Nice beard, Beardo!
And now, by popular demand (Thanks, ryanmc. I've always wanted to say that), the story of my beard!
My brother's wedding, back in August, was the first chance I'd ever had to hang out with his friends. I'd met a few of them before, but mostly as they were slinking through my parent's living room, trying to get to my brother's room (and the debauchery waiting within, no doubt) as quickly as possible. Of course, I assumed they were all nogoodniks and trouble-makers, and, naturally, was terrified of them.
As it turns out, they're actually pretty awesome. (Also, I suspect they may, in fact, be the "cool kids." I have only ever encountered that particular species in passing, but much of my extra-curricular reading and television watching supports this theory.) We had a great time at the bachelor party, and again at the wedding, and an even better time after the wedding.
Anyway, the point is that the night of the wedding, while we were boozing and chatting, one of them threw out one of those things I don't know how to react to. That old gem:
"Do you know who you look like?"
My self-esteem is immediately at odds with my self-involvement. I stubbornly refuse to ask who, but I'm far too polite to let the question go unacknowledged. I shrug. Judging from past experience, I know by now to expect one of two answers. But it's usually the older people who tell me I look exactly like my father, so I already know what I am about to hear:
"Dave Grohl."
The Monk snickers, having heard this many, many times before. I roll my eyes, but I keep quiet. As much as I want to deny the accusation, I know it will only lead to more witnesses being called in, and more people widening their eyes, and saying, "Wow. You DO look like Dave Grohl."
But this time, I feel defiant. When I get back to my parents' house that night, I go straight to the basement, turn on the computer, make several sarcastic, yet endearingly comical remarks about how their computer is so slow (It's so slow, I started to wonder if the Interweb would still exist by the time I got there. "If the world has developed a new form of mass-communication before I get Internet Explorer running, I'm going to be SO mad!"), and do a Google image search for my non-doppelganger.
I call The Monk into the room. "SEE? I don't look anything like stupid Dave Grohl!"
"Well, what about that picture," he says, pointing at the screen. "That sort of looks like you."
"Yeah, but not as much as it looks like Joey from Friends. And ohmygod, ifyoutellmeIlookANYTHINGlikeJoeyfromFriends... I will KILL you..."
He rolls his eyes. Note to self: He no longer fears my threats against his life. Do something about that later.
"Okay, then that one. That looks like you, for sure."
"Well... I'll give you that there's a slight resemblance. It's more like a you-could-be-brothers kind of thing. Not like we have the same face."
"Woah." He's ignoring me, staring at the next screen of results.
"What?" He's pointing at one of the thumbnails. This one?" I click on it.
"Yikes. Okay, this one looks like me. If I worked out for a year, got laser hair removal, and spent $2000 on tattoos. But still, it's a little creepy. Same weak chin, squinchy-eyed smile, and the nose is pretty close. Like looking at a really good Photoshop job. I wonder if this is what Brad Pitt feels like when he finds Interweb pictures of his head on naked people's bodies? Probably not, since he actually looks better naked than the people..."
Pause.
"Uh... Monkey? Look at this one. I honest-to-god just caught myself trying to figure out who those two guys standing behind me are. Except it's not me."
"It's Dave Grohl," he says, helpfully, and with more than a little bemusement in his voice.
And so that day, I came to the creepy conclusion that sometimes, from some angles, and in some lighting, I may, possibly, if you squint and turn your head a little, look the tiniest bit like stupid Dave Grohl.
I kept looking for pictures of him for the next few days, and I noticed that stupid Dave Grohl looks pretty good with a beard. So I decided to try it sometime, like when I was on vacation, and could afford to look a little scruffy for a few days. I told a few friends, "I'm going to grow a beard. One day."
And then we had the car accident. It happened on the Saturday of the long weekend, and since I had suddenly things to worry about that didn't include shaving (or showering, for that matter -- it was a dark couple of days), by Monday evening, I had a pretty good shadow going. And I went to work like that on Tuesday. For Wednesday, I shaved my neck, because I looked like a hobo. And, other than keeping the edges neat, I haven't shaved since.
I have a lot more to say about having a beard, but I got kind of carried away with the Dave Grohl part of the story. Watch this space for The Adventures of Beardo! Part 2!
