Hair apparent

I remember looking at my parents' yearbooks, making fun of the doofy fashions. At least people won't make fun of what my generation was wearing, I thought. All the styles looked fairly respectable.

So then I was looking through my yearbooks and realized that, like a fine wine, heinous fashion needs time to mature.

Granted there are trends and fads that seem perfectly logical at the time, only to see years later that, well, maybe that wasn't the case.

I'm thinking of Union Bay jackets, pinning the legs of your jeans and multiple Swatches.

Then there are things that seemed a little odd even at the time and are practically incomprehensible any time after that.

Case in point:

What the hell were we thinking?

Sure, I like Batman as much as the next guy, but I'm not going to have his symbol carved and dyed on the back of my head.

Of course, they could reflect the Bat-signal off the back of my head these days, but that's not the point.

About the only benefit to this that I could think of is that it would eventually grow out.

Oh yeah, and hats. Hats would help, too.

I'm trying to remember what other things guys got carved in their hair, but I can't think of any.

The period between 1985-1992 was just not a very fashionable time. Cough-cough-mullet-cough-cough.

I was only spared a little because I wasn't fashionable then, either. I've always thought that I cultivated the classic, timeless dork look.

Just ask my wife.

And yes, that's a Garfield shirt. I forgot it was picture day.

I think out of all the years I got school pictures taken, I was actually prepared once.

In kindergarten.

Making money where in your what?

While flipping through channels the other day, I caught part of an infomercial called (taking deep breath) "Making Money Quick and Easy at Your Kitchen Table in Your Underwear."

Apparently, it's to promote this program from I-guess-I'm-supposed-to-know-who-he-is-rich-guy Jeff Paul.

I didn't watch after I heard the name, but I looked up the Web site to find the name (which is different, depending on where you look) and I saw that there's a link called "Jeff Paul Exposed," which is perhaps a bad idea when promoting something that refers to working in your skivvies.

Just a thought.

Never reaching the end

We can send a man to the moon, but science can't prevent Noodle-Roni's Shells & White Cheddar from reminding me of "Nights in White Satin."

If that song is now stuck in your head, I'm sorry.

At least it's not "It's a Small World."

...

Oh, great.

Roam if you want to

I read this morning that TV personality Nipsey Russell had died.

Nipsey, by the way, is one more baby name idea of mine that got shot down.

My exposure to Nipsey came primarily from watching him on the panel on "Match Game." The last thing I remember seeing him in was the Goldie Hawn comedy "Wildcats," in which he played a high school principal.

He seemed like an awfully nice guy; how could you not like someone who had the mad rhyming skills he did?

Years ago, I read one of those compilations of misheard song lyrics. Someone, somehow, heard this lyric from the B-52s song "Roam" -- "Roam if you want to" -- as "Whoa, Nipsey Russell."

So now, that's all I hear when that song comes on. Now you will, too.

---

I also learned from the ever-interesting Mark Evanier that Hamilton Camp died as well. It was only a week or so ago I mentioned that he was in two of the shortest-lived shows on television.

At least it's shorter than "Hit Me in the Head With the Dodgeball"

I really should've done this yesterday, but I was trying to keep up with my son Brody, who, because he is 2, has more potential energy than a truckload of Red Bull.

Nicolas Cage and his wife welcomed their son to the world Monday. His name is Kal-el Coppola Cage.

Yes, he shares Superman's birth name. If I may geek out for a sec, I've seen it spelled in most news stories with a lower-case "e" rather than the usual upper-case. However, to be entirely accurate, Superman's name was originally given as Kal-L. It wasn't until the 1942 George Lowther novel "Superman" that it was changed to Kal-el with a lower-case "e." Eventually in the comics, it became Kal-El, and that's how it's been ever since.

I don't know if it's still the case, but at one point, Kal-El was said to be Kryptonese for "star child."

I'm just wondering how he talked his wife into going along with the name. When the topic of names came up when Jen was pregnant, I said I had a few ideas.

"Well, we're not naming him 'Kal-El' or anything like that," she informed me. I hadn't actually planned on doing so, but I was impressed that she knew what Superman's real name was.

I was shooting for Zod. Zod Sparkman -- tell me that's not cool.

Dream a little dream

I used to hate sleeping. I was never that good at it. But as I've gotten older, a good night's sleep looks better and better all the time.

Lately, there's been a bonus: In my dreams, I see my son Harry.

It's been over four months since we lost him; he's been gone about twice as long as he was here.

It's weird. Most of the time, I'm fine, but sometimes, it just hits me, you know? I'm one of "those people" who has dealt with losing a child. That's not really the kind of person I associate with me.

Immature, a little too amused by fart jokes, sure. That's me in a nutshell.

The really odd thing about these dreams is that a lot of the time, I don't remember anything specific. I just wake up with the distinct impression of having talked to him.

It's something, I guess.

The few times I've remembered the dreams, Harry is older; probably about 10. No idea why. He still has the thick mop of hair and wears a shirt with Chewbacca on it. He sits on the branch of a large tree, which, now that I'm picturing it, is a willow, I think.

And we just talk. Not about anything important -- just stuff.

I don't have the dreams as often as I'd like, but it gives me a reason to look forward to sleeping every night.