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Who’s the asshole that decided that the garbage man has to come through my street every morning at 7 AM? Really? 7 AM? This literally happens every weekday morning. I don’t see how anything can be accomplished at 7 AM that can’t be done at, say, 9 AM. It’s only a two hour difference which isn’t much but it would mean the world to me.

I have been offered several scenarios that would necessitate my daily 7 AM wake up call and all of them can be easily refuted. One is that it’s done early as to avoid traffic. Bullshit. Traffic in LA begins to pick up at around 7:30, so they’d have to start collecting at like 2 or 3 AM in order to get any real work done. And besides, I see garbage trucks all over the city at all normal business hours so there’s really no reason for my 7 AM daily wakeup.

That brings me to the next suggested scenario: it’s just part of their route. Fuck that. It’s not rocket science to reverse a route at least a couple of days out of the week. And I don’t care if it costs them more to run a reverse route. I/we/you/me pay for that shit. It’s not like the waste disposal people are scrounging around for cash. Anybody who took a seventh grade social studies class knows that garbage men are well paid for their job.

Third suggested scenario: “It’s in their contract.” I don’t even know what the hell that is supposed to mean.

Sorry, I’ll shut up. I’m tired.

Have you ever seen someone wearing earplugs at a concert? I’ve been attending rock concerts regularly for the last ten years and have always noticed a Dbag or two wearing them at each one. Like, really? Ear plugs at a concert? I’m not going to hate on anyone but there’s really no excuse for that. Yeah sure, it’s loud. I always thought that was the point of a rock concert.

If you don’t want it to be loud then save your money, stay home and find clips of the band playing on youtube. With earplugs, you’re going to get about the same sound quality anyways. And with the extra cash you’d save on not going to the concert, you’d have that much more money to buy things you’d probably like to have like a new tricycle or an EZbake oven or whatever the hell it is 3-year-old girls like you are into.

It seems to be getting worse and worse, too. I was at a concert three weeks ago and I noticed an exorbitant amount of people wearing these things. One of them even had those plugs that are connected to each other by a piece of string. There were three people within my immediate perimeter (as in I could have touched them) with earplugs in. Doing the math, that’s roughly ten percent of the people immediately surrounding me.

Applying that figure to the rest of the arena, 10 percent of the estimated 15 to 20,000 people there would mean that there were roughly 1500 to 2000 people paying $40 or so to have considerably less fun than everyone else around them. Ear plugs make things quieter, but they also cut out certain frequencies. You’re not simply not hearing the same sounds as everyone else.

Who are these people? These lame-oids. These losers. These are the same people who choose to sit at the front row of a movie. The same people who have an HDTV without HD Cable. Oh wait, I have an HDTV without HD cable. Shit.

Moustache Rides: Part III is still being worked on, and is in no way reading for the viewing public. Like with all trilogies, the third is usually a letdown, and thus it’s important that I break the mold.

While I work on finishing my masterpiece, I would like to share with you, gentile reader, an e-mail exchange I had with a close friend and colleague. He shall remain nameless as his words will surely bring about resentment and bemusement from fellow moustache aficionados, such as yourself. I will simply refer to him as “Bare-lipped Ruffian.”

To: Van

From: Bare-lipped Ruffian

I am going to play Devil’s advocate here for a minute. This in no way changes the fact that I love both the idea and execution of a mustache. Their are four main things that I see in old pictures that make me think the people in them look like idiots.

B.L. Ruffian

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Fighting words indeed, no? My retort is as such:

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From: Van

To: Bare-lipped Ruffian

B.L., I sincerely thank you for your sincere candor. Here are my thoughts on the issue:

Fashion changes faster than the seasons pass. Take a look at a picture of yourself ten years ago. Pay close attention to the styles that were all the rage. B.L., remember your Ben Franklin hair from 4-5 years ago?? Granted, we all thought that looked great on you; going as far as to style it to an Elvis doo on many a drunk night. But, if you had that style now, it just wouldn’t work. No matter what we wear, or how we style our hair, it’s all going to look foolish in the future. That being said, you might as well enjoy the present.

