Wednesday, March 19, 2008

My Third-Life Crisis, or, Groundhogs STILL Taste Like Chicken, or, The Magnificent Mullet

One of the most memorable experiences I have had while in the OH has nothing to do with cadavers, classrooms, or even Ohio. Last year my friend Mark had the genius idea to go to Gobbler's Knob in Punxsutawney, PA in early February. Groundhog's Day will never be the same. It turned out to be one of the more memorable road trips I've taken. (Chris chronicled the experience here).

It was only logical, then, that we planned to attend again this year. Preparations began when we noticed the Mormon chapel practically next door to the Knob. What Providence! Chris took over the planning, and it spun out of control. Our little pilgrimage of 10 or so spiraled out of control and we had at least 50 YSAs sleeping in the hallway. One of the more comical experiences I've had; if The Bard had been Mormon, he would have had something like that night in one of his comedies. (Again, Chris's comments of this past year's trip here).

While there are some funny stories to tell from either year, I'm only going to focus on one. My preparation for this trip began last September. I usually wake up a bit slowly, but this morning I woke with a start. I had a sudden epiphany. Unless I fail Step 1, I will start my clinical rotations July 2008. That means that, for the next 5 to 8 years, I will constantly be subjectively evaluated by men and women over me. Now, I realize that the medical profession isn't the old-school conservative bastion that it used to be, but it is certainly more conservative than many other professions. I realized, as the early dawn's light filtered through the mini-blinds, that I was going to need to have a conservative haircut for the foreseeable future. Thus, being 26 (with the expected age of 78 or so), I entered into my third-life crisis.

I have never had a mullet or a real mohawk. Now, as I lay pondering on this sorrowful fact, I realized that I had never had EITHER of the two haircuts that any male really should have. I mean, at least one of them. I have had the shag. I've had crew cuts. I've done the missionary haircut. I've even shaved half of my head once. But here I am, significant portion of my life gone, and I've never had two of the most important. With only eight months, I didn't think it possible.

The plan became to grow the hair to suitable length and then enjoy the mullet whilst wandering the Wintery streets of Punxsy (I mean, when in Rome . . . ) and then trim it up, and enjoy the mohawk in May as I prepared for Step 1.

Below are the results of phase 1. (I should warn those of my readers not from the West. I presume most of you have met a Jewish male who, for cultural and/or religious purposes for a time, at least, grew out his prayer-curls. Well, I'm from Utah. I chose to do the mullet for the same reason).

For comparison, here is before.
Tension mounting.

I was getting pretty nervous right here.
(I'd never really seen Mallory cut hair.
I didn't want her to screw it up).


The finished product and the remnants in a ziploc. Why?
Best White-Elephant Ever.

Groundhogs DO taste like chicken.

We added steps later.
The receding hairline was there before.

Brother DeMoux grew a mustache for the event.


I tried to transition it into a flat-top mullet.

Me, Joe, and Vinay having a Hairy-Chest off.

Smart as he may be, Mark never learns.

This is just to prove to Mom that I actually eat.

1 comment:

Ann-Marie said...

One day those pictures are really going to give you a good laugh...A REAL GOOD LAUGH.

I miss you. We love you. Your birthday month is almost here! :)