At Julian's semi-birthday dinner last night, Jane drank two shots of Old Potrero spirits and joined the haircutting part of the festivities. After Julian had his bad doo fixed for an audience of five, I went under Jane's scissors, feeling a bit shaggy beforehand and eager to see something new on my head. Her tipsy blades left my hair in a state that causes her to laugh or apologize each time she looks at my head now today in the cold sober light of Sunday. I don't mind - I've wanted to have a mullet of my own for some months at least: something entertaining to do with my hair. Jane says my hair looks slightly post-op, like patches were unevenly shaved for electro-shock therapy. Jane's mom kindly pointed out that it will grow back.