One Bar of Soap Later...

Apparently drug content isn't the only thing we're out of line on.

The loving FCN readership has brought to our attention another urgent matter of public decency: Use of the word #3(<, also known as -&{X, which is another word for :-:[-<{, as in: "What the }{=-©ɮ!" This word is a very innappropo. It's not the sort of word polite people use in polite conversation with polite company. The fact is, )-((-(( is a place for people who don't believe in 60$]-[, also known as C-()5/~/, which is another word for (_+[]z(-). We at FCN have gotten much too cavalier and familiar with this very serious word, deploying it casually in a few recent posts. That kind of language ends today.

We, the FCN team, solemnly $\/\/342 never to use the word }~{£¢K again, as long as this blog endures, so help us, and we offer heartfelt apologies to all who had to suffer through the degrading language of previous posts. It won't happen again. FCN has turned a corner. \_:_/00+ vv()()--!

Life Tip #28

Don't hold up a bar.

If you must hold up a bar, don't hold up one owned by your parents and managed by an old family friend - even if you only intended to commit an act of burglary and not armed robbery.

Khong hieu! (I don't understand!)

Last Friday, my world turned upside down.

My hair grows very slowly. When I decided to start growing it out last June, I knew I would need to take it seriously if I was to have any hope of getting it long enough to tie behind the neck. So I used fertilizers, implants, potions, and a healthy dose of Rogaine on a daily basis. I washed eggs through my hair. I cut the nibs during full moons. I sat in class meditating, mentally pushing the hair out of my head. I did therapies. I even used shampoo. For all my efforts, my hair grew at the rate of about two-and-a-half eighths of a centimeter per month.

Last Friday, I was mere weeks from a turning point in my do.

My hair growth was arduously slow, but nonetheless steady. I had two major styles. The most common was to pop a beanie onto my head while climbing out of the shower, then peel it off and wring it out when I clambered into bed that night. That strategy worked great, though of course it was always embarrassing when some smartypants yanked my covering off to reveal an epic mound of beanie hair. My second method - for when I was really going all out - was to stand on my head and lower my hair into a vat of gel. I would then shake my head once or twice, wipe my face with the back of my sleeve, and go on with my daily business.

Both these methods were about to be rendered obsolete, giving way to a dashing tied-back style reminiscent of, well, Richelieu. I was ready for a bit of a trim on the sides and back just to make sure everything was staying neat. So I wended my way to the salon of a very friendly but poorly incorporated Vietnamese family that cut hair for college student rates.

"I'm growing it out," I said, making emphatic gestures. "I want it layered. I want you to trim the sides and back a bit so the top can hang straight down rather than poofing out sideways." My stylist nodded and smiled, and began her work.

Apparently "I want it layered," sounds just like the Vietnamese for "I want it to look just like Sam H." My stylist moved with confidence and skill. She buzzed. She snipped. She measured. She trimmed. But mostly, she just buzzed.

"Dis goo?" She asked with a beaming smile.

"No," I said. "You're cutting it too short."

Her eyes got really big and she nodded enthusiastically. "Oooooh, too sho! Okay!"

The next thing I knew, my gorgeous head of hair - my pride and joy - had been knocked back to an unhealthy inch-and-a-half curly mess on the top of my head.

Still wearing that enthusiastic smile, she asked if that was what I wanted (or maybe she asked me to please pass the noodles and soy sauce).

"You can stop now," I said, biting back tears. "We're done." I paid her the two bits and wandered, distraught, into the parking lot. Then I leaned over and shook my head violently. My hair remained completely motionless. An hour ago it would have been streaming about in all directions in a fashion reminiscent of the entrance of the much-maligned Prince Charming from Shrek 2, who has very cool hair.

I was devastated. An hour later, I appeared at what amounted to a minor social function, and about forty people who had always pretended to be my friends stabbed me in the soft spot between my shoulder blades with insulting comments against my taste like: "It actually looks pretty good." It actually looked good when my hair was accidentally ruined!? How did my hair look when I was happy with it? Like Donald Trump, I suppose? Maybe these "friends" would prefer a crew cut! A buzz! Heck, why not shave it all off and get a dragon tattoo? Some consolation they turned out to be. Only one person really seemed to sympathize. I believe "Wow, your hair looks really bad," were her exact words.

My girlfriend dumped me the next day. She said it wasn't working. She said the chemistry was gone. She said she was in love with someone else. There were tears shed. She was pretty bummed about it, too.

Last Saturday, Mrs H came up to me and started talking to me about things I'd never heard of. After a few minutes of awkwardness, I interrupted: "Um ... I'm not Sam. That's your son way over there." It was at the moment that I resolved not to hold back. I would never go back for a haircut - never. I would grow my hair as long as it would get and let it fall out when it was done. I wouldn't comb it, clean it, or style it. This was to be a return to nature in a fashion that my next door neighbor, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, would be proud of.

I'm now on day 3, and there are no women in sight.

Cruel Irony...

The winner of FCN's straw poll and clear favorite among the Faithful FCN Few to win the Democratic Nomination for President is the one candidate who isn't running. Who thinks we should draft Nancy Pelosi for President?

All Hail The Entrée!

The following is a transcript of a speech given before supper at my family’s dinner table. Hoots, hollers, cheers and other assorted audience reactions are recorded in brackets.

Brothers! We stand at an Archimedean point in human history. Behind us lie months of difficult preparation, years of physical conditioning and hours of careful planning. We’ve been through the valleys, over the mountains and through every of conceivable trial. It’s been a road full of potholes – the best food is rarely processed – but the path has been worth the reward. Our weapons are sharp, our minds are ready and fate is poised to decide the next few minutes.

As I look around this room, I see brothers who are eager to perform the required task. I don’t see students, laborers and white collar workers; I see hungry men with one objective and the means to satisfy that objective together.

I see a whole army of my countrymen, here in defiance of hunger! You have come to eat as free men. And free man you are!

[Applause]

Eat and you may die. Run and you will live at least awhile. And starving in your bed many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here as young men and tell our enemies that they may take our lives but they will never take our hunger?!

[Cheers, scattered applause]

Remember: I don't want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We're not holding anything; we are advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except our forks and knives.

[Applause]

Give them nothing! But take from them everything!

[Applause]

It has been an honor to live, breath and eat at your side; it will be an honor to die at your side.

Three weeks from now, I will be harvesting my crops and preparing for another meal. Imagine where you will be, and it will be so. Hold the line! Stay with me! If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are in Elysium, and you're already dead!

[Laughter]

Brothers, what we do in life echoes in eternity.

[Muttered agreement]

Take hold of your silverware, spread out your napkins and prepare to approach the meal table like hungry men. May there be no one who leaves this room ashamed or hungry.

You are men; eat like it!

[Guttural roar accompanied by a flurry of mastication related activities]

All Hail The Entrée!