You know, there are some days in every man's life when he looks in the mirror and can not avoid noticing the tell-tale signs of age.

There are wrinkles forming around the eyes. George Bush could not engineer the level of recession happening with your hairline. There is a dull, flat reflection in your eyes where once they held a playful spark.

It's decision time. A man can summon up his courage, delving into every past experience for the wisdom and fortitude to accept the inevitable passage of time with dignity and grace. He can hold his chin high, knowing that the gray hairs project the character which comes from life-lessons hard won. He can smile at himself and enjoy the comfort of those things around him that he has earned; his wife, his home, his security.

Or, he can do what I did, yell "Fuck that shit," at the top of his lungs and go for broke.

Yes, my hair is now bleach blonde and I'm wearing it spiked.

Ain't that a kick?

I love it. My wife loves it. My friends at least like it. (My favorite comment this weekend was, "You look like a bad guy.")

One of my friends, a dear friend who I would never expect to think twice about radical changes, wouldn't even look at me for more that a couple of seconds at a time. She kept looking away, as if pulling the blankets over her eyes would make the monster go away.

Moments like that make me smile.

And this morning at work has been a hoot! I haven't seen so many mouths open in disbelief since O.J. Simpson was found innocent.

It's been a blast.

Joseph Haines, signing off from The Edge of the Abyss.