Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Yesterday I saw the biggest, most fantastic and awe-inspiring mullet of all time.
I was taking a brief walk around Glendale on break from work. I swear, there are mountain lions in California, but you'd never expect to see one walking the streets of Glendale; a bustling city of around 800,000 residents, a large bacterial blob in the Petri dish that is Los Angeles. My reaction to seeing this mullet was the same as if it were a large cat dexterously crossing Wilson Ave:
'Wait, is that...?'
'I wish I had my camera.'
The guy was like 40 years old. He was short, and his body was shaped strangely - he had big thighs, accentuated by his ass-tight black pants. He had a lame metal band black t-shirt, and a Craig Ferguson-esque face. And then his hair...
The top alone was a work of art; a thick nest of loose, dark curls that could only be described as a fro. It really looked like a wig, and it took a couple seconds for me to determine that it was genuine. Somehow the 'party in the rear' aspect was nearly straight, deftly juxtaposing with the curly goodness above - like a cloud showering life-giving mullet rain down onto his lower back. It was, frankly, one of the most transcendent moments of my life, like that scene in 'Stand By Me' where the kid is all alone and a deer walks by, mere feet from where he stood. Unlike that scene, I have not decided to keep the memory for myself. Truly a mullet for the ages.
I am comforted by the knowledge that even as I sit here in my office in Glendale, the mullet roams free somewhere in this city.