I had to bite the bullet as I rocked my mullet

Max Scoville, a student at

SRJC, writes a humor column for the student newspaper. Sadly,

he has since lost his mullet.The Mullet. Business up front, party in the back.

Considered by many to be the cruelest thing one can do to a head of hair. A style that is at home among the toothless and questionably educated, among roadies and truckers, gun store owners and hockey enthusiasts.

The mullet is to monster truck rallies as caps and gowns are to graduation. The mullet has its own subculture; it is more than a haircut. One does not simply wear a mullet. No sir, far from it. The mullet stays perched atop the wearer's head, like a magnificent falcon or hawk. And in exchange for its roost, the mullet provides the wearer with a solemn vow of security as well as a warm and cozy neck. How do I know this, you ask?

Well, you see, I lopped away my glorious mane for the sake of manageability, but I did it in two stages. Before arming my head with the schoolboyesque mop which I now sport, I gave in to the temptation of the mullet for a few weeks. I had shoulder-length hair, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever have the opportunity again. So, I armed a friend with a comb and clippers. I gritted my teeth and growled, "Do your worst." Mind you, this was on Halloween, so I had an excuse, but secretly I knew this would be slightly more long-term.

In the week and a half that followed, I embraced the mullet. My neck was warm and my vision unobstructed. I developed a penchant for wearing a bandana, aviator glasses and flannel shirts with the sleeves torn off. Bon Jovi and Rush sounded better than ever.

This was the life. I had tapped into the late 1970s and dunked my head in it. I was happy, but no one else was. Halloween was over, and soon the criticism started. Every time I saw my mom, she'd find a way to casually offer to cut my hair. My boss, who actually gave me Halloween off when I told him I'd have a mullet, shook his head and laughed at me every time I showed up for work. My art history teacher gave me one of the dirtiest looks I have ever gotten.

Why can't a man just enjoy his mullet? I'm not the first this has happened to. There is much speculation about the coincidence of Metallica's selling out and the cutting of James Hetfield's mullet, which was cut shortly after one of the Beastie Boys wrote a derisive article about the despised haircut. The first few days after I cut mine, I felt weakened. I felt bashful and soft. I was Samson; my hair was gone and with it was my power. More than that, though, my neck was freezing.

I've come to terms now with my socially acceptable coiffure. It's not epic or mighty or badass, but I don't feel powerless anymore. However, I have a grudge with society for mistreating the mullet. Don't knock it till you've had one. The Tasmanian Devil is a stupid, stupid-looking animal, but it could tear you apart. All that aside, though . . . it's kind of nice that girls started talking to me again.