So, I recently cut off about thirteen inches of my hair.
But I am not here to talk about that - about what incredibly bravery it took to take that step, about the mental anguish I went through afterwards, about the resources needed to completely revamp my acting life - no, I am not going to talk about any of that.
What I would like to discuss is something much more insidious than any ghost story. More unnerving than both of Bush's presidencies. More troubling than Ethan Hawke's acting career.
I am speaking, of course, of Locks of Love.
Ok, maybe its not that bad.
Locks of Love is a really lovely organization that collects hair of a certain length from people willing to donate in order to make wigs for kids under 21 who have lost their hair due to medical problems or medications.
Seems kind enough, right?
Well, I was all set to become one of these righteous, selfless people who donates their hair to those in need. I get my hair cut by the wonderful Stephen Keough - do yourself a favor and get your hair cut by him if you live in the New York City area - and I came home with my bag full of hair, all ready to look up where I could take it and drop it off.
You can imagine my surprise when I got to the website.
All hair donations must be mailed to Locks of Love at:
234 Southern Blvd.
West Palm Beach, FL 33405-2701
I was completely floored.
For some reason, this completely weird-ed me out. I have to send my hair through the mail? Does that seem discomforting to anyone else?
My hair was apart of me, it was a big part of what defined me since I was 12 years old. And you just want me to throw that in an envelope and send it to Florida?
The more and more I think about this, the more and more I feel really uncomfortable.
You mean I don't get to see who actually receives my hair? What if some weirdo just set up this website and has this hair sent to his house. Just some creepy guy with piles of hair everywhere.
What if the person who opens the package doesn't do so with enough reverence? There should be candles lit (kept far enough away from the hair of course), other-worldly music must be playing, it should be laid on a pillow on a silver platter and gently carried to where it will be most daintily constructed into the most beautiful wig for the next spiritual leader of the new millennium.
I know what you're thinking, and yes, I know I'm not asking for much and these requests aren't out of line at all.
Its good to know you're on my side.
But instead it might be some guy named Billy Joe who just went to the bathroom (and didn't wash his hands, by the way), and is eating tater tots with the one hand, while he rips the packaging open and just tosses my beautiful golden-brown hair into a trash bag of other hair waiting to be carted off.
Of course I am going to send my hair in. Locks of Love is a wonderful organization that helps really deserving kids out there, and I am really honored that I get to be apart of helping someone feel better.
But still, kinda ranks up there with, like, sending a tooth through the mail.