No More Moustaches

When Becky would leave town for a few days to visit friends or family, I would traditionally shave a moustache into existence long enough to take a picture of it and put said picture on the internet (in this case, "traditional" means "I did this twice.") Becky's been up in Novato since Thursday but before she left this time she told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to fuck around with moustaches.

Becky has preternatural senses; I think it's part of being a wife. You know how moms can just find things when you're a kid? You leave your ninja turtle lunchbox up someone's butt and you can't find it and your mom is like "it's up that neighbor kid's butt! Go get it out of there!" Well, wife-powers consist of the ability to sense all and know all, even if there is no discernible way to find anything out. My point is that if I had crossed her and grown a moustache, she would have known. So I didn't.

On an unrelated note, Stephen Merritt's (of the Magnetic Fields, The 6ths, The Future Bible Heroes) bubblegum goth band The Gothic Archies have a newish album based on the Lemony Snicket series of children's books. It's fantastic. The best song on the album is "We Are The Gothic Archies," which features this priceless stanza:

"Though gothic we are archie
Though archie we are goth
No satan worshippers we
We worship Yog Sothoth."

(I also like "We are the Gothic Archies, with whom you should not mess, the apogee and zenith, of Gothic Archieness.")

And to everyone who was there last night, you know how I know you're gay? You macramed yourself a pair of jean shorts.