November 15-November 21

letter opener
scraps of envelopes
stamp adhesive
pencil used to keep score in miniature golf
ham

mustache mailbag mayhem volume one

Picture a picture of a mailbag with a mustache please.

I never expected this web-log to generate much correspondence, and though it hasn't, I'm still gratified every time I open up my internet's electronic mail (henceforth to be known as "e-mail," a coinage of which I'm justifiably proud). Apparently the bulk of my fans work for credit/pharmaceutical companies, and though not one of the credit card companies that have begged me to sign up have followed that begging with approval, I take great pride in that they have chosen me, of all web-loggers, to reach out to. (I don't mean to brag.) Anyway, I have received one "e-mail" (don't imagine you're quite ready for me to drop the quotes) pertaining to the content of this web-log. I was surprised, but then realized that the internet is best likened to a drunken hurricane minus the calm center tearing up a vast swamp, and that hundreds of thousands of other questions and credit card numbers provided by fans so that I might indulge my sweet tooth by ordering substantial amounts of foreign candy on their dime were probably lost in the wet and windy world wide web.

So, here is that email and my response:


Dear Sir or Madam,

You are either a liar or a monster. More likely both. No way does all this stuff get stuck in your mustache, unless your mustache is less a mustache and more a sticky clump of tentacles several feet in length. Please delete your blog and go into hiding.

Sincerely,
concerned reader and serious blogger

Dear Concerned Reader and Serious Blogger

First, I am troubled that you can't be gender specific in your greeting. Have I really been that ambiguous? After several days of bed-ridden soul-searching and binge-eating I can say that I have not, and your inability to infer gender based on the web-log's contents, my name, and the extremely masculine sentence structures says more about you than it does about me. And I can assure you that some of this state's finest institutions have long considered me "not a monster". Also, I am not a scientist (yet) so I can't tell you how this stuff gets stuck in my mustache.

P.S. What is a blogger?

(Please disregard this post's inconsistencies concerning amount of correspondence expected. That you even noticed this says more about your psychosis that it could ever say about mine.)

November 8-November 14

I present this week's mustache log in picture form (photos taken shortly after removal from mustache):

angry hawk

grapes

mouse

mouse

judgmental hawk

beginner's bristles remembered/considering the bounty the price was cheap

Most people remember their first love, first kiss, first car, first job, etc. I remember none of these things, but I do remember my first mustache. Others claimed it was a wispy mockery of the real thing, but I could see the seeds of greatness. I'd wake up early every day to water it and talk to it, and though I was sure this was helping, I was eventually informed that this is a practice intended for plants, and furthermore that I should stop shaving the rose bushes. Several weeks later I implemented this advice, but not before decimating the rose bushes and getting a nasty fertilizer-induced rash on my upper lip. I've heard time heals all wounds, but I'll never know because that rash was eventually swallowed up by the ole hair river on face mountain and I can promise you this friend: that river will never run dry.

Anyway, while my peers entered courtships, enjoyed/took up hobbies, took jobs, prepared for college, partied, graduated college, took better jobs, got married, had children, and did other things I presume, I tended to the fuzzy dash of happiness curled up below my nose. I was thoroughly immersed in the art of stache, and though I've been cautioned by countless social workers and aquaintances that this "obsession" is the reason for the long-term unemployment, homelessness, and total social isolation I've experienced up until recently, I think we can agree that there is always a price to be paid for greatness.

rad habits

There has been much clamor over my steadfast refusal to divulge which of the 7 1/2 habits of lifelong learning is the easiest, and which is the hardest. And now, finally, and with the same assortment of fear, nostalgia, upset stomach, and glee I'm sure the Berlin Wall must have felt as it was crumbling: the reveal.

