Churm; the barber
Well, I rediscovered Churm Oronte's adjunct at Hinterland University musings again. Maybe if I return to academia, it should be for one of those newfangled creative writing "PhDs."
Within the strict promotion and tenure expectations of Real Lit, first, I'd have to do a five-chapter dissertation for a PhD. Then, to get to tenure, turn that diss into a book, and then publish another book after that, while fulfilling service and teaching assignments for five to seven years. Seems like too much work and pressure to get a Real Job at approximately age 35 (i.e. the tenured professor position).
So I went and got my final Tucson Haircut. The guy botched the left side of my head, above my left ear. He doesn't use the attachment, just the shears with a comb. I don't really mind -- he's done this before. The hair grows back quickly. Nobody's like Ron Thraen in Harlan, Iowa. He of the Winstons and of the Hawkeyes.
As for a Tucson Tattoo, which I considered momentarily (my wife's got a tattoo), I will pass on that one, too. An ear piercing? Pretty radical. I think it's better to accept my Racial Fate, as a white son of a Scandinavian Lutheran father and a Irish-German Catholic mother.
We don't go for what's fancy or fashionable. We go for ostkaka (below). We go for $10 haircuts, work clothes from JC Penney's, a good sirloin steak with potatoes, dinner in Red Oak with Grandma at Johnny's.
We go for long lives with a good wife, dignity, forebearance, bad weather, used cars, and breakfast reading the local paper.
I'm moving to Minnesota soon, and I'm turning 26 this summer (less than a third of my life has passed), and I'm proud to have Grandpa Schenck's widow's peak already showing.