My hair used to be REALLY long. Cliff Burton long. Conan the Barbarian long. Born-in-the70's-hit-puberty-in-the-80's long. There was nothing ironic or unusual about this. In my day - and at a burly 38, I feel entitled to an occasional in my day - if you were a young man who knew how to rock and roll all night and party every day, this was barely a choice at all. Growing your hair was as much a conscious decision as wearing jeans or eating fast food. It wasn't a question of should I grow it out?, it was a matter of how fucking fast can I grow it? Later it became a matter of how high can it go?, but I'll save that for another installment. Some of my hairy proclivities were nothing more than an offshoot of my unconditional worship of 70's...