On Beards- Their Pros and Cons

I first grew a beard right after I graduated college in May of 2002, breaking a vow I had sworn not to grow facial hair before the age of thirty. I had observed that most young men who grow beards or mustaches didn't really pull it off. I often heard them described as having pubic hair on their face. I myself briefly owned a mustache when I was 13 or 14, a pre-shaving, in-denial-that-I-ought-to-be-shaving mustache, which may still be seen clearly in my yearbook photos of both 8th and 9th grade. It was when I finally shaved the ratty peachfuzz from my lip that I promised myself I would go clean-shaven until I was older, and facial hair would better suit me. I projected older to be roughly 30.
So why did I break this solemn vow to myself, and why was I so impatient that I did so in the month of May, hardly prime beard season? I would say that the primary motive for growing facial hair, in my case and in most others, is a desire to look older. In my case specifically, having just graduated college and feeling like I was expected to be an adult, I felt a need to look the part. So I grew a beard, and went from looking 17 to looking 19 and a half. I liked the change, and have kept a beard, off and on, ever since.
Recently I have been considering whether to shave my beard off for the summer (something that I consider every now and then, but which only happens accidentally, if I make a mistake trimming), and I have decided to make a list of beard pros and cons, not to help myself decide but to advise others who may be thinking about taking one on for themselves.

Beard Pro #1-
A beard makes you look older (see above).

Beard Con #1-
If a beard is not thick enough it will not make you look older, it will make you look stupid. Someone will say you have pubic hair on your face (it's actually a commonly used expression).

Beard Pro #2-
Some members of the opposite sex will compliment your beard. "Don't shave your beard," they will say giving you a much needed boost of self-esteem, "your beard is hot." Some members of your own sex might do so also (Mike Roth said mine made me look like a "stud." His ridiculous word, not mine).

Beard Con #2-
For every person who likes your beard, another will not. Some may even be scared of you. "Ew, shave that off," they will say. "You look like a child molester."

Beard Pro #3-
A mustache serves to protect your upper lip. This can be particularly helpful when you have a cold, and repeated contact with tissues can make your lip red and sore. A mustache acts as a lip shield.

Beard Con #3-
Things get caught in a mustache, food and drink particularly. If you do get a cold you must be careful to avoid getting boogers in it.

Beard Pro #4(kind of obvious)-
A beard keeps your face warm in winter.

Beard Con #4(equally obvious)-
A beard makes your face hot in summer.

So, to sum up-
Beard Advice from the Experienced Beard Owner
1. Don't grow one if you can't do it right; you'll look like a jackass.
2. Take a running tally of how many people like your beard and how many don't, and then keep it or shave it off accordingly.
3. If you have a mustache drink with a straw and only blow your nose in front of a mirror.
4. Change with the seasons.
I feel certain that if you follow these four easy rules you too can have many years of beard success.

Coldstone Creamery

The other day I called my friend Jocelyn up to invite her to get some ice cream.
"Okay, but we're not going to Coldstone (a new ice cream place that opened near my house)."
"Oh. But I kinda wanted to go there."
"You want to get Germanchocklatecake again, don't you?"
(On the Coldstone menu Germanchocklatecake has an oomlout over the O, but I don't know how to put one in on blogger, or even how to spell oomlout for that matter. I have always liked German Chocolate cake, and at Coldstone Creamery they mix brownie bits, pecans, coconut and caramel sauce into chocolate ice cream and serve it under the name Germanchocklatecake. It's very good, and Jocelyn knew that it was the reason I wanted to go back.)
"Alright, we can go there. But you have to say 'Like it.'"
(At Coldstone Creamery they don't have small, medium and large. They have "Like it!, "Love it!" and "Gotta have it!" On our first trip I had refused to ask for a "Like It" size. "What was that?" asked the girl behind the counter with a grin. Uncharmed, I answered, "I said I wanted a SMALL. You know, the little one.")

