On Monday, the 2008th year AD (anno domini), the 11th day PLP (praeter LP), the mohawk is gone. And it had to be done away with for a number of reasons. But mostly, it was becoming a burden. People who see me frequently, but don't know me very well, began to associate me with my mohawk and nothing else. And if there is one thing I want to avoid becoming during this life, it's a mohawk with legs. Or a certified public accountant.
So last weekend was my mohawk's last hurrah and I decided to take a little trip to Dupont Circle so it could get some attention from the strange coupley gays that hover around Dupont Circle Saturday mornings while the normal gays are still terribly hung over from the night before. On the way there, somebody on the metro, who looked quite metro himself, kept staring at me. Obviously, I started freaking out because I was wearing my woot shirt again and maybe this was a reader who recognized me. But I was with a friend so it's not like I could run down the metro car screaming at the top of my lungs and beating my chest like I wanted to. So I had my meltdown quietly on the inside and the guy who kept staring at me got off at Fort Totten. If you are that guy reading this entry, hello.
While I was in Dupont, I did get a compliment on my hair. Which is better than getting one for your shoes. But worse than getting one for your face. And now that the mohawk is gone, I suspect I won't be getting any compliments for anything in the near future. But that's ok with me.