Consequences be damned

Generally speaking, I'm not the type to "dare", even less "win". I certainly don't scream "Consequences be damned!" at the top of my lungs near often enough. This is of course because in my own personal universe, doing something like that seems a little... foolish. It would seem that it is, more often than not, not the consequences who end up being damned, but I myself. And that's not really what you're attempting with all the screaming.

Yeah, so I went to the hair-dresser-stylist-whatever-the-kidz-call-it-nowadays. The result? A significant portion of my hair being removed, as well as a significant portion of the cash I had on hand. But that's not all, oh no. Other, stranger side-effects reared their ugly head. Since I usually don't ask consequences to damn themselves, I figured I'd go ahead and do it today. Just for the hell of it. An outright lie, to be sure, but what happened is that I ended up with a new hairstyle. Which is pretty big coming from a guy who switched once in the third grade, once in highschool, and then once in university. I walked in, a hairstyle was suggested to me, and I took the bait. I was powerless to resist. Worn down by the ratrace, or whatever folks get worn down by these days.

"You look like the singer in a band. A rock band. Only one that doesn't actually sell any albums" This is the reaction from the first person I met after what shall henceforth be known as "the incident". And with a bit of imagination, I can see the way to make that appear to be a compliment. Or not. Naturally, publishing a picture might seem to be in order. I, however, harbor no wish to be known as the one who destroyed the internet.

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This past weekend, some people thought it might be nice to give egg-sales a shot in the arm. They came up with the quite frankly puzzling concept of Easter, which seems to be a holiday dedicated to eating lots and lots of eggs while looking at cute, overly fluffed-up chickens, without letting your subconsious connect the dots.

As a rule, I'm all in favour of holidays. The more, the merrier, I say. But I like the regular kind the best, for example The Weekend. Or, perennial crowd favorite, Spring Break, which is so much better than the weekend, because the time off can be spent pointing and laughing at people who actually have to work. Easter does not fit either category. It's worse, it's the True Holiday. During which you're expected to do stuff, carry on traditions so that your offspring will also get some sort of heart attack from running around trying to get that final gift for their cousins' kids at some point in the future. And watch TV. And be "in the holiday spirit", whatever that is defined to be. This, I'm actually ok with. However, I just cannot stand the fact that at least in this country, things grind to a standstill. Why does everybody has to be allowed time off at the same time? Society ceases to function just because a jolly guy in a red suit who struggled with a BMI-problem had to go around delivering murrh to random people in stables 2000+ years ago. Or something.

Well, yeah, my main problem is that not one of the three pizza-places we tried to get takeout from on Sunday night were open. On the same day, I had managed to get my bank to call me and discuss, uhm, things. Who the hell needs to do banking on what is actually known as a "bank holiday"?! It's right there in the name! For crying out loud... I say, move all the bank-people over to the pizza industry on holidays, and everybody would be just that little bit happier.

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Three points to anybody who can guess where I took the picture. All-comers welcome.