The End.

Day Thirty: Thirty days has November.

And there we go folks. Thirty days without shaving.


Suck it Trebek.


All in all, I learned my beard is fluffy, that chicks dig it, and churchgoers won't talk to you. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why I will be shaving it off tomorrow. Speaking of, this is not the last blog post here. Tomorrow will be, as I am still not allowed to shave until midnight. I am thinking of something fantastic to cap off this weird little journey that you and I have taken, and I hope that you will tune in tomorrow to check it out.

Donation-wise, I'm not entirely sure how I did, although between Facebook and Reddit (a fantastic community that I have been lucky enough to be a part of for a few years), I have had 37 people tell me they donated. A little more than one a day. Not fantastic by any means, but still, it was perhaps a little more than Amnesty International would have gotten otherwise, and I hope you are secure in the knowledge that it truly did go to some good. So thank you, denizens of the internet, you wily, wonderful and fucking weird people.

Of course , via this blog, there are still two days to make donations to Amnesty International and you can always donate to them (or any other charity) without this blog, which I strongly encourage you to do. People need you.

Again, thanks for hanging around for the past month, and I hope to see you just one last time tomorrow.

Day Twenty Nine: Bohemian Rhapsody...

...is stuck in my head right now. Not the whole song,mind you, just "thunder bolts and lightning,very very frightening...". Question: If he includes the fact that lightning is present, what the christ is a "thunder bolt"? maybe he brings it up because in this wild, 30 part harmony fever dream of his, there are both thunder bolts AND lightning present, as two separate, yet recognizable entities, causing his perception of reality to come crashing down altogther and in general, being very fucking frightening!?!



Galileo Galileo.

If you don't know, wikileaks is under a lot of fucking force to knock off their shit. I am of the opinion that the work they do is VITAL to a successful, free world, and so today, in a last minute twist, I ask you, nay, encourage you, nay, beg you, if you for whatever reason won't donate to Amnesty International, PLEASE help out Wikileaks.

Day Twenty Eight: My beard is Peacock Feathers.

I have noticed recently, within the last, say, week and a half, that my beard seems to be a people deterrent. Does it make me look grumpy?



Usually, I don't go very long without someone approaching me and speaking to me, but lately, outside of my family, people generally don't. My beard is peacock feathers. Maybe I will keep it. I like the silence it affords.

Amnesty International.

Day Twenty Seven: I totally forgot.

Between sleeping in after a hectic holiday, and other domestication things, I totally forgot to do my entry for today. Holy cow.

However, I did get a chance to swing over to see my friend Leif's photography gallery. From what I understand it was the first of four based on the elements, today's being "fire". I was thoroughly impressed, as was my youngest son who psycho-analyzed each and every photograph. Apparently the "photo guy" is obsessed with birds and waterfalls (keep in mind, the photos were abstract shots of fire) because they are both like having no gravity. Put into more adult terms, with connotations of weightlessness and freedom, he just might be right. Weird. Either way, if you are in the area, and you happen to read this sometime soon, swing on over to the Troy Shirt Factory in Glens Falls, on Cooper street and head up to the third floor. It's worth the time.

So, here is my rushed "oh shit my blog!" pic:




as always, remember that the main point of this blog is to raise awareness and funds for Amnesty International, and human rights organization who is fighting for millions of oppressed around the globe. you can check out their website here, or donate here.

Day Twenty Six: Black Friday

So, Black Friday is over. You spent how much money? Did you give some to the racist, homophobic, "christian" Salvation Army? Hopefully you saved it for a humanist organization completely without those issues, like, oh, I don't know, Amnesty International?

Anyway, It's been a long Holiday weekend thus far. Here's my beard.

Day Twenty Five: Happy Spanx-Giving.

Actually, once I thought about it, that is a fairly decent title. You know, eating, fat fat fatty, Spanx. It works. Brendan Frasier.



I've got shit to do.

Please, enjoy your meals, families, or what have you, but don't forget that there a millions around the world who cant. Please consider offering some assistance.

Day Twenty Four: If a man types some shit on the internet and no one reads it, does it make any difference?

Probably not.

However that's okay. For you see, this blog serves a third, secret and wholly selfish, purpose. I'd tell you what it is, but I fear there is no one to tell, and I don't want to be the lone man in the woods chatting up the birch trees.

