Hair cuts? We don't need no stinking hair cuts

Haircuts are for moneybags. Haircuts are what rich people get because nobody buys People magazine, not even rich people, and it gives them a chance to catch up on who has cellulite and a new purse-dog. So they go get haircuts.

Not me. I'm done with the ritual. I'm no dandy. Bianca shears me like a sheep, now, and as I rub my head I say, "$12 towards debt." Then I look at the floor and say, "Christ, is that gray hair?"

You find the cash. That's the secret. Stop spending, and find the cash. It's here. It's there.

It's in your hair.

I will miss going to my hairstylist, a braces-grilled cherub-faced Jennifer Coolidge look-alike from Eastern Europe who says things like, "Happy American New Year, have a you like?" And "Yeah supercool wanna make chop-chop, I'm happy sad." I've yet to see a worse grasp of the English language. I'd always come home with blood on my collar, but love in my heart for the American dream.

Over the last two days I sold $120 worth of art on etsy.com. I'm lighting the fuse on that $120 and throwing it at Discover card.