If you didn't know me for these 9 months of my life, you didn't have to deal with it. Hair slapping your face, itching your ears constantly, and always in a state of disarray. I grew my hair out as long as I could stand it. I had never let my hair grow for more than maybe a month previous to this, and with a little personal freedom, it was time to give it a try. I learned one thing very quickly. My hair did not have a stitch of listen in it, and loved to be as chaotic as possible. Oh the wonders of curly hair. Thanks dad.
The Frampton
The beginning stages actually could be considered fashionable on an account of today's fashion. The bed-head, I don't care look hadn't come back into style until last year, and certainly 2007 was not the time to employ it. Just like me, a trend setter, I was dawning this 1970's, Disco-groove, out of control, Jew-Fro-Mullet. I took my licks and got some compliments, but neither ever made me change the fact that I was going to grow out my hair. Thanks rebellious teenager syndrome.
Let me back track a second though. This all started at a far and distant land, the growing out of my hair. Iowa, I was still living there whenever I decided that I was no longer going to cut my hair the every other week or once a month that I had nearly my entire life. The hair was coming in like I said, in disarray. It was still somewhat manageable, and in it's beginning awkward stages, I kept it hidden under a baseball cap. As it began to grow out, I also decided that the peach fuzz on my chin was not long enough, and gave it it's first chance to grow out as well. Thanks puberty.
The actual Frampton, Peter
My hair was a mess, and looking back I can't believe how stylish I was before it was popular. The goatee got pretty ridiculous and so it was cleaned up on more than one occasion. Not necessarily because I didn't like it, but I didn't like getting called 'Goat Boy' every time I was in a public place. The hair continued it's descent into the depths of 'what the hell' and became more curly, out of control, and extravagant. I found out that I had so very little control, and the longer it became, the more I resembled one man in particular. My good friend Eddie Pole pointed it out, and since he has a few years on my other peers, he would be the one to figure it out. Peter Frampton shares the same hair as me. Thanks Eddie.
Goat boy me
Goat Boy SNL
The name stuck, and the more I tried to do crazy things with my hair, the more it would resist. I'm not big on hair products, and would rarely use even gel, but water and combing wasn't cutting it. Not even hand full scoops of gel was enough to hold my hair in place. The spraying of hair spray became a constant to hold what I had in place, and even that would only hold the hair for so long. Trapped under styling products, the Frampton would not be held down. I let it ride free, the way it should be. I took on the Matthew McConaughey mentality with it-that I don't care, I'm going to have a good time anyways, and always it shared the same. Thanks for nothing Paul Mitchell.
Matt McCon status
Long hair allows for somethings to be possible, that are certainly not with short hair. First and foremost, head-banging is awesome! Long hair also brings you the luck to catch a guitar pick from over 200 feet away as it's tossed by Jerry Cantrell at an Alice In Chains show. Actually this should be mentioned, just because it's simply amazing. San Diego House of Blues is a two story building. The bottom floor hosts the bar, along with the 'pit' in front of the stage. The second deck is very small, and a balcony that only along the sides gets close to the stage. I was as far back from the stage as you could possibly be. Even in the front row of the standing room, I'm to young to drink area, I still had about 5 or 6 rows of seats in front of me, cascading down in stadium seating style of course. For a $70, and being separated from my friends, it certainly wasn't seeming to be worth the cost. Thanks San Diego House of Blues and your floor age laws.
SD HOB, with BRMC, but this is where I caught the pick.
I had been watching the band mainly on the small monitors above my head because the people in front of me, though they had seats had declined to use them. After the band had finished their set, and then encore, they started tossing guitar picks and drum sticks into the crowd. I could only view this from the 17 inch monitor that was 20 feet above my head. I saw Jerry, wind up and flick one as hard as you'd throw a frisbee. I felt something strike me in the abs. It looked like it lined up with his toss, but I couldn't believe it. I reached down on the small ledge in front of me, and felt it. The small triangular shaped piece of plastic was under my thumb, literally. It was so unbelievable how far the pick had to travel, not only in distance, but up to where I was standing. I picked it up and held it in the air, triumphantly. Thanks Jerry.
The Pick
The only other plus, other than absolutely rockin' out with long hair, is that when you emerge from water, with the hair sticking to your eye lashes, and blinding your open eyes, you can whip it back. You don't do it trying to be sexy, but that's how it always turns out. It's not everyday a guy gets to do something that only women are privileged to. To long have women had the advantages in our society, and that's just one way of taking that power. I would love diving under waves at Zuma, emerging to catch a breath and flip my hair. Thanks Surfer Dude.
Eventually, despite my love for the Frampton, as well as the opposition from others, the Frampton was cut off for a part I was portraying in a documentary/reenactment that October, 3 years ago. Strangely enough, it was a documentary about the Army, in Iraq. Irony. Thanks Military Channel.
...when someone drops a cup and I submerge...
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