But if I were, the beard would fit right in.



And that creepy date-rapist smile. I am cursed with looking creepy. Perhaps growing a beard was counter-productive? Or maybe it weeds out those who let it matter?

(I wrote a bunch of shit here and then deleted it.)

Anywho...

Creepy rape beard face or not, donate some money to a good cause, you self-important jerks.

Again, I ask;
If a man types some shit on the internet and no one reads it, does it make any difference?

Day Twenty Three: ...And so begins the season of gray.

For anyone who has ever caught me in a candid moment, it is known that I am a somewhat glum chap. Not a bedroom crier or anything, but just a bit glum on a fairly regular basis. Because of this, I dread winter. The gray world. The sky is gray, the ground seems gray, and it all just blends together for four or five terribly depressing months. Each year, around this time, I try to buckle down, boost up the optimism, take on a new hobby, because I know that the Gray Season is going to sucker punch me, hard. Today is the fourth gray sky in a row. It. Has. Begun.

Also, this morning, I found a gray hair in my beard.



My wife has been saying for a while that she has seen them pop up in my stubble, but I never believed her because I think she secretly hates me and only wants me for my money (the joke being, I have no money). But, alas, this morning there one was.

Now, while most men will see a gray hair, or beard-hair, and curse to the heavens, buy a corvette, and go bang out a few nineteen year olds, I shall not. No, I see my gray beard hair as something sort of exotic. I am in metamorphosis. It is exciting to me because the last time something on my body sort of changed was in adolescence (also hair related) and I was too stupid to know what the hell it really meant. Well, not this time. I am mutating. I am like an X-Men, if all dudes were X-Men. Except sort of an "Allegory of the Cave" X-Men thing I think, in that they fear it, and I look forward to it...? Maybe?

Gray hair, I believe, makes a man seem distinguished, respectable, and honest. It tells the world "I am serious, and you will trust me." It is a gift really, from my aging body. So, thank you body of mine for my little gray gift, and I anxiously await many more.

Being that this post was sort of manic in tone, may I present to you something from the Amnesty International website:

http://www.amnesty.org/en/appeals-for-action/turkey-all-children-have-rights

In the summer in recent years (or the "Not-Gray Season") we tend to get a lot of people from other countries coming over to work and visit and what have you. A good number of them Turkish. Turkey (in case you for whatever reason didn't know) isn't exactly the most stable of places on this big green rock. There is a fair amount of political upheaval, protest, and persecution. Lately, children as young as twelve have been catching the brunt of it and have been being charged as terrorists, simply because they were involved in protest demonstrations. Some of these are the friends, neighbors, and relatives of the very people that come here in the summer. People that may work with us, that we may go get a drink with, that we may hang out with, laugh with, and share with. In fact, some of these kids, could very well be the kids who will be charged as terrorists. So, please, if you have a moment and some change, swing on over to the donate page and help bring an end to this purely criminal abuse of power against the youth.

thank you.

Day Twenty Two: Late, for a very important date.

Amnesty International.

Day Twenty-One: Sunday Morning, I'm Waking Up.

You may have noticed that my Sunday entries come a little late in the day. You may come to the (perfectly reasonable) conclusion that it is because I choose to sleep in on Sunday, and therefore get to my blog a bit late. Well, this isn't the case.

You see, on Sundays, I work very early in the morning. So, I wake up, shower, then take my picture:



I then email the picture to myself, and go to work.

Oh, my work. My job consists of two modes. First (and most common), is slow as death do nothing for hours on end. Nothing. The second mode is HOLY FUCKING SHIT THE PLANET IS CRUMBLING RUN!!! There is no middle ground. Sunday mornings always fall under the latter category, and it usually lasts for about four hours. So, after I save the planet (for the 364th time), I finally get to eat something, and then, I check my online shit. Facebook, Reddit, Blog.

How's that for breathtaking blog content.

goddamn I hate Sundays.


However, it affords me one opportunity. Due to my job, I have to attend church. It's weird, but, I do. I am an atheist, but not an angry one (in fact I have met very few hostile atheists), and I love to learn about religions and philosophies. I love community spirit and good debates. Church, all in all, is an okay experience for me (minus the occasional person who thinks I am shit because I am not religious). Today, in church, one of the folks noticed my beard.

