I must sheepishly confess that a few months ago I fell victim to the Trendy Monster and got a euro-mullet-esque haircut.  For the first month or so it was smooth and correct, sipping fine wines and occasionally visiting the discotheque.  It was a shining example of class with a colorful flare of international accouterment.  As it grew, however, I discovered some behavioral changes.  

It started ordering Bud Light rather than vodka tonics.  Instead of frequenting the local pub to watch Liverpool vs. Chelsea games it signed up for a 14-team fantasy football league on  It traded in it's super tight capri jeans for some Old Navy carpenters with paint on them.  Nascar-branded hats were the only type of headwear it would accept.  One evening, when it was very late, I woke up to my euro-mullet quietly weeping while watching Glory on TNT.  

That's when I knew the incovenient truth.

My haircut had defected.

No longer was it a swanky, hip and trendy, sophisticated euro-mullet.  No sir.  It had become a gun-totin', Bible-thumpin, right-wing Ameri-mullet.  In a matter of weeks it had managed to brave the waters of the Atlantic Ocean into the open arms of Lady Liberty without my notice.  Just now I went to scratch the back of my head and my hand returned with two wrestling tickets to WWE No Way Out at Key Arena.  I could get used to this.   

This is me.

Not really.  But I do have that tie. 

Not really.