Late is the hour

Tonight has certainly been a night. Not a super different or eventful one (aside from trivia, of course, because you are all lovely), but despite its events, it wasn't too different from a usual Thursday night, and I wouldn't really change that.

But what the eff is this sentimental crap? What's going on here? Did I change into my big girl skirt? I'm not seeing a skirt. Just some masculine jeans over some mainly manly legs. It's really the pelt that makes them so manly. In the future, wild Cameron males will be hunted for their pelts. Well, that and their capacity for massages.

LADIES.

However, despite the wonderful evening followed by the brief foray into sentimentality, the question remained. The oldest question. The first question. The question that must never be answered. Hidden in plain sight! The question we've been running from all our lives!

What does Rob think of beards?

Nice try, fangirls.

Well, I'm glad you asked, Internet! Because tonight, on this auspicious night of nights, on this so-called November 8th which is really now November 9th because Rob cannot make a speedy exit, your question will be answered. Warning: The following images and discussion may alarm you. These are not for the faint of heart. If you are pregnant, or may become pregnant, you should not look at these images, lest your possible child be scarred for life/develop into manhood prematurely, robbing you of all those childhood memories of him riding his first bike, getting his first school picture, getting to ground him the first time, and much, much more. But for those of you who believe that they can handle the challenge, for those of you that believe that they have faced terror and know all that life might throw at them, for those of you that have not yet been scarred by the multiple pictures of beards ON THIS VERY NIGHT. For you, I offer the following list.

The best of Rob Cameron's beards. Well, better yet, ranking Rob's beards from best to worst. It's truly a difficult decision, because there are many variables here. Namely, the enjoyment derived from all parties and the inherent laughability of all these beards. Because, man, time was I could not grow a beard, and time remains that I cannot maintain a beard to save my freaking life. Again, this may be your last chance to spare yourself certain nausea and general discomfort/surefire pregnancy. My beards can defeat all birth control- how else could they survive and evolve into the great and terrible creatures they have become?

Well, enough of that frankly uncomfortable discussion.

4. The Jesus

Honestly, I don't really remember how this beard started. I have a feeling that it was laziness. Regardless, in winter of freshman year (this would be, let's see, 2006-2007. It was a different time, you understand.), I had a beard.

Are you ready for this? You may think you are, but there's still time to back out. This... well, it's not pretty, for a variety of reasons. You're staying? Well, don't say I didn't warn you. I'm... I'm sorry for this, for what it's worth.

Here goes.
























Yes, I had quite a head of hair.  Most of it actually on my head (which seems to be a trend that is slowly reversing itself). As I say, this was mostly due to laziness and, despite my face, really wasn't serious business. Well, that's not quite true.

See, what's going on in that picture is a special night. This was a night in January 2007 on which I decided to make a change. This requires some more background. In my freshman year of high school, I tried growing out my hair for a while. It was party to emulate a friend of mine, partly to go for a part in The Three Musketeers what my high school was putting on in the spring. I grew it out until around June before donating the hair (all 10 inches, so noticeably longer than in this picture) to Locks of Love. Aww. Look, he really does care. The point of that, however, is that I shaved my head. It grew back, but I had still shaved my head.

Longer than THAT? Yes. Longer than that. Also, hi Owen and Matt. We all look younger here, mainly because we are.

For the years since then, I would sometimes be looking at myself in a mirror, and I would see that bald man in front of me. Also, now that I look at this picture, I can't help but think of the derm lesions that are going on in here. Oh, woe to you, sebaceous glands. Yours was a hard existence back in those days. Anyway, on that night, I decided to let that bald man come out and play again.

If the beard didn't shock and terrify you, then this may. And for that, I'm sorry.

OH HI GUYS.

Yes, somehow I lost my shirt in that process. It was probably a good call, because man. The shaving cream. It was everywhere. All up ons. It was a bit funnier, because people straight up did not recognize me until I said something or smiled.

I wish I could say that this was the only terrible, terrible decision I made with my facial hair during college. But no. No no no. There were others. Well, really, there was one other.

