Dude, God was pissed. But, instead of staging the Armageddon a little earlier than expected, or drowning out humanity with yet another flood, he decided not to trip. He exercised some self-control. The Lord, praise his name, counted to ten. After he mellowed out a little bit, God (being all-merciful and forgiving) decided that he might give the human race another chance. But not so fast, he would chill until things got really bad, circa 1994 A.D. By that time,inflation would be on the rise, the Dow would be down 48 points, and a whole generation would wander aimlessly and apathetically through history. Baby-boomers, who wanted to sell things to this God-forsaken generation, would go crazy. Their failed marketing schemes and frustrated promotions would cause them to tug collectively at the remaining hairs on their receding hairlines. At this point, humankind would be in search of a savior. As the world turned and the rest of the universe continued to run smoothly (with routine maintenance and minor repairs of course) the Almighty began to feel mischievous, so he played a joke on humanity. (Or was it just a test of faith?) At any rate, in 1993, a guy showed up in a small town down in Texas swearing to high heaven that he was the Messiah. In the Name of the Father, he gave the most powerful law-enforcement bodies of the U.S government the finger.Generals gathered in their masses, just like witches at black masses....Oh Lord, yeah! But we had to be careful, for humanity had already made the mistake of misinterpreting the will of God. So the FBI called in a team of special experts on the second coming. A panel discussion ensued. California had recently purchased the controlling shares of Seventh Sign stock. Everything appeared to be in order: a red moon over Laguna Beach and Malibu, dead fish and, the deaths of too many innocent children. The earthquake, however, would not take place for a few more months. But to be sure,they asked the self-proclaimed messia what he liked for breakfast. He said, "Wheaties, the breakfast of life everlasting." A buzzer sounded out of nowhere and the FBI said, "Wrong answer motherfucker! You die!" While Rage Against The Machine's bomb track blasted over the loudspeakers, the false prophet was torched. Sinead O'Connor wept tears of cascading sorrows. Under a blood-red sky,the real Messiah, a guy with a pony-tail arose from the ashes like a phoenix from the flames. Sensitive Pony-Tail Man embarked on his first world tour, retroactive. His hit song called "Can't We All Just Get Along?" climbed the charts during the summer of 1993, and has held steady in the top ten for two anda half years now.
As you may have guessed, Pony-Tail Man took it personally and his feelings were hurt. Depression set in like locusts on the farmlands of the firstNorwegian settlers. To give peace to his mind, he started a band and played some loud Shitty music. The music reflected his distraught emotional state. He whined about being mistreated at hard-core punk gigs when he was only trying to show that he cared. He bitched about being knocked around at hip-hop shows because his skin was white. (To tell the truth, I felt kind of sorry for him in this case. He was really beginning to capture the spirit of Tarzan.) He was only trying to help. Anyway, he protested metal shows because guys with spandex and untied leather high-tops would bum cigarettes from him and then light his pony-tail on fire. Things were at an all time low when the Deadheads kicked his ass after finding out that he showered on a regular basis. For a while, Sensitive Pony-Tail Man was confined to the safety of his basement to play bar chords on an acoustic guitar, and sing to his girlfriend, Maggie. Not only couldMaggie out chain-smoke him, but she looked more like a Sensitive Pony-Tail Man than he did.
Things did get better. After a brief period of meditation, S-training, and a series of cultural diversity conferences, Sensitive Pony-Tail Man awoke before dawn. He put his Tevas on and.....Pony-Tail Man was in the House! One day while he was walking down the street and muttering cynicisms, he bumped into the wall of a coffee house. (He didn't see the wall because he was all hunched over looking at his footwear. He was considering the possibility of purchasing Birkenstocks). He looked inside the window and decided, with some reluctance, that he might go in. As far as he could tell, there were no skateboarders or skinheads. In fact, all he saw was a bunch of guys seated with their legs crossed "Anglo-American-Wannabe-European" style sipping daintily at black liquid in tin cups. After he sat down and ordered an espresso with a lemontwist, he was immediately joined by an MTV feminist and a Black-Revolutionary Without-A-Revolution. After such a righteous feast, Sensitive Pony-Tail Man felt obliged to apologize for being an oppressive white male. Then the caffeine began to take effect and he found himself spiraling upwards in a haze of philosophical and poetic inspiration well into the night. The next day, Sensitive Pony-Tail Man returned to the coffee house slightly more optimistic about life than he had been the day before. Two weeks later, while he sat in the same coffee shop, Pony-Tail Man decided that he was going to act up-get political, and start a movement or maybe even a revolution. Following some brilliant and original advice that was shouted from somewhere behind the espresso bar, the movement would be kicked off with a national "Coming Out Week." Yeah!
