γνῶθι σεαυτόν

I got my haircut today, in a salon with exculsively female tunic-wearing staff. I may have gotten slightly aroused. It occured to me (when I caught the faint whiff of seven working hours’ sweat mingled with her perfume as she moved around me, running her hands through my hair) that getting your hair cut by a member of the opposite sex is a bit like getting a lap dance or sleeping with a prostitute; you’re paying to have your prick teased, and your ego massaged by someone that flatters to deceive for a living. It’s a somewhat odd situation. Other than the fleeting brush with enduring female sexualism, I don’t enjoy getting my hair cut much; I never know what I want as I sit myself in the seat, and I try to convey my vague notions to the hairdresser through a succession of references to obscure musicians, actors and footballers she’s never heard of, and I end up with a style that isn’t unentirely not what I didn’t ask for. This time wasn’t so bad; I managed to get across that I just wanted a trim as I’m trying to grow it longer; it’s not quite Shoreditch standard, but it’ll do.

Maybe my struggles with haircuts are symbolic of my struggles with life in general. I don’t know what I want or what suits me, I just want something that doesn’t cause me too much trilogy. I’ve come to the conclusion that I might not long for happiness after all, and that I’d rather settle for equilibrium. I find myself expressing an interest in golf and snowboarding and becoming determined to carry out some joinery work in my sister’s house. I’m saving up for a house and a car; I have a pension and have joined a union, but I’m also learning about music production and I still find the Guardian too right wing for comfort. In short, I haven’t the faintest idea who I am or who I’m becoming, which is mildly unsettling. Am I returning to the middle class stock I was born into, somewhat against my desire to remain (at least notionally) a socialist, working class proleterian?

I have become smitten with a song from the new Doves album, Kingdom Of Rust. Called ‘Jetstream’, it’s an imagined closing track to Ridley Scott’s Bladerunner, and I think it’s absolutely magnificent. It harks barks to Jimi Goodwin and the Williams twins’ days as dance act Sub Sub, merging subtle electronic flourishes and drum machines with Jez Williams’ always elegaic, atmospheric guitar playing create a dark, brooding and utterly wonderful track. Perhaps my appreciation of its merits can be guaged by looking at the Last FM play stats at the right hand side of this page; I listened to it about 24 times in a row last Friday night alone.

Now I am away to watch a DVD or perhaps play the Xbox. I might venture over to Edinburgh tomorrow and see if I can’t get into Murrayfield for the rugby.