one hundred hairs make a man

I was flipping though some old comics the other day when I came across this ad:


...and I got to thinking about my ranking on the Machismo Index, and how of late it seems to be dropping faster than this blog's Technorati authority score. Perhaps the addition of some facial hair would be just the ticket to turning things around. The only problem is that while I can grow wiry ginger-blonde stubble like nobody's business, after a week or so my masculine scruffiness tops out and refuses to cross the threshold into true beard and 'stache territory. (This is also around the time when my wife complains about how the stubble causes her to break out in hives when I give her a chaste peck on the cheek.)

So, Masculiner Co. of East Orange, New Jersey, can you and your MODOCRYLIC face toupees help me out of this frustrating dilemma? I'm putting my hopes and the contents of my piggy bank (eight bucks in total; I already have the sideburns covered the natural way) in your able hands.

Four to six weeks later.....


Hmmm... I was expecting a little something more from MODOCRYLIC, but it is certainly trimmable and easily styled with a pair of safety scissors. The verdict is still out on its net effect on my sense of manhood, though I have found myself experiencing random urges to swing by the local Harley dealership (and to send away fror literature about opening a southern fried chicken franchise). I also seem to have acquired a deep intuitive understanding of .38 Special's body of work, and have unconsciously found myself visiting online sporting goods stores to price gun racks for Super Lumina. It's a very curious phenom--

--HEY! ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY WOMAN? YOU BETTER NOT BE, LESS'N YOU FIND YOURSELF FACE DOWN IN THE PARKING LOT, BUSTER, LOOKIN' FOR YOUR MISSING TEETH.

Y'know, I think I'm better off just sticking with the peachfuzz Mother Nature gave me, along with those awkward pauses whenever a male neighbor or co-worker asks me if I caught the game last weekend.

Deee-Lite - You Sexy Thing (from the Dumb and Dumber OST, 1994) - I'd rather watch the Golf Channel than Dumb and Dumber (and I despise golf), but the soundtrack is better and more eclectic than it had any right to be. Echobelly? The Primitives? The Butthole Surfers? This trippy take on Hot Chocolate's signature song? Was there a mix-up in the post-production ADR between Dumb and Dumber and some psuedo-indie Gen X vehicle?

Sparks - Moustache (from Angst in My Pants, 1982) - Unforced idiosyncrasy and pop sensibility come so easily to the Mael Brothers, and make listening to this album a delightful, yet humbling, experience.

Desmond Dekker & The Aces - Fu Manchu (from Action! 1994) - Maybe that's the problem -- I should have checked the "Evil Overlord Variant" box on the order form. That version carries its own set of issues, however, such as the overwhelming compulsion to shout "Kill that meddling fool!" whenever someone pulls into a parking space before you or takes the last jelly donut during a staff meeting. Also: spontaneous outbreaks of maniacal chortling after getting back extra change from a vending machine purchase or unclogging the garbage disposal.