You see, to look like a first century Jew, I had to grow my beard out. And now that I don't need to have it on anymore, I am under no obligation to keep one on my face. So why, a month later, do I still need a shave?
I don't know. And I really don't care. To pardon the terrible pun, I suppose you could say that it has "grown" on me.
Har, har, har - a joke so bad I think even my father might cringe. And yet I know that he would appreciate that one.
So then it was only fitting that I take my hirsute self to my first - and likely only - NASCAR event this past weekend, largely at the behest of my roommate who promised some good "redneck watching" experiences. After several long hours in the car on the way to the Speedway, I experienced the "joy" of hearing jet engines scream around a one-mile oval until my sternum started permanently vibrating. I'm not entirely sure why people like going to see these races in person, especially with friends/family - conversation with someone is rather pointless if you're still going deaf even while wearing earplugs.
Oh well. At least there were a few fires/wrecks to break the monotony. And the characters in the crowd were enough to keep everyone entertained, especially the "friendly gentleman" sitting a few rows down whose behavior was sufficiently comically obscene to be worth the price of admission. Plus, with the beard and an old Army hat, I think I managed to blend into the crowd decently enough.
I have nothing against the sport, personally - it's just not for me. I think I'll stick to climbing. Which, by the way, is going fantastically - top-rope at 5.11b this week, and my second and third Trad Lead climbs. We're on track for Yosemite, provided all goes well.