I didn't think it was gonna happen. I thought the Yeard was gonna come true. But no, after 166 days, yesterday, I shaved. Immediate thoughts:

1. That epic Dwarves of Erebor Under the Lonely Mountain look won't happen this Christmas season.

2. The Beard covered up a TON of progress.

What happened?

Yesterday's post came to mind. Specifically, that post about driving up in the old parking lot. I was a daily shaver in those days; well, I ran sideburns down the length of my ears, but that was it. That mountain of a man beard wasn't something I featured, though I totally could have pulled it off. I remember I was nodding at the nuns with a cigarette in my hand at St. Joseph's on the day I was born.

As I'm throttling down the road to my age 17 weight, I thought I'd set aside the beard. "Here, 2025, you can try it on." I piled it all together and threw it in a Hefty bag. It wasn't my oldest beard, that honor goes to an 8-monther, but the 'stache, yeah, that one was the BIGGEST of my life. Made Sam Elliot's voice crack. The thing completely covered my mouth, so much that I had to brush it to the side each day.

I don't know if I'll go back to my hair of those days: tapered on the sides and back—leave the bangs. The principal problem is that my bangs have left ME!

Plus, I kinda like my hair long. It's Flagstaff 2004; I can gather it together into a ponytail. The mirror still sets me back: he looks younger. It's funny how a fat face makes us look old and lethargic.

Well, my face, legs, and arms are thin: can we now get to this core? I've got 35+ pounds to hack off this frame! "Get all of this junk out." We'll drop in the new engine this autumn.

Within the cascading streams of Spotify, it's time for me to rumble off into the sunset to the Cornelius Brothers' Treat Her Like a Lady. (1970).