6:57am: I realize, for the first time ever, that “Hat trick” and “Patrick” rhyme.

Two minutes later, I remember with a start that I had a dream about Tom Green last night. I muse about how dated goatees look now.

I wonder what, in the future, will stand out as the extra-awful trends of the 2000s. Belly buttons? Trucker hats? Giant fake tits?

I marvel at the staying power of the insane male baggy pants fashion. I suddenly remember back to earlier in the morning, when I watched the local news. A school district wants to outlaw students’ baggy pants, shorts with knee-high white socks, and “gang-related hairstyles.” I wonder if I misheard “hairstyles.” Or does being a Blood mean having a specific cut and style? Wouldn’t it be great if that style were a Dorothy Hamill?

Have you seen Dorothy Hamill recently? She looks great!

I cringe at the memory of being very drunk in college when a bunch of arty asshole friends of my decade-older brother gave me a haircut. They thought it was funny to saw bits of hair off using can opener, nail clipper, etc. And it was funny — until Svennie (who always took things that extra step) grabbed scissors and a fistful of my bangs. And he cut them off, right at the skin. I looked like Peter Gabriel when he was in Genesis and had that puzzling hairstyle (above.)

I ruminate on my college friends for a bit. Some of them, I am sure, remember the haircut.

I need to do laundry.

I need a pedicure.

I’m officially late for work.