Sunday , October 25, 2009
Liz & LJ Investigate: Who's the Bigger Beardo, John or Paul?
LIZ: A few Sundays ago Emily "Switchfoot" Richmond and I were hanging out on Bobbie, drinking Tecate and eating oversized chocolate chocolate chip cookies. "I don't think Paul McCartney is sexy!" Switchfoot shouted suddenly, throwing an oversized chocolate chocolate chip cookie at my head. "I don't either!" I responded wide-eyedly, my mouth full of cookie that'd just bounced off my nose. "Unless he's got a beard," I added. "Paul + beard always equals sexy." Then Emily nodded in agreement, and we each shotgunned a fresh can of Tecate and went to Chipotle to buy salad. The salad was soooo good, and we also ate chips with guacamole.
Cut to two or something Fridays later and I'm on the phone with LJ, who asks: "Do you think Paul McCartney is sexy?" "No, I don't!" I responded wide-eyedly, my mouth full of cookie that'd just bounced off my nose. "Unless he's got a beard," I added. "Paul + beard always equals sexy." Then Laura told me I was disgusting, and then after that she emailed me a link to a video of Bearded Paul McCartney singing "Let It Be," accompanied by the statement "Liz has Retarded Beatles Opinions." But I don't have retarded Beatles opinions! Sexiness is subjective, and Bearded Paul McCartney is just the bee's knees in my sexy book. With Pre-Beard Paul I've got this real innocent affection, a sort of pre-adolescent lovey-doveyness: I wanna hold his hand, and maybe neck a little on the couch with my parents safely sleeping upstairs, but that's about it. With Bearded Paul, I wanna hold his hand and more, but in a real romantic, in-love-for-life kinda way - me and him burning matches, lifting latches, and all the rest. It's a rare thing to gaze upon a man and realize, "Dear sir, I'm very interested in having emotionally profound marital relations with you," and I think it's really beautiful that I've found that in Bearded Paul. "Beautiful," as in "not disgusting." So there.
Ugly Beard Paul Singing "Let It Be":
LJ: Subjectivity is the spice of life, and, for the most part, it's pretty convenient how Barker and I have such wildly divergent tastes in dudes (not counting Michael Showalter). It's nice to know that no dude- except maybe Michael Showalter, who once came between us- will ever come between us. So: good. Goody good good, Elizabeth Barker. Take your Anthony Kiedis and your Benicio Del Toro and your Andrew Wilson. Zero judgment, my sister. But Bearded Paul? Bearded Paul?? BEARDED PAUL?!? Out of every Paul incarnation, you pick BEARD PAUL??? That is just so jacked. If it were the 1960s, and Paul McCartney was a friend of mine, and we'd hung out a bunch in '67, fallen out of touch for two years, and then re-hooked up in January of 1969, I would be aghast at how "retardedly disgusting" my old friend looked. I would grasp him by the forearm, look deep into his eyes, nod slowly, and say "Dude- you've really let yourself go."
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Tags: beardos, beards, Benicio Del Toro, cookies, emotionally profound marital relations, George Harrison, John Lennon, Michael Showalter, Paul McCartney, sexiness, Spencer Pratt, tomatoes
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by Lizin Liz & LJ Investigate
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