We finally finished watching My So-Called Life yesterday, which led to a contest to see who between my sister, my mother and myself could best duplicate the hair toss so often seen on the show. When I won, I decided it was officially time for a haircut.

Wanting to look gay, but not too gay, and hoping to avoid a repeat of the summer two years ago when I shaved my head for no reason, I took Daphne G with me to the mall. She decided I needed to look like Ashton Kutcher, so we spent twenty minutes sitting in Master Cuts, trying to find a picture in one of the stylebooks that looked like what Laura was talking about.

When they called my name, Daph explained to the stylist what I wanted done. The stylist assured us that wouldn't be a problem and Daph ran outside to smoke.

The second she was gone, the stylist and I had a bizarre conversation:

STYLIST: So, how do you want it in the back?

ME: Um, just even it out so it doesn't look all knappy and homeless.

STYLIST: So what did you want me to do again?

ME: Um...

STYLIST: Do you just want it short on the sides and the back?

ME: Uh, didn't you see the picture?

STYLIST: Tell you what. I'm just going to give you a normal guy's cut and if she comes back and doesn't like it, you can just tell her it was your idea.

ME: Um...kay.

What the fucking hell are you supposed to say to that? Luckily for her, the experiment didn't go completely awry. I paid $11.95 for a haircut and I got the haircut and the haircut accomplished what I'd set out for it to do, i.e. make me look less unkempt and homeless. Granted, I had to go in the bathroom and play with it for half an hour, but at least I look presentable. And it all fits inside my hat now when I go to work. Yay!

Daphne G went so far as to call it cute, which was so sweet I almost bought her some ice cream, but then I realized I needed to put more than 97 cents in the gas tank if we wanted to get back home, so we didn't get ice cream. We didn't get ice cream, I didn't look homeless, I didn't shave my head, and I didn't look like Ashton Kutcher. Then again, that's a tough standard. All in all, it was a good day.

Dear Alex Trebek,

Shut up. No, just shut the hell up. I've been watching Jeopardy! for as long as I can remember, and not once do I ever remember laughing at anything you said. Stop trying to be funny!

Your job is simple, Alex. You read the clues and tell people whether their answer is right or wrong. You're not a stand-up comedian. You don't have a naturally funny personality. Most of the thousands of people who watch your show each night are not related to you in any way; therefore, they feel no obligation to laugh at your "jokes." Why waste time writing them if no one is going to bother listening?

Listen Alex, I know you're a nice guy. You're really good at enunciating. It's not you, really. It's the show. They're trying to turn America's favorite quiz show into a comedy hour, but they're only succeeding in running it into the ground. They doubled all the point values. They introduced the Clue Crew, which I still don't understand. The contestants have gotten increasingly boring, which makes the interview period a delightful treat. And on top of all this, someone made the mistake of telling you that you were funny.

On behalf of America, let me disabuse you of that notion right now. Alex Trebek, you are not funny. Go judge a spelling bee.

Later
Pat

P.S. Could you talk to the writers? I mean, "Poe-pourri"? What is that? And I think they're leaning on the quotation-mark categories (you know, where every correct response begins with the letter or letters in quotation marks?) way too heavily. Tell them to quit dumbing it down. Thanks, Alex. You're a peach.

Reading: My So-Called Life recaps at TWoP. Watching: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days Listening to: Jeremy Broomfield Surfing: KateWhite.com