Flipper and Chili have bad hair. I blame society. Chili's hair is inspired by Harvey Dent. It's wiry straight on the left side, and wiry crazy curly on the right. Brillo-pad like. He's got to keep it short, or he looks like David Letterman. Flipper has a heart-shaped face, with glasses and a pointy chin. I think the only style that'll be flattering to him is long. Which the Sysmistress is loathe to do. She hates hippies.

We cut the twins' hair ourselves (in much the same way that we would shear our sheep if we had any). But the older boys need a little more finesse than we can muster. I took them to Sport Clips. What a big mistake. Sport Clips is a chain of hair salons catering to men and boys who are too insecure in their masculinity to be seen at a stylist who caters to both sexes. Big TVs tuned to ESPN. Autographed, framed jerseys on the wall. And "stylists" who aspire to one day actually learn to cut hair. The boys looked ready for the short bus when we were done. And much like the dilemma of sending back food that's been over-cooked, there's only so much you can do with a bad kids cut. Other than cut it all off.

While we were there, Chili spotted the signs for the "VIP treatment", which included a neck massage and a steamed towel for your face. I got him one of the towels. But I decided that if they gave him a massage with the same skill and care they applied to his haircut, he'd have years of chiropractic care ahead of him.

Back at home, Chili and I were playing poker. Holding up his cards, his nails were extending almost 1/4". "Damn, Chili. There are women who would kill for those nails. But to me, you look like Wolverine." While we were clipping them, he was eyeing this foot massager thing that was in our bathroom. I set him up in a recliner chair, in the foot bath, while he watched "Thunderbirds."

Flipper was sitting in the room with us, reading a "Teen Titans" comic book. He was alarmed by the insinuation that Monsieur Mallah and the Brain had/have an unrequited love. The thrust of the comic book was that once the Brain was transplanted into a clone body, they would consummate their love. "They're both guys! That's kind of sick." "Hey (Flipper), one of them is a gorilla and one of them is a brain in a jar. Let's not get caught up on sexual orientation, I think there are more prominent taboos in play here."

Chili and I spent the rest of the morning doing his birthday ritual. We ride around on my bad motorscooter, going to as many park slides as he is years old. Nine this year.

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