The standard MaBaGroMo competition is officially over. If you made it to this point, pat yourself on the back. You have not only endured the itches and ridicule, but you have officially earned the title of “MaBeGroMo Participant.” I can tell by that look in your eye that you’re itching to embroider your new title under the big skull that you’re thinking about putting on the back of your leather jacket once you cut the sleeves off.

It seems like a good idea, but hold off a month. If you join me further on this journey (which I encourage because winter has barely even started), you may be bestowed further titles. Be warned: Additional titles may come at the cost of a permanent attraction to all things flannel.

Pencils down. Submit pictures now.

While finishing up my Xmas shopping this weekend, I found out that a MaBeGroMo beard combined with a pair of BlueBlocker style sunglasses really creates a sort of 70’s Serpico-style creepy cop look. Throw in a 3/4 length brown leather jacket and you are free to drive your Nova through as many box filled alleys as you can find.

Switch it up to a ringer T, or just about anything that they’re selling in Old Navy these days and it’s a Meatballs camp counsellor on the marijuana cigarettes.

The beard is versatile. Is anyone else having as much fun with their beard as I am, or are you to busy huddling with those deer carcasses?

You now officially have two days left to make your decision to get that beard started, if you haven’t already. To Grow, or not to grow: That is the question.

Fire the “before” pictures to me and I’ll put them up on Dec. 1 so that your better halves can have a reminder of what a fucking great looking guy you used to be when they’re in need of a break from your testosterone-fueled, hair-covered MaBeGroMo madness.

Who knows? By Christmas, that “before” picture may just save your relationship. If it doesn’t, you’ll always have that deer carcass to keep you warm.

So, I’m reading a post over at GeeseAplenty about how Greg is a little sick of the whole NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) obsession that has reared it’s head once again this year. While I find myself indifferently shrugging over whether someone should should take a stab at writing a book in a month or obsessing about it on their personal virtual homestead, I did agree with him whole-heartedly on one point:

NaNoWriMo sounds like a big, fat pain in the ass.

This of course got me thinking. What about people like me to whom procrastination is more of a lifestyle than a character flaw? How the hell could I write a book in a month? My gaming would suffer, my blogging would suffer, my PVR would fill up, and Netflix would raise prices to cover the money they spent on tech support specialists to figure out why my queue had suddenly and completely stalled. And what would I end up with after paying the hefty 5000 word per day entrance fee? The rewards just don’t seem like they’d exactly outweigh the effort.

This is not to say that I don’t yearn to belong to a stupidly named club for jerks, too. Not writing a book shouldn’t stop me. That’s just discrimination. And when you discriminate, you make an ass out of you and me. Or something like that.

So, for the less industrious among us who don’t feel that it’s too much to want results that at least match the effort that went in, I’m shunning NaNoWriMo and starting my own month. My month will allow people to be part of something, give them a visible reward, and won’t require anything near 5000 words per day to complete.

So, to everyone reading, I’m officially declaring December to be MaBeGroMo (Macho Beard Growing Month).

The rules are simple (even for us).

MaBeGroMo Rules

Rule 1: At some point between now and December 1, you take a “before” picture of yourself and put your razor away.
Rule 2: At some point after December 31, you take an “after” picture of yourself, and decide whether to reunite with your razor or renew your short-term contract with your newly found friend. You may then claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Member”
Rule 3: If you make it to February 14, you have beaten the extended challenge and can rightfully claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Champion.”
Rule 4: If you make it past February 14, step out of the Home Depot, put down the deer carcass, and shower well before signing up for several internet “dating” services. This is just a suggestion.

You’re thinking about it. I can see it. I’ve taken the liberty of answering some of your presented concerns to give you the encouragement to get started in The Beard FAQ. Good luck.

Today, when I went in for the first haircut since before Christmas, my barber cut my hair from it’s 3 inch hippie length down to its normal half inch. Unfortunately for me, he also ran the clippers from my jowls right up into my hairline to even my beard with my hair. The three and a half months of savage growth that I had amassed since November 2, 2004, was wiped down to three weeks of growth in a matter of seconds.

Once the sideburns were really short, there was no other choice but to even the whole thing out so that I wouldn’t look like a half shaved moron going back to work. Now, the bottom half of my face looks strange and naked. My chin now looks entirely too small, and my nose entirely too big.

As a result of this unforeseen mishap, there will be no “Shaving 103″ addition to the site this year.

My fingers miss my beard. And I am tired of winter. And I hate reality TV.

