So, the Westboro Baptist Church was a no-show at the funeral of murder victim Tim Maclean, Jr. But in all the media hubbub, I discovered something disturbing: WBC leader Fred Phelps looks eerily like the Reverend Henry Kane, the creepy guy/ghost from Poltergeist II. 

Observe:

In fact, the only real difference appears to be that Phelps is wearing a hat.

And the similarities don’t stop with looks. Both have messianic complexes. Both have vague southern accents. Both claim to be men of god, but are in reality evil incarnate. It remains to be seen if Phelps will become a hideous soul-devouring spirit after he dies, but we should probably get in touch with Taylor and Tangina Barrons now. You know, just in case.

George Orwell produced some epic stuff. Everybody has heard of 1984, and many have had a chance to read his excellent essays (as a starting point, I recommend Politics and the English Language). But few have had a chance to read his most personal writings, those contained within his diaries.

But thanks to a new website, Orwell’s diairies are now widely available. The Orwell Diaries publishes one entry per day in weblog format, so you can read each exactly 70 years after Orwell first wrote them. There are about five years worth of entries, so this is a blog project with a long horizon.

Orwell once wrote he loved “prose style and scraps of useless information”, and there is plenty of that on display in his diaries. But mostly, the entries show a keenly analytic mind and a powerful intellect weaving meaning out of its daily experience. Neat stuff, and well worth a read.

Despite being bald, my beard has retained the consistency of a brillo pad. It grows fast and thick, and if I don’t shave I start to look like Sasquatch. So, I am always interested in new and innovative shaving products.

Which this is not:

The Goatee Saver is a device that promises to give you a goatee that “women will notice and men will respect”. Basically, it’s an adjustable shaving guide that prevents you from nicking off pieces of your precious goat. It’s also totally stupid.

Why? Well, look at it.  This is a good example of product design gone mad. Who wants to clamp something to their face before they shave? It’s also a good example of a product for which there is no legitimate need. Men have been pruning their goatees for decades without technological aids. And for the most part, the goatees I see on the street look fine. Or at least well-trimmed.

But what really bugs me about this this thing is what it means. It’s another step in the emasculation of the modern male. Shaving- however you do it- is the most sacred male grooming ritual. It’s about skill and personal style, and how you shave says a lot about you as a person. If you can’t maintain a proper-looking goatee without looking like a member of the Borg, then you have no business placing sharp things near your face anyway. By using a Goatee saver, you’re relinquishing your manhood.

So, lose the mouthguard, grab a razor and some Barbasol, and shave your damn face. It may not be fancy, but at least you can look yourself in the eye as you do it.

Week two of the 100 Push Up challenge has come and gone. Was it fun? No. Was it worthwhile? Signs point to yes.

While  I got through the daily sets (hovering around the 60-70 rep mark), my max consecutive reps count is still a bit low. I’ve made some improvements, but the ol’ arms/chest/shoulders will have to step it up if I’m going to blast through 100 push ups.  To be fair, I did my test day at a cottage after a 1/2 km swim wearing a wet bathing suit. So I may not have been at my best.

Lesson of the week: remember to breath. This is important, as the body needs oxygen to live. Also, when you hold your breath during muscular exertion, your eyes may explode. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

Looking over week 3,  the sets are starting to push me up past the 100 rep mark, albeit with 60-120 seconds of rest time. On the third day, it looks like I’ll be doing 121 push ups.  That is, as the kids say, “for serious”. If I don’t make it, avenge my death.