Bearding IV (Motivation)

You've seen the photos. My beard isn't great. I guess that's what I get for shaving the darn thing. Well, there isn't much to report in bearding, seeing as how most can't tell I have a beard. This is frustrating, but I've no one to blame but myself. So rather that sit around and have a pity-party, I have decided to through myself an encouragement-jamboree! I’ve been watching movies, reading books, and listening to music to galvanize my will and excite my beard-producing capabilities.

Movies

The Thing (1982) – Kurt Russell’s beard in this movie is stupefyingly cool. Careful though, not only is this movie incredible, it may trigger the intense urge to move to Antarctica and ruin computers by pouring bourbon in them.

Rocky IV (1985) – Clean-shaven Dolph Lundgren drinks a gallon of ‘roids and then kills Carl Weathers. Rocky has to go to Siberia and grow a beard in order to beat him. Guess who wins?

The Unstoppable Beardsmen (1988) – Three bearded warriors (Rutger Hauer, Carl Weathers, Burt Reynolds) meet as opponents in the Olympics of Ass-Kicking when they are forced to join forces the defeat the evil Ray Zor (Crispin Glover) who has taken the entire U.N. hostage. The trio trade quips and fire machine guns into the guts of ninjas and robots alike. ZZ Top does the soundtrack. Oh yeah, this movie doesn’t actually exist, but it plays in my head constantly.

Teen Wolf – (1985) – The whole movie is a metaphor for becoming a man and growing a beard. The film exposes how society is fearful and frightened of beards, but that beards ultimately make you better at basketball and help you do handstands on your van.

Music

Iron and Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days - Iron and Wine is a band that is basically just one dude named Sam Beam. Sam’s beard makes him looks like he should be playing Scandinavian death-metal, but instead he whispers and creates quite, beautiful music. Why? Because when you have a beard of that magnitude you don’t have to scream.

Pedro the Lion –Achilles’ Heel and Control – Pedro the Lion is mainly David Bazan and he remains indie-rock’s little secret that no one seems to know about. His lyrics will make your jaw drop and the music will break your heart. If you haven’t heard them already, I suggest you go out and buy Control right now. Oh yeah, and he has a big beard.

Books

Through Painted Deserts – Don Miller – While not specifically about beards, it is about a pilgrimage that a man takes in order to find himself. Many find his trek ill-conceived and foolhardy, while others cheers him on in his awe-inspiring odyssey. He encounters new things and discovers why he was truly created. Sound like a perfect description of bearding to me. This book probably had a great deal to do with me not taking that job.

So that’s about it. If you have any suggestions about resources I can utilize to spur me on in my bearding, let me know.

For those of you who are upset at my lack of bearding fortitude, maybe it’s because I didn’t have enough visible, emotional, and spiritual support. Lance Armstrong had all those yellow wristlets and look how well he did. So I have some ideas of ways you can show your support:

1.) Just grow a beard – The more beards are out there, the stronger all of us are.

2.) I realize most of you won’t participate in growing a beard (yet), but just grow your whiskers one day more than you were planning to. When you look in the mirror and think it’s time for a shave, just go 24 hours farther than that. Jot down your experiences during that 24 hours and email hem to me. Your mini-bearding sessions are just the thing I need to motivate me.

3.) Pass this blog along to family and friends. Get the message of bearding out there. Let’s start discussing it openly. Let’s move the talk from out of our closets and bedrooms to our cafeterias, our sports bars, our cubicles, and our campus quads. Let’s set this country ablaze with our message of love and beards!

Thanks,

Thomas

Bearding III (Can't buy me love)

Guess what I learned today? I love life more than I love money. I haven’t posted in awhile, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t because I forgot or was neglecting bearding. In fact, I was bearding so hard, I didn’t even have time to write about it. I’ve been going back and forth for awhile now about “should I take the job” or “should I keep bearding”. I’ve received countless emails asking me what I’m going to do and I’m happy to answer that I am not taking the job. I may not have to fullest beard, or the longest, but I might have the most expensive.
Some of you reading think that I am irresponsible in not taking the job. Some of you are clapping your hands and yelling cheers of joy at your computer screen. Me, I’m just happy to be bearding again. Yes, I’m discouraged that it has been so hard me to get going with this thing, but this is all part of the bearding experience. This is our culture and this is how we treat men with beards. We make it hard for them to get jobs and we tempt them with razors and wealth. If we aren’t trying to get them to shave, we are trying to isolate them in coffee shops and record stores. Talk about another band I’ve never heard of, arrogant-music-guy. Play another folk song, street-guitar-dude. Prepare another latte, over-eager barista. But do not venture out. Stay in your patchouli and incense-soaked poncho haven, never realizing that the world is yours.
I’m back on track with bearding. I have about a week’s growth right now. I know that it probably sounds like a broken record to you, but a week’s growth is the wall, it’s the starting point that most men never get passed. I feel like an addict trying once again to kick that bad habit I have. I’m sorry if it feels tedious and slow-going. Trust me; I’m more disconcerted by it than you are. You will be happy to know that Clay has not wavered in his bearding devotion at all. He has not journaled much of late, but I can only assume this is because he is out living the life of a happily bearded man.

