NOTE: A version of this posting appears in the November 28, 2004 issue of The Antarctic Sun

I?ve stopped shaving. Usually this would mean an extended camping trip, a bad breakup, or unemployment, but this time it?s deliberate. I haven?t let a razor touch my cheeks since I left Christchurch. For some reason shaving feels anathema to my Antarctic experience.

Every guy must start a beard when he shows up here. As I looked around the dining hall as main-body got into full swing, I saw many whiskery cheeks and burgeoning beards. Remnants of sideburns, mustaches, and other former facial hair configurations succumbed to the full Grizzly Adams

My results, honestly, aren?t that impressive. I?m a slow beard grower, and I?m tempted to lie about the time it?s taken me to produce the paltry fuzz on my face. I?ll likely concede to a goatee by Christmas: focus my follicular energy where it will produce something worth writing about. Forget the call-back from John Carpenter for the sequel. read more