photofriday

A few weeks ago, my friend and I embarked on a milkcrate installation and tire/tube replacement on a quiet Saturday afternoon. It was very spur-of-the-moment and got more so with the addition of snacks and beer. I got some photos of Mr. D doing funny things with his knee brace, but I’ll keep those to myself.

This probably makes it look like we’re whinos. But this was definitely a treat for both of us.

Photo Friday: Spontaneous.

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For Photo Friday: The Machine.

This is, of course, very tongue in cheek. I just thought, you know, it might be more interesting than a photo of my bike. I’m not going to join some sort of revolutionary force to overthrow the government. Totally not. Honest. Come on, it’s funny. Right? Not me — I’m gentle and fuzzy. Huggy, too. Half of my family works for the Gubbmint. Don’t call the fuzz please.

One of my favorite shirts has long since rotted off of my shoulders from being worn so much. It was a Rage Against The Machine shirt in white, with a photo of nuns with guns. It was awesome. I never got enough compliments on it. I had a The Clash shirt on last year at Wholefoods, and a middle-aged guy who probably went to see them in person when I was a wee lad gave me a nice compliment. I was stoked. Compliments are good.

I had not shaved since either late June or early July. Right around when I started getting into Burt’s Bees and put Pencil Revolution on indefinite hiatus. Started packing to move. Was still enjoying the peaceful bike-rides that Carbondale afforded. When we moved away from the Dale in August, I was already sporting a thick beard. I never shaved in my current apartment yet, despite being here for nearly five months. Considering that I have to start job hunting this spring/summer and that I should probably be clean-cut for job interviews, everyone knew I could not keep the beard for too long. My brother’s soon-to-wife was nervous that I would have beard to my knees for their June 22nd wedding, helped by my constantly telling everyone that I would shave my beard on June 23rd. Sharp.

People used to ask me, “How can you stand it?” “Because I’m manly as shit.” Seriously, though, growing a beard is much more than being able to physically get dense, inches-long hair to grow out of your face and neck. It’s a lot to put up with, and it takes patience to push it under your pillow when you turn over in your sleep, patience to dry it after a shower, patience when elderly people eye your suspiciously or even get startled by your appearance.

Everyone has their limit, and I turned into an impatient sissy Thursday. I had a dream that I had no more beard, and I liked the feeling. I thought about it a lot, finished my work early and went to town on the hair. The beard actually came off in less than a minute because I have a nice set of barber-type clippers from Wahl. What was left of my rough manliness killed two razor blades. And I got to use my new Burt’s Bees shaving kit, Bay Rum and all. I got it off quickly enough that I actually have it still. The beard. Yeah, gross, I know. If it can be made into little braids, I think I might send them to people as a joke. Maybe. That might be too gross even for me.

I have a wedding party to go to today, so I thought it might be nice to not have to sit through everyone tell me that I look like a terrorist, John Brown, Cat Stevens, etc. A dozen people last night told, “You look good without a beard, you really do.” What the hell? How bad did my beard look?

Also for Photo Friday: Fuzzy.