Week 7 - Day 1 - Too Little, Too Late

Granted, my pic was taken the first day of week 7, however, I am reluctant to say that I am tardy in its posting. I have nobody to blame but myself. My reasons are few, and excuses even fewer. I can say nothing in my own defense. Now that that is out of the way, I can move on to the latest. It was an exciting week. My beard has begun growing for warmth now. It feels like it's building up its undercoat. The part that stays wet for about an hour after you get out of the shower. That's the tough part, especially on a cool morning on a walk with my dog. But its also the best part. It can now do whatever it wants.

I think we have an update on last week's song of the week. Turns out, the song Cassidy by the Grateful Dead, was the runaway winner. It goes without saying that the song fits like a glove for the criteria deemed most favorable for the prestigious award. But the reasons for this song, beyond the obvious, are twofold. One, of course, because it goes without saying that the song was sung/written/etc when a beard was in the picture; and two, because my buddy Murph loved the Dead so much in fact that he named his daughter, yes, Cassidy; and three, finally, because Murph has a beard. So that would make it threefold, not twofold, I guess. Anyway, listen to the song. It's pretty cool. There's a ton of versions. One, I especially like, is a cool acoustic one.

I think that might be it for this week. Maybe I'll have an update later today. It's still early, so there's still time.

Really? Casey Affleck's Brother Has a Beard?

He certainly does. And it goes without saying that he looks like an even larger douche bag with one than without one. I think it's for some movie. Let's get one thing straight off the bat; I'm no real fan of the guy, but that would not necessarily imply that I wouldn't give the guy a fair shake when it came to growing a beard. Then again, maybe it would. But when that shabby-ass beard is joined by flowing hair, need I say more? Some guys can pull them off, some can't. I'd throw Casey Affleck's brother in the mix with those who can't.

So this post kind of stretches the credulity of it's afore-alluded-to-goal of railing on some dude who was pretty bad and who had a beard. If I had to stick with that script, I'd go with Casey's brother's role in Mall Rats, where he not only drenched himself in douchebaggery, but he also nailed a 15-year old girl. I think that qualifies.

That's two week's running now where the lead character of this intended post has been more of a giant douche bag than a really bad dude with a beard since, well, the last two characters haven't been bad necessarily. Well this week's is a bad actor, but last week's was more a dude who was bad in a prison scene. Who knows what will be next.

Week 6 - Day 1 - Oh the Pain

It wasn't a particularly great week for my beard. While my excitement level has not, in any manner, shrunk from its euphoric high, it did encounter a pretty high hurdle. There were about two days last week that I'm pretty certain, as in "That whale was 40 feet tall if it was a foot," certain, that my beard simply didn't grow. I chalk it up to disappointment. Beards have feelings too and, well, the Penn State loss to Iowa was hard to swallow. My glorious beard went into a self-imposed isolation. I'd say somewhere around Monday, my facial sweater finally, reluctantly, escaped from its cocoon and once again continued its journey. Thankfully we can again begin our assault in earnest.

One of the things you'll notice, if you pay as close attention to these things as I do, which means that you likely don't, is that my upper lip has, for all intents and purposes, disappeared. Where'd it go? Hidden beneath the tangled web of hair I dare say. It will find it's way out in a couple months. See you then, good friend.

It was a tough week. The song of said tough week will soon be forthcoming. Good things come to those who wait.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention. I think we're going to have an interview or 2 in the coming weeks. It should be pretty exciting.

Bend Over...I Beg Your Pardon?

Can't quite place it? I know. It's not entirely of polite society. But it does hold to this week's title for the guy who's not good, has a beard, and in this case, is entirely bad.

Ben Dover: Take off your pants.
Fletch: I don't even know your name.
Ben Dover: Bend over.
Fletch: Ben? Nice to meet you, Victor Hugo.

It goes without saying that Fletch Lives was a far far inferior film to the original Fletch, however, the scene was pretty damn funny; And, the guy with the deusch-baggish beard and eye makeup had a beard; And he wasn't particularly good; He did molest a dead horse afterall. So, he shall be the character whom bears the sceptor and proudly, errh, carries the distinguishing scarlet letter that shouts to the high heavens that he isn't particularly a good guy, and in this case, he isn't particularly good at growing a beard. Two thumbs down in this case.

