Buzz Cuts and a Totally Whacked-Out Music Video

I go to a private school, and we have hair codes. Just like--but not really like--in military school, whenever a guy's hair gets too long, the teacher will give him a deadline to cut it before he gets a detention. And you hear a lot of stories about guys who had to cut their hair at home in their bedroom with their younger sister's safety scissors because they couldn't make an appointment with the barber. They come to school with an extremely mutilated hair cut, everyone laughs and points at them, and the next day--they shave it all off out of embarrassment.

There aren't many things involving fashion or appearence that annoy me. I'm not like those girls in your Chemistry class who are always saying how much they hate this one girl in their homeroom because she never brushes her hair. But, for whatever bizarre reason, it annoys me when people get buzz cuts.



That sounds terrible in writing. It really does. But, having been raised in Georgia and Texas, I've grown accustomed to seeing them, and I've grown accustomed to discriminating against people who have buzz cuts.

I think it all started the first time I went to San Antonio with my grandfather to see the Alamo. I don't know why San Antonio is this way, but for whatever reason, there are a lot of kids with mohawks. I mean, when we went there, we saw entire families of mohawks. Little eight-year-old girls with mohawks, 300-pound daddies with mohawks, and sweet old grandmothers with mohawks. It was just insane. I guess it's like the effect of mixing city life and rural Texas. Buzz cuts and funky, urban hairstyles meet and shake hands. Then they marry, procreate, and have this bizarre baby.

Whenever I see buzz cuts, I think of the army, the Holocaust, and cancer. That's just my impression.

In conclusion, if YOU have a buzz cut, don't worry. I have nothing against you...except your haircut.

You've probably heard Muse's version of Feeling Good, right? That's all very well. It's a brilliant song, after all. But have you seen the video? If not, click on the link in the sentence before this conveniently colored purple for your sake. Anyway, don't ask me to explain the video to you. I think it's just as messed up as you do. The difference is, I love messed-up things. This video has been my #1 YouTube search in the past week aside from F*** You, by Lily Allen. (I've never been a fan of hip hop, but this all goes back to my England fetish. Something about British girls using the f-word makes me hot and nervous.)

Finally, I just want to clear something up.

A few posts ago, I got the following comment:

"Hon, honestly, I like your blog. You're a funny guy. But seriously, you can't always expect everyone to comment, because they don't always. And that's how blogging is."

Guys, what is this? An intervention? "Christopher, we love you. We really do. But this has got to stop." My favorite part is when I am described as "Hon."

I just wanted to clarify that when I whine and complain about how few comments I get--I'm making a joke. The self-pity and complaints are all part of the act, guys. I constantly have to remind people that I'm only joking. Never take me literally. Don't believe anything I say.

On that happy note, goodbye to you all.

Cheers,

That Blond Guy