My wife should be leaving me any moment. Not according to her, though I'm sure she's comtemplating it every other minute nor according to me because I remind her often that she's the only one who will put up with me.
No, according Keith Hernandez and Walt Frazier. Why? Because I have some grey hair in my beard.
"Oooh, shut down again. No action for Mr. Greybeard!"
-from the "Just For Men" ad
I've had grey hair since I turned twenty which was about...I can't tell you because if I'm to achieve a career as a screenwriter, I'm to lead you to believe that I'm only twenty-five. I've had a hard life gathering and gaining experiences toward my writing, so I only look older. Yeah, that's right. Actually I'm twenty-five and six months.
Young writers are alledgedly desired by Hollywood because they are more in touch with the youth culture, thus more in touch with the key demographics or so I've been told. There was a female screenwriter that passed herself off as nineteen year-old on a WB show which made her extra precocious and desired as a writer. Of course once they found out she was thirty-two, she got the boot. Writing ability be damned.
So people tell me that until I'm an established name, to play it young. Yeah-ah, I luvz that rapper Forty-Cent. I play his jellys, er, jamz, at my crib all da time, yo!
Getting back to the present as opposed to the delusional future...after a rather intense writing session, my grey hair has a tendency to stick out. Both on top of what is left at the top of my head and on the beard. It never fails that a coworker will point out to me that I have grey hair as if this were entirely a new revelation.
Whoa, Procrastinator, your hair's turning grey!
"Whoa," is that right?! And you know, fish swim, the sky's blue except over Los Angeles, and (insert your own obvious Bush-bashing joke right here)! I laugh it off the first two times until the same damn coworker(s) bring(s) it up again the third time without a hint of irony or sarcasm. I realize that I'm not quite at the salt & pepper stage, but my hair does not turn entirely to black and back to black and grey at whim.
Why do I tolerate this verbal abuse anyway? I'm here, my hair is grey, get used to it! Forget about "gay" rights, what about "grey" rights?!
Now excuse me while I try to convince the Missus not to leave or push me in the face like a hottie at a bar, just because I don't use the "rejuvenator."
Labels: Mr. Greybeard