It's Alive!!!!!
I want to discuss a serious subject with you today. Not too long ago I was given a sort of intervention. Like most people who warrant an intervention I did not know that I had a problem, and so I was shocked when I was confronted by two beautiful, smart women (my wife Brandy and her best friend Angela) and told that it was time for me to get my hair cut. They informed me that I posses the phenomenon known as “80’s Hair.”
First, let me clarify what “80’s Hair” is exactly. “80’s Hair” can best be described as a being a “puffy mullet” (examples follow). It usually starts with the puffy factor. By puffy I mean hair that doesn’t need mousse or hairspray (both wildly popular in the 80’s) to achieve the desired height, body, and bounce of a large, house-concealing shrub.
Of course I was in denial about having this horrible affliction and brushed it off as being the imagination of my wife and her friend. I mean, how could I have let myself fall into this gruesome fashion trap? I was a child of the 80’s to be sure, but as I got older and more mature I shed the skin of parachute pants (which I did own I’m sorry to say) and pop music (which I periodically flog myself for listening to) when I discovered the music of the early 90’s. I had left that life of synchronized dance moves and Wayfarer sunglasses behind.
But lately I have seen signs that have started to bother me. Little things that alone prove nothing, but taken together seem to indicate something sinister. First, there was the fact that last week I caught myself bobbing to background music by Styx and Wham. Second, I noticed raised levels of testosterone resulting in the desire to watch movies such as Roadhouse, First Blood, Predator, or any movie in the “Mad Max” trilogy. My wife is not happy about this phase since I can usually catch one of these movies on television and my insistence on her stopping on that channel interferes with her path toward Food Network or TRU TV. Third, I started looking at my pants and wondering whatever happened to elastic bottoms.
The last two indicators came a couple days ago and this morning, and they both actually involved my hair. The first hair related incident occurred thusly. After work I completed some badly needed yard projects and ended up taking a shower at about 11:00 at night when dinner was finished and Top Chef had gone off television. I wanted my hair to be dry before I went to bed so I blow dried it. I found myself enjoying the warm air on my scalp and the way my hair got increasingly larger and more voluptuous. I didn’t think anything about it until I caught my wife staring at my hair a few minutes after I had sat down next to her. By the look on her face she was waiting for it to crack open and spill out the band members of Warrant. “You have the worst case of 80’s hair that I have ever seen,” she said to me. “You have to get a hair cut.” This made me a little self conscious. I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror later, as I sat in bed and smoked the last cigarette of the day, and had to admit to myself that my wife (who is smarter than me, by the way) might in fact be correct.
The last conformation came this morning. I roused myself at the usual time, trudged through the house, put on my sandals, and took my dog, Ari, out for her morning bathroom duties. When I stepped through the door I noticed that all the birds stopped singing at once, like they were afraid to alert something horrible to their presence. While in the front yard my next door neighbor came out of her house, took a look at me, opened her mouth in a silent scream, and fainted. Something was going on here.
Back inside the house I stood staring in the mirror in my bathroom. My hair seemed to have doubled in size over-night, taking on the size and shape of a St. Bernard. And its bounce seemed to be a little too rhythmic, like the slow steady breathing of a sleeping beast. I was studying this new occurrence when two things happened consecutively. First, I poked the being that was my hair…and it yawned! It fucking yawned at me! Then realization hit me. My hair had taken on a life of its own.
And that’s when I shit myself.
Somehow I managed to not faint and quickly beat the, now growling, entity that was on top of my head into submission with the handle of the plunger and dove into the shower. With the hot water streaming over my scalp I felt my hair whimper and slowly die away. When I was done I let my hair naturally dry as I cleaned up my bathroom floor. By the time I was finished and ready to get dressed for work I dared to look in the mirror once more and found my hair had taken on the natural waviness that had earned me comparisons to Elvis. (Hey…quit laughing. I have been compared to Elvis)
I light of these events I have decided to get my hair cut very soon. Although…as I sit at my desk and sing Journey in my head I realize that having 80’s hair wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I mean think about all of the celebrities that have made it big that had 80’s hair at one time.
