Diabolical Mark

For no particular reason, today I decided it was time to change my facial hair.

I do not make such a change lightly. The first time I had to shave was when a school demanded I do so--and I was in fifth grade. By high school, I had to shave at least twice a day to appear at all clean-shaven. I hated shaving.

A week before I left for college, I stopped. I told my mother I was going to grow a beard so I wouldn't have to shave. She told me that I could do what I wanted, but if I expected to come back into her house, I better plan to get rid of the facial hair.

She relented after seeing the beard and deciding she liked it. (I'm pretty sure she would have let me in even if she hadn't.)

Since that day in August, 1973, I've only shaved off my beard a handful of times, each for some odd occasion. In the intervening years, the beard went from so dark a brown that it was almost black, to its current nearly entirely white color.

Today, I decided to try something new. Here's the result. (As always, click on the image to see it much larger.)


The red lighting seemed perfect for this diabolical look, and the slight scowl is simply to enhance the image.

We'll see how long it lasts, but for now, this is the new me.