Okay, so my haircut is in three hours and 25 minutes, and I’m having major doubt and related disquietude. Oh, the pathetic problems of the shrinking middle class…

This hair scares me...and I'm realizing how easily mine could go there.

So it’s hair. It grows back. I know these things.

I like change, that’s not the issue.

The issue is looking like a mess: and not a hot one. Or, more specifically, having something on my head for six months that looks like a dirty mop on a good day. And this morning I turned on the TV and saw Joan Rivers and others tearing apart the new haircut of Keira Knightly, at which point I realized it looked almost exactly like what I was thinking of doing!!!

And this is a gorgeous woman. You could argue that nothing could undermine that, and you’d be right. Well, you’d be right until you saw this hairdo. Then you’d be forced to admit that it’s truly distracting and not in a good way.

And then there are the color dilemmas. Blonder? Browner? Redder? I constantly change my mind. I should probably just give up and start wearing wigs.

I was kind of settled to go back to being lighter, more golden, and then I saw that movie Hereafter yesterday (meh. I had a lot of plot complaints, and if you’ve ever seen a movie with me and I’m unhappy with the character’s consistency or unclear as to what is motivating them, I point these things out over and over in a frustrated whisper. “Why is he acting like such a dick? He needs to get therapy and get over himself.”  ”If you ask me, learning that someone was dumped at the altar is a major red flag. Normal people don’t get dumped at the altar. Something is way wrong with that chick. Mark my words.” I’m sure it’s super annoying which is probably why I was brightly told at the end of the movie, “You could be a film critic!” Did I go too far when I suggested the French lady hadn’t just suffered a concussion during the tsunami incident, but obvious brain damage?)

I do kind of like this fake red hair color.

Anywho, Bryce Howard (or whatever her name is. The daughter of Ron Howard) is in it and she has this nice, really dark red hair that I was eyeballing, but then there’s the whole “that’s a really fake color, even on a natural redhead like the Ron Howard chick” issue. Or is that an issue? But red fades – and fast – and that is an issue.

So there’s the red and the going lighter (or more toward my natural hair color), and then there’s going way darker or doing something super punk rock, like a bizarre color, which also appeals to me…at least in theory.

So I suppose we’ll see what happens in a few hours. Mostly – although she does not yet know this – I’m putting the whole overblown mess in the hands of my stylist, Lee. Along with two dozen photos and a rehash of what’s been written above – and probably some firm instructions in the vein of “please don’t set me up with something that’s so much work that I can’t pull it off and/or end up looking like Phil Spector when I roll out of bed in the morning.” – it’s all about whatever Lee thinks it should be.

But enough about that. It’s hair: it grows.

What else is going on? Well, the McRib is back.

I never really knew it went away, but apparently it did…and now it’s back. And in limited supply. And only some stores, which has in turn created a frenzied hype such that someone has set up a website to track sightings of the elusive sandwich.

Oh Lord, that looks vile.

I’ve never eaten one, but now I’m curious. I can’t imagine it’s that good. I like ribs, but rehydrated and reformed ribs smashed between some cheap bread leaves me cold. That’s kind of the McDonald’s experience in a nutshell: you think “Ooh a Filet O’Fish. That sounds good!” and then you spend $4.00 on it and the fish is a tiny nugget in a sea of bad bread and tartar sauce and you wonder how they fooled you into this.

I imagine the McRib is similarly disappointing, yet still I’m curious.

I’m starting to wonder if my interest is some kind of subliminal advertising with a delayed-release effect that McDonalds implanted in my brain in my youth. Case in point: the Shamrock shake. It’s not very good. In fact, it tastes a little bit like grass and it’s the color of grass and maybe that’s because they discovered it’s cheaper to go with a 50/50 grass/mint mix and went for it. I don’t know. I don’t work there. What I do know is that as a kid, I would have committed crimes to get my hands on a Shamrock Shake.

Here’s the ad from that era, which offers up absolutely no clues as to the hold they had on me then and still wield now.

Vaguely insulting to Irish culture and definitely dumb, it got into my little mind and made me want things I hadn’t even known existed. Until this point, I associated mint with the jelly my mother served with lamb…not exactly a favorite food memory. But some bad dancing and fake Irish accents, and I’m all over the scene.

I’ve watched that ad a couple times now, and checked myself in the mirror for signs of mind control. My eyes are a bit dilated, but I’m not particularly hungry…although I wouldn’t turn down one of those breakfast potato hash brown things if someone showed up at the door with one, yet it would take that level of service to move me.  So maybe it’s not the advertising or the illusion of scarcity, but straight up doping?

My dad always accused them of putting an addictive substance into the Big Mac.

I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten a Big Mac (seriously. Too much lettuce. Too much bread. Not appealing), but there’s definitely something going on with the Filet O’ Fish. Speaking of which, I could kind of go for one right now. Alongside a McRib and some fries and and that thing where the bread is like pancakes and there’s a sausage patty inside. I have no idea what it’s called. Hell, throw in a Shamrock shake while we’re at it. I like to show up for my  equally dreaded and anticipated haircuts nice and full.