In your e-mail, you referred to perms, mullets, bell bottoms, and seventies clothing. What do all four of these things have in common? It’s simple. They have all had their fifteen minutes of fame. Sure, they come and go, but their popularity is still in its infancy compared to the grand scheme of things. The mustache can actually be dated back as far as Egyptian times. I’ve attached a picture of a Pazyryk horseman, dating back to 300 B.C. For those of you not up on your mustache history, the Pazyryk were an ancient nomadic people who lived in Siberian Russia, near the borders of China, Kazakhstan and Mongolia. They were obviously purveyors of excellent mustaches.

Basically, my take home message is this. Mustaches are not a fad, like the mullet or a leisure suit. True, they are more popular at some times than others, but one thing is for certain. They are timely. They are classic. And above all, they’re going to be around long after we die. And for you to group the mustache with these pathetic passing fancies is ignorant and moreover, blasphemous.

Thank you,

C. Van Allen, Esquire

When I went to the Olympics, I had every intention of shaving the mustache off, but I realized I was getting so many comments about it - and everybody was talking about it - that I decided to keep it.

-Mark Spitz, Winner of 7 Gold Medals in the 1972 Olympic Games

In the 1970’s professional sports realized the power the moustache could bring. Known by many athletes and sports writers as the “steroid that grew on the face,” the moustache would help cement the careers of some the greatest ballplayers of the day. Rollie Fingers has stated candidly that without his trademark “handlebar,” he might have never won the Cy Young and M.V.P. award in 1981. In fact, the last time a pitcher won both awards in the same year was Dennis Eckersley in 1992. He too had an awe-inspiring moustache.

Mr. October, Reggie Jackson, was often unfairly targeted as using a performance enhancing moustache to help him win three consecutive World Series titles with the Oakland Athletics. It is actually a misnomer that he received his nickname based off his prowess in the postseason. He, in fact, publicly stated that if you began to grow a moustache in January, you couldn’t officially call yourself a “true gentleman of the mustachioed variety” until October. Sports writers, (who in my humble opinion were not able to grow a healthy and respectable ‘stache) deemed the reasoning unsexy, and decided to come up with their own interpretation for the title.

In terms of sports, the moustache could still be used for good in the face of adversity. But as powerful as the moustache had become, oh how the mighty can fall. The sixth game of the World Series in 1993 would prove yet another setback to the already rich and illustrious career of the ‘stache. It was the bottom of the ninth inning with the Philadelphia Phillies leading the Toronto Blue Jays 6-5. Veteran closer and moustache connoisseur, Mitch Williams, was brought on to preserve the small lead. After a walk to Rickey Henderson and a single by Paul Molitor, Joe Carter would blast a three run homer to give the Jays a win and a second consecutive World Series Crown. A page from Williams’ diary, written the night before the game, gave an ominous foreshadowing of what was to happen:

October 22nd, 1993

Big day tomorrow. Game 6 of the World Series, and I’m too excited to sleep. I’ve played pretty well so far. A funny thing happened a few minutes ago. As usual, I trim my mustache the day before every game. I accidentally nicked a part of it. It doesn’t look too bad, but it could definitely better. Oh well, what’s the worst that could happen?? LOL! Well off to sleepy land!

It just goes to show how a poorly groomed moustache can doom a man’s life forever.

Historians believe that the 1980’s was known as the “The Decade of the Moustache Renaissance.” It was during this time that Tom Selleck’s moustache would make history. The most erotic facial hair in human history, it took nearly 300,000 years to create this hairy masterpiece by the careful interbreeding of Italian women and Greek men. “The Selleck” first saw exposure on ‘Magnum P.I.,’ essentially a glossy television advert for the new look. The bearer of “The Selleck”, Tom had been vigorous in his pursuit of ‘tache greatness. He had insured the whiskers to the tune of a cool million dollars ($4,000,000,000,000 in today’s money adjusted for inflation and the increase in sexiness over this period).

“The Selleck” has been banned in several Islamist countries as being too sexy for any man to possess, but this has not stopped its popularity with the women of these nations whose burqas allow them to conceal their lip-mounted face-fuzz from prying eyes.

Special care must be taken with this particular style - it can be extraordinarily dangerous for members of the public to see the moustache in all its glory. Several women have joined together in a class-action suit having all slipped off chairs after observing “The Selleck” unclad. Selleck wearers often conceal their facial hair behind special ‘tache bras to reduce the dangers whilst in public.

