Week Twenty-Two: January 25th

"You gonna do somethin' or are you gonna stand there and bleed?" A quality line in a fine cinematic turn by Kurt Russell. When he took up the mantle, and the pistols, of Wyatt Earp, he put shame to any Kevin Costner rendition of the same story. (Of course, we won't discuss whose was less Hollywood-ized and more historically accurate--Tombstone was far more entertaining.) How often does one get to see a chubby Billy Bob Thornton shamed by that very line, and so many others? Throw in Val Kilmer's brilliant mock-up of Doc Holliday and what you have is a recipe for a classic way to spend a few hours.

Over time, I have come to appreciate other things about books and movies--one suspects these things happen with age. Of course, knowing my current fascination with facial hair exploits, you could do worse than to observe the amazing chin and lip stylings of the men in this film. From Holliday's pitiful, greasy-lip worm to Sam Neill's amazing gray extended 'stache (one day in the distant future I will wear that Sam Neill classic for a year, at least) the press-on appliques these gentlemen sport must have kept them in the makeup chair for hours.

So this is my homage to all things Tombstone, in a more modern way. What looked like two bricks on either side of my head, strung together with a solid field of thick red hair felt heavy on my face all week, with the 'stache poking into my nostrils and the jaw chops reaching like Wrigley vines into my ear holes. I had to fight the temptation all week to thin the upper lip crop.

Week Twenty-One: January 18th

Probably a bit of a mystery to those unfamiliar with Superman 2, The General Zod is a thirtieth anniversary tribute not to the movie, but the man behind the evil genius. The hirsute look--brilliantly sported by cult film legend Terence Stamp, who may not possess the ability to play a character that is not hilariously amazing--featured far more gray than I am able to muster at this point in life. Plus, though my Zod is hardly the same as his, consider this a "reboot," to use the parlance so favored in all film franchises seeking new audiences nowadays.

Though Zod was the arch-nemesis and mastermind behind Superman's apparent destruction in this film, I found it ironic that while searching for photos of his beard, I discovered that Terence Stamp played the role of Superman's father on Smallville. (Oh, and in case you missed that--yes, I do actually research some of my beards. Hey, I never claimed I was anything but a nerd!)

This beard was greeted with great acclaim by my students, though it may have been more due to my reappearance as something more than the shell of myself that showed up at school for two days last week. The middle stripe, in particular, caught their eye, forcing me to battle many sets of hands seeking to tug at the longer hairs dangling from the bottom of my chin. Though it is common for me to talk to them about not touching each other, it is pretty rare that I have to use the words, "Please stop stroking my face," with any members of my class (who usually look upon me as a member of an alien race rather than an actual person.) Look, Mommy, a dancing clown teaches our class.

Or something like that. Fortunately for me, and for them, I possess little of Zod's imperious nature. That, and my lack of ambition for world domination might just make me a serviceable teacher.

Week Twenty: January 11th

Laura, forever complicit in my bearding adventures (though probably because she fears people might accuse her of marrying a minor if I am not cloaked in hair) got me a beard and mustache trimmer for Christmas. Inspired by the acquisition of such a brilliant product, I present the "Just For Men."

Every time I visit the local pharmacy to acquire hair dye to turn my hair blonde (a summer ritual, thanks to my participation in Camp Kangazoo) I spy beard products bearing this name. Most of them feature close-up shots of beards dyed various colors, presumably to cover the graying of one's facial hair. Living, as I do, in the pseudo-ghetto, our shelves feature only products meant for non-Caucasian hair. (It's usually difficult to find blonde hair dye, leaving me to resort to the women's section. Hey, it's the same stuff!)

I am always struck by these products and cannot really imagine why I would want to dye my beard. As I have mentioned, most people already accuse me of dyeing my beard thanks to its red appearance once it grows out to a certain point. When I assure them I have not, and would not, dye my beard (well, maybe not) they ask what my real hair color is. Strange to everyone but me that I may retain somewhat youthful looks (well into my thirties) and that, though my hair is dark brown--my daughters insist it is black--my facial hair emerges as a Viking Red. (Now there's a color for Crayola and J Crew to tout!) If ever I had the fortitude to grow my hair out to braiding and pony-tail length, I could make a partially successful career as an extra in Viking-themed movies. Lord knows there is a calling for such things.

Regardless, the Just For Men products hock their revitalizing powers and often have close-ups of finely manicured beards such as the one I have captured in this photo. Maybe not as exciting as other entries, but just as finely manicured, and equally inexplicable as these products are to me.

Week Nineteen: January 4th

The triumphant return this week, now a week late due to illness. What better way to round out the old year and begin the new than with the full beard resulting from a few weeks of holiday growth. Sadly, my facial hair wasn't the only thing growing....

I call this "Man-Up!" only in hindsight, as I had no name for it during its week of wearing. Nor did I have many coherent thoughts. Why not, you may ask?

I put in only two public appearances all week: one staff development day on the 4th, at which I unveiled a rollicking one-man guitar song I wrote the night before. It was about the second half of the school year--a slightly-Dylan, mostly Sandler preview of all things important to the kids during the second half of the year. The staff was rather unsure what to make of it, though they may have been thrown a bit by the red eyes and glasses I sported in day-after rock star fashion.

The return day for the kids was Tuesday, and they said nary a word on the subject of hair--not even to comment, as they usually do, upon the color of the beard. Mostly, they accuse me of dyeing my facial hair and/or my hair, neither of which would be beyond the typical realm of possibility for me. But, then again, they had little time to accuse me of anything, as Tuesday was the only day they saw me.

I showed up on Wednesday morning and sat at my desk (hours before their arrival) slowly descending into the grip of an illness that would commandeer my life for the next week. Fifteen minutes before they arrived, I lost all feeling in my hands and feet, and began to have difficulty seeing out of one or both eyes. Dragging myself to the nurse's office (love that feature of the elementary school!) I passed two people, both of whom said, "Oh my God, are you sick? You should leave!" The second, fortunately, was our registrar who called me a sub immediately.

Back in my classroom, awaiting the sub, the first trickle of kids entered the door, unaware that my head was now playing tricks on me. They all approached for their usual greetings and check-in, and I felt suddenly as if I was in a fun house, or tripping on some drug slipped into my soy milk. Mercifully, a TA arrived to watch my kids until the sub arrived. I threw my belongings in a backpack, zipped my computer into a bag, and stumbled out of the room, to the worried looks of many kids, and the clueless calls of others. Somehow, I drove home.

By the time I woke up, sometime later that evening, I could barely stand, and I had no idea what day it was, time it was, nor any recollection of the last half-day. I did not eat food for three days, and became unusually sensitive to all smells. My temperature swung from 93 degrees to 102 degrees within an hour and I had such severe chills I could barely remain upright. On a bright note, I managed to be spared further absences by two consecutive snow days to round out the week.

Thanks to Man Up! at least my face was warm.