Regular readers of this space, random people on the street and anyone who has ever made my acquaintance know that there is one thing I value more highly than anything else in the known universe:
I try to impart morality and character to my son. I try to infuse AJ with goodness, with a love thy neighbor as thyself mantra (unless of course thy neighbor calls a pre-flop raise with Q9s and and rivers his flush against your Rockets). I try to ingrain in him a love of nature, of the miracles of a leaf changing color, of a lizard's regenerating tail.
But if all that fails, at least he loves his hair.
It's been growing for about 5 months and he fusses over it like an septugenarian over her prize roses. I've asked him repeatedly if he wants a haircut, but he always refuses. He has taken a liking to my Crew pomade, a not cheap product that gives him the exact "porcupine" look he desires, though, truthfully, it's more of a mod-ish look, a classic carefully-coiffed-as-to-look-not-coiffed-at-all-shag-'do.
I couldn't be more proud.
And yes, this post is the answer to the question of "What does Joe think about when he's drunk and not playing poker?"