Two years, 200,375 cups of espresso, and 400 terrible poems later, the SensitivePony-Tail Man movement had not budged. Pony-Tail Man, nevertheless, continued towax poetic about it. But, little did he and the rest of his partners in the coffee house revolution know that the mere existence of Pony-Tail Man had actually succeeded in starting a movement. Armies of pony-tailed men came out ofthe woodwork and began to serendipitously discover their confederacy. They came in all shapes, sizes, and degrees of understanding. They pledged a common dedication to a continual state of acute external and internal awareness, and the pursuit of righteous melancholy. Coffee shops around the nation were filled to capacity. In unison, the owners of Starbucks and Caribou breathed a climactic sigh. The loosely organized Pony-Tail movement cornered the market on loud shitty music, social discontent, head-grease, and 60's nostalgia. And the Lord said, "Let there be Grunge!"
Sensitive Pony-Tail Man has also dominated Liberal Arts departments of the nation's universities. (If he's not in class, look for him at the student union where he is probably being sympathetic and liberal.) In art class, for instance, it is very likely that he is over-analyzing the artistic investment that goes into "No Smoking" signs. "On the one hand we have a "No Smoking" sign. On the other hand, we have a symbol of the collective guilty consciences of our white European ancestry. The "No Smoking" sign is really a subconscious manifestation of the oppression of all races by white males for the sake of luxury, status symbols, and bad habits. Look at how the artist uses colors to symbolize the European conquest of the land that originally belonged to Native Americans. This is symbolized by the dominance of the color red. The secondary and obviously conflicting colors, black and white, symbolize the use of Africansfor free labor in harvesting tobacco. This, of course, brings us back to the overall theme of the picture....." If he's not in art class, then he's in an environmental studies class wishing he were chained to a tree, or at least recycling something. In his English class, he is discharging bad poetry. If he is in drama class, he's being melodramatic. When he is in his political science class, he's being correct.
But wait, that's not all! Sensitive Pony-Tail Man is everywhere, being all things to all people. He's in the hood being Vanilla Ice-Wanna-Be-A Brotha-Man-With-A-Pony-Tail Man. He's cooling out in the barrio being Sensitive Pony-Tail-Don't-You-Know-I'm-Loco- Man. He is out with the ladies acting innocent and polite being Goddamn-I-Need-Some-Pussy-Man. He cried for Kurt Cobain's tragic end, A-Mosquito-A-Libido-Smells-Like-Teen-Spirit-Man. He cut off his pony-tail before he ran for office and became I-Smoked-But-I-didn't-Inhale-Man. He finally has commercial endorsements: I'd-Like-To-Buy-The-World-A-Coke-Man. He's about to get beat down at a hip-hop show, Yo-You-Just-Stepped-On-My-New-Shoes-Man. He always quotes the latest movies: Stupid-Is-As-Stupid-Does-Man. He's still stuck in the 60's So-Excuse-Me-While-I-Kiss-The-Sky-Man. He is down on his knees pleading with thegirl who he met at First Avenue last night: Give-It-Away-Give-It-Away-Give-It-Away-Man. He's at the Dead concert twirling his finger I-Need-A-Miracle-Man. So listen while his voice echoes from every mountain top: I Am The Chosen One; The Prodigal Son; The Sensitive Pony-Tail Man!!!