The funnest part about workin' the 'stache is the myriad of associations it conjures. Never before has anything so drastically changed my image--including, but not limited to, a 70s porn star, an Italian barber, Pancho Villa, Freddie Mercury and a lumberjack.
With regards to the latter, it just so happened one of the things on my list was to chop something with an axe. It's true, I've never even chopped wood. But I had this old piece of cedar furniture that had rotted outdoors and I needed to break it apart to put it in the garbage. So I thought as long as I had the moustache, I'd dress like a lumberjack to do it.
This, my friends, is one of the great gifts of this project. I'd like to think I'm the kind of person who would dress as a lumberjack for a household chore just because it makes it funner, but the fact is I probably wouldn't have were it not for this blog. It's hard to articulate why I think life is better if you, say, wear a flower pot on your head, but I've always wanted my life to look like a screwball comedy.
You see, without these random acts of silliness, I quickly become a soggy, sodden, despairing lump of self-pity. This morning, for instance, I woke up pondering what it is I'm doing wrong--why my work hasn't reached a mass audience, what can I do to make that dream happen. It's not that I'm ungrateful for the platform I have, but I've got to make a living. And six months with no contract weighs heavily on me.
(Along those lines, I'd appreciate any thoughts you have as to why this blog has not caught on.)
But then I dressed up like a lumberjack...
and hacked something apart...
and life felt sillier again.
Of course, for definitive lumberjack silliness, you need to watch this.