The moustache, afraid of being typecast as a heartthrob, wanted to branch out into more serious roles. Cast as ‘Commander Viper’ in the blockbuster hit, ‘Top Gun,’ Tom Skerrit’s moustache was a no-nonsense flight instructor hell bent on the rules of the sky. Not to be outdone, Anthony Edwards’ more modest moustache played the role of ‘Goose.’ Fans and critics alike were bewildered as to the obviously blatant Oscar snub to either moustache’s moving portrayals as modern American heroes. Edwards stated publically in 1987 that he would retire his moustache and subsequent hair on his head after the filming of Top Gun. His moustache can be seen on traveling loan at the Aviodrome Luftwaffe Museum in Berlin, Germany. The hair on his head is still missing.

This concludes Part Two of ‘Moustache Rides.’ In Part Three, I will unfold the latest setbacks for the moustache, and why it’s not too late to bring it back to the forefront of men’s fashion. I will also define the many genres of the ‘stache, to help you decide which one is best for you.

Stay tuned.

I would like to preface this piece, if I may, with a statement. What you are about to read is not the original version I had intended to publish. In fact, the original piece was accidentally deleted by me. I was sick about it for a couple days. I had spent several days writing it, revising it, and re-reading it before I felt it was worthy to have my name on it. In many ways, “Moustache Rides etc.” was my opus. I vowed I would rewrite my masterpiece, and have tried to restore the magic I created with the original version. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it.

A final note: I am choosing to use the English spelling of “moustache” rather than the American “mustache” to promote the refinement and beauty of the lip beard. As you read it, please place your emphasis on the second syllable, as a gentleman would.

Thank you.

I read some interesting news from Hollywood. Ben Affleck has been chosen to play the part of Thomas Sullivan Magnum, IV in the big screen adaptation of Magnum P.I. Robin Williams is currently in negotiations to play Magnum’s moustache.

Magnum P.I. was a favorite program of mine for years and years. Every now and then I try to catch a rerun. I’ve often wondered why its appeal has lasted so long. I first thought it was the sports car he drove. I often dreamed of owning a Ferrari, probably because of the show. However, as time went by, the car began to look dated and my interest waned. Was it the beautiful scenery that Hawaii offered, the scantily clad women sprinkled across the sandy beaches, or even the clever writing each episode brought? Sadly, I didn’t know. Then it donned on me, and it made so much sense; moreover, common sense. It was his moustache.

The moustache is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle. It exudes machismo, and as we all know, machismo is something that cannot be taught. You can’t touch or feel machismo. It is not something you can procure; rather, it is something that is instilled within your very being, and not everyone possesses it. When done properly, a gentleman who wears the ’stache wears a badge of honor. It is a statement; a statement he makes to himself, family, friends and total strangers.

But where has it gone? This is a question that has plagued mankind for 20 years. Why has something as familiar and beloved as the moustache suddenly gone out of favor?

I am now going to write, at length, the rise and fall of the moustache in popular culture.

The Nineteenth Century gave us many things, but above all it was a hotbed of facial hair experimentation. From the “Battle ‘Stache” to the “Faceshelf,” (terms that will be defined later) the moustache was a fashion that was unlike any other. In fact, many historians believe the Civil War might not have been won if not for the brave and courageous moustaches and the otherwise insignificant men who wore them. Famous writers, soldiers, politicians, and lawmen were known for sporting them. President Grover Cleveland was a modest man with a plain, but foundational moustache. A moustache fit to run a nation. Wyatt Earp was notorious for being of the few Sheriffs of the Old West to occasionally refrain from carrying a gun, relying instead on his moustache to instill order in the community. Friedrich Nietzsche was a renowned philosopher. Did his facial hair give him the insight to write some of the most important literature of the nineteenth century? The answer is most certainly probably.

The twentieth century began no different than the nineteenth ended. Charlie Chaplin and Groucho Marx made there mark across the world as beloved mustachioed entertainers. It truly seemed that the moustache would reign supreme forever.

