Here's an article I wrote about shaving.
The haggard visage stared at me blearily at me. Its face — if you can call it that — the slashed, torn, gory remnants of a nightmare, wince wearily. Trickles and spurts of bright red blood flowed over the older blood across its horrific face-caked, coagulated, and cracked.
I am responsible for this vision of horror, this specter of facial disfigurement bleeding in the mirror.
I am the one who — once again — has summoned this ghastly mutilation- I’ve mugged my own mug.
I would like nothing more to avoid this twisted ritual. But alas, I can see no way around this manifestation of coagulation. No, to cut to the chase, the cuts on my face are a part of that futile war against my facial hair.
You can beat it out, you can cut it, you can pull it, you can burn it off, but STILL it comes back for more. Each time, it is stronger, quicker, savvier. The hair force quickly learns the lessons of their fellow fallen follicles. They can change, evolve, adapt to whatever I throw at them.
I have a dastardly combination: Black, coarse, quick-growing hair and an incredibly wussy face.
I can go from clean-shaven to Fidel Castro to ZZ top in a matter of minutes. You’ve heard of No Shave November? I tried No Shave November 18th from 3 p.m. to 5:17 p.m. At the end, I looked like Cher the Wookie, but more poorly groomed.
Mere moments after I’ve shaved, even while the blood is still fresh, then you know, my friends: Ya got Stubble. Stubble in razor city.
Back in Prehistoric times, of course, this would have been an evolutionary benefit. When the temperatures plummeted and the Ice Age beckoned, I’d still be warm and cozy, hidden in my insulated coat of fur. I could even keep little scraps of food in my beard, in case a famine hit.
Nowadays, however, the Cro-Magnon look is out, while the PeeWee Herman look is in.
So I have two choices: The Electric Razor… or THE BLADE.
The problem with the Electric Razor is that, while it doesn’t cut me, it also doesn’t, technically, *cut hair* Oh, it makes a lot of noise; it puts on a nice show, with a lot of whirring and scraping. But when the dust clears, the Before Picture and the After Picture look exactly the same. Even if I really dig in, if I shave for hours, violently, still a legion of octopus-like facial hair juts out through the red razor burn, smugly blowing in the wind.
The problem with the blade is obvious. I can clear the weeds, but it looks like I’ve used a WeedWacker. I can shave my entire face, and for one tantalizing moment, it looks like I’ve succeeded. I’m shining, I’m smooth, I’m porcelain, I’m —
Then, without fail, one by one, a hundred minuscule pinpricks of red appear.
Like Moses’ Second Plague, here comes da blood. Sometimes you have cuts in places you don’t even remember shaving (Wha… I don’t remember shaving my *eyelids*.)
It’s a cruel irony. You only shave with the blade when you really want to look sharp, clean-shaven, a suave and debonair specimen of etiquette and erudition. So it’s always right before important events that you reduce your image to shreds. It’s awkward, during a job interview, to start bleeding all over your resume. Most career services recommend against this. I’ve gone to many classes with large wads of Kleenex bonded to my face. Students pretend not to notice. “I don’t want to judge him, just for being different,” they think to themselves.
There are ads, of course, for better blades: “Try the Dodecahedronra Techno-Razor! Our laser guided technology actually seeks out hair follicles and fries them at the source! Our patented terrain-mapping GPS system in the handle prevents nicks and cuts! Only four easy payments of $47.95! Good for up to three uses!”
Unfortunately, as a College Student on a Top Ramen Budget I can only afford Western Family’s Generic Razors. A single blade! Not all that rusty! Can also be used for shearing sheep! Two complimentary Band-Aids in every package!
Now if you’ll excuse me, the Kleenex on my face needs replacing.
"Your entire base belongs to us."
"It would be highly appreciated if someone would set the bomb up for us"
"Launch all of our ships, christened 'Zigs', to insure that justice will be achieved swiftly and powerfully."