June 27, 2002
11:04 a.m.

    I feel exposed.

    I feel naked.

    Additional layers of clothing cannot compensate for the tangle of hair I used to maintain.  Reaching inches beyond my shoulder blades, I used to wear my hair like a shawl.  Now it is all gone.

    Perhaps I am being a bit too dramatic.  I wanted to cut it because it is hot, humid, and sticky.  Brushing all the knots out took twenty minutes, when I cared enough not to look disheveled.  My ends were split and it was uneven and falling out (malnutrition ... blah, blah, blah).  Barbers always seem too want my hair shorter than I do.  Since I was not totally butchered and it is still longer than shoulder length, I do not have an appetite for vengeance.  If a local hair salon should go up in flames, I have no motive because I think my hair looks just fine.  And now I'll only need one box of dye to make it redder.

    This will, however, take some getting used to.  My hair has not been this short since I was fourteen or fifteen.  I am accustomed to pulling it back with my hands and having a foot-long ponytail, not three inches.  Samson I am not; my mental capacity is intact.  My hair was the one thing separating me from all the other normal people whose hair is short enough to manage.  I feel so ... mediocre.  It will grow back.

    Today Ronn, Lauren, Cameron and I are going into the city to watch a taping of the Conan O'Brien show.  Last night I learned Adam Sandler and Chris Meloni from Law and Order will be on.  I admit to watching Special Victims Unit and knowing all the words to the Chanukah Song.  This is going to be one great show, especially for Conan who frequently has guests like Tony Danza and the guy from the Pizza Hut commercials.  

    Graduation, on Tuesday, was nothing special.  Graduations are usually the same every year.  The only difference was, under different circumstances, it would have been my graduation.  I do not feel I missed out on much: people mispronounce my name all the time.  It would be no more meaningful to have the principal do it. It was mildly surreal to see all the people I grew up with formally confront this transition.  I found Jenna and gave her a hug because I am proud of her, and she still rocks whether or not we are best friends.  

    Recently, I wrote a letter to the paper about what an awful idea it is to kill trees in order to set up a memorial for 9/11 victims.  Today, I learned they printed it.  My Dad said it was too wordy.  I was trying to say as much as I could in two hundred words, so some of them had to be florid.  Expressing my distaste was my main goal.  Starting an uprising is not on my agenda.  Hopefully, people will think about the ridiculousness of killing things to honor the dead before they do so.  I suggested they plant trees, and we can hug them all day long.  It will not be nearly as convincing without my hippie hair.