A SUMMER BEARD

A SUMMER BEARD

Regular readers of this blog may recall that for what seemed like all of May, some of April and some of June, I had the cold that seemed like it would never go away. It took what felt like forever, but finally it stopped ravaging my faculties.

For the longest time I was too sick to bother even considering if I should shave. That lasted long enough for a beard to begin, as opposed to just a few days of scraggly accumulation. Then, as I began to resume a sense of health and regain some strength (you know, like actually putting on my glasses without it being so overwhelming an effort as to make me want to go back to sleep), it went from accumulation to early growth.

At that point I thought, hmm, let me see how this beard thatís growing in might look.

Nobody liked it at first. Susan was not a fan of the beard. My mother gave it the thumbs down. My neighbor, known as Mr. Dour, proclaimed it a miserable excuse for a beard, and made a point of providing an oratory on the two bald spots which made it seem like it would never be a decent beard.

But I knew better. It has always taken time to fill in the bald spots when Iíve had beards in the past.

The bald spots filled in. The beard grew. And grew. And grew some more. To the point that I was no longer growing a beard, I now had a beard. And with the bald spots filled in, reactions began to change.

Susan said sheíd begun to like it. Yes, she commented, it was growing on her. No, I pointed out, it was growing on me, not on her. Mr. Dour, in a most unlikely moment, commented that he now felt I should keep the beard, since it had, indeed, grown in, and he felt it gave me a distinguished look. This was somewhat shocking, as kind words from Mr. Dour usually come at some sort of a premium. Heís just not the type to dispense with compliments.

Some friends Iíd visited in the early stages of the beard, whoíd looked somewhat askance at it, complimented me on how it was looking. A grown-in beard is very different from a beard-on-the-way. Then there were a bunch of people who just idly commented, ìOh, You grew a beard.î Or the many who had no comment at all.

Some reactions, though, were notable. At the Geek Dinner [1] (also known as the Weblogger Dinner [2]) held in June when Scoble [3] was in town, one fellow commented that I looked like I might be Dave Winerís twin brother. Hmm. I donít see the resemblance. At a local Farmerís Market a woman came over and told me I looked like the reincarnation of Jerry Garcia. Well, salt and pepper hair, salt and pepper beard, yes, but otherwise, again, I donít see it. Others had commented that I looked like an aging hippie.

There may be some truth in that one.

As generally happens, I tend to let way too much time elapse between haircuts. I always say to the woman who cuts my hair, ìSee you in six weeks,î and she chuckles and notes that yes, I always say that. Six weeks comes and goes, and I forget all about getting a haircut. Then there will be some meeting or gathering or event, and I will make an appointment for a haircut. Somehow, having a beard and letting my hair grow out seemed a concurrent event. But then it got to a point where the shagginess was getting ridiculous.

So I got a haircut. And now when I look in the mirror it no longer seems like that ìaging hippieî description will fit. There seems to be more beard than hair. Now I look like a Talmud student.

Talmud students (I know from whence I speak, er, type) study. They learn, and they ask questions. Symbolism, reference, meaning, the quality and value of words, characters, all of this is taken into account as one not only studies Talmud, but also seeks to interpret. One of the joys of Talmud study is in the interpretation. It is a wonderful pursuit, like calisthenics for the mind.

Were I approaching this as one approaches Talmud study, I might take the more simplistic and direct approach. Oy! Shmendrick! Who grows a beard in the warm weather? And in this 100% humidity and the heat of August, does this make sense?

Thatís it. The beard goes this weekend.