Of course, my hair's baby fine, not very dark reddish-blondish-brown, and very straight, so they only show when it's pulled back, more's the pity. Maybe I can get those cool Bonnie Raitt streaks going by my widow's peak.
In any case, I'll be 33 this September. "Time for the cross or the bodhi tree," as Peter Mulvey wrote. I feel rather pleased with myself to have survived this long, and I'm contemplating having a 33 & 1/3rd - year birthday party in January. Possibly coupled with a book launch party, if I can find an appropriate place (Maybe in Toronto, or Hartford).
I don't usually bother to celebrate my birthday all that much, and the big 3-0 was kind of eclipsed by 9/11 and losing my job--but a third of a century seems like a pretty good place to pause and look around.
In other news, I still have post-novel ennui. Wake me when my brain no longer feels like it's been scrubbed out with brillo pads, please.