Beard Me

:: sigh :: It's that time of year again. November has come, and along with it has come the feeling of despair from another bout of finals. And the arrival of finals means only one thing for me:

It's beard-thirty.

In hockey, there is a tradition amongst the players to grow a beard as long as their team is in the playoffs. For me, I have grown a "beard" while preparing for finals (generally I have shaved it off when I went to take my first final because it's uncomfortable - much like the feeling in a certain part of my body when I'm taking the final). It seems to have served me well considering I am still in school. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Of course the growth will not start for another few weeks. I can't show up to work looking like a complete bum. I still have a professional responsibility to make it look like I know what I'm doing. But as soon as I take off of work for the two weeks of hell, it's beard time. And I don't plan on shaving it until after finals. Even then, I'm only going to shave it into a goatee. Why? Because my lovely wife hates it. (In my defense, she knew what she was getting herself into when she married me.)

Consider this the official countdown to beard-ness. There will be pictures.