There's really nothing that separates the men from the boys as effectively as a beard. Some will only grow sparse and patchy tufts, so much so that, when asked whether they shaved today, their answer of "no, I shaved three weeks ago," will bring shame to them and their families.
On the other hand, those of us who can sprout coarse bristles spanning the region between the top of our cheeks and the top of our chest hair, creating pretty much an unbroken line of hair from the top of our heads to the tips of our toes, can stand proudly and repel about 90 percent of the women in this world, who wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near the Brillo Pads on our face.
That is, however, the price we must pay for this, the manliest of manly endeavors that does not require knowledge of both guns and buck knives.
I've always enjoyed growing beards. More accurately, I've always enjoyed not shaving. Since I live in a civilized area and not a log cabin in Maine, society requires certain sacrifices from us, and it is with a heavy heart that I shave nearly every morning.
But then finals rear their ugly head and we go into LOCKDOWN. Because nobody goes out and all pretenses of civility are discarded like wet t-shirts in Cancun, this provides the perfect opportunity to abstain from shaving and embrace the legendary Finals Beard.
I can grow a beard in a day through sheer force of will. I can also impregnate a woman just by looking at her, but this usually results in unnecessary drama and exile from a third world country accused of being a "diablo." But the story of how I came to America is inconsequential.
The point is, this month of LOCKDOWN is perfect for beard growing. And, every semester, when I start writing my outlines I stop taking a razor to my face.
I try to encourage the growth of a finals beard among my friends. I liken it to a bonding experience, a common act of defiance that represents our pain and suffering. Hockey teams do it when they enter the playoffs. And, if you think about it, there's no real difference between law students and hockey players. Except we're not toothless Canadians.
This year, the public interest people even sponsored an official "Finals Beard" contest. The result? The cafeteria resembles a lumberjack training camp. Those waiting to take an exam are like lost hikers waiting at the hospital for their families to pick them up. And the library looks like a homeless shelter, except with less hope.
Beards are useful creatures. They're pretty apt for this, the greatest depression. They provide warmth in these cold months. They're great for attracting birds. In England, this would be terrific. Here, however, it is mostly a nuisance, and likely unsanitary. Most importantly, as a flask is to whiskey, beards are to food. That is, they make it available at all times. God Bless America, this land of plenty.
I started growing this beard when LOCKDOWN started, on November 24th. If all goes as planned, it should last a month. I've come to terms with some unfortunate facts about it. For one, it has red hairs in it, which is kind of weird. It also has a couple of white hairs in it, which, unfortunately, is not that weird.
But you know what? The beard looks pretty damn good, as beards go. Furthermore, because the real reason is so depressing, I'm going to take these white hairs and I'm going to chalk them up to wisdom. That's right: I have so much wisdom, the wisdom's coming out through my beard. Beat that, Cat Stevens.
On the other hand, those of us who can sprout coarse bristles spanning the region between the top of our cheeks and the top of our chest hair, creating pretty much an unbroken line of hair from the top of our heads to the tips of our toes, can stand proudly and repel about 90 percent of the women in this world, who wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near the Brillo Pads on our face.
That is, however, the price we must pay for this, the manliest of manly endeavors that does not require knowledge of both guns and buck knives.
I've always enjoyed growing beards. More accurately, I've always enjoyed not shaving. Since I live in a civilized area and not a log cabin in Maine, society requires certain sacrifices from us, and it is with a heavy heart that I shave nearly every morning.
But then finals rear their ugly head and we go into LOCKDOWN. Because nobody goes out and all pretenses of civility are discarded like wet t-shirts in Cancun, this provides the perfect opportunity to abstain from shaving and embrace the legendary Finals Beard.
I can grow a beard in a day through sheer force of will. I can also impregnate a woman just by looking at her, but this usually results in unnecessary drama and exile from a third world country accused of being a "diablo." But the story of how I came to America is inconsequential.
The point is, this month of LOCKDOWN is perfect for beard growing. And, every semester, when I start writing my outlines I stop taking a razor to my face.
I try to encourage the growth of a finals beard among my friends. I liken it to a bonding experience, a common act of defiance that represents our pain and suffering. Hockey teams do it when they enter the playoffs. And, if you think about it, there's no real difference between law students and hockey players. Except we're not toothless Canadians.
This year, the public interest people even sponsored an official "Finals Beard" contest. The result? The cafeteria resembles a lumberjack training camp. Those waiting to take an exam are like lost hikers waiting at the hospital for their families to pick them up. And the library looks like a homeless shelter, except with less hope.
Beards are useful creatures. They're pretty apt for this, the greatest depression. They provide warmth in these cold months. They're great for attracting birds. In England, this would be terrific. Here, however, it is mostly a nuisance, and likely unsanitary. Most importantly, as a flask is to whiskey, beards are to food. That is, they make it available at all times. God Bless America, this land of plenty.
I started growing this beard when LOCKDOWN started, on November 24th. If all goes as planned, it should last a month. I've come to terms with some unfortunate facts about it. For one, it has red hairs in it, which is kind of weird. It also has a couple of white hairs in it, which, unfortunately, is not that weird.
But you know what? The beard looks pretty damn good, as beards go. Furthermore, because the real reason is so depressing, I'm going to take these white hairs and I'm going to chalk them up to wisdom. That's right: I have so much wisdom, the wisdom's coming out through my beard. Beat that, Cat Stevens.
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