"Letting the beard grow huh?"

"Yeah, it's this thing I'm doing?"

"What, like, keeping your head warm in the winter?"

"No, actually, I am doing it to try to raise money for charity."

"You?"

"Yeah, me. Why?"

"Well, I just figured your kind of people didn't do that stuff."

"Apparently we do."

"Apparently."

They walked away at that point. This happened.

Anywho, if you, anonymous church goer, felt the desire to google my quest and I, and by some divine miracle stumbled upon this blog, and, specifically, entry, this is what I am trying to do.

Day Twenty: Gorilla Glue.

Last night, after returning from a VERY sold out showing of the latest Harry Potter (which wasn't bad at all), I, well, let me back up...

We have a stray cat. It is grey and black and likes to come up and hang out on our porch. My wife took to feeding it, and now it expects it. I have named him Scuttlebutt, after my great uncle Scuttlebutt. That isn't true.

Anywho, a week or so ago, Scuttlebutt, who is particularly skittish comes up onto my porch to eat, only we haven't put the food out yet. Now, it is important to know that my wife loves "cute and fuzzies", cats and the like. We already have two. So, Scuttle is on the porch, and my wife grabs some food to go out and feed it. She opens the door, and my less than intelligent cat Jingles (I know), goes darting out of the house, sending Scuttlebutt into a state of nothing less than pure un-adulterated terror. Scuttlebutt leaps off of the porch like it is made of rabid dogs and runs smack into a ceramic fairy that is sitting on my porch that means quite a bit to my wife. The fairy topples, Scuttlebutt darts into the ether, and Jingles rolls around in the dirt in front of my porch, cat-grinning like the idiot he is.

The ceramic fairy is broken into three parts.

I go inside to look for the Gorilla Glue to fix it but, I can't find it. My wife looks for it, but can't find it. We decide to put it on top of the fridge (the safe haven for all things), until we can find the damned glue.

The week passes. My wife (who happens to be a very enthusiastic fan of the Harry Potter series), decides that we are going to go see the newest movie, the night it premiers. We do. It's good, a good Part One. I haven't read the books, but I enjoy the last four movies or so.

We return home, and I am looking at the fairy...

I have to fix the poor girl.

I go searching for the Gorilla Glue. It's not in the art supplies. It's not in the magic crap drawer under the microwave. Then I remember! It's in the back room! I dash into the backroom, see it, grab it, and after a few minutes...

I FIXED THE FAIRY!

Excellent. I stroke my beard in a congratulatory manner, and then pause.

Crap, I think. I just smeared Gorilla Glue into my beard. Yes, this whole story has been leading to that. You can relax now.

I thought "Maybe I can shave it and feel bad." Then I thought "No."

I, with the determination of westward bound settlers, scrubbed my face until I thought it might be clean. I went to bed, woke up, and scrubbed again. And again, and again. Finally, after scrub number 17 (or thereabouts):




Success.



Now, while I have your attention, shortly after that sigh of story-finishing relief you just let out, allow me to remind you that the only reason you got that three minutes worth of entertainment is because I am trying to do some good here, by asking you to please consider donating some time or money to a wonderful cause. Human rights. It's simple, and overtime, surely could be achieved. Please, donate.

Day Nineteen: It ain't easy.

Trying to keep a two message blog interesting.






Please help save some lives.

Day Eighteen: Apple Puffs and Labor Camps.

When I wake up, especially if it is in the morning, I tend to grumpily stumble around, pee, make coffee, angrily stare down the coffee pot, then head off to Reddit and enjoy my coffee. Someone I used to know once told me that it was the modern equivalent of our fathers reading the paper in the morning. I suppose that's true.

So, this morning, with some variation (including apple puffs to go with my coffee), I sleepily walk through my morning ritual, when I see this link posted.

In true Reddit form, allow me to give you a tl;dr (too long; didn't read):
A chinese girl heard a sort of joke, then tweeted it, then was sentenced to one year in a labor camp. This is the shit that I am talking about world. A clear abuse of power and people. Amnesty International is trying to get the Chinese government to release the girl.

These are the kind of things that I am (and all of AI's supporters are) trying to help, and to help prevent. Please, if you haven't yet, take a moment, and drop a dime in the bucket.