Alas, its time would be fleeting. One man would go on to sully its good name for decades to come. He was a painter, who during the time of the Great War, would begin to have thoughts of outrageous grandeur. He knew that in order to spread his message of abhorrence, he would have to procure something that demanded respect. Something that caused the masses to follow him, adore him, and above all, fear him. Obviously the moustache was such a device that encompassed it all. Adolf Hitler’s reign as a ruthless dictator would leave an indelible mark on the moustache. My mother always told me to never hang out with a bad crowd for fear you’ll be considered part of it. I dread the same is true for the moustache. As Hitler became more powerful and menacing, other world leaders embraced the ’stache as a symbol of authoritarian dominance.

Joseph Stalin became legendary for donning the ominous “cockroach” moustache. At the start of the World War II, Germany and the Soviet Union had made a pact to join forces, mainly because of the admiration Stalin and Hitler had for each other’s style of facial prominence. In 1941, however, Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Republic; thereby, ending their tenuous alliance. Recently declassified Nazi documents states the reason for this was jealousy towards the Russian dictator’s thick and voluminous moustache. In Italy, it is common knowledge that Benito Mussolini was overthrown as dictator because of his inability to grow an ample ’stache. And of course, let us not forget Saddam Hussein. It is because of him that we cannot imagine a terrorist without a sinister looking mustache. (Note: I will refrain from using the gentleman’s spelling of the word, as I refuse to give a terrorist the privilege.) It seemed as if the moustache’s days were completely over.

Part two of “Moustache Rides” will continue next week

Sunday
I wake up feeling pretty worn out from all the drugs. Good news: the pain has subsided so significantly that I feel I can just take a couple Advil and be fine. Bad news: my left ear is now starting to hurt. Shit shit shit! I start putting my Faberge-egg-priced drops into my left ear. Luckily, I already have an appointment scheduled for Monday morning.

Monday
I show up for my appointment bright and early at 8:15. I’m supposed to be getting my cholesterol checked but I tell them my situation at the window. Naturally, this change raises a big hoopla in the office because getting blood taken and being seen by a doctor are two different things. Like I care. They tell me I’ll have to wait because my doctor is booked up for the next half hour, unless I want to see the first available doctor. Again, like I care. A doctor’s a doctor.

I finally get in to the exam room and the doctor comes in. I tell him how it has spread to the other ear and he takes a quick gander and confirms it. We agree that I had probably touched my infected ear and unknowingly touched the other. He prescribes me an oral antibiotic as well as a different type of ear drops than the ones I had before. Fucking great, I think to myself.

And then I completely blow it. As we’re talking about my other ear, he asks me how bad the pain is. I say something along the lines of “nothing more than some Advil can’t take care of.” I realize I’ve blown my chance at another fat Vicodin prescription right there. I didn’t need it but fuck, I might as well get it. The supermodel was on the bed with her legs spread wide open and I farted in front of her.

Next stop is the Ralph’s pharmacy. I had so much trouble with Rite Aid that I figured I’d give my Uncle Ralph a chance. I notice an Asian lady and a guy who looks like he’s cousins with Osama working the counter as I approach. Aw shit, here we go again. “How may I help you?” the Asian asks me in perfect English. Am I dreaming, I think as I hand her my prescription. I return a half hour later to pick up and pay which comes out to a grand total of …drumroll please….$9. That’s right, a nine and a period. I pay her, resisting the urge to jump over the counter and kiss her.

Tuesday and beyond
The oral antibiotic works like a charm. By Thursday, I cannot feel any sort of pain or discomfort besides the occasional pop when I open my mouth wide.

Lessons learned
1. Never put anything in your ear, ever. I had had a weird habit of digging around in my ear anytime I felt some sort of itch. I recommend that you don’t. Ever.
2. Don’t get water in your ear. Think of your ear as a mogwai. Bad things happen when it’s exposed to water.
3. Pills can be dangerous. Looking back on it, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t get that second Vicodin prescription. Then again, I still have six left from the first round so maybe they’re not that bad. Although, Brett Favre famously spent time in rehab for a Vicodin addiction. Holy shit! I’m better than Brett Favre at something!
4. Not all Asians are bad. I had thought otherwise of those people, considering my experiences with driving in LA as well as my visit to Pearl Harbor when I was 10. My Ralph’s visit, however, has caused the tide to turn in their favor.
5. The American health care system is fucked. I know, that’s a real shocker there. How I could pay $90 one day and pay $9 for a similar thing the next day is beyond me. Sadly, it’s not surprising.
6. If you’re crying and curled up in a fetal position at 4 am, go to the ER.