July 24, 2005
Bad News for the Hairless Herr
Well, crap. Here I spend all this time and money on business school, learning to say things like proactive, synergies, mission statement, and best practices with a straight face, all for one thing: the freakin' benefits you get when you land a corporate gig.
I did it all: bought the navy suit, went through the interview (if you were a small animal, what kind of animal would you be?), negotiated a salary, even got a freakin' Dingleberry (or Blackberry, or whatever they're called).
Only to find 'twas all for naught. Only to find that the non-hirsute male worker bees are once again getting shortchanged. Turns out, my lousy health insurance won't even pay for me to get a hairpiece.
At least, that's how it is in Germany, according to this story on MSNBC. Apparently it's common for German health insurance to pay for hairpieces for women who need them, but not men, the rationale being that hair loss is more traumatic for women than for men.
Not being a woman, I couldn't argue the issue authoritatively; however, I can speak from the viewpoint of a man whose own hairline has taken a turn towards the translucent in recent years. While I'm confident enough in other aspects of my rugged good looks not to be overly traumatized by the apparent migration of my hair from my head to my back (eeewww, but true), I know other men not equally blessed in the hunkiness department who go to great lengths to fight off or conceal the inevitable. For those men, this latest German ruling strikes another blow to their already poorly insulated egos.
So despite the nice plastic Blue Cross card I got from the Evil Corporate Giant for whom I toil, I guess I'm stuck taking the Gillette approach to my own less-than-prominent hairline. But that's okay with me. After all, shaving one's head is a way of taking back control of the situation. For unspoken reasons, it's far hipper to be bald than to be balding. The latter says "I'm losing the war." The former says "I meant to do that."
Yeah. That's the ticket.
Whose Bad Line Is It Anyway? - Re-redux
Yes, folks - it's time once again for even more first lines of unwritten novels, coming to you from the mind of the person voted "most likely to have been dropped on his head as a baby" by his high school class:
The Daily Haiku
Recommended Reading
Fat Ollie's Book - Ed McBain
In addition to being a terrific addition to the 87th Precinct series, this is also a full-length "inside joke" for writers, offering a hilarious look at a none-too-literate cop's attempt at writing his own Great American Novel.
I did it all: bought the navy suit, went through the interview (if you were a small animal, what kind of animal would you be?), negotiated a salary, even got a freakin' Dingleberry (or Blackberry, or whatever they're called).
Only to find 'twas all for naught. Only to find that the non-hirsute male worker bees are once again getting shortchanged. Turns out, my lousy health insurance won't even pay for me to get a hairpiece.
At least, that's how it is in Germany, according to this story on MSNBC. Apparently it's common for German health insurance to pay for hairpieces for women who need them, but not men, the rationale being that hair loss is more traumatic for women than for men.
Not being a woman, I couldn't argue the issue authoritatively; however, I can speak from the viewpoint of a man whose own hairline has taken a turn towards the translucent in recent years. While I'm confident enough in other aspects of my rugged good looks not to be overly traumatized by the apparent migration of my hair from my head to my back (eeewww, but true), I know other men not equally blessed in the hunkiness department who go to great lengths to fight off or conceal the inevitable. For those men, this latest German ruling strikes another blow to their already poorly insulated egos.
So despite the nice plastic Blue Cross card I got from the Evil Corporate Giant for whom I toil, I guess I'm stuck taking the Gillette approach to my own less-than-prominent hairline. But that's okay with me. After all, shaving one's head is a way of taking back control of the situation. For unspoken reasons, it's far hipper to be bald than to be balding. The latter says "I'm losing the war." The former says "I meant to do that."
Yeah. That's the ticket.
Whose Bad Line Is It Anyway? - Re-redux
Yes, folks - it's time once again for even more first lines of unwritten novels, coming to you from the mind of the person voted "most likely to have been dropped on his head as a baby" by his high school class:
Surgically enhanced breasts look really weird in zero gravity, observed astronaut Bud Lansing as he floated past Senior Medical Officer Maribell Stone on his way to the cockpit.
* * *
Herb leapt out of bed with a song in his heart and a spring in his step (which turned out to be one of those little springs that makes a pushbutton ballpoint pen work), as eager to inhale the fresh morning air as a spaniel sniffing a strange beagle's butt.
* * *
The trees were a verdant canvas on which playful gods painted a dappled mosaic, some with oils, some with watercolors, whilst tiny birds chirped in the branches of the sycamores, oaks, and maples, their airborne antics caught and frozen in the streaks of sunlight that managed to poke determinedly through the foliage.
NOTE: You need to know my antipathy for description in general and for the word verdant in particular to truly comprehend how painful it was for me to write that. Jeez, now I feel like I need a freakin' shower! Unclean! Unclean!
The Daily Haiku
No Pain, Rogaine
Sadly, it would seem
my Blue Cross won't spring for an
HMO toupee.
Recommended Reading
Fat Ollie's Book - Ed McBain
In addition to being a terrific addition to the 87th Precinct series, this is also a full-length "inside joke" for writers, offering a hilarious look at a none-too-literate cop's attempt at writing his own Great American Novel.
