Daniel J. Hogan's Blog

So last weekend while Up North, I decided to start growing a beard. I haven't tried growing anything in about eight years, so I figured I was due for another shot (my last attempt was freshman year of college with a horrible goatee-thing).

Now, my genetic make-up is rather ill-suited for such a task--but you wouldn't think so, given blanket of hair that covers my extremities. I sort of got an odd combination of the facial hair growing traits from my parents: I inherited my mother's side's ability to grow facial hair quickly (that'd be the Sicilian side) and inherited my father's side's inability to grow thick facial hair and the tendency for hair to grow in random patches. This makes for an interesting challenge: I can grow stuff, but it is patchy and doesn't fill out that well.

But, throwing caution to the wind I decided to give it a week just to see what would happen. Big Mistake.

I seem to have no problem growing hair on my chin and lower jaw area, but under the nose is a horse of a different color. It doesn't fill in and I look (and feel) like a teenager clinging onto his first ever lameo mustache. This was the reason I went with a goatee in college (and part of senior year in high school...which was forever captured in time thanks to my passport photo. Oy.)

By the middle of the week I had managed to cultivate something that passed as beard, but it was driving me crazy. It was irritating me, itching all the time and felt like it was sucking the life out of me. And the muggy 80+ degree weather didn't help either. I was irritable all week and miserable and couldn't figure out why.

Then it hit me. It was the beard. It was making me uncomfortable and I just wasn't aware of it. I was a different person, moodier, snippy and bitter. LIke Peter Parker finally realizing his black costume was evil, I quickly decided last night I had to rid myself of this vile growth. I smote the hairy beast with my trusty razor, and I've felt worlds better ever since.

This Kids in the Hall skit sums up perfectly what I was going through:

Oh why couldn't it had been more like this?:

I was scanning my website referral data today and found that there is a link to magicofeyri.com on the Wikipedia page about one of my favorite comics, SnarfQuest.  And I'm the first reference too!



For the record, I didn't cite myself--someone must have come across my page while looking for citations and saw how I compared it to Bone. I guess it pays to look how people are getting to your websites.

I did my first ever submission to icanhascheezburger.com today. It stars the girlfriend's new kitteh, Butters (yes, named after the South Park character) and a purse my aunt made. I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. Ain't he cute? Make sure to vote for it here.


I was also considering "Purse Cat Questions How You Spent Your Economic Stimulus Check" but I didn't want it to look like I was making fun of the purse.

One Degree? That's it, I'm moving. I hate winter, almost as much as Garfield hates Mondays*.




*How can a cat who doesn't have a job or go to school hate Mondays? I would think every day would just be the same. "Monday" is an abstraction created by human civilization to tell us when we have to go somewhere or do something. I don't think this really apply to cats, who seem to do whatever they want, when they want, despite the best efforts of humans.

Then again, it is just a comic strip.

I almost put shaving cream on my toothbrush about five minutes ago instead of toothpaste. I was a nanosecond from pushing the button on the can of shaving cream when I realized "Oh...wait."

Ever since watching Walk the Line this weekend, I've been singing Folsom Prison Blues aloud at home and at work in my best (horrible) Johnny Cash voice. This was all well and good until I noticed something odd starting to happen:

I get to this section:

I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
They're probably drinkin' coffee and smoking big cigars.

But I sing:

I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car
They're probably smoking' coffee and  drinkin big cigars.

Ever since leaving college, I've been finding myself doing this more and more: mixing up words in sentences while talking (or singing). It concerns me because it is happening  more frequently as of late, and it has even started to creep into my typing as well. Should I be worried?