Rockin' the horseshoe?

Friday morning at work, I went to the bathroom for my 10am crap and there was a guy on his way out, and he was showing male pattern baldness...
See subject 7, Figure:

I was on the way into the can and he was on his way out, evident in that he was washing his hands (well at least there was that), but once he was done washing his hands, he dried them, then took the now-damp paper towel to shine the top of his head before tossing it.
Needless to say, I snickered once he'd left the bathroom.

As the weekend progressed, I blogged about cooking, about random conversations about nothing in particular, then about airplanes and let us not forget the ever-important subject that would be boobies that I'd had scheduled for this morning but typed YEARS ago (this was the 3rd annual one), the thought of WHY people are so unwilling to commit to a full-on baldy when the time comes was fresh on my mind.
Seriously, it is 2009, and major scientific advances have been made in both the restoral and removal of hair down through the decades. We should find ourselves in the middle of the two extremes, either where we actually care to preserve the hair we have using what is available -- and not that fucking snake oil they sell in (usually) Asian-owned beauty supply stores -- or actually going ahead and conceding to nature.

"You sure do talk a lot, Mr. Waist-Length dreadlock man... What do you care?"
Well gee, thanks for noticing!
I care because heredity is working against me. Male members of my family have/had receding hairlines and I have been well aware and living in expectance of such since I was 18, about when I am to understand that one or more of my uncles started to see their hairlines retreating toward the back of their necks. The contingency has been that as SOON as I see mine headed that way, I will invest in the necessary tools to maintain an always-fresh cue ball and nothing more.
I can't imagine why now, in a world with Michael Jordan, Homer Simpson, and many others and having had Yul Brynner before, where actually EMBRACING the baldy really is in style. I will not actively poll my female readers of which there are very few, but I have heard the talk down through the years and know that chicks dig a fresh baldy as much as they do any haircut on a man.

Why, then?
Why are men holding on to hope beyond hope on that the little patch in the infield of the "horseshoe" framing the top of their heads will somehow and quite magically regain glory of decades past, what when their is an inexpensive alternative that will NOT make them the butt of every joke in every room they enter?
How many black dudes will I see with anything ranging from what equates most directly to what appears to be a tennis ball with one panel's fuzz removed? What, well what about the dude with the thinning dreads on top that NEVER takes off his hat for anyone? Well what about the old dude in the club with the cornrows that don't QUITE cover everything?
Right... We've all seen them.
What about the white dudes who refuse to get in the pool for the fear of having their comb-over exposed? Again, we speak to that little island in the middle of their "horse shoe" as if it will become magically bountiful once again.

I can fully understand that the baldy MIGHT have a negative connotation for s certain majority race in this country... I happen to know an enormous, tattooed bearded pink guy; who is mistaken for a member of a certain sect of certain interests that may not be necessarily construed as positively contributing to society, simply because he prefers to shave his head. The stories he tells us about when he is approached in bars or whatever other social settings are fucking HILARIOUS. They were more frequent when he drove an F150 pickup truck, though.

There could be any number of reasons as to why someone holds onto their last few strands. Somehow I find myself thinking back to Al Bundy from Married With Children or Napoleon Dynamite's uncle Rico, or perhaps the previously mentioned old dude in the club [who in my mind has on a leather front sweater with a tight white dress shirt underneath with a gold figaro chain under the collar, and has a shag behind his 'horse shoe'] who SO can't stand his future that his focus are on his glory days which are -- much like his hair -- have long since left him.
Sure, perhaps there is something of a search for self-esteem in this equation, but there again I ask where is the ego boost in being the butt of EVERY joke in the room?

I really do wonder how boring my life would be if I didn't spend so much of my subconscious time people-watching?
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