Beard Down
For those of you keeping track, after three months of rubbing it, scratching it, gnawing at the corners of it, trimming it before going out, and pondering it in the mirror, tonight I decided to bid adieu to my beard.
The beard was getting kind of long, but not like ZZ Top long, just getting a little too shaggy, or maybe long in the sense of a song you like that you wish would just end. Initially, the beard idea was suggested by my new salon hottie, Jessica, because she thinks short hair and beards are hot. (I've officially broken up with the barbershop girl down the street I went to for a couple years, not only because she uses clippers almost exclusively, but also because spending time with her is depressing beyond belief, and she never seems to be open when I'm around.) Jessica told me a couple weeks into the beard experiment that I ought to shave about an inch below the jawline under my chin. I gave this idea a go, but I knew that the experiment would prove futile, seeing as I have a terrible Irish double chin and hence no jawline to begin with. Just as I suspected, my little sister pointed out that, with the dark brown beard on top and then the porcelain white chin below, my head took on the appearance of wearing a helmet with a strap under my throat.
Bowing to this critique, I grew it out fully for several weeks and the complete beard was coming in nicely. Last Friday, however, I bumped into my little sister on the street, and she asked why I didn't shave the underneath part. I reminded her of her helmet strap comment, which she remembered, and the conversation stumbled into an awkward silence on both of our parts, and that's when I realized that the beard's days were numbered. It wasn't about pleasing her per se, but more about making the beard into a look that made me feel comfortable around others, which ultimately proved impossible. I will say this: I'm pretty sure it was better to the touch than it did to look at.
Overall reactions to the beard were mixed. Some girls liked it, while other girls hated the very thought of it. Some guys thought it was cool, others were plainly jealous. One thing is for certain: it definitely made me look my age, a fact that did not sit well with me, because, I figure, if I look 25 and not 30, I can act 25 and not 30. Further, the beard was a little bit like admitting not only that I was old enough to have a beard, but also that I was old enough to look like I could care less what I look like, and seeing as I'm still not married or dating anyone seriously, I must continue to mind my appearance somewhat, albeit reluctantly.
Admittedly, I grew it at the request of a girl I was seeing this summer, and like the girl herself, the beard's time had come. Sheehan and Tim egged me on about it at Tim's twin's baptism reception this past Saturday. Over bloody marys and scrambled eggs, at a super-swanky country club in the suburbs, my fellow blind mice offered up the conspiracy theory that I was sticking with it in case the girl re-entered the scene. I told them that was as far from the truth as possible, as the breakup was a month old and a reunion was completely out of the question. As the morning passed, I felt terribly silly posing for pictures with Tim's kids that they will cherish forever of Uncle Paddy wearing what is likely the only beard he will ever grow in his entire life. Oddly enough, my mom forced my dad to shave his moustache for their wedding pictures, only to watch him grow it back and wear it for nearly 20 years. This isn't the first time I've acted as the parallel opposite of my father.
After the reception, I told myself that I would keep it until the Cubs' season ended, which turned out to be approximately ten hours after the baptism. The beard gave me comfort during the game by allowing me to stroke at the corners of my moustache while feigning interest in the painful ass-whipping delivered by the D'backs. A few hours after the game, shortly after Sheehan and my other friends silently disappeared, I found myself deflecting the advances of the only girl in the bar who reacted kindly to the beard. She, unfortunately, looked like she could fill in on the Bears practice squad, and that was when I decided for sure the beard was going to go -- and, no, I didn't go home with her.
[Sidebar: The beard turned out to be a Grade-A pickup device. The routine runs as follows. Go up to a girl in a bar and say, "Can I ask you something? What do you think of my beard?" If she says, "Ew, I hate it," say something witty or insulting and feel free to walk away -- you're not getting rid of the beard before you get her home or get her number, so you're screwed right off the bat. But, if she says, "Yeah, I love beards," or "I guess it's okay," you take out your license (obviously, without a beard in the photo) and say, "Do you think I'm more attractive without the beard?" This achieves three primary aims. First, she sees that you aren't some ass-bag who can't appreciate the fine art of shaving if the need arises at some point in the future. Second, if you live in a cool neighborhood, she will be turned on by this, assume you have lots of money, be less inclined to think you're just another drunken dirtbag, and therefore be more likely to give you her number or go home with you. Third, and most importantly, it lets her know your name/age before you know hers, which opens the conversation up to her playfully withholding her name/age or somehow using your name/age in a cutesy way that keeps the conversation going -- in either case, you win, because she thinks she's in the driver's seat even though you're really the one who's in control. The ice being broken, the rest is up to you. The beard opener is hall of fame material.]
I stuck with the beard for a couple more days into this week because, frankly, I had no reason not to. But tomorrow I'm going to court for a speeding ticket, and my dad/lawyer told me to meet him in the parking lot and look presentable. I therefore decided it would be unwise to look like a homeless kook in front of a traffic court judge. To add to the never-ending list of confounding Pat decisions, I got a really nice haircut last week from Jessica the hottie, yet I walked around for six days with a completely scraggly beard beneath it. So, tonight when I got home from work, I used my clippers to shave the beard down to a two-day's stubble. From there I will perform the final execution in the morning, that being the razor shave. Then I will be back to my clean-cut self, after a three month foray into the land of scruff.
All in all, the beard was a good experience, and not just because the beard routine got me into a couple of interesting situations, but also because it gave me the idea for a hook in a story I just started. Actually, I'm not technically starting the story. I've decided to cannibalize Pruitt and focus on one aspect of it and go on from there. After thinking it over thoroughly this summer, I decided that the overall Pruitt concept is too ambitious for the moment, so it's time to simplify and thereby improve. Maybe I will go back to it at some later date or put it in a different context, which may or may not be similar to thinking of me with a beard and then suddenly me without a beard.
