Philanthropy and facial hair

"Not a bit of me's scraggly or scrawny, and every last inch of me's covered with hair!" -- Gaston

Every single day, all of my fellow employees come to work impeccably coiffed and groomed. Since Friday, however, all of my male coworkers under the age of thirty have sported a rather scruffy stubble. No, they haven't collectively turned into dirtbags, and no, they aren't boycotting Schick and Gillette. For the next two months, they have surrendered their upper lips (and, until things grow in, the rest of their faces) to an incredible cause: a contest designed to raise money for pediatric cancer research. These men aren't wealthy or influential or even established in their fields, but by soliciting donations from their friends and family and agreeing to keep their 'staches growing as long as the money keeps rolling in, they are partaking in a super-admirable, ultra-modern form of philanthropy.

Starwipe to Tuesday Night, when I spent my evening at the New York Yacht Club. Most of the men there had luxurious facial hair as well, but because I was at a Women in Engineering event, most of the men there were only present in oil on canvas. The 'staches were sculptural and elaborate, and they belonged to J.P. Morgan, the Stevens brothers, Vanderbilt, a Carnegie or two.

As I stood there with a highball glass in my hand, in a room that cost more to furnish than I'll ever make in my lifetime, in a club that some of the wealthiest New Yorkers aren't wealthy enough to join, it dawned on me that the mustachioed men on the walls around me were considered the great philanthropists of yesteryear. We all learned about them in high school -- they're the robber barons, the first generation of deep-pocketed donors, the big money that helped to turn New York City into a world power of its own. These men lived extravagantly, gave extravagantly, and were still able to afford to splurge on yachts in their spare time. These 'staches gave millions of dollars to beautify my city and improve the lives of its residents, but when I thought of them in comparison to the 'staches enthusiastically giving the little they can afford to help kids with cancer, the truer definition of philanthropy seemed obvious.


"I can't even lift my head." -- Sufjan Stevens

I've had a headache for the better part of a week and I'm blaming endless data entry -- I've been working twelve-hour days trying to beat a quartely data dump deadline -- and the garishly colored GIF of our database for it. And in curious scheduling move, tomorrow's Grand Rounds will feature a lecture by the programmers of said database. Since data entry-induced stress is a department-wide phenomenon this week, it should be pretty exciting.


"Please go on; you enthrall me. I can understand you perfectly, and I like what I hear, what I see, and knowing me... I would be good for you, too." -- Tim Rice, from Evita

It's an unbelievable feeling when you realize that you're a great match for someone. It's an even more unbelievable feeling when you realize that they've realized the same thing.