as we may blog

Earlier this week, I posed a simple question to a few people who happened to be online: "I think it might be time for the beard to make a comeback. Thoughts?"

Three sages of stubble weighed in with the following expert commentary:

The Chinstrap:

Winter in new york, no better time to look midwestern. Plus the satisfaction of hot chocolate and Guinness on your upper lip multiplies by, like, a billion.

The Future Ball and Chain:

me: i think it might be time for the beard to make a comeback
thoughts?
mags: hmm
maybe
i think it might be time for me to get a haircut
or at least a trim
me: WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH BEARDS

The Former Roommate:

me: i think it might be time for the beard to make a comeback
thoughts?
scott: it is beard season
and you ahve enough time to get it in shape for my arrival
me: i like your near-long term analysis
scott: mmm
i watched project runway
me: were they designing beards?
scott: no but there were some inspired looks

We’re entering the itchy proto-beard stage today, so your feedback could make all the difference. I know it will be tough to top the advice given already.

What’s at stake

So I was lying around shirtless in Greenpoint yesterday, but I wasn’t doing any of the things one might expect a strapping young lad sans chemise to be doing in Greenpoint (such as walking my Pomeranian or making sausage). No, fair readers, instead I was getting an EKG in a walk-in clinic probably better known for its drive-thru urinalysis than its cardiac care. I won’t bore you with the details, but I ended up in this unlikely situation after spending an uncomfortable night wondering why I couldn’t breathe and why I had chest pains. I thought it was the flu. My kind walk-in doctor proved otherwise, but only after confirming that I wasn’t in fact having a heart attack.

48 hours later, it seems the culprit is nothing more than a considerable case of acid reflux. The good news is that I’m on the path to wellness because of the doctor’s strict order to not enjoy anything in the next week—no alcohol, no foods with tastes, and god damnit no coffee.

After I gasped and wheezed my way home, I thought back to the gastronomic experiences of the previous week. It wasn’t pretty, in medical retrospect. Pilsner, octopus, chorizo, braised short ribs, red wine, chocolate cake, cognac, Guinness, chicken strips, French cheese, more pilsner, more red wine, pasta with fresh fish and a spicy cream sauce, more chocolate cake, spicy sausages and Miller High Life (go Hawks), scotch, scallops, apple crisp, brandy, wild rice soup, and more Guinness.

That list is in order and spans four days. I had it coming.

De / From :MARRAKECH
A / To :CASABLANCA CMN

Last night on the phone my Mom told me my life was pretty interesting. I’d never really pondered that (who has the time?), but I have to agree after getting an itinerary to Morocco in my inbox this morning. All things considered, I’m one lucky bastard.

This trip could wreak some serious havoc on the Diamond Anarchybots though.

The links and archives are back, as is a more sensible layout. Lately I’ve been wistfully thinking back to the simpler times of last year, when moving across the country twice in three months was downright fun. Not to say that it won’t be fun this time either. But when I look around and see an apartment full of junk that isn’t moving itself and about six really tired loooking cardboard boxes in the corner, well… I feel a bit overwhelmed sometimes. So I’m warning you that posting could be sparse in the next few months.

Like me, if you’re feeling an occasional fondness for the Bad Ol’ Days, feel free to troll down memory lane with these recommendations:

• Baseball in the metroplex (now with 100% less Kenny Rogers)
• Home Improved
• No pressure
• Thanks for the e-mail, Judy
• Mooney Suzuki Bite IC!

After thoroughly embarassing myself on the phone with Mags tonight—think catatonic stupor—I realized that I needed to improve my phone skills quickly or risk (further) social ostracization. I wisely put the job search on hold and contemplated how best to conquer my recent muting. The solution, like most things in life, was a push of the F12 button away.

Armed with this blue sticky, I’ll never again be at a loss for conversation.