3. The Amish

Many of you have seen my retired military ID. I keep it around to remind me that, hey, I used to really look like an idiot.

This one started a little bit less out of laziness and more as a nice little experiment. Remember how I said I'm really bad at keeping beards maintained? Remember when you saw that on the previous beard? Don't act like you don't. You saw it, and you cringed. You beheld that which was my face at the time, and you recoiled. Don't be ashamed. These things happen. It's not there anymore, and it can't hurt you. Well, unless I decide to rub my current beard ALL up on your face, which has happened on multiple occasions over the past week (EVEN ON THIS VERY NIGHT), but not in a weird and creepy way. Well, not in a creepy way. It's still weird, but it's a jovial sort of Bugs Bunny weirdness (right?) and not a creepy sort of Edward Cullen weirdness.

This is the beard of a killer, Bella.

However, back to the point at hand. You remember the laziness I have when it comes to trimming beards. Unfortunate though it is, it has lasted quite a while. Apparently, in this case, it even applied to taking pictures of the actual beard. Believe me, it existed. There just seems to be no record on Facebook of its actual existence. Oh, but people remember. Let me give you a nice little play by play here.

See, it started with some sideburns.

On a lighter note, the next day I had food poisoning that they suspected was appendicitis. Gaze upon that right lower quadrant pain. Also gaze upon those sideburns and the reappearance of that hair.

Those were all well and good. A bit unruly, but at the same time, they told the world that I don't play by its rules. I play by my own horn or some such mixed metaphor. I'm a man of a different time, when men were men, and fights were resolved in bare-knuckle boxing (Queensland rules, of course), and our sideburns were fantastic. No, these were no lady's sideburns. These were sideburns that told the world, "This right here, he's got a Y chromosome, and perhaps more where that came from."

Oh, what folly.

Mmm. You can just feel that bushiness now, can't you?

Ah, but you see, I was still a man's man. We were going to see what would happen. Could the sideburns elongate to the point that they might become one? Is... is such a thing even possible?

You knew this was coming.

Well, such a thing was indeed possible. Lord help us all, it was possible. I let it keep growing. Oh, how I let it keep growing. I think I had some sort of logic about how having a beard would make me look somewhat older, and therefore I wouldn't be questioned if I tried to go into a bar while not yet 21. That, of course, was never necessary, because I would never dream of touching the dreaded spirits. Their very existence is an affront to my high-minded sensibilities, and the very notion of me drinking is utter poppycock. But the notion of me in a tuxedo? Oh, yes please.

Shortly after the picture, she swooned due to the sheer manliness.

Yes, there were many splendid times. There was even an occasional trimming of the sideburns! Life was good. Tuxedos were worn. It was overall just splendid.

But, alas, even such things as that must come to an end. And truly, it is a merciful God that we have, for there is no evidence of what the beard had become in the end. It had become more than even I could handle in one sitting. So, that fateful morning, at the appointed hour (that is, after an all-nighter of working on PChem lab reports and being dared to do the soon to be depicted deed), I began the process of removing the beard.

The following may disturb you. Do not be alarmed. The beard is only half there, so it can no longer hurt you. Still, it never hurts to keep a safe distance.

Look at that fullness.  Mmm. That right there, that was a powerful beard. It seems to have even damaged my eyes with its sheer power (that was a bad time for my eyes, unfortunately, hence the droopiness and generally odd character that they bear). For the morning, I went around saying, "I believe in Harvey Dent." Few understood. Many did double takes, because they weren't sure which side of me they had actually seen. Soon, however, I mustered my reserves, and managed to finish the deed (and also get some sleep, because, man, all-nighters).

Then I put on a tux.

Ladies can't keep the cameras still when they see my mad swagga.

STILL TO COME: MORE STORIES OF BEARDS. THE LAST TWO. WHAT BECAME OF THEM. WHERE THEY ARE NOW. AND GENERALLY OTHER MADNESS. TUNE IN NEXT TIME, FOR NOVEMBLOG!