How hirsute...NOT

How is the mustache coming? Remember, this Wednesday night at River Run Bookstore in Portsmouth at 7 p.m. Rusty Barnes and I will ostensibly be reading poetry and fiction, but really, I'm looking for someone who is really, really rockin' the 'stache.

My mustache is not going so well. Some of you may have noted that I shaved my goatee on Wednesday night, thinking I'd have a week to grow a robust hedge of facial hair above my top lip. I was wrong. At best, I'll look a little like an eighth grade boy whose father hasn't bought him his first shaving kit yet. It's weak, folks. Really weak.

Hope, however, is not entirely lost. While watching an infomercial for hair transplants today, and seeing all of these men around my age with their pubes stapled to the tops of their heads---and pretty damn happy about it---it occurred to me I could look into having hair transplanted from my head, where it is plentiful, on to my top lip. Why not? Transplants must work. It's not like famous Red Sox-trader asswipe and sex-addict Wade Boggs would steer me in the wrong direction, right?

Then, there's the Cliff "Wolfman" Clavin approach. For those of you who watched Cheers, you might remember the episode where the guys at the bar had a beard growing contest and Cliff, whose beard was spotty and chintzy and weak, super-glued hair to his face at the last minute and won the contest.

Regardless, with or without a mustache, I hope to see you in Portsmouth on Wednesday night. Happy hair-growth.