Last of the Mohawkans

After my show last night, I met up with my friends Donna, Eric, and Shaun at a local watering hole. It was a beautiful night to be able to sit outside in the bar's patio, and the company of my good friends was something that I have realized I have missed for a long time. I also love sitting out there since there is never a dearth of interesting characters either at the bar, walking along the street, or walking through the parking lot. Last night was no exception nor disappointment.

Anytime either I or my friends go to these establishments, there is always a wide cross-section of people. Last night, it happened to be an amalgam of hip-hip wannabes, flannel-clad proletarians, death metal junkies, pole dancers, skate punks, athletic has-beens, and then (in this particular instance) the three of us, whatever we might be classified as. Given how we, in our society, classify people, I have always wondered what others (if they even remotely have the wherewithal to be as observant as me) would make my group out to be. Then again, given the apparent choices many of these others make (whether it be social, fashion, or behavioral), I guess I won't lose too much sleep over it.

As I had to go back into the bar at one point in the evening, a guy literally ran into me as I was heading to the men's room. I must not have been looking where I was going, because when I looked up, the guy was sporting a mohawk. Had I been watching where I was going, I would most certainly have noticed (and mentally remarked). Being at this particular bar, I should not have been surprised by this person's mohawk. After all, I have had to volunteer in a third grade class, and have had an 8 year-old boy in one of my classes sporting one (with an earring to boot). This young Cochise's Mohawk was a true fin from forehead to neck, coiffed with enough product to ensure that it stood up vertically, even in a monsoon. It actually looked pretty darn good, and his mom did a great job sculpting the effect.

The guy that ran into me (and nearly knocked me over in the process) last night, unfortunately, must have used the home mohawk kit (reminding me of the 70's Toni Home Perm Kits minus the flowered plastic hair cap), or had a friend do it while both were drinking Jager-bombs and Colt 45's. It was a mess. The shaved lines were anything but straight, and there was just no lift to the fin. It looked as if someone had taken a bad toupee from Wink Martindale, cut it in a rectangle, and then used mucilage to paste it to his scalp. It was unfortunate.

I was impressed, though, that the guy was very apologetic for running into me. I was, however, unsettled by the pierced lip, eyelid, and chin. "Hmm," I thought, "not a neurosurgeon." Does this guy, when he looks in a mirror (if he even has a mirror) say to himself, "God I look good!"?

I guess the point of all of this is: is the mohawk making a come-back? If so, I'll have to prepare myself for being unfashionable. I'm afraid that if I were attempt such a feat as a mohawk, my fin would look like the scaly "fin" of a triceratops: one clump above my forehead, and one clump in the back. Now THAT would be unfortunate.