The beard was getting kind of long, but not like ZZ Top long, just getting a little too shaggy, or maybe long in the sense of a song you like that you wish would just end. Initially, the beard idea was suggested by my new salon hottie, Jessica, because she thinks short hair and beards are hot. (I've officially broken up with the barbershop girl down the street I went to for a couple years, not only because she uses clippers almost exclusively, but also because spending time with her is depressing beyond belief, and she never seems to be open when I'm around.) Jessica told me a couple weeks into the beard experiment that I ought to shave about an inch below the jawline under my chin. I gave this idea a go, but I knew that the experiment would prove futile, seeing as I have a terrible Irish double chin and hence no jawline to begin with. Just as I suspected, my little sister pointed out that, with the dark brown beard on top and then the porcelain white chin below, my head took on the appearance of wearing a helmet with a strap under my throat.
Bowing to this critique, I grew it out fully for several weeks and the complete beard was coming in nicely. Last Friday, however, I bumped into my little sister on the street, and she asked why I didn't shave the underneath part. I reminded her of her helmet strap comment, which she remembered, and the conversation stumbled into an awkward silence on both of our parts, and that's when I realized that the beard's days were numbered. It wasn't about pleasing her per se, but more about making the beard into a look that made me feel comfortable around others, which ultimately proved impossible. I will say this: I'm pretty sure it was better to the touch than it did to look at.
Overall reactions to the beard were mixed. Some girls liked it, while other girls hated the very thought of it. Some guys thought it was cool, others were plainly jealous. One thing is for certain: it definitely made me look my age, a fact that did not sit well with me, because, I figure, if I look 25 and not 30, I can act 25 and not 30. Further, the beard was a little bit like admitting not only that I was old enough to have a beard, but also that I was old enough to look like I could care less what I look like, and seeing as I'm still not married or dating anyone seriously, I must continue to mind my appearance somewhat, albeit reluctantly.
Admittedly, I grew it at the request of a girl I was seeing this summer, and like the girl herself, the beard's time had come. Sheehan and Tim egged me on about it at Tim's twin's baptism reception this past Saturday. Over bloody marys and scrambled eggs, at a super-swanky country club in the suburbs, my fellow blind mice offered up the conspiracy theory that I was sticking with it in case the girl re-entered the scene. I told them that was as far from the truth as possible, as the breakup was a month old and a reunion was completely out of the question. As the morning passed, I felt terribly silly posing for pictures with Tim's kids that they will cherish forever of Uncle Paddy wearing what is likely the only beard he will ever grow in his entire life. Oddly enough, my mom forced my dad to shave his moustache for their wedding pictures, only to watch him grow it back and wear it for nearly 20 years. This isn't the first time I've acted as the parallel opposite of my father.
After the reception, I told myself that I would keep it until the Cubs' season ended, which turned out to be approximately ten hours after the baptism. The beard gave me comfort during the game by allowing me to stroke at the corners of my moustache while feigning interest in the painful ass-whipping delivered by the D'backs. A few hours after the game, shortly after Sheehan and my other friends silently disappeared, I found myself deflecting the advances of the only girl in the bar who reacted kindly to the beard. She, unfortunately, looked like she could fill in on the Bears practice squad, and that was when I decided for sure the beard was going to go -- and, no, I didn't go home with her.
[Sidebar: The beard turned out to be a Grade-A pickup device. The routine runs as follows. Go up to a girl in a bar and say, "Can I ask you something? What do you think of my beard?" If she says, "Ew, I hate it," say something witty or insulting and feel free to walk away -- you're not getting rid of the beard before you get her home or get her number, so you're screwed right off the bat. But, if she says, "Yeah, I love beards," or "I guess it's okay," you take out your license (obviously, without a beard in the photo) and say, "Do you think I'm more attractive without the beard?" This achieves three primary aims. First, she sees that you aren't some ass-bag who can't appreciate the fine art of shaving if the need arises at some point in the future. Second, if you live in a cool neighborhood, she will be turned on by this, assume you have lots of money, be less inclined to think you're just another drunken dirtbag, and therefore be more likely to give you her number or go home with you. Third, and most importantly, it lets her know your name/age before you know hers, which opens the conversation up to her playfully withholding her name/age or somehow using your name/age in a cutesy way that keeps the conversation going -- in either case, you win, because she thinks she's in the driver's seat even though you're really the one who's in control. The ice being broken, the rest is up to you. The beard opener is hall of fame material.]
I stuck with the beard for a couple more days into this week because, frankly, I had no reason not to. But tomorrow I'm going to court for a speeding ticket, and my dad/lawyer told me to meet him in the parking lot and look presentable. I therefore decided it would be unwise to look like a homeless kook in front of a traffic court judge. To add to the never-ending list of confounding Pat decisions, I got a really nice haircut last week from Jessica the hottie, yet I walked around for six days with a completely scraggly beard beneath it. So, tonight when I got home from work, I used my clippers to shave the beard down to a two-day's stubble. From there I will perform the final execution in the morning, that being the razor shave. Then I will be back to my clean-cut self, after a three month foray into the land of scruff.
All in all, the beard was a good experience, and not just because the beard routine got me into a couple of interesting situations, but also because it gave me the idea for a hook in a story I just started. Actually, I'm not technically starting the story. I've decided to cannibalize Pruitt and focus on one aspect of it and go on from there. After thinking it over thoroughly this summer, I decided that the overall Pruitt concept is too ambitious for the moment, so it's time to simplify and thereby improve. Maybe I will go back to it at some later date or put it in a different context, which may or may not be similar to thinking of me with a beard and then suddenly me without a beard.
posted by Pat at 1:54 AM
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