I have a beard and it’s getting long. I need an ax and some flannel. No, wait. I need a motorcycle T shirt, a chain wallet, and some toothless bikini tramps. Nono. A big boat with a submarine and some free love brainiac scientist tramps. Hold it. A computer, 40 more pounds of fat, a Dungeons and Dragons 20 sided die and some halfling tramps. Wait. A tie dye, a shotgun, and taste for hippy blood. Scratch that. A double wide, a mullet, a Lurlene, a Betty Jo Ann, a spot on cops, and a prenuptial agreement. F that, too. A cabin and a bear named Ben. Eh. An axe and an ox named Babe. Pfft. A P coat, a stocking cap, and a gaff I lost because the sea was angry that day, my friend. Angry. Aye. That’s the one. Arrrrrr.

(Please send help.)

Spent the day making sauce. It’s the first batch of the year, and it’s only been going for six hours, but it doesn’t taste right to me, yet. The pork has broken down pretty well, and the two ponds of sausages have been added, but I’m out of wine. I’m sure that it’ll all come together in the next six. I’ve been relaxing inside for two days, and thanks to weather, I don’t have to feel guilty about it. Sometimes I just need to sit, and if the weather is really good, I end up driving around trying to get things done, rather than enjoying doing nothing. I seek to “enjoy the day” and end up realizing that I would’ve enjoyed it more with a good book and complete disregard for hygiene.

The sauce should be done tomorrow night, and if you would like some, please e-mail me above. Three things: I have plenty, I’m not mailing it and there is a limit of enough sauce for two people.

So, I made sauce, sat watching movies, and played some video games. This isn’t to say that I didn’t get anything accomplished, though. I went out to get a winter hat, gloves, and a new set of hair clippers. Even though it’s pretty far, I headed for Wal-Mart because I was positive that they would have all three. I hate Wal-Mart. It might be the type of sweatpants wearing, pushy, heavyset, toothless freaks that seem to congregate there, or it might be the slow checkers and long lines. I don’t know what it is, but it produces a feeling that I don’t want any part of.

Yet, I spent twenty minutes deciding whether I would put on sweat pants expressly to go there, just to say I had done so. I was laughing like hell to myself, and eventually gave up on the idea, as none of the people would get it, wearing sweats there might become routine, and I would lose all my teeth and gain 100 pounds. I decided not to risk it, showered, and put on jeans like a normal person.

Last year, I got a ski mask there for a buck. It was $.96 before tax, to be exact. That is enough to make me go back this year. I lost a lot of stuff in the moves, and I’m not going to tear apart my storage space for a dollar. I wouldn’t do it for a Lincoln, I’m sure not doing it for a Washington. I opted for a regular knit hat this year, even though the ski mask is way funnier, and much warmer for my face when shoveling. The problem with the mask, when used as a hat is that the little eye holes let snow in. Because I wear it as a hat more often than a ski mask, I figured that I would go with the plain hat as my primary hat this year. I regretted my choice the minute I pulled into the 7-11, low on funds.

I picked up gloves, too. They were around $5, blue and black, and extend halfway up my forearm. They look like something a space gentleman might slap an insulting robot with. They are 100 grain fleece on the inside, so I figured despite the look of them, I made a good buy. And don’t think that if an insulting androids steps up, that I’m not prepared to use them to get into some intergalactic space duel. My honor will remain in tact.

I also picked up the clippers to extend the length of time between haircuts. A little trim of the neck beard, and you’ve saved a week. I also decided to start growing a really crappy beard like I do every couple of years when I forget how bad a beard actually looks on me. It’s been going for 3 weeks, and needs to be trimmed as evenly as an Asian teenagers mustache can be. Oh, well.

The goal is to grow a really long beard. A beard that moves when I talk. A beard that I can store things in. A friend. Wait, scratch that last one, and change it to “A beard that I can put rubber bands in like Lou Albano“. I’ll get tired of it long before then, though, I’m afraid.

Anyway, most of the clippers on display came with 27 attachments. Some clipers claimed “attachments” that were, in reality, posing as brushes, combs, tarps, and videos. One even came with a rotary nose hair clipper and a brush, and masqueraded them as attachments. I’m not sure how they would be attached to the clippers, and I wasn’t interested enough to find out. I just wanted a bunch of combs for different lenths, maybe a regular comb, and possibly a big blue jar of alcohol to store them in. I got what I wanted, and did it for under $20. Nice deal. The one I bought even has a video with it, although it doesn’t attach well to the clippers. It actually sort of gets in the way. I don’t have a VCR, but it looks like it could be entertaining.

My new clippers also have a turbo button. What the hell it’s for, I’m unsure. It says that it’s for tough to cut patches or something. I think they mean when you have to cut gum out of your hair or shave the dog. As I haven’t had gum in my hair since middle school, and I don’t have a dog, my only joy with the button it to press the button while holding the clippers straight armed above my haed and yelling, “TURBO!” It’s not useful, but it makes the button feel good about itself, rather than a useless marketing ploy. Poor button. Maybe I should try it with my space gloves on. I think I smell a super hero brewing…