For a little lightheartedness after that bout of serious serious, here is today's pic, featuring a cameo from my son and my wife's arm.

Day Seventeen: Bo Radley. Beau Bridges. Bridges of Radison County.

I think of the best things when I am in the shower. I always think to myself, "I should write that down", and then I don't. Except for today, when, in all of my raditude, I came up with "Bo RADley, Beau Bridges, Bridges of RADison County", and immediately burst out of the shower (nearly killing myself in the process), to scribble it down. Only now, sitting here writing out this blog post, do I realize what a turd it is. Not funny at all. To anyone else, anyways. I am still chuckling. I think I may be insane.



It's possible.



Okay, yes, my morning chuckle is out of the way.

Please. Please please please, go here, and consider donating, just a *little* bit to what is arguably one of the finer organizations on the planet.

Day Sixteen: The Halfway Point (Also, Wil Wheaton).

So.

I have passed the halfway point. November 16th. and just look at this beautiful beard:



Breathtaking.

Just imagine what I can achieve in the next 14 days. The mind halts.

I slicked my hair back this morning in the mirror, and realized, I now look like Wil Wheaton. Or, Evil Wil Wheaton if you are a Big Bang Theory fan. I'm nowhere near as rad however.


Speaking of WW, you know what he would say to this blog? Probably something like "Hey this blog is awesome and you should just donate all of your time and money to this man's cause because he too is in fact awesome." Evil Wil Wheaton probably wouldn't, but fuck him.

www.amnesty.org/en/donate

Day Fifteen: I Spilled Sloppy Joe.

For whatever reason, the computer I type this on has decided to be a jerk, as of about 2 minutes ago. I can almost guarantee that when I go look to see whats up. iTunes will be updating. Also, I just got out of the shower, and decided to have some lunch. I had some leftover sloppy joe meat in the fridge from the other night and some sub rolls, so I got dressed and made a sloppy joe sub. Then proceeded to trip and spill it all over my self and the carpet.

just keep swimming.





That's me, hungry, in a less than choice outfit.

You can't make my day better, but you may be able to make someone elses day better. please donate to AI. They need your help kids.

Day Fourteen: Please Donate.

amnesty.org

Day Thirteen: Lunar influence on Beardly Behaviour?

In case you have been keeping track of my nearly incoherent ramblings, you may have noticed that a side story has been taking place. The micro-saga of my beards itchiness. Well, last night I noticed that it was super terrible. However in the day time not so much. This got me to thinking. If I remembered correctly, it mainly only itched at night. Why? WHY DAMN IT?!?!

Lunar pull. Like the tide. The moon yanks on my beard.



What the fuck moon?


I'll never know.



Anyway, the reason you are here is not to hear about my slightly offensive beardly musings. No, it is to learn about a wonderful organization that relies mainly on donations from private citizens to run itself. Amnesty International, the Human Rights activists. If you look through my, old posts, you will see that I have covered the basics many, many times, but if you want a crash course, here you go:



Amnesty International also has their own youtube channel, which can be found here.

Day Twelve: Did Asa shave off only half of his beard?!

No.

Don't be ridiculous. I just couldn't get a decent picture this morning, so I covered up most of the problem area (ie: my face). I tell you, the itchiness returned yesterday, and with a fury and ferocity matched only by a hundred thousand 4channers watching kitten abuse videos. My face was raw. Well, actually, that's a lie, it wasn't. But my beard was really itchy.

So, besides itchy beard (check out this segue) let's talk about abused women. All over the globe (yes, even here) folks of the female kind are seen about as equal as dogs, sometime less so. We feel so progressive here because we look down on domestic abuse and we let women vote. But seriously, A human history of somewhere around 100,000 years, and we are just now celebrating that? And that's the light end of it. In other places, women are routinely tortured, maimed, raped, and killed for things as punishment-worthy as being tortured, maimed or raped. Imagine (or if you choose not too, understand why) your wife, mother, sister, or friends dragged out into the streets, stripped, raped and tortured in front of a cheering crowd, because she spoke back to a man. Go ahead, I'll let you take a minute.

This sort of behaviour has been going on since the dawn of time, and (far from it being some new idea) a lot of us believe it to be quite long enough. One of the many groups involved in changing this barbarism is, you guessed it, Amnesty International.