Bearding II

It has been five days since I began bearding, and already I have hit a snag. Friday morning, only two days into bearding, I had to shave. I know, I know. I’m disappointed in me too. I didn’t want to. It makes me angry just thinking about it. I was presented with an incredible job opportunity, and I had been granted an interview. The place is a very “professional” place, and that means you have to shave in order to work there. So, I shaved, went to the interview and was granted a second interview which will take place some time this week. This is ridiculous. What kind of message does that send? “Shave off your masculinity and we’ll give you the job.” I can’t stand this kind of thinking. Don’t they realize, the more beard I have, the more me I have. If a clean shaven me is great, then a bearded me is incredible. But our society says no. Shave your face. Be nice and pretty. We fear your awesome man-power. Hide the fact that you can grow hair on your face and chop down trees and wrestle wolves and write a song that would break our hearts and lift our spirits at the same time. NO. NO! WE ARE SCARED OF YOUR MIGHTY BEARD. WE ARE VAMPIRES AND YOUR BEARD IS DAYLIGHT, EXPOSING OUR WEAKNESS AND MELTING OUR FACES. Stupid society.
So what am I to do? If I get this job, I get alot more money and there is the opportunity for advancement into even more money. Is that all I care about? Would I sell my course, bristly soul for money? Possibly. I’m ashamed to say it, but I don’t have alot of money, and I would like some more of it. So unless you are going to send me money to write musings on beards, then I’m probably going to have to take the job. If I don’t take the job, I am going to be back on track with bearding, I haven’t shaved since Friday (its Sunday now) and I’ll just keep pressing on. I’ll only be a week behind Clay.
On a side note, many women Clay and I have encountered do not understand the beard. At first this was confusing, but I think I get it now. Most women have breasts. Breasts are a symbol of femininity, of beauty and womanhood. They show that a woman is able to bare children and incite fires in the hearts of men. They proclaim to all that if a woman gave birth she could nourish her young from her own bosom. She is delicate but strong, desirable and brilliant. She is a woman, for her mamories have told me so! BEARDS ARE BOOBS. It’s the same damn thing. As women hit puberty and develop, so do we. Women sprout knockers, we sprout whiskers. Do you see now, my sisters? All we want to do is have beards they way you have breasts. We welcome your chesty growth, ladies! Why can’t you offer us the same support? Just think about it.
I better go now. I will let you know as what happens with the job as soon as I know something more. Before I go though, I want you to know that your opinions and your ideas are important to me. I hope that as I go bearding we can all learn something from this. I think of myself as a field journalist, venturing out into wild country, sending reports back home, to educate, entertain, and enlighten. Please feel free to contact me with your thoughts and feelings as you take this journey with me. Also, I will soon put up a link so you can read Clay’s beardlogue as well.

