The Hair Crisis

                                                                                         VS.

Who would have guessed that the biggest decision of my adult life would come down to my hair?  Ha!  I mean, I guess I could have seen it coming but not really--no, not really at all.  You see, my friends, I am faced with the decision of a lifetime: I have scheduled an appointment with the barber tomorrow at 2:30PM and I have to tell him whether I want t redo my vintage eurotrash mohawk/mullet (with lines on the sides) or if I want to scrap it all and go with an all-new adult professional haircut.

As laughable as this “crisis” is--this decision actually really does symbolize a very significant decision in my new non-student adult life.  You see, for the last 6 or so years, my hair has played a very large role in my identity.  I’m Wyatt Baker, I have crazy hair that screams my name from a mile away.  I’ve had everything from mohawks to mullets to skin bald to blue dreadlocks and everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) in between.  Yes, for brief moments in time I have had normal, professional-looking haircuts but these moments were only ever transition periods from one dramatic haircut to the next.  But this time if I choose to get a professional haircut it will be for the express purpose of getting a professional haircut--it will not be a means to an end, it will be an end itself and  that would be historic for me (if I choose to go with the professional cut, that is).

Essentially this decision is me deciding if I can getaway with my adolescent/college era extreme expressive-ism for another few months or if this really is the time for me to take my first step into the dark unknown--the adult world.  This will not be just like any other decision I make.  I’m pretty sure that once I take the plunge into the adult world there will be no turning back.  The era of “Wyatt’s Hair” will be over and a new era will begin.

So as embarrassing as it is to admit this, the decision regarding this haircut has effectively made my world come to a screeching halt.  It’s perhaps one of the biggest decisions that I will ever make: Will I choose to continue my free-loving, no-strings-attached adolescent/college lifestyle (which might I add is a lot of fun) or will I choose to end that phase of my life and consciously make the decision to begin my new adult life?  Am I ready to give up my unique image that I’ve worked so hard to cultivate over the years (an image that I have grown around and come to rely on)?  Am I ready to be judged not by my appearance but by my merit and ability?  Do I have what it takes?  I don’t know.  Am I ready to take this plunge or should I make the most of my current situation of total autonomy?  The decision is mine to make.  What will it be?

Below is a photo gallery of my various hairstyles over the years (from about 2005 to 2011) to commemorate this phase of my life and make this decision that much more dramatic and difficult.

The Science of Apathy

For the longest time I had a lot of trouble understanding apathy and even more understanding apathetic people.  I have always been a very vivacious type of person and  I always assumed that apathetic people were just lazy, like they just had some kind of inherent thumotic inferiority--lacking passion or libido or something.  But after coming to terms with my own recent apathy, I view this condition in a completely new light.

I now deduce from firsthand experience that apathy is not a lack of passion at all--in fact it is far from it--apathy is the (usually subconscious) surrender of oneself to ones immediate circumstances.  Though the manifestation of apathy is usually subconscious, it is nonetheless, rational.  It is typically a natural response to exhaustion--utter physical and emotional exhaustion which results from a seemingly endless uphill battle to find ones niche--a place where your passions matter, where they are not only appreciated but are useful/needed as well.  

When someone is unable to find a place where their passions are truly valued emotionally or monetarily (sometimes those two are one in the same), the option that seems to be the most efficient use of time and effort is to drop those passions and embrace the impulse of letting circumstance dictate your life.  It’s situations such as these that cause people to embrace quick fixes and things of immediate gratification and abandon long-term goals.  This is essentially what has happened to me this past year.  I went from someone who is so full of passion that it oozed out of my ears to someone who struggles to get out of bed each morning.  I went from someone who showered every morning and afterward picked out the outward artistic expression of my thumos in a perfectly manicured outfit every morning to someone who smells because I almost never shower and dresses like a homeless person.

But after having a lot of time to take a step (or two or three or four) back and reflect on my life, I think I can pinpoint precisely what the cause of this regression is: the feeling or perception of unvalued passion.  The devotion of two years of my life to student leadership where I was resented by those I led, the unappreciated efforts to rebuild my family, and the constant rejection by prospective employers because my gifts don’t fit a specialized job description.  The accumulation of unvalued passions in my life eventually led me to a place where it felt as if I had no control over my potential success.  