Personally, I love women. If you do too, then please take some time or drop a dime in the proverbial bucket to help a few out.

Thanks internet.

Day Eleven: Oh schizz.

I apparently have a ten day clothing cycle...



so listen, DONATE.

Day Ten: I'm a Fucking Librarian.

Here's the thing with beards; They make you look tough, ladies swoon over them (even if they tell their beardless men and girlfriends that they don't), and they catch nacho cheese dust exceptionally well. What they DON'T do however, is make you look clean. That is, unless you trim them a bit here and there. So, this morning, in a slight "bending of the rules", I did:



"Damn son, you look fucking CLEAN!" - me

So, after shaving a good portion of the disgusting neckbeard area, I noticed something... If I wear my sweater vest, part my hair just so... Holy banana! I'm a fucking librarian! Swoon ladies. Swoon.

A while back, I sent an email to Amnesty International, asking them what I could do to make things more "official" on my end. So far, all I have received back is an automated response saying they receive a very high volume of emails and that they will get back to me. Maybe if more money was donated, they could afford more staff, and maybe one new guy in the "answering random emails" department. Just saying... just saying...


EDIT: THIS JUST IN:

http://www.examiner.com/foreign-policy-in-national/waterboarding-call-to-indict-bush-following-his-memoirs-confession

"In the meantime, Amnesty International has called for the prosecution of the former president who confessed in his book having given the order to waterboard detainees in order to extract confessions.

Amnesty International (AI) representative Rob Freer declared that the Obama administration is obligated to take criminal action againt Bush, according to Orf.at, one of the 63 articles published in German on the subject as of this writing. In a press release, AI is also asking the United States to set in motion an independent inquiry to shed light on human rights violations committed in the name of the 'war against terrorism' which took place under the Bush presidency (2001-1009)."

Day Nine: Some Wicked Beard This Way Comes.

Online yesterday, my cousin Eric asked me how my itchiness was going. TERRIBLE. He suggested I get some sort of beard groomer, though I forget which one. I said I would use a pet brush (which upon use, I discovered feels VERY good). He said I should grow my beard like Neil Fallon. I said his beard had too much shape, and I wanted mine to grow out like big angry Cthulu. He said:

Some Wicked Beard This Way Comes?

I told him I was going to steal that for today's blog title. So, now I have. My beard however, is looking far from wicked at the moment...




21 days left though, so, who knows.

Blog post in and blog post out, I preach about amnesty international, the good they do, and how you can help. Is there something specific that you were wondering about that you would like answered? Drop me a line in the comments and let me know. I will do my best to answer and prove to you that AI is a truly worthy cause for your bucks.

adios.

Day Eight: What the Hell is Wrong with Your Beard?

Well, she didn't say that, exactly, but my wife did look at me today and say "It looks like your normal five day beard. Maybe it's scared to come out."



It's just my luck to be extraordinarily hairy my entire life, except for the moment that it sort-of-but-not-really counts. C'est la vie.

AAaaaaaanywho, check out "The Invisibles", a film detailing the terrifying ordeal that migrants in Mexico have to face. Kidnapping, starvation, rape, murder, and what Amnesty International is doing to help. http://www.amnesty.org/en/theinvisibles

Day Seven: One week in, I look bad ass in leatha.

Today is the end of the first week. My beard (or what is just barely passing for one) is itchy, but past the point of looking like I haven't shaved. It's the stubble Wolverine has on a normal day.




Fuck yeah.

So, in celebration of my momentarily awesome stubble beard, last night I got a leatha jacket. Brown, short collar. Wolverine. I should have pulled my hair up into two greased up tidal waves this morning and completed the look.

It's sunday, I'll let the begging rest for the moment, but if you choose to donate to one of the worlds most effective human rights organizations in the world, you know what to do...

Day Six: Does Asa Dream of Electric Razors?

So, last night I stayed up for far too long watching Lexx (which may simultaneously be the best and worst show ever produced). Actually, let me back up a bit...

I am a father of two, and they are both at very active ages. So, besides normal twenty-something life of work, scavenge, there is also the parenthood bit. I doubt "bit" is the correct term, more like "massive friggin' chunk". Point being, I rarely have any time to myself. So, in preparation for this morning, which is the first in a LONG time that I haven't had to get up early and that I could actually sleep in for a bit, I stayed up last night, watching Lexx.

