I was getting ready to blog about the Supreme Court or how Scooter Libby may have been the victim of a G-Code violation–or he might be the ultimate G–but something more pressing came up.
Went to the mirror and realized that I’m starting to get a little thin at the temples.
Rut-roh.

Yeah man, I was putting a little grease on the naps, and I noticed that when I went backward with my hands I could see a lot o’ scalp.
Scalp.
That’s really not good.
Should have seen it coming. My maternal grandfather went bald pretty quickly. My brother was fearful of that, but he seems to have staved off the beast.
But me…not looking so great.
Bald…
No…
Me?
No…
Yeah…
Thank goodness I have a well-shaped head. I might have to pull a Jordan real, real soon.
Is the bald head even sexy to women any more? I know I got much love when I was rockin’ the baldy from ’95-97, but Iverson ruined all that. Plus, it gets cold here.
Maybe I should grow as much hair as I can because time is running out on that. But hell no I don’t wanna wind up like Jerry Rice with dreads/braids/twists and a cul de sac. That phenomenon was properly described by Kirk Deming as “the black man’s combover.”
So let’s get this straight…I’ve got a mortgage and a real job. I get really cranky sometimes about what the “kids” are up to. I didn’t hit Halloween on Franklin St. because I’m too old for that shit. I had to alert someone yesterday that some kids were throwing a party under the umbrella of a Pan-African Union that used the unedited version of “Play,” a song that includes the line “I’m tryin’ to get your pussy wet.” Those kooky kids. I just realized I haven’t bought a new pair of jeans in years. I have a nephew in college. I have to file for extensions to get my taxes done.
And I’m going bald.
Yep, it’s settled…Young Baba is only a name. Bomani is gettin’ old.
Dammit.
Pass the geritol, please.