My Mane Man

A friend of mine recently commented on how long my hair is. I then proceeded to look at myself in a mirror. “Hmmm… that is pretty long.” I’d even say it’s reaching its limit in lengthiness. (Well, at least its previous limit. Usually I just grow it out until I get sick of it, and usually I have Kristin around to cut it. She's the best!) But now I have a sort of affinity towards it. It could be due to the fact that my hair is about the same length as Tim Lincecum’s. (Tim Lincecum (18-5) recently won the National League Cy Young award. He was definitely the most dominant pitcher in the league despite throwing for a team that went 72-90. I loved watching him pitch this year.) My hat goes off to him, literally.

My gay roommate, Cameron, commented on how he wishes his hair was as long and full as mine. But he keeps cutting it. Every two days. (I was about to continue writing without clarifying, but in order to clarify… I must write. … Huh?) By ‘gay’ I mean ‘coming into his own’ and by ‘his own’ I mean ‘manhood’.

For example: One day Cameron and I were watching a basketball game. He didn’t understand shooting fouls. I explained to him that if a player is in the act of shooting, the defender isn’t allowed to touch him, otherwise it’s a foul. He then said, “Wow. I’ve learned more about sports in the last few months than I have my entire life. Thanks to you, I really am on my way to becoming a man. There’s nothing more belittling than asking a girl about the rules… he has such broad shoulders.”

Last weekend we watched the Iowa Hawkeyes beat the then 3rd ranked team, Penn State. I explained pass interference and ineligible receivers. He said, “Okay, yeah, I can see how that works… man, he has a really big butt.” I laughed for a while. You see, Cameron has a way of pointing out things that normal, sports minded guys don’t even think about.

When watching the World Series: “Did his pants just rip off?”

Watching athletic trainers tend to an injured football player, who's not moving: “That job makes me wonder. You run on the field and rub people’s necks. ‘How does that feel? Kootchy kootchy koo!’”

I assure you that Cameron is very much a man. Sure, he eats a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream every other night. And sure, he wanted to watch ice skating instead of football (Can you blame him?). But you can’t discount the fact that his favorite Arrested Development character is Tobias Funke. Well, maybe you can. But at least Cameron has a lot of hair. A lot of hair equals a lot of testosterone. (He came into my room the other night and lifted his shirt to show me he had shaved his chest and stomache hair. I believe his exact words were: Burn that image into your mind.)

Now, we all know that there is a lot more to being a man than chest hair (and in Cameron’s case, chest AND back hair). Like sports knowledge/enjoyment, grilling steak, and power tools. But hair identification is a great way to find out what type of man you are. Are you carpeted? Splotched? A naturally barren rock quarry? (That’s me… bulging, hairless muscles, rippling through all material/matter.)

So what really makes us men? The ability to mask manly odor around females is considered, by many experts, one of the top signs that boys have stepped from their awkward, self-indulged worlds and into the realms of manhood. The Gadbury men are known for their pleasing scentistry. (Yeah, kinda made up another word.)

Bret has a natural just-from-the-shower aroma. I use Old Spice body wash and deodorant, (my most recent and successful fragrance: Swagger) and Tide with Febreeze (the purple cap) to keep my clothes fresh. And Blake is Captain Cologne. (The guy smells so good it makes Michael Jackson want to have his old nose back.)

We are complimented often… and we like it. Cameron borrowed one of my pearl-snap shirts: “Oh! Wow! I don’t know what it is, but you smell divine!” I remind you, he’s not really gay. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)