At Coldstone Creamery the staff greets you as soon as you walk in the door. On this occaison there were between 6 and 8 high school students behind the counter, and when we opend the door we were given a chorus, not quite in unison, of "Hello, welcome to Coldstone!"
As we waited in line, we listened to the staff sing. At Coldstone Creamery whenever someone puts money in the tip jar everyone behind the counter is expected to sing their gratitude:
"IF YOU LIKE TO GO TO COLDSTONE CLAP YOUR HANDS! [clap clap]
IF YOU LIKE TO GO TO COLDSTONE CLAP YOUR HANDS! [clap clap]
OUR ICE CREAM IS THE BEST, IT IS BETTER THAN THE REST
IF YOU LIKE TO GO TO COLDSTONE CLAP YOUR HANDS! [clap clap, and one "toot toot!" from an excited and freckled young lady behind the register]"
While Jocelyn and I waited this happened repeatedly, and everytime it was a different song:
"TAKE ME OUT TO COLDSTONE, BUY ME LOTS OF ICE CREAM!"
"YUMMY YUMMY YUMMY I'VE GOT ICE CREAM IN MY TUMMY!"

When I got to the counter I asked for a small.
"What was that?" grinned the girl behind the counter.
"He wants a Like it! size." said Jocelyn.
"Haha! I thought maybe you hadn't been here before!" said the girl.
"Oh no, I've been before."
"Have you had our Strawberry Blonde?!" she asked. "it's my favorite! There's strawberry ice cream, mixed with caramel sauce and... GRAHAM CRACKER PIE CRUST! It's soo awesome!"
"Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Maybe I'll get that next time."
At the register I presented my credit card, unsigned.
"Excuse me sir, but I think you probably wanna sign this!"
"No, I didn't sign it on purpose. Here's my ID."
"Sir, please sign it, it's for your own protection!"
"No thanks, I would prefer to just show you my ID."
"Well thats highly unusual, but okay! Have a great day!"
"Thanks, you too!"
In all the excitement she had failed to notice that I added a two dollar tip to my card. Victorious, Jocelyn and I ran outside to eat our ice cream in peace and quiet.

Alyssa Teaches Me Feminism

My friend Alyssa is a feminist; not in the sense that you and I and all other decent people are feminists (that is to say, we support equal rights for everyone), but in the sense that she will be a graduate student in women's studies at Rutgers this fall and doesn't shave her armpits.
When you know someone like this, whose views lie outside of the mainstream, the temptation is to make their differences the topic of conversation, if only because it's the first topic that comes to mind during an awkward pause. So whenever I see Alyssa, I eventually start asking her questions about women's rights, and that's where the conversation stays.

Allow me, for the sake of explaining further, to set up this hypothetical comparison-
Say you had a friend who was schizophrenic. You would almost certainly find yourself full of questions about how he regards the world. "What," you might ask yourself, "does Mervin feel about nuclear armament? about cabbage? about professional basketball?" Were you to ask him you would not be surprised to find his perspective different from your own: nuclear weapons remain a menace, but for him a pressing one, lurking in the garages and bridgework of everyone around him; cabbage for him is not an unappetizing vegetable but a good friend, loyal and pleasant to talk to; basketball might have no meaning at all. These may not be your own feelings, but it does you good to hear about them- your horizons are broadened.

It's precisely that way with Alyssa. I am always asking her ridiculous questions about what is important to her, because I am genuinely curious about how she sees things, and she is patient and willing to discuss whatever nonsense it is that I am bothering her with-
"I like calling people 'douchebags,' Alyssa. Is that okay? As a feminist are you offended by that?"
"Actually Andrew, I am offended by the very act of douching. Is there something wrong with a woman's body that she needs to cleanse it that way?"
"Wow, I'd never thought of it like that. But I guess that makes 'douchebag,' okay then?"
"Well, not really."
Alyssa seems to approach this kind of question and answer session as working to raise awareness of feminist issues, and if that is her goal she has achieved it. Among other things, I have learned from her that it is fun to call pro-life people "anti-choice." "Because," as Alyssa put it, "Why should we let them define the terms of debate? I'm not going to let them imply that I am anti-life."
She also invited me to a women's rights rally in D.C. where it is doubtless I would have learned countless other things about feminism, but I begged off because I am lazy. After the rally, she told me that Karen Hughes, a close advisor to the President, had created controversy when she likened the protestors to terrorists. I got a good laugh out of that. "Ha!" I said to myself, "what a jackass!" But for Alyssa, this was an attack, one which she will fend off with rusty chains and broken bottles. I admire her for it.

