Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

Here is a photograph of Henry's mop of hair taken last Sunday. As you can see, he looks like a Rolling Stone, or some other kind of long haired layabout. To cut a long story short, he needed a haircut. So he had a haircut.

In order to construct a good sense of anticipation, I've instructed the robot to place an embargo on publishing the photos until nineteen hundred hours (19:00, or 7 pm Australian Eastern Daylight Time). That is five (5) hours from now. If anyone can guess which celebrity hairstyle best matches his new haircut, you will win a prize.

I have linked back to previous before and after photographs for your perusal. Revisit the heady days of December '08 (before and after); August '08 here; and February '08 here.

It’s like your very own time machine.

Comments

Anonymous said…

I say grow it long, tie it up in a braid and change his name to Steppenwolf

25 February 2009 at 15:45

EG CameraGirl said…

Ha! Poor Henry. He has lovely hair but I bet it gets knotted when he's playing. Just don't have it shaved off. ;-)

25 February 2009 at 15:57

KL said…

Oh Darn! I missed the prize :-P by not visiting your blog yesterday.

25 February 2009 at 22:13

Kris McCracken said…

Pasadenaadjacent.com, he was Born to be Wild.

That said, I think that the song The Pusher is the best drug dealer song going around...

26 February 2009 at 15:22

Kris McCracken said…

EGTG, it gets a bit much when he is blowing all the time because it is in his eyes!

26 February 2009 at 15:23

Kris McCracken said…

KL, it was a really good prize too. Three weeks with Henry!

26 February 2009 at 15:23

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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