In Two Paragraphs: Beards, Night at the Museum, and The Vigor of Life

Be not afraid of greatness: some men are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them. -Twelfth Night

I’m growing a beard at the moment. It’s slightly itchy, but it is filling in nicely. If I shape it a little, it may turn out alright. By alright, I mean it’ll do until I decide to stop being lazy and shave it all off. That’s where I’m at on this whole beard bandwagon–a lot of guys make a conscious decision to build a facial follicle masterpiece while I basically decide it’s too hard to shave. It’s not with aspirations of bearded grandeur which I aspire to by keeping this beard thing around another week, it’s just that I don’t aspire to ridding myself of it.

I somehow feel as if Teddy Roosevelt has something to say about being deliberate and intentional in whatsoever one does. Perhaps if I read his Vigor of Life I may have a swanky quote to include in this beard post. To mitigate this, I shall quote Robin Williams’ T.R. quoting Shakespeare to Ben Stiller’s character in Night at the Museum: “Some men are born great, others have greatness thrust upon them.” Trying to render that into the beard train of thought I began with in the first paragraph: Some men are born with beards, others have beards thrust upon them. It works in a stream of consciousness sort of way.


Wyoming State Highway 59 Buttes

Thrusting above the rolling hills around them, short buttes attract one's attention (if given over to topographical sorts of things) and break up the uniform landscape. Nothing at all like their iconic counterpart, Devils Tower, these small geological sites are worthy of attention nonetheless.

A Blog Post is Sinking in the Lonesome Sea

Random Carter Family portrait

It’s been a relatively long string of time (about a month) since I have put my fingers to the keys on this here blog of mine. I suppose it may be that I have been busy with a variety of things—best called “life”. Work has taken me around the western portion of these United States and when I have been off and at home (and in between the children’s sport events) we have taken to going on drives and visiting the solitude of mountains and other quiet places to run rampant.

I’ve been thinking a lot of many things I could (and perhaps should) write in this space. In fact, all the good ideas flood my brain when I’m traveling down the highway in eighth-over with 80,000 pounds under me. When I can, I’ll jot it down in my Moleskine notebook. Generally, the good ideas are as good as gone when I have a rare moment to tap on this laptop’s keyboard and “write”. A blogger could write a country song about his blog posts (or the absence thereof). I just ramble on about the lack of content or time to create it; it’s the equivalent to the low and lonesome sound of a Carter Family song such as Sinking in the Lonesome Sea.

He bowed his head and down sank he
Farewell, farewell to the Merry Golden Tree
For I’m sinking in the low and lonesome low
For I’m sinking in the lonesome sea