November 27, 2018 § Leave a comment
I was promised Rachmaninoff.
His most difficult work (Piano Concerto No. 3, nicknamed, she claimed, “the Rach”), played by Denis Kozhukhin “with precision and poetry” despite its difficulty.
She hooked me. I heard the intro in my car as I arrived home, Kozhukhin talking about how it was the first piano concerto he heard as a kid. How he tried to learn to play it before even learning scales, a little boy grasping at a star far beyond his reach.
Because it enthralled him. « Read the rest of this entry »
November 9, 2018 § Leave a comment
Normally, the month of November is a month of writing for me. It is National Novel Writing Month, after all.
While I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo in the past—and found it useful—I haven’t written much lately. Which is a good reason to participate, honestly, but I’ve got too much going on to be able to sit down and write 1,667 words a day. Hell, I intended to write this blog post on November 1, and I’m only just now getting to it nine days later.
So instead of tackling a novel, I’ve started in on a project that’s a bit more organic—literally.
I’m growing a mo. A ‘stache. A lip warmer.
I’m not really doing it to raise money, so this isn’t a funding pitch. I’m growing a ridiculous bourbon strainer A) to prod my guy friends to think about their health, and B) because I’ve wanted to grow a mo for a long, long time.
Not Why, But Which?
So the question for me isn’t really “why the hell would you grow an ugly lip mat,” but rather “which uncomfortable face merkin should I grow?”
Because there are so many wonderful options.
My first thought was to adopt Sam Elliot’s recently orphaned nose caterpillar.
That reminded me of the movie Tombstone and Kurt Russell’s fabulous Wyatt Earp handlebar.
Once I was in a Wild-West-Lawman frame of mind, however, I recalled Timothy Olyphant’s Seth Bullock in Deadwood, and man, do I love his kisser tickler.
But then I started thinking about the primary reason for Movember: to stop men from dying too young.
Too many people I’ve known—men and women—have left our mortal party too early. They died from cancer, from random illness, from suicide, from overdose. They died in accidents.
And with each bright flame extinguished, the world grew a little darker.
So I thought I’d honor their lip brooms. My dad had a walrus once, but that seemed overreaching for my first foray into facial foliage. And Bardi’s crumb catcher wouldn’t be the same without his signature gray.
But then I remembered the photo of my brother Rich, taken at 20,000 feet as he piloted a Embraer EMB 120 Brasilia for Comair. Rich, who died when he was only a few years older than I am now.
So that’s the mo I’m going to try to grow. That’s going to be my nose neighbor for November.
If my furry face ferret can get the people I love to think about their health, maybe I won’t lose more. Maybe they’ll get a checkup for that weird pain that’s been bothering them. Maybe they’ll get a regular health screening.
And by “they,” I mean you.
So laugh at my lip wig. Mock my mouth brow. Snicker at my snot mop.
And then make an appointment to get a physical, ask about that cough that just won’t go away, and get that weird mole checked. See a therapist, if the world has been pressing down on you too hard.
Because I like having you around. And I want you to see the glorious Seth Bullock I’m going to grow next November.
Learn more about Movember and men’s health at Movember.com.