I’m getting a haircut and ditching my pantyhose. No, I’m not having a midlife crisis (been there, done that). I’m being a good citizen, donating hair and hose to the oil spill cleanup.

It seems that a company in San Francisco is making booms out of pantyhose stuffed with discarded hair, harvested in salons. The log-shaped booms are used to trap oil as it laps shorelines. (I tested the theory about oil adhering to hair last week when I was too lazy to wash-‘n-blow for three days, so I know it’s true.)

My hairy dog Oliver must’ve got the memo on this because he is very generously trying to do his part. He is shedding profusely enough to protect the entire coast of Louisiana.

The company (called Matter of Trust) which is producing the hair-‘n-Hanes booms was having one problem. Nobody seems to wear pantyhose anymore. (I wear them maybe once a year. Can’t speak for Oliver.) Without cast-off hose hey were struggling to meet the current demands for booms, until a certain community in San Francisco pitched in. Now M.O.T. is up to their ears in transves-tights.

A few weeks ago, I took my daughter Elizabeth to see “Hair” in Central Park.

It was a perfect, magical New York night, and the Delacorte was jammed with a whole new wave of Hairies. They went mad, infected by the exuberance of the cast and the music and the beauty of the night.

The show is set in the ’60′s but the songs still resonate; the anti-war message has, sadly, a whole new relevance. Nonetheless, although I’m not sure if we’re still in the Age of Aquarius, with “sympathy and trust abounding,” it sure felt like it that night.

At the curtain call, my 19-year-old daughter went on stage with her cousin and a couple hundred other people to dance, and I realized I was exactly Elizabeth’s age when I was in “Hair” on Broadway, way back when, and I cried.

Happily, “Hair” is moving to Broadway in January, so if you’re in NYC, go see it.

Let the sunshine in!