The Mustache Experiment: Update

Day 4-

I think this mustache is starting to take over. I'm seriously considering robbing a train on horseback.

I also enjoy when Chevy Chase does this...

My office co-inhabitant has been on vacation this week. This is excellent news. Normally that statement would be made because the subject of said statement is a self-absorbed prick, smells bad, or [fill in any other negative attribute you could label a person with]. Not him. He's a nice guy, with good enough hygiene (doesn't stink from where I sit), and sports a glorious, curly mullet. Oh, and did I mention he loves classic rock? Well you had to see that one coming. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he loves it potentially more than his children. He's basically a blue-blooded version of Joe Dirt.

So why the joy over his temporary departure? Since he's a rocker through and through, rules dictate that the act of rocking must be constant and take place at an acceptable level regardless of professional surroundings; which translates to a constant audio blitz of the sounds of the 60's and 70's emanating from his desktop speakers. Also, none of this pussy level 3 shit. Rocking takes place at 8 or 9, minimum (7 for conference calls). And I wouldn't be surprised if his speakers actually went to 11.

Now, I should be able to get behind this because being a fan of music I try to listen to it all day too. But due to my inferior speakers and/or desire to not exclusively listen to guitar-driven anthems, I just can't compete with him. Now I'm not disparaging classic rock at all. I love it. I just don't need to hear Boston's 1976 debut album thrice a week, followed up with a one-sided, in-depth discussion of a Brad Delp side project (I nod politely). I also don't need to be reminded several times a week that two original members of Boston are in a band with an original member of John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band (the fucking stupidest name for a band ever) and a local car dealership tycoon.

As a polite person -- really, I hold doors for women and always say "thank you" -- I find it difficult to ask him to shut the fuck up. I've tried to put myself in his mindset to no avail. Is he really that inconsiderate? Can he just not hear that well anymore after the combination of years of concerts and getting old? Did all those drugs he enjoyed in the 70's eat his brain?

To support one of those guesses (drugs) I will add that he also loves ABBA, which doesn't really fit into the M.O. I've laid out. At least several times a week, when I come in to the office in the morning ABBA is playing. Some people drink coffee to get their day going. Others go for a run. Yet others rub one out. He feels it necessary to start his day with live versions of "Super Trouper" and "Fernando" playing over, and over, and over, and over again. Most likely while rubbing one out. Gross.

Dr. Thomas Neill Cream and Me

I've always had an interest in mustaches but have never worn one -- until today. And that's discounting the indicator mustache that most facial hair-baring teenagers grow as nature's way of saying it's time to start shaving. I had a pretty furious beard for the past couple months to the point where I was routinely being called out for looking like Ted Kaczynski, so the terrorist beard had to go. Although to be more accurate it was more of a depression beard.

But since I'm feeling good these days, and it's been the opposite temperature of a witch's tit, the beard had to go. It did go out with a bang though. Over the weekend, I won a trip to the Virgin Mobile Freefest coming up in a couple weeks and had to take some promo pictures for marketing or whatever (the PR woman's personal collection); so if you come across a picture of some thin Zach Galifianakis looking motherfucker holding a robot lion/tiger cub, congratulations, you have located a picture of me.

A terribly out of date picture. I mean, it's been at least eighteen hours since I've had a full beard -- and in this Facebook/Twitter world that we live in, anything that is older than fifteen minutes is old news. So I decided to keep a handlebar mustache. Seriously. I look like I belong in a barbershop quartet, or I should be lifting those trapezoidal dumbbells while wearing a one-shoulder singlet. There are so many prospects for my new facial hair, I may keep it forever. And by forever I mean maybe through the weekend after attending a bachelor party. Nothing say classy to a stripper than a sweet, sweet handlebar mustache.

Konnichiwa, bitches!

(Especially me. See below.)

Well blog, long time no write.

Just to get it out of the way, the relationship I referenced in a few posts last year has come to it's conclusion. That is all I'm going to say about that until I can come up with something funny about getting dumped and being terribly depressed. Boo hoo!

Moving on. I'm sorely out of practice at trying to be funny at any length larger than a paragraph, so getting back into this is going to be like swimming in the Atlantic Ocean in New England -- I'll need to ease myself in or I'll freeze my balls (literally). So here's something quick that I read today:

WASHINGTON (AFP) – Five months after it was launched on a mission to find earth-like planets, the Kepler space telescope has sent back to Earth high-precision images of a planet some 1,000 light years away, NASA said Thursday.

But the real excitement at NASA was over how well Kepler was working, and the promise it holds for the future.

With Kepler only in the calibration phase, the telescope, which was launched in March on a mission to find earth-like planets in the galaxy, sent back to Earth highly precise images of a planet with the unromantic name of HAT-P-7-B.

The images of the so-called "hot Jupiter" planet located about 1,000 light years (around 5.9 quadrillion miles, 9.5 quadrillion kilometers) from Earth were "the first time anyone has seen light from this planet," said William Borucki, the principal science investigator for the Kepler mission and lead author of a report that will be published Friday in Science.

But while the scientists were enthusiastic about Kepler's discovery of optical light from HAT-P-7-B -- Carnegie Institution astrophysicist Alan Boss called it "stunning indeed" -- they were even more excited by the fact that Kepler was working, and working well.

"The real headline is Kepler works," said Boss.

Amazing! High precision images of a planet light years away! But that's not what gives these scientists a space-boner; oh no, it's that the piece of equipment that they spent years engineering and billions of dollars building is doing the job that they designed it to do. And this isn't an isolated incident. I'm too lazy to dig up any actual articles to back this up, but every time a piece of space equipment does it's job the scientists seem surprised.

"Holy shit! The Mars Rover landed on Mars and is now roving it. This is the exact opposite of what I expected to happen, despite spending 15 years of my life dedicated to this project."

Where can I get a job where failure is expected? Relationship counselor? Actually, that's not a good example at all.