I finally shaved on Thursday because I was going to the theater
My facial hair got out of control this week.
On Tuesday I was a lovable, scruffy scamp.
On Wednesday I was a sea urchin fresh out of the sea.
So did I shave on Wednesday?
Pssh. Does a sea urchin shave?
No, I watched the sometimes good, mostly amateurish, always interminable 4-hour epic Gettysburg. If you ever want to feel good about your own facial hair, watch a movie about the Civil War. The beards on those dudes were out of control. I wondered if the producers searched far and wide for costumers who had secret beard fetishes and whispered to them, "It's OK. This is a safe place. Now go make your wildest beard fantasies a reality."
Watching the interminable 4-hour epic Gettysburg (I'm pretty sure that was the full name on the posters) one is struck by the realization that the war went on so long because it was fought by proud, stubborn men who would not, could not listen to reason. The beards were their visual shorthand for getting that idea across, sort of like me wearing a tuxedo is visual shorthand for "I am lonely and crave human contact."
Seriously, I want to slip Tom Berenger a roofie and take a razor to his face. And then apply Nair over the shaved parts. He looks like an upside-down Don King.