My brother's wedding, back in August, was the first chance I'd ever had to hang out with his friends. I'd met a few of them before, but mostly as they were slinking through my parent's living room, trying to get to my brother's room (and the debauchery waiting within, no doubt) as quickly as possible. Of course, I assumed they were all nogoodniks and trouble-makers, and, naturally, was terrified of them.
As it turns out, they're actually pretty awesome. (Also, I suspect they may, in fact, be the "cool kids." I have only ever encountered that particular species in passing, but much of my extra-curricular reading and television watching supports this theory.) We had a great time at the bachelor party, and again at the wedding, and an even better time after the wedding.
Anyway, the point is that the night of the wedding, while we were boozing and chatting, one of them threw out one of those things I don't know how to react to. That old gem:
"Do you know who you look like?"
My self-esteem is immediately at odds with my self-involvement. I stubbornly refuse to ask who, but I'm far too polite to let the question go unacknowledged. I shrug. Judging from past experience, I know by now to expect one of two answers. But it's usually the older people who tell me I look exactly like my father, so I already know what I am about to hear:
"Dave Grohl."
The Monk snickers, having heard this many, many times before. I roll my eyes, but I keep quiet. As much as I want to deny the accusation, I know it will only lead to more witnesses being called in, and more people widening their eyes, and saying, "Wow. You DO look like Dave Grohl."
But this time, I feel defiant. When I get back to my parents' house that night, I go straight to the basement, turn on the computer, make several sarcastic, yet endearingly comical remarks about how their computer is so slow (It's so slow, I started to wonder if the Interweb would still exist by the time I got there. "If the world has developed a new form of mass-communication before I get Internet Explorer running, I'm going to be SO mad!"), and do a Google image search for my non-doppelganger.
I call The Monk into the room. "SEE? I don't look anything like stupid Dave Grohl!"
"Well, what about that picture," he says, pointing at the screen. "That sort of looks like you."
"Yeah, but not as much as it looks like Joey from Friends. And ohmygod, ifyoutellmeIlookANYTHINGlikeJoeyfromFriends... I will KILL you..."
He rolls his eyes. Note to self: He no longer fears my threats against his life. Do something about that later.
"Okay, then that one. That looks like you, for sure."
"Well... I'll give you that there's a slight resemblance. It's more like a you-could-be-brothers kind of thing. Not like we have the same face."
"Woah." He's ignoring me, staring at the next screen of results.
"What?" He's pointing at one of the thumbnails. This one?" I click on it.
"Yikes. Okay, this one looks like me. If I worked out for a year, got laser hair removal, and spent $2000 on tattoos. But still, it's a little creepy. Same weak chin, squinchy-eyed smile, and the nose is pretty close. Like looking at a really good Photoshop job. I wonder if this is what Brad Pitt feels like when he finds Interweb pictures of his head on naked people's bodies? Probably not, since he actually looks better naked than the people..."
Pause.
"Uh... Monkey? Look at this one. I honest-to-god just caught myself trying to figure out who those two guys standing behind me are. Except it's not me."
"It's Dave Grohl," he says, helpfully, and with more than a little bemusement in his voice.
And so that day, I came to the creepy conclusion that sometimes, from some angles, and in some lighting, I may, possibly, if you squint and turn your head a little, look the tiniest bit like stupid Dave Grohl.
I kept looking for pictures of him for the next few days, and I noticed that stupid Dave Grohl looks pretty good with a beard. So I decided to try it sometime, like when I was on vacation, and could afford to look a little scruffy for a few days. I told a few friends, "I'm going to grow a beard. One day."
And then we had the car accident. It happened on the Saturday of the long weekend, and since I had suddenly things to worry about that didn't include shaving (or showering, for that matter -- it was a dark couple of days), by Monday evening, I had a pretty good shadow going. And I went to work like that on Tuesday. For Wednesday, I shaved my neck, because I looked like a hobo. And, other than keeping the edges neat, I haven't shaved since.
I have a lot more to say about having a beard, but I got kind of carried away with the Dave Grohl part of the story. Watch this space for The Adventures of Beardo! Part 2!