And the facial hair shall return

My beard is not dead, just on hiatus.

After going baby-faced about a week ago, I received a public outpouring of grief, dismay, and general derision. You'd think I killed Ellen Degeneres' puppy by shaving off a couple hairs.

Don't worry, I didn't have the siph, I'm not dabbling in the art of self-mutilation, and my beard didn't have any substance abuse problems that required rehab. There's a simple explanation for my antics.

One, I had just seen Sweeney Todd, which is bloody fantastic, and felt compelled to grab a quick shave.

More importantly, however, I hadn't shaved my goatee in almost a year and the curtains didn't match the carpet. The hair on my goatee was red while the rest of the beard was definitively brown.

The hair was also getting a little shabby, which risked reducing my ability to walk down a street without being asked if I needed a bowl of soup to about zero.

And for those of you who never felt the joy of or who are unable to grow a beard - I'm looking at you, Alex - there's no easy way to groom the goat and save the beard.

So after seconds of heartfelt deliberation I came to the decision that I had to go without facial hair for a couple weeks in order to maintain the pristine, testosterone-loaded reputation that my beard has achieved in recent years.

Upon further reflection, it might have been the worst decision of my life.

Where once my beard was a beacon of awesomeness and raw sexuality, capable of inspiring greatness in the down-trodden and returing fertility to barren women, in a world lacking both, now my face is bare and naked, exposed to the cruel, harsh reality of life.

Mostly, though, it's fucking cold outside without any facial hair.

I kept my beard all summer long despite the blistering heat of greater Phoenix only to shave the damn thing during the coldest part of winter. I went outside yesterday and literally thought I was about catch hypothermia of the jaw.

I'm an idiot.

From the iPod: "Baby Girl I'm a Blur" by Say Anything (Don't judge me)

Latest Movie: "Jerry Macguire"

Quote: JM: "I didn't shoplift the pootie...All right, I shoplifted the pootie."

Currently Reading: "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "Don't Me Think" by Steve Krug

Line of the day: "The Captain looked at Fermina Daza and saw on her eyleashes the first glimmer of wintry forst. Then he looked at Florentino Ariza, his invincible power, his intrepid love, and he was overwhelmed by the belated suspicion that it is life, more than death, that has no limits.
'And how long do you think we can keep up this goddamn coming and going?" he asked.
Florentino Ariza had kept his answer ready for fifty-three years, seven months, and eleven days and nights.
'Forever,' he said."

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Going to Miami

I interviewed for an internship today and I was offered a 12-week spot in the sports department. The paper I'm going to be working at was one of my top three, so I'm pretty stoked about the opportunity.

The paper has been one of the main feeders for Sports Illustrated and ESPN: The Magazine over the last few years, so this will be a great opportunity.

"But Garrett, what about your existential crisis?"

Two things. One, shut up and let me enjoy this. Two, I still have some issues with my immediate future, but I know that I want to be a sports writer in the near future. This doesn't change anything.

It just gives me three months on South Beach to figure out whether I'm going to take a break or get a job right away.

As far as today's pop culture status, it's all the same as the post I made about 20 minutes ago.

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The Big Party of Doom

My parents threw their annual Christmas party last night, and it's not one of those "I just invited some family, coworkers and the ladies in my bridge club" kind of events. They invited pretty much the entire town of Wells, which ended up being about 70 people imbibing and conversing in my parents' house (actually it's about 5 percent of my hometown).

I don't get to come home very often, so I enjoy getting to see all the family friends and people I went to high school with. The problem is that conversation eventually turns into a discussion on how I'm screwing up my future. The conversation typically went something like this:

Interested partygoer: "So Garrett (or Crash, which has become my new official nickname. See yesterday's blog post), when are we going to see you on ESPN?"

Me: "Actually, I've sort of been doing the writing thing for the last couple years so I think I'm going to go with that."

IP: "Oh, that's nice. When are we going to see your name in Sports Illustrated or ESPN: The Magazine?"

Me: "Here's the thing, I've actually been feeling a little burnt out, so I think I'm going to take some time off and get a job at an adult bookstore in Reno."

(Awkward moment of slence complete with baffled stares)

IP: "Well" (nodding head) "You should have the resume for it."

The utterly painful conversation, or the "Hey, you almost died" talk, repeated about 17 times, which sort of felt like getting kicked in the scrotum over and over again.

Oh well, I got to catch up with plenty of friends and I had free run of my parent's wet bar (it was actually a table with tons of alcohol on it, so the party was still a smashingly good time. And, while they might not understand my wavering heart, I think most everybody is pretty excited about what they'll be getting for Christmas next year.

Currently Reading: "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "Don't Make Me Think" by Steve Krug

Line of the Day: "They were together in silence like an old married couple wary of life, beyond the pitfalls of passion, beyond the brutal mockery of hope and the phantoms of disillusion: beyond love. For they had lived together long enough to know that love was always love, anytime and anyplace, but it was more solid the closer it came to death."

