I knew I'd need to get my hair cut, what with its reliable habit of growing and all that, and that left me the past month or so deciding whether I should get it cut today and risk it maybe being too long for the wedding, or maybe get it cut later and risk looking like I do when my hair is too long, rather like I've for some reason detonated an Abyssinian guinea pig and worn it on my head. Some days it looks worse than that. But I finally reached the point where any rational person would agree I needed the hair cut, potential imbalance at the end of June notwithstanding, because I was going through too much shampoo.
The visit was more or less normal, with my barber going on about his usual retinue of subjects, particularly since it was finally getting warm enough that women were walking past the storefront in beach-suitable gear. (His shop is in a shore town.) He claimed that a reality TV producer had asked about setting up cameras in his shop to record the goings-on, and he refused, because if his wife heard what gets said when attractive women go past he'd get killed. Might be bunk, but it at least left me feeling a bit worse about being male. He also asked when I was getting married, and I said, ``Oh, the 30th'', which almost made him drop his scissors. He'd figured he was just clowning around. This launched him into a good round of explaining how he'd been cutting my hair going back to about the reign of Aethelred the Poorly Advised and how my mother goes to his sister for her hair and how I was too brilliant for wherever it was I was working, which is all flattering and also plain nonsense.
Since it's nearby I went from there to the Silverball Museum where I didn't just have a pretty good round on the electromechanical games but also had one game where I thought I'd set a new table record. No such luck, I'm afraid: I had mis-read my score, accidentally inserting an extra ``1'' somewhere mid-digits, so I was actually a smidge over one-tenth the table high score. (And I happened not to get to the machine where bunny_hugger set her table high score so I can't report whether it yet stands.) Well, it left me bubbling over with visions of a very low-level glory while it lasted.
Trivia: Among the early proclamations of the Royal Society after its 1660 foundation was to note the value of potatoes in times of crop famine. The advice was ignored until after famines forced the overcoming of anti-potato prejudice. Source: An Edible History Of Humanity, Tom Standage.
Currently Reading: Symbolic Logic, Lewis Carroll, Editor William Warren Bartley III. The first part is as Carroll published and as went through several editions in his lifetime. The second part is made up of notes for a more advanced book which was never published in its entirety until Bartley got a bit obsessed on the subject.
PS: What Lewis Carroll Says Exists That I Don't, stepping just into the world of things that don't exist, which invites all kinds of trouble I don't even start to mention.