded itself. Real hair, with follicles and a blood supply follow, but are a remnant of evolution, themselves. People are covered in thin silky sheets of soft, stunted hairs. Of course, the hair was once thick, and served as a natural clothing against the elements, the cold. Still, with so many other kinks straightened in our species' history, we remain with full heads of fur. There is no practical need for this headdress. Patterned hair loss amongst males does not cause terminal brain freeze. It is predicted future humans will be bald, but I don't buy it. Hair holds an animalistic allure, like the spread fan of a peacock. And we are inseparable from our history as animals.

Some German exchange students came through my town when I was about sixteen. My sister, who they had met when she was sixteen, promised them a place to stay if they ever toured America. My mother was out of town when their purchased '86 shit box station wagon pulled up in my driveway. I invited a friend over, and we got smashed on domestic. I remember them telling me one thing they took away from knowing my sister on her class trip to Germany in high school. That was, that there was a difference when speaking of 'hair' and 'hairs.' I remember my first party with German exchange students. I also remember my first hairs. It was a big event, I thought some had dislodged from the bar of soap with which I was fruitlessly trying to lather my delicates. But, no, they were firmly attached. What I didn't stop to ponder, was why. Of all the places to grow hairs, under two tight layers of cotton. I'm reminded of a friend who introduced me to the mind bender of, "Did the hand make the face, or did the face make the hand???!" He was a college friend. No, the human body is as radially symmetrical as it is reflective. Another way to describe it is the way an Earth Science teacher of mine did, in eighth grade. His true beliefs were kept from the classroom, if he was not a universal agnostic indeed. We studied the Flat Earth Society, and my mind wandered all over it. Quite a contrast from the seventh grade Life Science teacher I had, who took it upon himself to cut the chapter on evolution out of the curriculum. He mentioned that the chances of evolution occurring were that of a printing factory exploding, and all the letters landing in an unabridged dictionary. The Earth Science teacher explained that nature is lazy. Which, would explain why the utilitarian skull bone we know as the pelvis, also tends to grow hairs up on it. Take note of the mostly useless nipples men possess. When advocating for evolution in a locker room debate about this time in junior high, my adamantly religious friend snapped, "If there's no God... Why, then, do men and women fit together like puzzle pieces?!!!" I was a little shy about sex at the time, and didn't offer a rebuttal. I might have said, being a hobbyist at the time, 'Well, because He doesn't have the patience for model shipbuilding.'

Now, I'm coasting down the prime of my life, with a full head of hair and not two gray hairs. Many people comment on my hair. When it's long, they'll say; hair like that looks good short. Or; I really like your Afro puff. When it's being cut by a professional; you really have some hair. My sister mentioned it was like topiary to cut. It's been braided, shaved, matted, naturally dreaded, cut drastically, cut conservatively. Recently, I've discovered pomade, which is a biofusion cosmetic. The shit is like Vaseline's Italian cousin Vinny. Pomade is a commitment. It takes several batteries of liberal dish soap to strip the hair of it, and another week of allowing oils to replenish before you get that clean squeak back. While it's in, it's like trying not to pick at a scab, or you'll get your fingers gooey. You sleep with it, and it creates a shellac on your pillows. However, it straightens my curls for eighteen hours, and gives me a look like I maintain my aught-eight bedhead hairstyle.

It's punky, which sums me up, so I've been looking into coloring it. Back when I was twenty and attending technical college, I dyed it jet black and played around with some hair gel. I didn't know what I was doing when I dyed it, and ended up getting the dye all down the sides of my face. I figured the best way to clean up was to use Lava soap. This left abrasions, which I painted over with my mom's makeup. An ex-con at my school spotted me with the makeup and had a heyday. The last day of class, he brought it up again, "Remember when George came to school wearing makeup!!!?" I wished I'd researched his record on the Internet--"Remember when you broke down that girl's door, and...? Well, maybe I'm glad I didn't.

There's a girl in my life, I call her my girlfriend, and we're both cool with that. She has hair, and the like. While paging through some photo albums, I noticed a particularly good shot of her with cut bangs. So I opened my mouth and said, "You'd look really good with bangs." It really amazes me how that little tongue roll on the 'You'd,' the ''d' defines the meaning of the sentence. Where, if the ''d' was not present, she may not have decided to cut her bangs right then and there. I protested, that I didn't want to be the deciding factor for someone; not you; to cut her bangs. Well, she did it, and her hair is all around kind of short to begin with. The short bangs only took getting used to because I practically did the snipping. She assured me she was thinking of it, and I value from her that I clinched the decision. In her bathroom, I picked up a big curling iron type thing and asked if it were a hair straightener. She replied yes, and I mentioned I always wanted to play with one of those. Prior to all of this, while we were perusing the aisles of hair coloring in some Mart, she showed me a box of "Blue Black," that she'd like to apply to my hair. I cringed at the memory of the makeup I applied the last time I dyed my hair black. But I was also sent back in time in TV Land... There was this show called Love Line on MTV, and it was hosted by a comedian and a real doctor. I believe the show is still being aired as a radio show, perhaps on the Internet. The episode I saw on my television featured a young man, Asian, who had this question for the doctor: "My girlfriend wants me to dye my pubic hair blue. Is that safe? She wants blue pubes. My girlfriend wants blue pubes." He had blue hair, and it looked pretty fly. I couldn't help but envy this guy. One, he was Asian and had straight black hair without trying, and three, it sounded like he was just from and headed to a whole lot of cheeky sex. Not only that, but I thought I could learn from him. One, these are the sacrifices one makes for their other. And also, if she thinks it's cool and you don't know, you ask a doctor.

Whether I'll dye my hair is up in the air. It's not that I wouldn't. Though, I kind of told her I wasn't all about it, already, and I felt it become touchy. I'd scalp myself for this girl, but that's not the alternative I want to offer her. Nor is it how drastically I am opposed to dying my hair black again. I suppose I'm a little vain, I look in shop windows at my reflection so much every cashier and barista on my circuit probably thinks I'm creeping on them. There's a nice glass door in the control room of the television station where I work. My brown crown of thorns reflects nicely. I just don't know if the door is reflective enough for black hair to give me the same feedback. Then, if I can learn anything from working in television, it's let Makeup handle the makeup.