Clay and Andrew Land at War

About a week after Clay and I posted our declaration of independence on the door, our friend Scarlet wrote something like "Clay and Andrew Land sucks!" on our dry-erase board. We responded with the following:

At some point in the last week or so war was declared against Clay and Andrew Land, by parties which are as of yet unidentified. This brazen act of cowardice has taken our small nation unawares and destroyed the simple naivete that had heretofore been such a defining characteristic of our daily life. Clay is particularly upset, and has been on the phone with his parents constantly.
Though we confess we don’t recall the exact date of this vicious attack on our way of life, we feel safe in stating that the second week of October is a week that will live in infamy.
Before the month is out, Clay and Andrew Land will most likely take steps to revenge itself on its enemy, who we believe to be Scarlet, and whom we believe is being harbored by Mercer Hall. Only when this nefarious and cowardly villain is brought to justice will the residents of Clay and Andrew Land be able to once more sleep soundly in their beds, secure in the knowledge that they are invincible and better than everybody else. Notice of a Conscription Act shall be forthcoming.
Terrorists may write mean things on our door, but they will never write mean things on our hearts; and though they prevent us from being as happy-go-lucky as we once were, they will never prevent us from getting our chill on.

I also wrote a stanza for our national anthem, so here's that too-

God bless Clay and Andrew,
With them doth freedom dwell.
God bless Clay and Andrew Land,
Where everything is swell.

Finally, in the interest of getting all the Clay and Andrew Land stuff out there so I won't use it as a crutch the next time I can't think of anything to write, we had our draft, which we began by posting our Conscription Act on the door.
Hear Ye, Hear ye-
In order to combat the evil which strikes at the very heart of Clay and Andrew Land, We have decided to have mandatory Conscription for all males between the ages of 20 and 25, which in this case is everyone. The words “Soldier” and “Civilian” will be written on little bits of paper and drawn out of a hat or something. Whoever draws the scrap of paper that says, “Soldier” will become the army. He will then protect the civilian, except for one day of the month when he will go on leave and the “Civilian” will be left to fend for himself. This vital information will be kept secret so that the dread-pirate Scarface doesn't’t try to catch us with our pants down, which would be just like her.

Results will be announced by week’s end.

I don't really remember who was the soldier, but I think it was Clay. The following week we made an anonymous phone call to Scarlet's room at 2am, and though I don't really remember what we said it might have been, "Don't fuck with Clay and Andrew Land, biotch!"
Having won our war on terror with this single brilliant maneuver, we soon thereafter became concerned with schoolwork and put our country on the back-burner. Founding a nation is hard when you have to write papers; be grateful that Washington and Jefferson had finished college and could focus on being patriotic.

Clay and Andrew Land Revisited

The other day my sister told me that there might be a draft next year, and it reminded me of how much I hate America (click here to see what she was talking about). That line of thought brought me back to college, around October 2001 when everybody had the flag magnets on their cars and the United States was getting ready to bomb the shit out of Afghanistan, and my roommate Clay and I posted the following manifesto on our door-

Clay and Andrew hereby declare their independence from the United States of America, due to irreconcilable differences with U.S. Foreign policy and George Bush who is a stupid cunt. Their room, Custis 106 has seceded from the union, and will henceforth be known as

“Clay and Andrew Land”

Clay and Andrew Land is a utopian society where all people are equal, and no one goes hungry. We have a strict policy of not bombing people, or trying to rid the world of evil in any other way. A national anthem is currently being composed, and will hopefully be ready for a gala ceremony celebrating the establishment of our brave new world next month. Clay and Andrew Land will not be granting anyone asylum, as we are cramped for space already. We would also like to give a shout out to J.S. Bach.
Power to the people. We get our chill on.

