As I stood for "15 minutes"* on the corner of North 7th and Bedford last night I became keenly aware of yet another thing that bothers me quite a bit. I know, Schmeat, that list is getting to be pretty lengthy, indeed.
As I stood for "15 minutes"* on the corner of North 7th and Bedford last night, I noticed that many, perhaps most, of the men who passed me had nice full heads of hair, and incredibly stupid hair cuts.
Now, as you know Schmeat, I am bald, or more appropriate, balding with a strong chance of bald. And dispite the fact that I have come to terms with the consequence of my superhuman testosterone production, I still long for the days when I too could cut and style my hair into ridiculous and regretable quafs and spitcurls.
As I watched these men, sauntering about with their scalps natually protected against the elements, I became quite upset. It wasn't that I was jealous. I was simply angry that these men were not putting such a gift to better use.
A bad haircut is inexcusable. Its not as if there aren't professionals out there to tell you how to style your hair, and even assist you in doing so. If you can't manage to choose a barber or "stylist" who can do the one thing they are paid to be good at, then you do not deserve hair at all.
These bad haircut men just don't realize how good they have it. I used to be like them. I used to take my hair for granted. I used to think that it was okay to cover my hair in so much vidal-sasoon moose that it becomes something akin to spiky helmet. I thought it was perfectly reasonable to comb my hair back into a quaf like the Bob's Big Boy mascot for 5 of the most formative years of my life. I didn't care when my bangs looked like a wave crashing on my forhead, or when my sideburns were so bushy and long that it looked as if I had my RobThomasShaggyCeasar strapped to my chin.
I always thought I'd have more time with my hair, more time to make up for the mistakes i was making. History has shown us that this is not the case. By the time I had settled on a hair style that suited me and wasn't all that stupid, it was too late. My scalp had given up on me, and Schmeat, I deserved it.
It is from this vantage point, one wisdom through loss, that I can stand in judgement of all these ungrateful apes, with their flowing luxorious locks combed and styled into the most ridiculous formations.
I think from now on I'll just yell at people with stupid haircuts. I'll walk right up to them on the street and tell them that they look ridiculous. Its the least I can do, because you never know when you'll turn 22 and realize that your hair is falling out.
*"15 Minutes" is actually closer to 30 or 45 minutes when dealing with some of my associates.