On the iPod: "In the Evening" by Led Zeppelin (best song ever)

Last Movie: Talladega Nights (It pisses excellence)

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Starting this blog isn't all I did over the weekend...

I also lost my car crash virginity on the way home to Wells for break.

The experience was about what I expected - nerve-wracking, scary, and a little painful.

I was driving up a hill on I-80, just before Emigrant for my Northeastern Nevada people scoring at home, when a dude about 500 yards in front of me lost control of his truck and hit me. Neither of us was injured. I didn't have power, therefore no heater, so I ended up sitting with him in his truck listening to Nine Inch Nails. Turns out he works with my cousin Cody in Reno.

Small world.

Anyway, we got toed into Elko and my parents came to pick me up. At first the crash wasn't that scary or painful. Now I'm stiff and soar pretty much all over my body, and I seem to be getting a new bruise about every 15 minutes.

Taking a second to survey the crash is also a bit sobering. Had he hit me 500 yards sooner or a quarter-mile later, both of us would have shot off a hundred foot embankment. Also, my airbags didn't go off. If they had I wouldn't have been able to get my car to the shoulder, rendering me motionless in a white car in a snowstorm in the middle of a blind corner without hazard lights.

Considering my knowledge of gravity and the group of cars that were close behind, and methinks the consequences would have been significantly more sever had anything gone differently (at the very least I'd be in the market for a new XBOX 360 and a giant part of my book collection).

My mother, who doesn't put the angel on the top of our Christmas tree until I get home for break (she really is the sweetest woman I've ever met), is convinced I was saved by a guardian angel.

I lack her sense of divine providence, so I'd like to attribute my survival to physics and luck

Either way, I had a big glass of scotch when I got home and now I'm ready for sleep.

Reading: "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "Don't Make Me Think" by Steve Krug

Line of the Day: "For a long time Florentino Ariza lived with the deception that he was the only one, and she humored him in that belief until she had the bad luck to talk in her sleep. Little by little, listening to her sleep, he pieced together the navigation chart of her dreams and sailed among the countless islands of her secret life. In this way he learned that she did not want to marry him, but did feel joined to his life because of her immense gratitude to him for having corrupted her."

On the iPod: "Rumors of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated" by Rise Against

Latest Movie: National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation (classic)

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The beginning of something purely epic(ish)

Currently Reading: "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, "Don't Make me Think" by Steve Krug

Line of the Day: "He was the first man that Fermina Daza heard urinate. She heard him on their wedding night, while she lay prostrate with seasickness in the stateroom on the ship that was carrying them to France, and the sound of his stallion's stream seemed so potent, so replete with authority, that it increased her terror of the devastation to come."

Mood Music: "Welcome Home" by Coheed and Cambria

Last Movie: Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (outstanding)

-I'm sitting next to a fire pit outside the parent's home in Wells, Nevada (population 1,300), entranced by the cracks and pops of the orange flames as they dance around the logs in front of me. It's 2:45 a.m. and there are no other lights on this side of the interstate that intersects my hometown, but I still see the world around me like it's the middle of the day. The golf course in front of my house spreads out in one big sheet of glistening snow and the snow-capped mountains towering just behind reflect the moon's light to illuminate everything like the midday sun.

Other than a pack of coyotes playing off in the distance, I am alone. My life is quiet for the first time since I can remember, which gives me a few minutes to mull some important questions.

First off, who the hell brings a laptop next to a fire pit in the middle of winter?

In a related matter, how big does a fire have to be to make minus-12 degree nights comfortable (because the one in front of me is't getting the job done)?

And, inevitably, there's the third, much more difficult question - Am I ruining my life?

You see, I've been headed on a path to write about sports for a living ever since a friend talked me into covering a volleyball game for the school newspaper during my (first) sophomore year. I've my ass off since, done internships every summer, and I'm good at what I do.

I never wavered once the entire three-plus years - until about three months ago.

I'm less than six months away from the real world and all of a sudden I'm going through an existential crisis of epic proportions. I don't know what I want to do with my my life.

I'm not sure I want to write about balls forever. At least not right away. I'm at the last point in my life when I really have the ability to do whatever I want. Actually, I just want to write fiction (along with about 7,348,656 other people in the world), but a sting in the Peace Corps. or a year working at an adult bookstore in Reno (mostly kidding) sounds like a pretty good time-filler. I'm also sort of partial to the greater Reno/Tahoe area (not so much Sparks, though).

I don't know how to answer this question, so I thought I'd start a blog for all to follow the problem solving (Also, I'm horrible at answering the phone and generally staying in touch, so this will help friends and family keep up on what I'm doing).

I think I know who I am, but I have no idea of my place in the world. I'm (almost) 23 years old and lost. Thing is, that might be a good thing.

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