Monday

Sorry to miss a day, but I always held that I'd likely miss one of the scheduled episodes from the week. I take my defense based upon two forms of jurisprudence. First, it was the Sabbath. I sure as shit don't roll on Shabbas. And second, Katie was getting revved up for having her knee fixed up today, and I decided to spend the day climbing and getting her prepped for the knife. Sorry to let you down.

But today, I think I'll write about beards. Harry Potter is on the tele, and I think it's Hagrid's big dog beard that has me thinking about the finer aspects of facial hair. You all remember Hagrid, right?

Anyone familiar with me will likely recall the abject dearth of facial hair I'm capable of growing. That said, I have noticed a subtle creep in facial shrubbery on my grill. I'm feeling pretty solid on the upper lip, and, frankly, a substantial mustache is the sign of a true male. I've also got some of the chin business, but that looks more like the middle schooler who is desperate to show the ladies he's a 14 year old baller. As for sideburns and anything on the cheeks, it's slim pickins at best. The slim pickins are gettin a little less slim, and every now and then, I'll catch one of those stray straws that stand stiffly against the schick. Our little boy is gettin' all growns up!

A different type of beard is the special friend who's really covering up for a rippin' case of homosexuality. Megan is always talking about a certain friend of her's that is dating a guy who has a job that sends him to Europe for a big chunk of the year. He heads off to Spain or France, leaving his lass in Boulder. She takes his departure with none of the expected difficulty, instead just going about her business, and apparently with ease.

I'm not convinced that Meg's buddy is actually gay. She's far too cute of a girl for me to entertain such a disasterous outcome. Cute girls have to love the boys! I am, however, swayed by the idea of adjacent duplexes. I'll explain.

Megan, in addition to her little beard theory, likes the idea that couples should not necessarily live together, but instead just live next door to each other. Why deal with the hassle of your special buddy's dirty dishes and moldy shower curtain when you can just head back home, a mere stone's throw down the sidewalk. It's like the adjoining hotel rooms with a doorway, with locks on both ends, that connect the two spaces. Growing up, my family would pack into one room, one sibling on the floor or perhaps three squirming grommets kicking each other in one bed while mom and dad snored away on the other bed. But that's neither here nor there.

I kind of like Megan's idea for happy relationship accomodations. I don't want to be too far away, but a little of my own space would be nice. Given my bum's reaction to cheese, I bet Katie wouldn't mind it either.

And for my third beard segment, I'll leave you with this little nugget. (Bad for work, but click the link when you're back home, for the love of God. Highest of high comedy.) I must have somehow been on the moon when this happened in February. How on Earth does Joaquin make it to the stage? I love the fact that Letterman plays along and does just enough shit talking to Phoenix to make an ass out of him, but not enough to get into a fistfight. Obviously, Ben Stiller tried to give an ode to the interview of the year during the Academy Awards, but it wasn't nearly as good as the original.

One day, I'd like to be famous to the extent that I can get hammered on Xanax and roll out to a national television program. Until then, I'll just rock the blog.