(cue B.B. King's "Thrill Is Gone" ... ) The beard is gone ...
The beard is gone away from me ...
Oh, the beard is gone ...
The beard is gone away from me ...
Yup, I got a wild hair and cut off the beard I've had for the past, oh, seven or eight years. Time for a change. I saw a photo taken a few days ago and was wondering "who is that old fart?" and it was ME! I have a lot more silver on the chin now than when the facial fuzz sprouted back then. And all those ads tell us that you can't be a babe magnet when you're Mr. Gray ... hey, they wouldn't lie to us, would they?
A grand total of three people noticed.
But I like it. Yeah, the face feels a bit nekkid now, especially when I walk outside and it's cold and windy and I'm wondering, "damn, where's my face warmer?" Guess I'll keep it a while.
Speaking of cold, it's a cruddy day in Baghdad, cold and raining. Yuck. A bunch of us braved the elements and went over to Union 3 (the military base across the street) for pizza tonight. No beer. Union 3 is a military base and all military are subject to General Order Nr. 1, which says: no beer, no sex, no time, while you're in a war zone. This applies to civilians here under military orders. But I'm not here under military orders, I'm here on State Department orders, and you should see the selection of beer, wine, and spirits in our little Exchange. Whoever selects the stuff for the Diplomat exchange has some excellent tastes, too. I've got a bottle of very fine Merlot sitting in the kitchen right now. Come to think of it, that's probably the wrong place for it. It needs to be in a glass. On my table, about six inches from my right hand.
Excuse me while I make that happen.