President Ronald Reagan Enters Into Heaven

Originally I wanted to commemorate the death of Ronald Reagan with a poem. My first idea was to modify an existing poem, similar to the way I used black_mn4u's "The Hot Maid." An early candidate for adaptation was a poem by Vachel Lindsay called "General William Booth Enters Into Heaven." Here's one stanza to give you an idea:

Ronald led boldly with his big bass drum
(Are you washed in the blood of the poor?) Hallelujah
Hitler smiled gravely, and said "He's come."
(Are you washed in the blood of the poor?)

The more I thought about that idea, the less I liked it. First, it's not particularly funny (Hitler smiled gravely? Washed in the blood of the poor? And who ever heard of Vachel Lindsay?). Second, it's not particularly creative, is it? Any jackass can take somebody else's work and change a few key words for a joke; citing the author might make it honest, but it doesn't make it any less lazy. On the other hand, an original poem takes a lot of time and effort. Even if I was good at writing poetry (which I am decidedly not) I could never write an original poem quickly enough to make it a part of this week's posthumous media blowjob. I decided to try something else.

Another idea was a series of quotes and facts about President Reagan and his impact on our country, but I decided that was dull. Nobody wants to read how many millions of people were unemployed in 1984, or that George Kennan thought Cold War policy delayed rather than hastened the fall of the Soviet Union (I do have this one really great quote where Governor Reagan wondered how many redwood trees a person needed because they all look the same).

So I slapped together the following 100% fictional scene, a meditation on how conservatives, soulless assholes by nature with no pity for anyone in their stone hearts, deal with the death of one of their own. Enjoy!

Anne Coulter comes home from a long hard day of yelling at her ghost writer to discover her seven year old child, Taylor, in front of the TV weeping.
"Oh what's wrong, honey?" says Anne, in that husky man-voice of hers.
"Mommy, what happens when you die?"
"Honey, is this about President Reagan?"
"Yes," sniffs the buck-toothed little mouth breather.
"Well baby, President Reagan has gone to a much better place."
"Heaven?"
"Yes, that's right. Remember when we talked about heaven?"
"No," sniffs Taylor.
"Well we did. And I told you that in heaven there aren't any poor people."
"Where do the poor people go mommy?"
"To hell, dearest little boy. And where do the Jews and the homosexuals go?"
"They go to hell too?"
"Yes, that's right, along with most of the Negroes. And there are no Communists or Muslims in heaven, so it's very peaceful. And everyone has a lot to eat and pretty jewelry to wear, and nobody tries to make them feel guilty about it or share."
"Sharing is bad, isn't it mommy?"
"Yes sweetie, sharing is for liberals."
"Will we go to heaven?"
"Surely, sweetpea. So I don't want you to worry about President Reagan. He is with God, and he is finally able to understand what happened while he was President."

My Big Break

I have had what I think is a million dollar idea, and now feel certain that I will leave the world a success.
I will produce an album, a double CD set (two for the price of one, so about $17.99 at Barnes and Noble, $12.99 at Target). Disc one would feature the Indigo Girls covering Enter the Wu Tang. Disc two would feature the Wu Tang Clan covering the Indigo Girls.
I think that such a CD would not only go double platinum and sweep the Grammies, but it could build a lot of bridges between the Indigo Girls' target audience, that being primarily lesbians, and the Wu Tang's target audience, that being primarily young black men. Imagine a concert with an audience populated by young African American men and homosexual women, with the proceeds given to me so that I can retire at 25.
This is my dream. All that remains is to befriend the Wu Tang Clan, the Indigo Girls, and probably a lot of other people in the music industry, and get them all to agree to this. Which should be easy, cause come on, who could fail to be impressed?