Plant Jail and Chair

Enzo Mari Chair

Hipsters

More fashionable bearded people.

Another important bearded man

Hamden Eldorado Cagwin, the Hermit of Echo Lake

Yesterday

It still ain't weird, it's still just a beard

This picture reminded me the John Muir injured his right eye in a machining accident

There are many different kinds of beards but I am not talking about the Goatee, Van dyke, Flapwings, Claus-esque, Chin-muffler, Queen's brigade, Wilted cigar, Soup strainer, Jaw-brisstle, Wispy wiggins, Wandering Jim, Meat-grinder or Dangle swaggles. 

I do not think Whitman's beard qualifies him for bear status

What I am referring to are the two major types of beards:Real and Hipster. I do not usually mention hipsters on this blog but I am today I am moved to do so. The above are famous men with real beards, sometimes called "mentor beards."

Bear beards are real beards.

This is an example of a hipster beard, a nice hipster beard.

I make no qualitative judgement on which beard, the real or the hipster, is the better beard.

But I thought I might clarify the issue when it comes to the beard that I had and the whiskers that I have. Having not shaved for the past couple weeks seems to have invited opinion on whether I should grow a beard or not. Those in favor tend to be less fervent in their opinions. They tend toward variations on, "Oh, are you growing your beard back? I liked your beard but do what you want." Those against tend to have stronger anti feelings such as, "No! Do not grow your beard back!" I tell them I have not made up my mind but I promise not to grow my beard back. If I do grow a beard it will be a new one.

Last night a woman gave here beard opinion that went something like this, "If you have a big beard you are basically saying I am a bad-ass and I have this bad-ass beard." She said the other possibility was that you simply did not have a beard.

A gentleman present said, "I just thought your beard was a sign of depression."

When I do get the urge to stop shaving it is more often influenced by an old man with a gray beard - known as a Graybeard - rather than a 20 something dude in a rock band. It could be because I can relate to the lifestyle of a graybeard - driving around in a truck or sitting in a lawn chair - than that of a rock star. But to some, the fact that I even wrote a blog post about beards sets my beard in hipster stone.

Walk

Rhymes with Dancer

What if the biggest thing in one’s life is really none of your business? And by “none of your business,” I mean your business, not mine. I’ve been spending the last couple of weeks crying, throwing up, listening to other people cry and throw up, feeding people, being fed (given food), helping others sleep, trying to help myself sleep, trying to distract myself and my friends, laughing at the absurdity of it. What is it? Cancer. I do not have it, knock on wood. But it recently snuck up on some friends. That seems to be cancer’s MO. First you don’t have it then you do. Sneaky bastard. Cancer is also like that car you recently bought; it is everywhere you look, every grocery store parking lot, every coffee shop, every curriculum committee meeting. Everyone either has it or a close friend or relative has it. I may have never actually said “cancer happens to other people,” but I am pretty sure I felt it. But this time cancer did not happen to other people. This time it happened to specific people, my people. One might argue that it happened to one person (especially if I weren’t being so vague) but I am a witness that cancer happened to many people a couple of weeks ago.

The question at the top is my way of figuring out how to write about what’s on my mind when what’s on my mind is other people’s personal tragedy. Trying to turn the personal into a more universal, and perhaps philosophical question.

This experience has brought home to me something that I long suspected. I love these (secret) people.