I’ve always had a strained relationship with beards, and facial hair in general. I don’t grow much facial hair, barely being able to muster a mustache, but with no hope of growing a beard beyond a pathetic goatee. I can’t even grow sideburns of any substance. Sometimes this makes me sad, even to the point of being a little insecure about my machismo. I endeavored to grow a mustache during Movember, but the resulting stache was rather weak.
I apologize for the silence of late. Between the holidays and winter, I haven’t been doing much worth talking about. That of course is the crux of my problems. Each day I seem to be moving closer to an existential crisis of the midlife variety. I probably won’t be buying a Porsche or getting a trophy wife, but the issue is still that I need to find some kind of satisfaction.
I am going to take a departure from my usual cycling complaints and hiking wishfulness to address a topic that seems rather important of late: Amazon. Being that I spend my days holding down a desk at a large independent bookstore, some might find it odd that I am quite a fan of shopping at this online behemoth. Sadly, most brick and mortar stores suck and if I have to shop at a store that sucks, then shopping online is usually less painful.
Winter is in full swing here in the city of bridges. A cold lingering fog has kept the temperature from climbing above the low forties for the last few days. The days are short too, with the sun setting before five each night. This makes for difficult commutes and little incentive to to leave the house.
Ever since I moved up here to Little Bay Root, I’ve been surrounded by facial hair. Beards are everywhere up here: bushy lumberjack beards, long braided goats, porn-tastic mutton chops. Myself, I’ve always been a bit challenged in the facial hair department, but Movember rolled around and I decided to try my hand at farming a mustache.
Friday, I went to the mall with the rest of the Portmandia clan. Normally, I do my best to stay away from shopping malls. Mrs. Portmandia has issues with crowd anxiety. I have a tendency to get irrationally angry with clerks and their pushy scripts. The little man just gets generally overstimulated by all of the noise and lights. The whole goulash makes shopping more of an expedition into dark territory than a simple chore.
There are a lot of cultural differences here in the rainy northwest that I had to get used to after I fled the sunshine state. The hardest for me to swallow has been the ironic fashion. The hip cats here seem to revel in wearing ugly clothes that are neither flattering nor fashionable.