With love,

Thomas

Bearding

Today, I embark on an adventure. This adventure has a name, and it is bearding. Bearding is very different than growing a beard. Growing a beard is simply the act of not shaving. It is a passive thing. It is the occurrence of ceasing to do something. Bearding is not this at all. Bearding is an active thing. It is the pursuit of a beard. By sheer will I slowly push course whiskers through my face for the entire world to see. I seek to cover my features with bristly hair. With zeal, I hope to observe the world around me, to contemplate my friends, my family, and even strangers’ interactions with me. I aspire to understand myself and others better and see how I am changed by the whole experience. This is what bearding is about. It is not a docile pastime, but a vigorous pursuit of life through the achievement of a beard. To aid me in this goal, I have begun this journal, this beardlogue.
A beard is a beautiful thing. Something about it has excited me ever since I can remember. It is an expression of manhood, a rejection of society’s norms, and a statement of boldness. A man with a beard can just as easily build a house out of trees he has cut with an axe, as he can write a poem about nature or love. A man with a beard knows who he is and needs not the validation of peers or authority figures. When a man with a beard speaks, people listen and they agree, for his words are filled with wisdom and thoughtfulness. He is patient and determined, and can consider every side of every situation. He is bearded.
I do not embark on this journey alone. My friends and companion, Clay, has agreed to join me. We are partners in bearding. Today is October 12, 2005, and a new world opens to us now. We have both agreed to not shave until January 1st, 2006. That is 81 days away. Some people reading this will think that is too short of time. Some will think it too long. If you disagree with our arrangement, I strongly suggest you get a friend, go bearding, and write a beardlogue. I would love to read it.
In order to kick off our adventure in bearding correctly, we must begin with a proper shave. To do this, Clay and I meet at Rudy’s Barber Shop in San Marcos, Texas located on the town square. We meet there at 11:00 am and began our transformation. I have not shaved in about three days, and I am due for a quality shave. Clay has what is formally known as a Petit Goatee. A Petit Goatee is a mass of facial hair located solely on the chin. I don’t know how long he has had the thing, but it is rather long. A Petit Goatee is fine and all, but it is not a beard, so it must go. I have not told Clay, but I am very proud of him. Not only has he thrown caution to the wind and joined me in bearding, but he didn’t even question the removal of his goatee. Clay is a brave and honorable man.
We arrived at Rudy’s (where they only take cash) where two gentleman are waiting for us. It had been a long time since I have been in a barbershop and I didn’t even realized I missed it. Barbershops are great places. They are one of the few places that are only for men. I am not a misogynist, nor do I seek to exclude women or put them in their place. I am happily married to a beautiful woman who is my partner in life and my best friend. Nevertheless, men need places that are just for them. I’m sure women feel the same way.
Some might say a strip club is a place for a man, but the appeal of a strip club escapes me. I have never been to a strip club, so I understand that I am speaking out of ignorance, but to me, such an establishment is comparable to the wooden cut-outs at carnivals and funhouses. They usually have a picture of a bodybuilder or superhero or something on them. You stick your face or head in the cutout, get your picture taken, and then it is supposed to look like the painting of the strongman is your body. The problem is, not only does the picture come out looking cartoonish and unrealistic, even if it did look real, that still wouldn’t be your body and you’d still be a skinny/fat/whatever person behind that cutout. Such is a strip club. That woman could care less about me and she’s only dancing or showing me what she’s showing me because she hopes to get money. It is not because I am desirable or interesting. It is a cardboard cutout where we pretend for a while that I am charming and an exemplary male specimen. Then, me and my buddies take a mental picture and remember what men we are. Now surely, many would argue that going to a strip is not about any of the things I have just discussed, but I think if I paid a woman to pretend that she liked me and to show me her body that it would make me feel like less of a man, so I can hardly see how a place like that is for men.
Rudy’s, however, is for me. It is a small, narrow place, covered in mirrors and old photos. There is a TV in the corner playing some bad movie that no one seems to be watching. There are only a few scraps of hair on the floor. They are grey, silver, and white, and it occurs to me that we are probably not the typical patrons of Rudy’s. Clay and I each take a seat and I am to be shaved by none other than Rudy himself. Clay is shaved by a stately gentleman (whose name I didn’t happen to catch) with one of the finest, whitest, handlebar moustaches I have ever seen. We make appropriate barbershop talk, and discuss last night’s Angels-White Sox game. Rudy was not able to watch it, but Clay’s barber did and is a little disappointed because he was rooting for the White Sox.
Now the shave begins. Ah, a proper barbershop shave. I cannot express to you the completion one feels when getting a barbershop shave. It is a right of passage for a man. Unfortunately, it is a passage that many men never take. With the availability of Mach 3’s, Norelcos, and other home shaving systems, many men have become do it yourself-ers when it come to shaving. This is fine and certainly understandable in our busy, convenience oriented lifestyle. However, I can dig a hole in my backyard and stare at it, or I can go to the Grand Canyon. They aren’t the same thing.
The first part of a proper barbershop shave is all about preparation. Rudy begins with wrapping a hot steaming towel over my face and pressing it into my skin. He does this several times and then he coats my sin with a hot thick lather of shaving soap. He covers my face again with a hot towel and then another layer or shaving soap. All this preparation feels like something important. I imagine this is what it feels like to put on armor before jousting or war paint before a hunt. Rudy begins to shave my face with a straight razor, pushing and stretching my skin with his fingers as he slices away thick whiskers. The sound of the blade against whiskers is perfect. He finishes my shave and then coats my face in a mentholated cream that feel like ice against my raw, naked skin. He presses hot towel after hot towel against my icy face which only amplifies the effect. The sensation is euphoric. Once done, he wipe me clean and I feel as if I have never had whiskers before.
I look over at Clay, and he is still in mid-shave. I think Clay’s barber is having tougher time than Rudy did. Clay’s beard is significantly thicker than mine. Clay has the kind of beard that must be shaved every ten minutes in order to keep it in check. He must spend a fortune in Mach 3s. Those things aren’t cheap. By Jan 1, Clay is going to look like a Yeti in ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. Clay’s barber finally finishes and then passes along some gossip and about who is in the nursing home now and who just got out, which I can only assume is of interest to his typical customers. We thank them and leave.
Clay and I took pictures to document the results of our outing, although I don’t know how well they will do. Neither of us had a real camera, so we used the one on my cell phone. Hopefully they will turn out all right.
As I ponder the day and the new foray into bearding, I am excited and somewhat apprehensive. I know that Clay’s beard will be magnificent to behold, however, mine might be somewhat of an abomination. Previous experiences with not shaving have shown me that I have a beard that can be described as “patchy” at best. I hope Clay is not disappointed in my lack of beard producing proficiency. Oh well, it’s not the size, shape, or fullness of one’s beard that counts. It’s how you explore life with it that matters. Bearding, Ho!