Question, in which I have one

Just out of curiosity, for the combover sporting man, how long does it take to grow out said combover? Five months at least, right? And what on earth do you do with the shock of hair you grow to cover your head in the time that it's not long enough to go from ear to ear? There's not really such a thing as half a combover? Or two thirds a combover, right?

It's all a mystery.

1,000 Words, in which it probably isn't worth that

Contemplating, in which I'm considering looking like this all the time

Except that sometimes I have to use both my hands to do things... dang.

Styles, in Which There is no Debate

One of the questions regarding the growing of a mustache is, What kind of mustache will I grow?

I supposed I would just do the simple shave at the corners of my mouth, and let the stache do what it will. And I guess that's what I'm going with. The handlebar isn't my thing (not that any kind of mustache is my thing), and I wouldn't want to shave beyond around the corners of my mouth, because I want to avoid looking at all like an evil dictator.

Some people thin out their mustaches, shaving the area just below their noses, leaving a half a stache, but I don't think that's my style either.

So, for this brief experiment, I'm going with the most simple style.

Awe-struck, in which I meet Him

Hugh Nibley: It's still all foolishness. Complete foolishness, you see.

Me: Uh, hi.

Nibley: What? Who are you?

Me: Just, well, nobody. No! Wait, somebody. Oh, what clever response would impress you?

Nibley: Impress? Why would you want to impress me?

Me: Um... oh, hey, wait! Do you and Elder Maxwell and Truman Madsen do firesides, or whatever they would be called there, together?

Nibley: [Writing something on a notecard].

Me: I'll bet they're awesome.

Nibley: Let's get on with this, I'm certain there was something of terrible import for me to be sent to visit you.

Me: Well, it's just that, um, I'm nervous about people not taking me seriously. I'm growing this mustache, you see, and ...

Nibley: Take you seriously? My boy, I hope you don't take yourself serious. The gospel is serious business, more serious than I'll ever understand. You cannot take the gospel seriously and at the same time take yourself serious. The joke's on us, you see, I believe that now more than ever. Man is down there acting like he owns all that, giving offense, taking offense, taking it all into courtrooms to argue over property. Property! Ha! What does Man know of property? The meek, now there you go, we know what the meek are promised, and to be meek you must have a sense of the absurdity of all of that, and most especially of you.

Me: Ok.

Nibley: We are out of temporal time.

Me: Bye, Brother Nibley. It was nice to finally meet you.

Nibley: [Walking quickly away reading a manuscript.]

--But I'm pretty sure Nibley never wore a mustache.

Anxiousness, in which I consider the Reality before Me

Is anxiousness even a word? I probably should have said anxiety, but it's not so much anxiety as, simply, anxiousness.

Will people be able to take me seriously? I found myself asking this all day today, wondering if anyone noticed the slightly darker shade of stubble on my lip.

I'm confident nobody did.

But what about tomorrow? Or Thursday? It will be there, just THERE.

Toe Stubbing, in which it made me think of

Children have a very egocentric worldview. (A word of caution, I will not be looking up any term that I use to see if I am using it correctly. I'm feeling very lazy right now. I'm dealing with it, and you ought to as well.) Children think that anything that happens, anything that they are aware of happening anyway, happens as a direct result of something that they have done.

For example, it's raining outside, therefore they must have done something to make it rain, like spit too much or something.

I am a child, or am very childish. Probably that last one.

I stubbed my toe a few minutes ago, and my first thought was that I was being punished for something I had done wrong.

I did not (at least not immediately) consider that I might just be clumsy. Or that my big feet are prone to bumping into walls sometimes.

Not that my feet are really big. In fact, I would say that my feet are very average in size.

How do I know this?

I know people (men) who have feet that are bigger than mine, and other men who have feet that are smaller than mine.

So since my feet aren't big (like those I know with bigger feet) or small (like those I know with smaller feet), they must be average.

That's as far as my thinking went on this subject.

But earlier in a series of tweets I said something that may or may not be related:

Sometimes humor doesn't translate. Like when you give humor a book written in French and tell it that you would like to read the book in English. Thanks for nothing, humor.

Setting For Lack of

First, I thought I'd check out the BCS standings out new today, so I googled "bcs standings" and the first hit was this article. What the...? The LA Times? 

Dude, that beating BYU gave UCLA must really have affected the psyches of the sports writers in Southern California if they're writing things like this.

Anyway.

profundity, in spite of its absurd sound and silly look, is in fact a word that denotes something full of deep meaning. Even if Microsoft Word or an English grad student doesn't recognize it (I have no idea if Word does or not).

But blogger (and wordpress for that matter) do not recognize this word:

dialogue

And why the heck not?

Hang on. Blogger's not putting little red dots under it. Time to investigate. 

brb

They both recognize it now. I have nothing to complain about.

They came around.

Good job blogging forces. Wait to recognize a key term in your existence.

And now for a cute picture:

This more than makes up for this post, doesn't it?

Duuuuude!!

Ha! Even better!

It was just as I suspected...


Chucks

What kind of shoe are you?