My subconscious reaction, therefore, has been to redirect my passion toward situations where there is a guaranteed or guaranteed potential outcome of success such as immediate gratification via arts & entertainment, internet surfing, and the occasional partying.  These are all activities that I can customize--where I feel in control of my potential success.  If things begin to not go successfully, I can just turn it off or switch the channel or take another shot of tequila--easy fix.

The irony of it all (which I am fully aware of) is that in order to “gain control” over my life, I have essentially forfeited control of my life to someone or something else--I am now at the mercy of my circumstances, less in control of my future than I have ever been yet somehow I still feel as though I am the most powerful I have ever been even though I know I am the weakest I have ever been.  Oh the sacrifices people make in order to push buttons rather than think, in order to have the ability to turn it all off.  But it’s not control, it’s slavery--yet it feels so right.

I know now that I will never judge homeless or unemployed people the same way ever again after my experiences this past year.  Mostly they are people who feel completely powerless who have taken what they see as the most effective path to taking control of their lives: taking on the small things in life that can’t or don’t fight back.  After all why go out and face potential rejection when you can win all day at home on the internet, on the TV, or with a bottle of Jack?  Am I right?

Well there’s the “Science of Apathy”, it wasn’t as scientific as I had hoped but it’ll suffice.  Anyways, if you’ll please excuse me, I need to go take my daily dose of Soma.

The Last Stop Cop Shop

Ever miss your stop on the train because you slept right through it? Either from too much work or too many drinks you find yourself waking up in Coney Island? You might even notice a few things whenever it happens. An MTA worker sweeping out debris or maybe a homeless person or two sound asleep. Whether you're above or below there's usually some other grounds to notice. What might otherwise be called "The Last Stop Cop Shop."

Often times there's one or two designated officers who patrol the platform in order to protect NYC but, from what exactly? Suspicious packages that managed to make it to the end of the line? Beggars that are renewing their energy in hopes of soliciting more money from people at each stop in the opposite direction? Whatever "criminals" we're being protected from it often seems that they're more often chosen than they're actually discovered. It appears that one of the most common train violations is on account of those dreadful social misfits who occupy more than one seat at 3 o'clock in the morning. How dare these subway criminals pass out on a train in a city just as notorious for it's party lifestyle as it is for it's work. Can you imagine such careless neglect from people? Where is everyone else going to sit at 3 o'clock in the morning?

How many times have you ever noticed a homeless person sleeping over more than one seat? Whenever they're discovered by the police most times they're at least given a wakeful nudge or at most scolded. Yet whenever a white or blue collar has carelessly fallen into the same violation a prompt summons is in order. In the event that such a person is without proper identification at the time (such is the case with many of the homeless) than the law seeks justice with handcuffs and handlebars. God forbid such a person had work the next day, hard to imagine that a jail pass is as good as a hospital one.

From which point such mischievous criminals are handcuffed, processed, (emphasis on the following word) wait, and see the judge where the whole ordeal won't take anymore than a meek 12 hours to a subtly less meek 2 days (depending on where they're processed). As grieving as the whole mess may sound it should at least be relieving to know that according to the law, justice has been achieved.

So altogether, a working class violator is eligible for 2 days of food, a bed, and possible job termination for taking up two seats. Yet an unemployed homeless man gets a nudge. Why? Well this is a city where spiting is illegal and smoking in public parks and benches is about to become illegal. NYC justice doesn't seem too quick about wasting it's time with such questions.

The Midtown Community Court coaches a quality of life class that attempts to cure the community from social infections like double seat occupancy. When I asked one of the coaches about what else the city planned on doing to address the vice of such belligerent seat criminals I was assured that they were not criminals, that according to the law they were mere violators. When I asked a coach why such violators were then treated like such criminals it provoked a curious expression that wanted to know what was meant. Such an expression inspired a question of my own curiosity. "Is there some sort of special edition pair handcuffs that officers use to escort violators off to jail with?"