Hardest Habit
Obviously I'm a stern fellow and not one to take to frivolities. But playing isn't difficult, I've noticed even children seem to have at least a tenuous grasp on the concept. So the hardest habit can't be "play". This leaves viewing problems as challenges. In my day to day labeling, when I see a problem, I label it as such. That doesn't mean I won't crush it. But I suppose I have a hard time applying positives (like the ol' "it's a challenge not a problem" trope) to problems. Also, technology...I never touch the stuff.

Easiest Habit
I'm sure it's no secret how easy everything comes to the properly stached. So it's unbearably difficult to pick the easiest habit. So many of the habits vie for the title...Initially I thought "create a learning toolbox" would be the winner, particularly because I'm a renowned craftsman and have built toolboxes to give as Christmas gifts for many years. To illustrate their fine quality: I give these toolboxes to the same people every year, and rather than tire of the monotony and supposed uselessness of multiple toolboxes piling up in attics and garages, they just offer the strained smiles and stilted speech patterns of the sincerely thankful and highly satisfied. "Thank you so very much for the handsome toolbox," they say, even if they say nothing or something totally different. You can just tell. Then I decided that no one really knows what "create your own learning toolbox" means, and so instead the easiest habit must be "have confidence in yourself as a competent, effective learner".

To illustrate my confidence and why it's well-founded: I've never web-logged before starting this web-log, and already I have the fundamentals of posting mastered. One would think a beginning logger might make some mistakes, like wondering off mid-sentence for a scotch and donut break and accidentally clicking publish before finishing the sentence. (Say, I think I've given myself a craving.) One important thing, before I go, assuming I can maintain my concentration: Never forget when it comes to learni

November 1-November 7 (running tab)

cabbage stew


EDIT: So apparently I also had a rather substantial amount of vermouth residing in hair storage. Please disregard previous post. Blame the vermouth and my stache's remarkable capacity for retention. Really, stache totally saturated with the stuff. Almost unreal.


cabbage stew
vermouth
entire glazed donut
one of those model ships that you put together inside a bottle
the bottle it was inside of
three tarot cards (weird)
vinyl copy of Abbey Road

a modest proposal that will drastically change society for the better forever

I find that I think most clearly when in the midst of mustache maintenence, so in need of material for this humble web-log (only item stuck for week of November 1, so far, so lamely: a healthy dollop of cabbage stew) I retired to the lavatory to groom my face's lush welcome mat. *Snip* *Tweeze* *Snip* *Appreciative Sigh* And EUREEKA!

This is sure to be a touchy subject, but I think we can all agree that women's rights have made progress. Of course there is still much ground to cover. I have a suggestion that can play a part in advancing the cause.

It's common knowledge that the rights of women have long been impeeded by the mustache. (Not the mustache's fault, as while it may be occasionally intimidating and always worthy of respect, it is at heart a noble and gentle creature with little to no interest in making life difficult for others.) No, women's rights have been slowed because they are denied, either by biology or our culture's cruel disapproval, the "Rocketship to Success"(patent pending) that is the mustache.

Now I'm not daft enough to believe that more than a tiny liberated fragment of the female population will be brave enough to free the folicles along the upper lip. And I'm not here to condemn those that prefer to maintain that archaic notion of feminity in part by maintaining a smooth face (or to use other, more wildly accurate terminology, perpetually murdering their mustache). I am here to suggest that women make a symbolic stand against the male-dominated world of facial hair by cultivating what I'll call "The Lady Stache". It's simple, elegant even: assuming you've (either by society's pressures or your own preference) taken to shaving your legs why not next time leave a little space for liberty. Perhaps a mustache directly below the right knee. And while I'd normally never advocate a soul patch as anything other than a component of a more elaborate facial hair structure, there are worse ideas than leaving a little hairy dab of daring just above the left ankle.

You might ask, "How is this going to make my pay rate comparable to a man's?" Or maybe you'll wonder, "How is this going to afford me the same opportunities so often more easily attained by men?". Perhaps you'll query, loudly and with a note of disgust in your voice, "Are you mentally ill? What a terrible, pointless, and disgusting idea!" Frankly, I'm not prepared to answer those questions.