If you didn’t know any better this might seem like The Greatest Bullshit Story Ever Told. Thank you books!
I’m developing a distinct, but not severe (yet), bald spot aka alopecia areata (AA). I never knew since I’ve shaved my head regularly (2-3 times/week) for the past 10 years or so. While performing that task today I checked the stubble on my noggin closely in the mirror and the truth is in the picture. Undeniable. Truth.
What hurts most is that my wife kept it a secret for all these years. I was thinking of letting it grow out again some day, but clearly that’s not gonna happen. Better bald than a combover. Oh well. If you have the opportunity please link to this post using the search term “Lars Dahl’s Bald Spot“. Being #1 on Google would be a consolation for me in my hour of distress. Go Rush, they know what I’m talking about!
Bald Man’s Creed (An Homage to the Bald Spot)
This is my bald spot. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My bald spot is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My bald spot without me, is useless. Without my bald spot, I am useless. I must polish my bald spot true. I must polish shinier than my fellow baldie who is trying to out-bald me. I must lose more hair than him. I will…
My bald spot and I know that what counts in life is not the follicles we lose, the futile scratch of our combs, nor the clogged bathtub drains. We know that it is the flakiness of the scalp that counts. Scalps will flake…
My bald spot is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its gloss, its softness, its smoothness, like a baby’s butt. I will keep my bald spot clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will…
Before The Celestial Tea Pot, I swear this creed. My bald spot and I are the defenders of my dignity. We are the masters of our domain. We are the defenders of my noggin.
So be it, until the science of medicine discovers an actual cure for male pattern baldness, there is no ally but Rogain!
Watching YouTube videos in the new, higher resolutions (>1080, all the way up to 4K) crashes my computer. That’s right; bona fide, old school blue screen of death. Which means I’ll have to disable my browser plugin that automatically plays all videos at their highest available resolution. Sucks to be me, I know, with all the extra clicks I’ll have to go through.
Here’s the video that alerted me to the problem. See if it happens to you, too.
I’m not advocating going complete vegan (although I tried it for roughly 6 months once, and I’ve never felt better), but there has to be a better way than this. Turkeys (and all sorts of animals and critters we raise, keep and slaughter for our own consumption) are God’s creation too. God gave us dominion over all creatures, in the air, on land, and in the sea (not really, but I’m using religious references for effect), and as such they deserve ethical treatment. There’s a right way and a wrong way to handle this responsibility. Whenever possible I urge you to avoid giving your money to the industrial food complex. If you require the flesh of dead animals for nutrition and sustenance and/or celebratory purposes, the least you can do is purchase your dead animals from someone who let them have a good life (for as long as it lasted) and then killed them in a humane way.
Here, enjoy Chris Rea’s The Road To Hell in the mean time.
Most of the best and most legendary songs in rock history weren’t made by wunderkind instrumentalist wizards and divinely gifted singers, but rather by average-to-good musicians whose sum of combined parts (unsure about grammar/syntax here) where greater their individual talents. That’s when magic happens. There are exceptions.
I’ll admit, though, that this solo by Zakk Wylde is pretty hairy.
Edit: On second thought it is pretty much just noise. While he certainly can play guitar I find his repertoire to be limited. Definitely not top tier. But he does have the sound that Ozzy needs.
Gun nuts all over America are getting their knickers in a twist over comedian Jim Carrey’s Charlton Heston spoof and mockery of gun nuts, rednecks and hillbillies. Guys, you need to unclench, pull out the stick and relax. Even shit aimed at you can be funny. And this is. Funny as hell. Life is too short, if you know what I mean. (Click the expand button in the lower right corner to minimize the impact of the annoying iTunes ad.)
This part I plagiarized just to save time:
British rock guitarist Alvin Lee, founder of the band Ten Years After who burst to stardom with a memorable Woodstock performance, has died. He was 68.
A statement posted on Lee’s official website said he died Wednesday March 6th unexpectedly from complications following a routine surgical procedure. Lee’s manager, Ron Rainey, said the guitarist died in Spain.
This part is all mine:
I have never been a huge follower of TYA or Alvin Lee. I’m too young to have been in on it from the beginning; about ten years short of being of the true Woodstock generation (which turns out well, or else I would have been 63 instead of my youthful 53 today), but I really like some of their stuff, I recognize their influence on generations hence and it’s always a sad day when a true trailblazer of the art form of Rock and Roll dies, particularly when it’s prematurely. I would say RIP, but I don’t believe in that shit. It was nice to have him around for as long as it lasted, though. He made the world a better place.
Here’s Alvin Lee playing Hear Me Calling in Budapest in 2010.
Here’s Slade, one of the many bands influenced by Lee/Ten Years After doing a helluva cover of Hear Me Calling.
Joe Biden didn’t mop the floor with Paul Ryan the way Romney did with Obama last week, but he won every single round, got in a couple of good zingers that made Ryan wobble. It looked like a boy fighting a grown man. The boy lost. Ryan didn’t under-perform as much as he was out-performed. The race is still on.
I think Romney violated one of his articles of faith and had some Red Bull before he went on stage last night. He may go to hell for it, but it paid off for him (in the short term, I don’t think he’ll enjoy hell). He looked energized, confident, even comfortable (for the first time in the entire campaign) and dominated the debate.
I don’t know what Obama had been drinking, maybe somebody slipped him a mickey; he looked unprepared, timid at times, and dazed by Mittens’ attacks. At first I thought maybe he was rope-a-doping, letting Willard tire himself out, but he never came off the ropes like Ali did, and the punishment continued. While it didn’t end in a KO, it was, in my expert opinion as a couch pundit, a victory for Romney. Not so much in content (Romney was his usual, lying self), but in performance, and that’s probably what matters most to a largely uninformed, ignorant and attention-span challenged electorate.
Oh yeah, Jim Lehrer just had to have his last moment of glory, but failed miserably. Instead of going out on a high-note, he fizzled out with a whimper. He was aiming for Greatest Moderator in history, instead he will be remembered as a doormat. Hubris will get you in the end