The mullet that never was

Apparently, I've let the "let it be" experiment on my head go on a little too long. According to one of my bros here in NYC - and I'm paraphrasing more poetically than his initial observation would have it - I've let my hair extend far away from a trim central control and have arrived at a precipice overlooking mulletdom.

Well, if that is the case (let me assure you that the jury is still out), then let me say that the view from such a place, well, sucks. You see, I'm not a huge fan of the hairstyle on anyone, clueless hillbilly or not, but especially do not want to cross paths with it personally, given the fact it is a hairstyle that had been appropriated by hipsters circa 2000 or so. In other words, to be associated with the, um, tail end of a hipster trend is an unfashionable fate that I do not wish to endure (ever). And I don't care if it still cool in Spain or Eastern Europe (forever and ever) or wherever.

I know that on some level I shouldn't care one way or other - since I do not *actually* have a mullet - but, well, I do (care). haha. And, so, I have resolved to get a proper haircut once I get back to SF. More immediately, I received a few key snips around the nape of my neck from a friend last night; errant hair fell to the battered hardwood floor to be swept up later, though a few strands of it, I'm sure, escaped to mill about clandestinely - no stopping it now.

Well, my running self sure would like me to cut my hair to something approaching a military buzz, but I won't go down that route (again - though it's been awhile). Yeah, I'm sure we can balance that sort of practicality with something a bit more flattering. What to do? I'll just leave it in the hands of my barber; the fashion haven of a 16th and Mission barbershop awaits; $9 is not too much to pay to have a fine mane crafted upon my crown. hahahaha.