101 and Counting

On Sunday January 3rd, I received a totally reasonable haircut from—get this—the Supercuts in North Beverly, across the street from Texaco and the 128 on-ramp. Oh, life!

On the morning of January 4th, I waited in the Miami airport and ate guava pastries. Brittney had arrived back in San Francisco that morning from Hawaii to find a package from me containing one DarkHorse Rainbow Pony fuzzy wristband. We exchanged photos of said wristbands, hers and mine, over airport wifi.

And then I flew to Costa Rica and then I took one hundred more morning photographs of my most important subject.

Sometimes I was not wearing a shirt. Frequently I had a cup of coffee. This was... is... Morning Carlos.

With changing light and backdrop, I would be hard pressed to measure my increasing and then declining tan. I forgot to flex my bicep in every single one so that's a bust, too. But my hair! Oh, my hair!

Go go go!

Oh, there it is.

Super Saiyan? Probably. Glorious? Definitely. Now, what to do with it... to cut or not to cut?

And, perhaps more importantly, when I finish this trip, to what song will I set the slideshow of all my portraits? Is there any song anyone knows, preferably a slow jam, called "I am so totally in love with myself (or maybe that's the coffee talking)?"

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Imagine me, please, singing this to myself.