Moustache

I’ve had facial hair of some sort for the majority of the last seven years. Not only do I hate shaving, but the less hair on my face, the more naked I feel. I’ve had a big handlebar moustache for a while, but the last month or two I’ve been shaving every couple weeks and letting a beard grow in. I love the way a new beard looks, and hate shaving, so this works out well.

Saturday afternoon the beard was starting to get a little long, so I shaved it off and waxed the ‘stache. It wasn’t cooperating and I was getting frustrated and started thinking about trimming it to a more manageable length. I didn’t, but kept thinking about it.

While stopped at a red light soon after a little girl walked up to the window selling gum. As she walked up and looked at me she did a double take, and then kept staring at me. Obviously looking at my moustache. Then I started to notice throughout the night and next day that most kids just stare at me, mesmerized by my moustache. So I thought, how can I shave this off when it brings so much joy to small children. So the moustache is here for a little while longer at least.

So with this in mind, here are a few of my favorite facial hair styles:

Big-beard long-hair

Big-beard short-hair

Short mustache

1860’s baseball moustache

All dressed up

Old Saloon

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Visions of Dystopia

I woke up this morning with only a few hours of sleep after a night of drinking and dancing.

It was foggy, and still dark out, when I left.

As I started the car I heard the familiar voices on NPR, they tell me Americans all over the country are waking up to more bad news about the economy.

Bailout talks are failing, my bank has been seized by the federal government. I’m not sure what that means, but the word “seized” is intimidating. I have visions of armed troops storming their offices, taking it over by force.

I sit at a red light, a bus comes barreling down the road, slamming on the brakes as it reaches the light. It’s hood goes flying forward, bouncing from the momentum. The driver looks dumbfounded.

I start driving down Avenida Oriente, looking for the line. I keep going and going. I start to worry and wonder where the TJ police have rerouted the line today. I keep going, and find the line, exactly where it should be, without having to go through a maze to get there, it’s a quarter of the length it usually is. I wonder if they’ve all heard the latest news of economic collapse, and decided to just stay home.

It’s still dark and foggy as I wait. I watch the pedestrians walking, the electronic billboards lighting up the predawn sky. All of a sudden, surely inspired by the mood on the radio, I start to feel like I’m in a science fiction dystopian future. I’m sure this exact scene has taken place in a movie, I feel like I’m in a Philip K Dick story.

It’s dark and foggy, dirty. Giant electronic billboards light up the sky, bright colors, advertisements for crap you don’t need, you don’t even want. All around are other brightly colored by dirtied billboards hocking more junk. The people walk quickly, minding their own business, eyes to the ground, making sure not to have contact with anyone else. The ominous building looming ahead: “United States Border Inspection Station”. Federal agents with drug sniffing dogs walking in and out of the stopped cars.

The scene looks futuristic and bleak. As I get to the front of the line I wave my ID in front of a scanner. 10 meters away on a computer monitor being watched by a customs agent details about my life flash onto the screen. My picture, my fingerprints, the dates and times I’ve crossed before, who knows what else they have in that database.

After a few pleasantries with the agent, I’m on my way, on the huge suburban freeways, with their own promise of where the world is headed.

The late 20’s

I just got done reading All the Sad Young Literary Men by Keith Gessen.

I realized:

My early 20’s are gone

I should write more

I should read more literary journals

I should read more in general

I should talk more about The Occupation

I should learn more about The Mensheviks

My 30’s will be here before I realize it.

But there’s nothing to worry about.