I opened my big mouth last year and said I would grow my hair long to be donated to Locks of Love. That was about 12 inches ago. Now, not unlike a perfectly straight part down one side of the scalp, my thoughts are divided into two camps.

 

On the one hand, I want to keep the long, Wavy Gravy look, because frankly, I just don’t care. It is fun, no matter what others think. So … hmmm … maybe I will keep the long hair hostage here with me.

 

On the other hand, it may be time for a rescue to find a better head for this hair.

(Locks of Love accepts donations of hair and makes hairpieces for children who have lost their own hair during chemo therapy and such, fyi.)

 

But, I am also thinking it would be fun and perhaps beneficial to come up with some creative, media-centric stunt for the actual cut … Some way to gain more exposure for the charity. Wonder if I could create the perfect press conference and draw coverage?

 

You may know that in my 20+ years in communications, I have perpetrated a guerilla media stunt or two … some of which were quite successful.

 

So … how to lose the hair and gain a little attention? I welcome your thoughts and ideas, but here is what I have so far:

 

 

Clip At 10,000 Feet

I like this one, but there are some logistical issues. What would you do, tie the hair together before you jump out of the plane. A new friend back at The Sheraton in Jersey, Dominic who you may have guessed is an adrenalin junky/skydiver, suggested that I should jump out of a perfectly good airplane to cut off the perfectly freaky hair. Maybe … OH … almost forgot.  He also offered up his mom as a back up.  She cuts hair in New York at a ritzy salon … and Donald Trump is a regular.  Interesting.  I am leaning toward the freefall.

 

 

Hometown Style

Also on the short list is an idea reminiscent of my hometown, circa 1965, when our resident rebel tried to grown his hair in a fashionable Beatle cut … when his classmates summarily held him down and cut his hair. I could do something like that …

 

Two Small Fries

You know how little kids find scissors and then hack off their own hair? I have two little buddies, 3 & 5 … maybe I could let them give their own hair a break and have a go at it.

 

Modern Take On Ben Hur (Hur … get it?)

Have you see the classic chariot race movie, where the guys are buried up the shoulders, and then the chariots whiz by with blades attached. Pretty gruesome … I am thinking something more civilized. Maybe I could be buried at the beach and then trimmed with a weedwacker. Nah … requires far too much trust.

 

 

Most Dangerous Game

Ha … how about if I were to be turned loose on the Ping Farm and then hunted down by friends in a helicopter, armed with dart rifles. Now there’s a media friendly idea. Picture it. Blogger dart gunned down from a helicopter, netted and sheared.

 

Get Back To Ropin’ Roots

When I was a kid, my brother used to practice roping roping me. So for old times sake, I could be roped, tied and sheared by any of a number of horsemen in my hometown. This has potential.

 

Be True To Your Blog

This blog is supposed to be about Wi-Fi and technology, sometimes. So. thinking technology … How about programming a pair of robotic arms, with clippers operated remotely by some geek, using Wi-Fi … a la Edward Scissorhands. Creepy.

 

In Space, Down Is Up

Hmmm … booking a flight on a commercial space liner is pretty pricey, but hair floating in weightlessness would make for some easy trimming I bet. Hmmm … maybe just hanging from gravity boots would simulate a poor man’s overcoming gravity.

 

Anywho … I kept racking my brain, as my hair continued to grow for the two and a half months I spent in New York. One day, I was walking around Central Park and passed the now infamous Dakota — the apartment building where John Lennon lived and tragically was gunned down at the door. It really made me think.

 

Wait a second, if I had to narrow it down. Why did the guys in my generation want long hair anyway? Except for a few cases, I don’t think it was because Jesus and his early follower had long hair.

 

… Pretty sure it was because the Beatles made it vogue. (Can you see my gears turning?) The Beatles … John Lennon … The Dakota … hmmm … Well, obviously John is gone but his widow is still active around the world, doing music, performance art … Wait a second, I remembered that John and Yoko named one of their protests Hair Peace …

 

I thought I was on to something. Then I remembered that Yoko once did a performance art piece … circa 1964 or so … in which she sat in a chair on stage in a performance hall, and then members of the audience one by one cut apart her dress with scissors. Pretty avant, wouldn’t you say?

 

Yes, Yoko has some experience with scissor and hairpieces. So, why not?

 

Ha … I trade e-mails from time to time with a PR guy who represents Ms. Ono and her music, so I fired off a letter with the idea — Yoko doing the cut, to raise awareness for the charity. (Locks of Love, BTW, has heard none of this …)

 

Well … perhaps to no one’s surprise, I have heard neither yay or nay from Yoko. I remain optimistic, and I took this to be a good sign. Can you believe this? Two days after I wrote the note to Yoko, I swear to you, I was walking down Madison Avenue between The Empire State Building and the Museum of Modern Art, when a young man passed me on the street. He was one of those people who just stood out … appearance wise, fashion wise, the way he carried himself. I took a double take.

 

I swear, it was John and Yoko’s son, Sean Lennon. I went home and Googled his most recent photos just to check my hunch. No doubt, it was Sean Lennon, just inches away. I mean … what are the odds of that happening in a city the size of New York? (No … given the family history in New York, I didn’t say “Hey Mr. Lennon, you don’t know me, but I recognized you on the street, and I really want your mom to cut my hair.” No. I didn’t say that.

 

A few weeks have passed.

 

I am not holding my breath. I have read that Yoko is spending her time performing in Europe and also protesting against fracking natural gas up in upstate New York … BUT … if she ever confirms, I have already thought about what I will tell her.

 

Y To The D

You see, I have a story for pretty much everything, and this is my best Yoko Ono story. Years ago, I was in an inner tube, tubing down the Guadalupe River in Texas with some friends, followed closely behind by a few coolers, also in innertubes, filled with cold ones.

 

As we floated the river, sunscorched and the party progressed, other tubers randomly floated in and out of our group. One of these interlopers happened to notice that although I had short hair back then, I was sporting some round glasses.

 

Guess what — in her most slurred speech — she began calling me out … taunting me.

 

“Hey look! It’s John Lennon,” she bleated. “Don’t tell me it’s not. I know it is. Hey John Lennon.”

 

I was embarrassed, and I was really embarrassed for the poor intoxicated tuber. I looked nothing like John Lennon, and my glasses were not actually perfectly round like his anyway. But they were close enough, according to this new friend.

 

This went on for some time, and we tried to float away and just ignore her … but you know rivers tend to be one way, with everyone headed to the same place … when she fired one parting shot across the bow of my innertube.

 

“Hey John Lennon … come here … I’ll ‘Yoko your Doko!'”

(That’s what she said …LOL)

I don’t even know what that means … okay … well I can make a guess. But after all these years, I have not forgotten. I will never forget.

 

So, anywho, I hope I get the chance to share the story with Ms. Ono.

 

Know what I sayin?