Tuesday, February 03, 2009

No. 2

RULES: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs (+) on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

I would like to grow a beard. Alas I cannot.

Spoken like a true man, that title is an admission of failure, of weakness. It is to say I try and I fail; my biology is corrupt. Except, now that I adjust to the disgrace left in the wake of a public revelation of personal infirmity, I remind myself that real men don't require beards to log trees or explore alien atmospheres. Real men only require ingenuity and shoulder width. With sufficient breadth in ones shoulders, new frontiers can be birthed, conquered and siphoned of their pure juices in an evenings work.

But the hair my face spurts is a joke played on the rest of the world. My face, ever the diva, takes solace in relieving attention from the shoulders, where attention initially belongs, and in redressing it's owners honest message as one of a post-puberty hiccup.

“My shoulders are broad like a child-bearers hips. I can provide for the children she expels.”
“Your beard shames you. Hell, if there existed a expression more accurate than beard I would use it instantly. Those granny's whiskers. That cat's tail hair. You grow beards like how trees grow nests. You should just buy one in a shop.”

Growth, I feel, comes slowly to me, both physically and mentally. My interest in childish pursuits wavered only in my late teens, finally tipping in my early twenties into more adult expression.
I may, however, have had a sense of taste about that culture & media I imbibed, even when it was animated for Saturday morning broadcast, as I could not stand French cartoons. I would tarry with patience through another obnoxious Garfield episode for Batman: The Animated Series, which aired a little later in the afternoon.

And so it can only stand that a full beard won't take growth until later in my twenties when it will blossom into something awesome. Until then I can only talk about it and, like the recent and erroneous spate of hair growth across my shoulder blades, just let my face express what feeble attempt at a beard it can muster.

And as for my abilities as a man, I remain optimistic.

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