Mustache

I shaved my mustache today. My reflection doesn't look right. My philtrum is way too big. I look like I'm 12 years old. My Italian isn't as fluent as it used to be. I will grow a beard again, and once again, have a mustache. Ski season is fast approaching, and I've noticed that skiing is much more fun with a beard than it is with frostbite.

There was a saying in ancient Greece,
"There are two kinds of people in this world that go around beardless — boys and women — and I am neither one."

George Bernard Shaw once said,
"I shall never shave, for the same reason that I started a beard, and for the reason my father started his. I remember standing at his side, when I was five, while he was shaving for the last time. "Father," I asked, 'Why do you shave?' He stood there for a full minute and finally looked down at me. 'Why the hell do I?' he said."

Halloween

I went to Torino, with my group of Americans, for Halloween. In regards to my earlier post, my friend did not end up rooming with the kid who hates him, and everything worked out fine.

I was the only person in my group who dressed up. I was Borat. I decided to wear comfortable sneakers instead of leather shoes, because I knew I would be walking around a strange city for many hours. One person complained that my shoes did not work with the costume. Another person complained that I was too tall to be Borat. They were already the only two people in the group whom I don't like, so I didn't care what they said. We went to a club that night, and I thought I heard some people saying "Borat". It was the first time anyone has ever gotten one of my Halloween costumes, (my past costumes include Alec from A Clockwork Orange, Crazy 88 from Kill Bill, Eurtrash, and Mark Whalberg from the end of The Departed) so I was very excited. I turned in their direction, but nobody was looking at me. I gave them a double thumbs-up anyway, and went back to dancing with my friends. Suddenly, I heard people cheering "Borat!" over and over again. I didn't know what they wanted from me. Somebody told me they wanted me to go dance with them, so I did. They formed a circle around me (all guys), and I danced for a minute, having no idea what was going on, and then went back to my group. Apparently, a minute was not enough for these people. They could not get enough of Borat, and continued cheering that name for most of the night. I still don't know what those people wanted. I would have been bummed out by the whole experience, but I just kept thinking about how awesome my mustache is, and that kept me happy.

I Can't Wait

Tomorrow is Halloween. For different people that means different things. For some people, it means free candy, for others, it means partying all night long, and for many it means an affront to Christianity everywhere. For me, Halloween this year means that I get to have a mustache. I have a van dyke right now, and I'm growing very tired of it. Tomorrow morning, I am shaving everything from my mouth to my neck, and dressing as Borat (despite the fact that I am offended by his inaccurate portrayal of mustachioed men).

This will be my second mustache. My first was in April, when I shaved a beard I had been growing since "No Shave November." This time, I only have two months of growth instead of six, so it will be slightly less glorious, but I'm still going to love it. It's very difficult to describe the feeling of having a mustache, but it's a very good, and slightly empowering feeling. This video describes it better than I can. I'd say everything in it is true.