Haircut

Maggie gave me a hair cut yesterday, and fittingly, the weather turned almost Summer-like to match my sporty short hairdo. I think I look younger with the hair cut short. Guys my age usually grow hair (if they have anything to grow) to look younger. It doesn’t work for me. Besides, with short hair I felt so much lighter during the run on +26 C (78.8 F).

Tomorrow Obama and Clinton are facing off in Montana and South Dakota, the last two states remaining to cast their votes. All I can say is—thank God it’s almost over. What started as an interesting competition, degenerated into a naughty fight. There’s a lesson buried underneath it all, but I’m afraid fellow Americans are not wise enough to read it: it’s important to persist in a fight, but it’s just as important to know when to stop. The time to stop for Hillary is long gone. All that’s left now is defeat and shame.

The man whose perfume I often spray on my neck has died: Yves Saint-Laurent, fashion wizard who never applied his talent to replace his atrociously ugly glasses, died yesterday of a brain cancer.

Still no word from Dubai. I think it’s fair to say there’s very little hope left that something may come out of it. It has been exciting and unnerving three weeks, and now it’s time to go on with life. Maggie is talking about doing some gardening around the house. I am very careful not to promise I’d get involved. I’m not a gardening type. I can help her lift heavy objects, rocks and whatnot, but can’t be bothered with planting ‘n’ stuff.