I whacked my bush off today. No, it not what it sounds like. I mean I got a haircut. Think the kid who usually does my hair has left. That's what I understood from the new guy who gave me a Marine cut told me, if I've translated it correctly.

New guy's ok. Did a decent enough job but tried to engage me in conversation, which isn't my thing. Thankfully, I was engaged in a flurry of text messaging at the time so I was sufficiently distracted while he could concentrate on the job at hand.

Preparing for "Rent" opening night. Got complementary tix and we're expected to dress for the occasion. Dress code: Ghetto glam. Anyone know what that means? I interpret it as rapper-wear with lots of bling-bling. Ripped T (bearing "Yo' Momma" or some other vernacular idiom), baggy jeans, Nike treads, slick shades, NY Yanks baseball cap worn backwards, big-ass Mercedes hood ornament dipped in gold-plate hung round the neck on a security chain... Adrian tells me it means smart-casual. Oh. Well.