Rockin' out at work

That's hyperbole. Or a lie. Depending on how you look at it.My house has not burned, which is also good.

Andy Warhol Style

Holy crap! The Holidays are almost upon us! Got your turkey, yet? Don't forget, it takes more than one night to thaw a big bird like that.

I have a story about that... for another time.

What was that? My beard maybe, trying to find me?

Mmm...roast Paco. Shut up, Paco, or I'll cook your other leg. (honestly, some people do moan).

WTF is up with those cheeks?

Day 17

We have been on this trail for a week now, and I fear we are no closer to the elusive "Beard" that we seek. There are rumblings in our party that maybe it does not even exist.

Things are hard for us all, down to no rations and carrying extra equipment because, 3 days back, we had to eat our mule, Guiseppe. The entire expedition is despondent, especially Paco. But, as we drew straws this morning and he was the short one, we're eating him next. I'd be despondent too.

Skullcap, yo. The Alternate Routes opened for Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers on one of their tours. They were pretty good and would only take $5 for their EP, so I bought a beanie, too. Support independent music!

Very little change to report. I'm rather deficient in the handlebar area, unfortunately. That was true the last time I grew it out as well. I've got all kinds of unwanted hair sprouting in other places, but my hope that it would fill the handlebars in was obviously misplaced.

What is it with red hair in the beard? KJToo has mentioned his growing red and mine is very red, too, even though I don't have a lot of red on my head.

Even more alarming, though, is the small bundle of white on my chin.

That's just bullshit.

"Patchy" is probably the best word to describe what's going on here. What's there can grow and grow and grow, but it's not going to fill in the bare spots.

Good? Maybe. Bad? Perhaps. Ugly? Hell yeah.

The nice thing about cowboy hats is that you really don't have to worry what your hair looks like when you're wearing one. Just ask Dwight Yoakham.

It's fitting that I wear this hat today, as it's my snow blowin' hat, the one I only wear when I fire up my John Deere TRS-21 for some serious, single-stage, twenty-one-inch-wide snow-throwin' action. It snowed in Willoughby today, though not quite enough to warrant the aforementioned firing up of the aforementioned John Deere. But yeah, that's when I wear the hat.

I don't know that my beard is any substitute for a scarf, unless that scarf were very thin and threadbare and knitted from itchy red facial hair. Then it might be a suitable substitute, indeed. I should probably point out that I don't want a scarf like that, just in case a friend or relative should stumble across this whilst looking for Christmas gift ideas. I have a scarf, thanks. I don't have an Xbox 360.

Pondering thoughts shallow

I've spent all weekend writing for NaNo and I'm all out of words.

So without further ado, here's a picture of my beard.

Am I a man?

Day 16 nears its end, and I find myself feeling a tad more serious. I mean, hell, look at this, eh?

Seems pretty full. I am quite surprised.

So here I am, amidst a plague, have a touch of it myself. I wonder, does beard hair grow when one is sick? I would suppose it does. The real question is, does the itch of the beard outweigh the misery of the illness?

"Legs A Lot" by danivenn

We interrupt your regular follicular activities to present an alternate perspective, specifically that of my wife, Laura.

In the interest of full disclosure, let me start by saying this: I just don't get it. The whole premise of the “how not to grow a beard” challenge is to spend a month growing a beard. Thus, the very name of the contest is the first problem I find with my spouse's November extracurricular activity.

Secondly, even if one (such as me, an erstwhile copyeditor and sometime writer) were to change the name to something more precisely descriptive, such as “How to Indeed Grow a Lousy Beard Month” or perhaps “How to Waste Precious Hours I Could Be Devoting to My Preschool-Aged Son (They Are Only This Age for but a Moment!) by Endlessly Snapping Pictures of My Grizzly Chin and Uploading Them to My Buddy's Website ... Month,” I would still take issue.

Imagine for a moment, if you will, that a group of women decided on a lark to have a contest they might deign to call “How to Have Silky Smooth Legs Month.” And next imagine that this small gaggle of girls donned their Venus razors and Raspberry-flavored Skintimate shave gel on Halloween Night and gleefully removed all hair from their gams ... and then did not do that at all for the next 30 days. Further imagine that these ladies enthusiastically photographed their stubbly knees each morning and posted the images on the Internet (or “-nets” — is that supposed to be plural? Since when?) Try to visualize these females unabashedly parading around in miniskirts or capri pants, their hairy shins shining in the sunlight. (You'll have to stipulate that it's an unusually nice November.)

Can't see it, huh? Me neither. But I think it would be fun. I would enjoy it. I might even participate in it. And Kris would hate it. I would venture that at least some of the guys who are active contestants in my husband's whisker tournament would find such behavior from their wives, girlfriends, S.O.s, whatever, completely unacceptable and perhaps even repulsive. There is a double standard. I'm just saying.

Anyway, I think it is safe to conclude from my comments here that the whole HoNoToGroaBeMo phenomenon is something I put up with annually. I would even say I am gracious about it. Last year I silently suffered the embarrassment of my beloved turning his “beard” (if you can call it that) into a holiday art project. Our Christmas vacation pictures prominently feature his mutton chops. I thought those went out of style with Alexander II of Russia in 1881 (Wikipedia – look it up). What do I know?

You are feeling sleepy...

I trimmed it today to get rid of scruffy bits. Don't think it's helped very much. :-D

Happy halfway point, partner.

Fifteen days of growth.

I speak not just of my beard, or that of any of the fine gentlemen competing here.

No, I say we have all grown as people and, yes, as men.

To truly know himself, said a wise man never, a man must know his beard. He must face the scratch, he must endure the wisecracks of friends and lovers, he must embrace the Grizzly Adams within himself.

Having done that, I think we all can truly look our fellow man in the eye, confident that we are manly men. Some of us for the first time.

It's Saturday. Saturday's are fun. Even when you take the family around to lunch and shopping. At JoAnne's, Linens & Things (30% off the whole store), Circuit City (30% off the whole store), and even the pet store. No, seriously.

Don't worry. We didn't come home with a pet. Or another child. We did a head count.

Perhaps a third look from me?

It is much better though. Today I even got a compliment on my beard, saying it looked good on me. So I may be failing the How Not to Grow, part of the HoNoToGroABeMo.

I don't think I can surpass Chuck Norris though.

Don't make my beard come over there...

Okay, so this post is a wee bit late. I blame the Internets, as I was mysteriously unable to access the site immediately after taking the photo last night. I can only conclude that HoNoToGroABeMo.org is afraid of my beard.

In order to post this, I've snuck up on the site while it was trying to untwist Jeff Greiner's latest photo. We don't do that fancy-dancy photo whizbangery around here, mostly because we don't have one of those shiny MacBooks.