Week 5 - Day 1 - Reflections

As I sat and reflected upon the last couple weeks, and the growing that ensued, I enjoyed an extremely fine unfiltered Belgian farmhouse ale. It was, quite simply, outstanding. Something called Saison Dupont, of which I hadn't heard before, and will certainly be revisiting again. A smooth, interesting flavor, yet not overwhelming, very subtle. The nose is complex, aromatic, a number of different spices in there, earthy. The taste bursts in your mouth upon reception, rather than waiting until it reaches the back of your mouth. It explodes on your tongue and washes back through your mouth. The finish was dry, subtle, yet very tempting. Every taste was exciting.

Upon what did I reflect while enjoying this ale? Mmmm, mostly that my earlier preconceptions concerning my bespecked-with-gray-beard were unfounded. Happily, I have only about 4 or 5 grays littering the artwork. For that I am relieved. Not that I would have been devastated otherwise, but it's nice nevertheless. My about-to-be-glorious facial helmet could not have come at a better time. The air is certainly crisp. I'm telling you, once the daylight savings hit, the mercury plummets at dusk. Plummet of course being relative to my locale, but plummet it does. A beard and a hearty sweater are the only armour I'll need to make it through methinks.

While I'm adorned with yet another hat, what lies beneath is a tangled mess of woofing. I can't tell at this point whether my beard is outgrowing my hair or my hair is outgrowing my beard. All I know is that a battle has begun and it likely won't be decided until a sharp pair of shears are introduced to the picture. And we know that my beard will be kryptonite to the scissors. Be warned hair. Your day is coming.

I think I'd like to introduce a final little nugget going forward. I'm not sure if it will receive it's own lofty status upon its own post, or as is the case right now, be melded into a weekly update. For now, it will have to march in step. The post, drumroll please, will be a song of the week that was written or performed whilst the singer/songwriter/musician, is sporting a beard. I fear calling it glorious because not all of them were in fact glorious (see Dylan, Bob, circa 1973). That beard, as inglorious though it might have been, was like a touch of cinnamon. It's always that one ingredient you can never put your finger on in a dish, but you know without a doubt that whatever you're eating is better off because of it.

Anyway, our first song of the week is...well, actually before we get to the song of the week, I have to throw in the song that should be the first song covered, however, at this point, I have been unable to prove with certainty that it was performed or written during a beard-growing venture by Jeff Tweedy. The song, Bob Dylan's 49th Beard. I mean, you have Dylan and beard in the title of the freaking song. If anyone can produce definitive proof of Tweedy's beard while performing/writing this song, please send along the evidence ASAP.

After that ridiculous diatribe, on to the song. We're going to start out with the 12-plus minute version of Thorn in My Pride by the Black Crowes. It goes without saying that Chris Robinson had a ridiculously great beard, worn for multiple seasons at length. Not only that, but the dude can put on a hellacious show. The song is great. If you find it on i-Tunes or something, the acoustic version, do yourself the favor of downloading it. Sit back and listen to Robinson's searing and soaring vocals. An earthy jaunt wrought with blues and cigarettes.

That's it for this week. Maybe we'll have something special in store for next week. Who knows?

The Unabomber

Geez. That's really a pretty poor way to get things started, but alas, there's nothing I can do about it. One Theodore Kaczynski is the focus of this individual post. I thought, for something different, a taste of the unexpected, something to chew on, I would enter into the world of decrying the fact that there are some really bad people out there with some generally good beards. So the nature of what I write will entail discussing, not in too much depth, maybe with an ounce of brevity, bad beards because of the people who wear them.

The unabomber was a particularly heinous coward of a man who killed three people while generally terrorizing universities and airlines alike. On the lamb from the law, not the least bit because they had no idea who the unabomber was which is no slight on the law because no one knew who this guy was) his beard prospered in his back woods hermit cabin.

There's not too much more to say about this other than the fact that Kaczynski was a crazy nutjob. As a result, it lowered the potency of any otherwise laudable things to say about his beard.