Patrick Swayze
John Stamos
Mel Gibson
George Clooney
Corey Haim
MacGyver
First, let me clarify what “80’s Hair” is exactly. “80’s Hair” can best be described as a being a “puffy mullet” (examples follow). It usually starts with the puffy factor. By puffy I mean hair that doesn’t need mousse or hairspray (both wildly popular in the 80’s) to achieve the desired height, body, and bounce of a large, house-concealing shrub.
Of course I was in denial about having this horrible affliction and brushed it off as being the imagination of my wife and her friend. I mean, how could I have let myself fall into this gruesome fashion trap? I was a child of the 80’s to be sure, but as I got older and more mature I shed the skin of parachute pants (which I did own I’m sorry to say) and pop music (which I periodically flog myself for listening to) when I discovered the music of the early 90’s. I had left that life of synchronized dance moves and Wayfarer sunglasses behind.
But lately I have seen signs that have started to bother me. Little things that alone prove nothing, but taken together seem to indicate something sinister. First, there was the fact that last week I caught myself bobbing to background music by Styx and Wham. Second, I noticed raised levels of testosterone resulting in the desire to watch movies such as Roadhouse, First Blood, Predator, or any movie in the “Mad Max” trilogy. My wife is not happy about this phase since I can usually catch one of these movies on television and my insistence on her stopping on that channel interferes with her path toward Food Network or TRU TV. Third, I started looking at my pants and wondering whatever happened to elastic bottoms.
The last two indicators came a couple days ago and this morning, and they both actually involved my hair. The first hair related incident occurred thusly. After work I completed some badly needed yard projects and ended up taking a shower at about 11:00 at night when dinner was finished and Top Chef had gone off television. I wanted my hair to be dry before I went to bed so I blow dried it. I found myself enjoying the warm air on my scalp and the way my hair got increasingly larger and more voluptuous. I didn’t think anything about it until I caught my wife staring at my hair a few minutes after I had sat down next to her. By the look on her face she was waiting for it to crack open and spill out the band members of Warrant. “You have the worst case of 80’s hair that I have ever seen,” she said to me. “You have to get a hair cut.” This made me a little self conscious. I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror later, as I sat in bed and smoked the last cigarette of the day, and had to admit to myself that my wife (who is smarter than me, by the way) might in fact be correct.
The last conformation came this morning. I roused myself at the usual time, trudged through the house, put on my sandals, and took my dog, Ari, out for her morning bathroom duties. When I stepped through the door I noticed that all the birds stopped singing at once, like they were afraid to alert something horrible to their presence. While in the front yard my next door neighbor came out of her house, took a look at me, opened her mouth in a silent scream, and fainted. Something was going on here.
Back inside the house I stood staring in the mirror in my bathroom. My hair seemed to have doubled in size over-night, taking on the size and shape of a St. Bernard. And its bounce seemed to be a little too rhythmic, like the slow steady breathing of a sleeping beast. I was studying this new occurrence when two things happened consecutively. First, I poked the being that was my hair…and it yawned! It fucking yawned at me! Then realization hit me. My hair had taken on a life of its own.
And that’s when I shit myself.
Somehow I managed to not faint and quickly beat the, now growling, entity that was on top of my head into submission with the handle of the plunger and dove into the shower. With the hot water streaming over my scalp I felt my hair whimper and slowly die away. When I was done I let my hair naturally dry as I cleaned up my bathroom floor. By the time I was finished and ready to get dressed for work I dared to look in the mirror once more and found my hair had taken on the natural waviness that had earned me comparisons to Elvis. (Hey…quit laughing. I have been compared to Elvis)
I light of these events I have decided to get my hair cut very soon. Although…as I sit at my desk and sing Journey in my head I realize that having 80’s hair wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I mean think about all of the celebrities that have made it big that had 80’s hair at one time.
Patrick Swayze
John Stamos
Mel Gibson
George Clooney
Corey Haim
MacGyverHelp Me!!!!!!!!
*Author's Note: Jouney is a great band that you are allowed to listen to without fear of 80's Hair.
posted by Burning Stickman at 10:48 AM
2 Comments:
What's missing is a photo of you to confirm this phenomenon. It may hurt your pride, but sometimes you have to give that up in order to entertain.
I was fully intending to include a photo of myself with my hair, but I was writing the blog at work (these are the times when I love my job) and didn't have one on the computer at work. Then I got my hair cut on Saturday so taking a picture now would only serve to scare small children and prove man's geneology with apes.
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