The Lost Art of Facial Hair

Freedom of expression is alive and well in our culture today. You can see it lifestyle preference, fashion, music, art, hairstyles, automobiles, etc. Everyone wants to have a "signature" look and the more original it is, the better. I can appreciate the piercings, tattoos (I have one and will probably get more), low rise jeans, low ride trucks, high ride cars, and even the tennis shoes that also double as roller skates. I mean, I'm a gen x guy, so that stuff is alright with me...to a point. However, I also have a little "old school" mentality, so you can bet that I was excited when I noticed that the ultimate fashion statement that was exhibited in the 70's and early 80's was making a comeback this week. This fashion statement wasn't meant to be a "fashion" statement at all. It was a symbol, if you will, of machismo. A symbol of manhood. Maybe even a proof of testosterone. It said, "Hey, look at me. I'm right above the upper lip...right below the nose. You can't miss me. And even though a man can grow hair all over his face, he chose to shave everything, but me. I'm a mustache!!!!" That's right. Thirty years ago nothing said "man" more than a line of hair that bridged the nostrils to the upper lip. And it's back, baby!!

Two movies opened last Friday: "Miami Vice" and "World Trade Center". Both had well known actors (Collin Farrel and Nicholas Cage) and both actors chose to sport what they knew would make them manliest of all, if you will. They could've gone with the conservative, trimmed goatee or even the full beard. They could've stretched it a little and been hip with the fu-man-chu or the thin sideburns, but they decided to keep it real. They knew what would project masculinity in a palpable way from the screen right into the theater. The 'stache.





















Deep down I've always wanted to sport just a mustache. My facial hair grows pretty fast and usually I'll have some shadow or a goatee or a full beard in the winter. I even once had a fu-man-chu mustache for "Cowboy Day" at the school where I teach. However, I never had the courage to pursue an all out real mustache. I guess I was concerned that a child molester look wouldn't flatter me or maybe I would look like a porn star from the 70's. But see, these people gave mustaches a bad rap. People quickly forget the torch bearers of the mustache movement: Magnum P.I., Hulk Hogan, Wyatt Earp, and Doc Holliday. These were people who wore the mustache with pride. These were manly men.

Tonight I decided to bite the bullet. With help from Collin Farrell and support from Nick Cage and inspiration from Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday, I too can call myself a member of the mustache mafia. True, I may look completely ridiculous and mothers may shield their young daughters from my sight as I walk down the street, but I know that I am helping bring something back that has been gone for too long. A symbol of strength, resolve, and, of course, bad taste. I'm not sure how long I'll keep it, but I will wear as a banner every second that it adorns my upper lip.

The Immaculate Conception

At the risk of offending anyone with the title of my blog, it is meant to be tongue and cheek only.

Prologue

Pictured to your left is Nacoma. Nacoma has been part of the Hart family since early December. Even though my wife was strongly against it, we rescued her from the local humane society so Mr. Brady would have a friend to play with and wouldn't be so bored that he would have to dig holes under our fence and chew our patio furniture. Despite a couple of run-ins with Mr. Brady and stealing his food and his toys and his dog house and biting his ear, Nacoma treated Mr. Brady with the utmost respect for the first month and half of her stay. Things changed for us all one January morning...

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It was imperative that we get a female dog when we went to choose a suitable friend for Mr. Brady. Not for mating purposes, mind you, but for territorial purposes. Mr. Brady had never really been around another dog, so conventional wisdom says that a strange male dog would not be good. Mr. Brady was neutered, so he was somewhat calmer than he was before, so our new female friend would need to be spade so she wouldn't be throwing herself at Mr. Brady and he wouldn't have to be ashamed of not being able to respond. That could be embarrassing for him. Well, the professionals at the humane society said they had the perfect dog for us. She was friendly and calm and very obedient. Thus, one Saturday in early December, Nacoma came home with us.

Over the next six weeks, let's just say Nacoma added a few extra pounds. When we first got her she was lean and athletic looking. No fat on her. I would even say that she was a little underweight. Well, as I said, she packed on the pounds, but only around her stomach. That was the only part of her body that was growing. She looked like one of those real skinny guys who has huge gut. It's just noticeable. I kept telling my wife that we need to feed her less or run her more. I thought she had been eating Mr. Brady's food along with hers, but he wasn't losing any weight. We finally reasoned that since she had been at the humane society for the last year, she was just getting fed more and thus putting on more weight.

I came home from playing basketball about 7:00 in the morning on Wednesday, January 25. I went to feed the dogs as usual and when I walked out the door I heard something that sounded like two cats getting ready to fight. We had a lot of stray cats in our old neighborhood, so I just figured two of them had gotten in our backyard and somehow avoided getting eaten by Nacoma and Mr. Brady. When I opened the door, Nacoma didn't run up to me and neither did Mr. Brady. I saw him standing in the middle of the yard looking toward the corner of the house. I looked to my left and saw Nacoma curled up. When she saw me, she stood up and then I saw what the sound was that I heard. Under her were eight puppies, making the most God-awful sound I had ever heard. I froze. I turned back around and went in the house. My wife was in the shower, so I went straight to the bathroom and told her the news. I went back outside and we started bringing the puppies in the house. We knew we had a big responsibility ahead of us for the next six weeks. It was an immaculate conception. I joked with Davina that these puppies could the best dogs ever born in the history of the world...They may have been born without sin, so we should for sure keep them. They could teach Mr. Brady right from wrong and help he and Nacoma get along. She didn't go for it.

Epilogue

Sadly, three of the puppies died. Nacoma quit feeding them the first day. Davina, with her nurse's instinct, tried to save them and couldn't. She cried when the third one died. I buried them in our backyard and prayed Mr. Brady wouldn't dig them up. He didn't. The other five grew up and eventually moved into and ruined our garage. We found good homes for all of them, Nacoma got spade, we moved to a new house where there is a much bigger backyard where she and Mr. Brady play together every day. Seriously, they do. It's amazing.

New House

Nearly two weeks ago, my wife, Davina, and I moved into a new house. This is the fourth place we have lived in our six years of marriage and the second house we've actually owned. It seems we're making normal, if not, good progress when it comes to gradually up sizing our living arrangements. And I guess that's good. But the only problem is that I really, really hate moving...and packing and unpacking and sorting and throwing things away and wrestling with our old king size mattress which was then placed on top of my jeep and taken to goodwill. I also hate the details of moving. You know, like unscrewing the curtain rods, remembering to get the vacuum cleaner, the dog house, extension cords, and everything else that's been shoved in the back of a closet. But we made it...we even suprisingly made it with no nostalgic feelings of guilt or sadness for our old house.

We moved into our first real house in March of 2003. We stayed there just over three years. It was a nice three bedroom house with a backyard for the dog which soon became dogs. Our first house with a garage, so that was nice. We had a guest bedroom we rarely used and an office and then the master bedroom. It was nice. Nothing special, just nice. Great neighborhood that had a pond in the middle of it that I would let my dog swim in most times we took him walking. We decorated for Christmas every year and every year I put lights on the pitch of the roof above the garage while Davina held the ladder, which seemed to always move.

Our new house is bigger, nicer overall. We have a big deck on the back of the house that overlooks the back part of the subdivision since we're on a hill. I'll be able to see the train when it rolls by in the winter once the leaves have fallen off the trees. We have three bedrooms and an upstairs bonus room which I have claimed as my rec room/office (but mainly rec room). It still doesn't quite feel like home yet...it feels too nice to be home. It'll have to be broken in, lived in a little before it can feel like home. But it is nice. It'll also be nice to have the extra room in a few months.