Unlike that of my physical office, my mental filing system is beautifully organized, and stored in a spacious, light-filled room where I am free to peruse the various files at leisure.

I noticed today that one folder in particular is overstuffed, which was a shame, because I had new information to file. It's the folder labeled MYSELF (Why Do I Do This To), and it contains extensive cross-referencing with other files, including

MISTAKES, Romantic
CAPACITY, Overestimation of (Alcoholic)
JUDGMENT, Errors in (Haircuts I & II)

Today's file was meant to go in the last folder, under section II. Section I documents unfortunate haircuts I have received, with notes on whether the error of judgment was someone else's (as in the time my mother forced me to get a Dorothy Hamill that wrestled unsuccessfully with my wavy, unruly hair), or mine ("Hey! Pippi braids!").

Section II is reserved for information on the haircuts I've given myself, from the ridiculous to the sublime. If there were any that could be called "sublime," that is. I made a heading for that category, but it remains empty.

I visited my friends Kent and Lydia this weekend, for the ostensible purposes of celebrating Kent's birthday. For some reason, possibly a combination of red wine and sleeping pills, I at some point suffered a lapse in judgment sufficient to cause me to regard a photograph of Katie Holmes as inspiration. I liked her haircut. It seemed thoroughly achievable, in my sauvignon haze. All it would require, I reasoned, was a tiny snip of the scissors to create miniature bangs. I brought the idea up to Lydia, who enthusiastically agreed, and offered to get some scissors. I don't recall what happened next--possibly I wandered off, drunk, to stare at the walls--but we didn't get around to the bang-cutting.

The next morning, after I showered, I approached Lydia and asked her to cut bangs into my hair. Her reaction was immediate and negative. "I was drunk when I said I'd cut your bangs--I can't do it, because I'm afraid I'll mess it up." The wisdom in her statement eluded me, so I asked for a pair of scissors and a newspaper (to cover the sink) and figured I could handle it myself. (Why, at that point, I did not realize that Katie Holmes was not an appropriate style idol, I cannot say.)

Lydia came in to watch, and I sectioned off my hair and after a pause, cut a window of bangs into it. Long bangs, kind of. Long bangs that instantly did not look anything like the ones on the cover of the evil, misleading People magazine that sat there with Katie Homes looking up at me and laughing over my lack of high-priced hair care attendants.

Momentarily, I realized my mistake. My mistakes, I should say, unless you want to lump the entire endeavor in under one mistake and call it a day. That doesn't really fit in with my mental filing system, but you can do as you wish.

Essentially, I have given myself a haircut that is the equivalent, humiliation-wise, of that long-ago Dorothy Hamill. Katie Holmes has straight hair. Katie Holmes has a stylist. Katies Holmes is NOT someone I would normally try to emulate. The power of her Scientological faith is so acute, it can emanate from a photograph and cause the viewer to make bad hair-care decisions. I am living proof of her spirituality. Perhaps someone will pay me $4 million for my photographs! Take THAT, Baby Suri! Who probably has a stylist even though she doesn't even have hair. If she even exists.

So, I am now wrangling a hair-do best described as "Brenda Walsh: The Early Years." I lack the unevenly-placed eyes and wardrobe of vests, but I think my bangs make up for that.

At the moment, the bangs are barretted up atop my head, which creates the illusion that I haven't cut my hair at all. Mostly. Except for slight little "wings" at the sides. I will most likely sport this look for another ten months, until the bangs grow out, or I have another lapse in judgment and fixate on some other starlet.

Women tend to cut their hair when going through life changes or emotional experiences. Maybe I just wanted the hair out of my eyes so that I could see a little more clearly.

Star of the day. . .Messrs. Lambert & Verity