Smallhouse Log

Friday, second week of Advent
"Lar was different, but it was different in a very unique way." -Janelle, 12/10/2008

I have had a lot of adventures at work. I've called some interesting places and people. Twice today I called people I knew from my undergraduate days (including one who totally hates me -she didn't pick up, and when I got home and mentioned it to Lorange, she swore that girl was a professional dominatrix. Wacky.). I've called the Encyclopaedia Britannica offices. I've called the Playboy offices to speak with this woman, though I didn't realize who or where I was calling until the secretary said to send her an e-mail. I've called this guy at home; he is on the cover of a magazine in which I am on page sixty-four. We keep tallies on the walls of how often people say crazy or dumb things. I like working there, even if I'm not a huge fan of the 'work'. I got moved to the fundraising drive, I'm very bitter about this. Though apparently I consist of over one-quarter empathy by weight? And can shoot all fifty pounds or so straight down a fiberoptic cable and into the hearts of housewives. Not sure how I feel about that.

Subject change!

I was surprised at how fast my horrible-moustache-thing became just another part of my face. It even became sort-of not horrible, except when I grinned. But after a week or so of all that, I decided just yesterday that it was time to shave it off. And the not-really-a-goatee. Even the sideburns got trimmed and reduced. Nominally, this was so I would be more attractive to women (not that I think that's likely to be applicable within the next, say, month), though it does seem to reduce my ability to keeps my face warm on my bike rides to and from work. But the tipping point, the thought that turned shaving from a "maybe I should" sort of notion to a "I have to, and I have to at the next opportunity" imperative, was my realization that

1. Evil Ian (my evil doppleganger) used to have a moustache, id est when I met him.
2. Evil Ian no longer has a moustache.
3. Now I had a moustache.
4. He would, of course, try to use this to switch places with me and ruin everything I have worked so hard to to achieve.
5. Should his plan succeed, I would be stuck as the despised outcast with the terrible, villainous moustache.

This could not be allowed to happen. Something had to be done. But now I look so... baby faced. Prognosis: too much zeal.

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