Shenannigans Ahoy!

Twenty years ago, when I was turning 50, we were planning on going out to Arizona for a couple of spring training games with the Angels. The Long-Suffering Wife knew folks who knew folks, and I got to meet Bud Black, who was their pitching coach at the time.

It was important to me at that milestone birthday to do something truly unexpected, silly, whimsical, surprising, childish, and quite possibly stupid. So the day before the trip, on the way home from the office, with no one having any idea that I had any plans, I stopped and got my hair died “Bozo red.” It worked – no one saw it coming, folks were astonished, some were irate, most were just “WTF??,” and doing it has always been one of my favorite memories. As the Long-Suffering Wife sagely noted, it’s just hair, give it a couple months as it fades and grows out and then I get a haircut and it’s back to normal.

With the current milestone birthday coming up later this week, and with us again having plans to go to spring training for a couple of days, I decided a while back that I would do it again The “unexpected” and “surprising” elements are gone, replaced more by the question of “what color?” I was leaning toward blue…

I found a local salon that could do it and was in fact excited to see what they could do. I wasn’t particularly picky about the exact shade or color, but said that I wanted total strangers to be doing double takes, for one and all to be wondering “WTF is WRONG with that old dude?,” with bonus points if it was vivid enough to be seen from space. Alonzo was my chosen artist, I was but his blank canvas, I wanted him to go for it.

First I had to get bleached. I get that it’s just the color that triggers the comparisons, but I think that I look like Guy Fieri of “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” or Gary LeVox of Rascal Flatts. An interesting look for future adventures perhaps, but just an interim stage for today.

Let the dying begin!!! With this thick, heavy, colored goo on and the little pompadour flip in the front, I felt like a punk Bob’s Big Boy statue.

The look, out in the Sun, is ***AMAZE-BALLS***!

I am in no danger of being hit in a crosswalk as long as I’m not wearing a hat.

The most bizarre thing keeps happening because I normally don’t see it at all for hours at a time. I’m at my desk, I’m working, maybe after hours I’ve been watching the World Baseball Classic final game. My brain knows that I did this, but the only physical manifestation that I can sense 99% of the time is a different smell from the sprays and goops that got rubbed into my hair to “finish” the masterpiece. Minor smell, zero visuals.

Then I go into the bathroom, go past a mirror, and, “HOLY SHIT!!!” Yeah, it’s happened several times already.

It’s a good thing. I love the look, I’m hoping it’ll have the effect and send the message that I want, and so far it’s working. The handful of friends and family who have gotten pictures are universally supportive and amazed and complimentary. And frankly, especially at the age of 70, I don’t care about the haters and the nay-sayers. I’m having fun, I’m being silly, and if someone doesn’t like it or is somehow offended, well, that’s their loss and their problem, not mine.

Next – Arizona for spring training.