When I finally got to sleep, I slept a good hard sleep. I slept like I was getting paid for it (actually, that would mean I slept like shit). Anywho... I dreamed. First there was some weird dream about a dog head. I don't really remember much of it, but it feels like it was fucking terrifying. After that, I dreamed that I accidentally shaved off a chunk of my beard. I had half a beard. And, yes, while I am doing this of my own volition, and I could shave whenever I want, I was really (read: REALLY) bummed out. I felt like I let a lot of people down (even though very few people even are aware that I am doing this). I woke up in a cold sweat and had to feel my face. No joke. Anyways, the beard survived the night:




PHEW.


So, I have had a few people ask me what human rights were. Seriously, I did. A few.
So, if you are among the curious who don't understand what you would be helping to preserve and protect, go here:
http://www.amnesty.org/en/human-rights
Read up, and if that is something that you feel would be a worthy cause for a buck or two, swing on over to the "Donate" page. It would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks, have a great day, and if the opportunity presents itself, spread the word.

Day Five: Rain, Scruff.

It is raining out, and I was up very early.

My beard is beginning it's "Itchy" era.




Please donate some cah or time to Amnesty International, so itch in vain, I shan't.

Day Four: I swear to christ this is the slowest my beard has ever grown.

Usually, it's nearing terminal beard velocity by day four. Perhaps it has stage fright. I should tickle it or something... come on little guy... come on out... good boy.





hmm, didn't work. Either way, it isn't the beard that matters here, well, let me rephrase that. It isn't solely the beard that matters here. It's getting funding for the great folks at Amnesty International.

You safe and happy in your wonderfully serene life? Well, good. I hope you are. I sincerely do. The issue is that the majority of Humans aren't. A good number of them, in fact, or being treated like waste just because someone bigger, stronger, or richer has decided to be a shit. More people live this way, than the way you and I do. Happily. Please donate some cash to help these people. You never know, it could be you someday.

Day Three: I guess I have a baby face.

Well, it has now been three days. And well, just look at that face:




Adorable. I guess I have a baby face. Perhaps my beard is growing in accordance with the amount of money we have raised here so far...

I kid, it just knows a fine beard is similar to fine wine, it takes a while to age to perfection, and makes the ladies unsafe to drive.

So, have you told any of your friends what we are doing here?


http://www.amnesty.org/en/donate


thank you for stopping by.

You stay classy, internet.

Day Two: Let's talk a bit.

Let's talk a bit. So, somehow you have found your way here, and good. Great, even! You are interested in beards, maybe my beard in particular, charity things, or specifically Amnesty International. "Amnesty What?" you ask. Sir, Amnesty International, the organization for which my beard is magnificently growing:




Do you have a few minutes to kill, then check out their site: http://www.amnesty.org

If you just want to continue this hairy literary journey of my specific creation, then read on you wonderful soul, I shall give you the quick bit, straight from their site:

"Who We Are

Amnesty International is a global movement of 2.8 million supporters, members and activists in more than 150 countries and territories who campaign to end grave abuses of human rights.

Our vision is for every person to enjoy all the rights enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and other international human rights standards.

We are independent of any government, political ideology, economic interest or religion and are funded mainly by our membership and public donations."

Now, all I am asking is for a buck. Maybe two. Maybe five, ten. Whatever you can. All around the planet, millions of humans are fighting to survive what can basically be amounted to sheer terror and ungodly abuse. Amnesty Int. does it's best to jump in there and intervene, but being unaffiliated with any religion or corporation or nation (in order to remain fully focused on the task at hand without bias), leaves them hanging onto a mere thread of support. All I ask is that you think it over, and maybe throw a few bucks their way. Please.



Thanks for taking the time to swing by and read this. Have a fine day, fellow human, bearded or beardless.

Day One: Hello and welcome!

Today is the first day, obviously. You can see my pink american skin and post-halloween dead eyes. nevermind. Maybe you can't see them. maybe I just feel them. Either way, this is day one.




If you haven't taken notice of the little boxes around this post and have seen why I am doing this, it is to raise money for Amnesty International. If you would like to donate, please go here: http://www.amnesty.org/en/donate

Thank you.