I know I've blogged about this before, but it's my blog, and I'll blog about what I want to blog about, so there!

I have gray hairs.  I don't have a lot; I'm not salt and pepper.  Yet.

But there's a gray hair in the front, and a couple on the side. 

All told, probably fewer than ten.  Probably closer to five. 

Unless the entire back of my head has grayed and no one has told me.  Checking... Nope, that doesn't seem to be the case.

I have decided that officially I Don't Care about going gray.  That is, I won't allow it to bring me down.  I don't feel a need to dye my hair.  Yet.

No, I don't think I would ever get to that point, unless I go completely gray before I'm 30.  That'd be rough.

But it does seem strange to be graying -- even if only just slightly -- at 25.  Graying is for old people.  And old, in my book, is defined as "older than Lex Friedman."

See, this year for Hannukah, one of my gifts to Lauren was a Nintendo GameCube.  (No, this was not a bowling ball engraved with the name Homer. Lauren and I both enjoy casual video gaming. We always go with older systems -- and always Nintendo -- because the used games are considerably cheaper, and we don't feel the need to break the bank on our video gaming fun.)

But video games -- those make me feel young.  When Lauren-as-Luigi frees his mansion from its ghosts, or I as Donovan McNabb make a game-saving 12-yard touchdown scramble, or when the two of us zip around Rainbow Road in Mario Kart -- I feel young.  At heart.

Mostly.

Except sometimes, I feel like an old gray-haired guy refusing to grow up.

That's when I decide to cheer up.  So I eat an entire bag of cheetos and make fart noises with my mouth.