As you might have notices, my most recent updates have all been complaints of things in our modern era. It seems I'm making a habit of treating this lonely little blog as just a dumping of my personal angers, and forgetting the ever present opportunity it provides to inform. Case in point, I figure I'll change pace (temporarily, at least) and do some educating. The topic is: mustaches.

Now, those of you who know me personally, (at least for the last 2 years or so) know that I recently grew a mustache, and even more recently got rid of it. Now, most guys seem to have that experimental desire to grow some form of facial hair, but they generally hold it in as long as they can (due in most part to the request of one, if not more, wiser female family members.) However, as they grow older and bolder, and farther away from the benevolent forces of any maternal instincts, the temptation will invariably grow too much for their feeble self restraint and the facial hair will be grown like mad. This generally happens in the independent college years, and by this point all that restraint has built up to insurmountable amounts of curiosity; thus nothing short of a full beard will satisfy them. Now, I've never been one for following the norm, and eschewing the traditional approach, I opted to do a little less a little earlier. Thus, half way through mny Junior year of High School, I began to sport a thin mustache. The results that followed astound me to this day.

1. I don't look good in a mustache. But there is some bizarre filter between my eyes, my brain, and my self respect that for the several months that I had this hairy abomination that I truly believed I looked dashing, debonaire, and even (dare I say it) sexy. All because of an additional set of eyebrows that were lower down on my face.

2. It does make me look older. Whether this older is the "wiser and experienced" kind, or the "creepy uncle" kind, I'll never know. I do know that those two girls behind me in the snack line at the school cafeterium managed to hold their giggles in long enough to ask me if I was a Senior, and hear me say (again, with a mustache distorted sense of self worth) "No ladies, but I am single."

3. Turns out mustaches do have fans among the ladies. Don't take this the wrong way, but it turns out Mexican women seem to like mustaches. I was actually being modestly flirted with by a cashier at Luby's, right in front of my mom. I have never had that before, since, and probably will not ever after. And by that I mean being flirted with in general, regardless of facial hair. After complimenting my mildew, she proceeded to confide that she liked her guys hairy (if I had possessed a full beard, the brain mouth filter would've been distorted enough for me to return with, "Well, my name IS Harry.")

4. Turns out they actually have two fans. The other's name is Evan. A kid who's family has recently joined out congregation first met me while the mustache was in full swing, and immediately loved it. I easily became his favorite person there, and although he couldn't remember my name, he remembered my mustache. Having shaved it off, I'm not sure he's forgiven me since.

5. Mustaches cloud your memory. In the short time that I had the little catipillar, I completely forgot what I looked like, and felt like, without a mustache. As if it had a mind of its own, and was hellbent on its survival, it not only rooted itself into my brain to convince me keeping him was a good idea, but it also removed all my memories of having been lacking of him at any previous point. I could've been born with the mustache for all knew while my mind was still under the influence of that parasite. Upon shaving it, however, I was ambushed by a rush of memories of what I was before, as well as the strange sensation of seeing my recent, mustache distorted self as a clear thinking, mustache-less bystander. I could see myself with the artificially inflated ego, making cocky self sure remarks, and could do nothing but stand on the sidelines screaming madly, "No, you fool! Can't you see what it's doing to you?!"

Alas, it remained far longer than it should have. So, in conclusion, let me go ahead and tell you as a final lesson (something of a combination of History, Ethics, and maybe some Algebra); do NOT grow a mustache. There are a very, VERY limited number of people in the world who do in fact look good with a mustache, and their low percentage in the world means the likelihood you are one of them is extraordinarily against you. So, just remember this, and let my mistake be a light shining on your pathway.