Digital Mischief by Warrigal Zappa
As we hurtle towards the other major Christian festival, named for Eastre, the pagan Saxon goddess of fertility, I am reminded of the persistent human interest in raising the dead.
Which, surprisingly led to thoughts of the pagans razing a village.
And thus we arrived at razoring one’s face.
Now, I’m not one to drone on about the history of hair removal, to wax on about the Pig’s legs, or recount other hair-raising stories of depilation – or (can it be true, ‘painless epilation’). But I am alarmed by the technological thrust into the simple tool – the razor.
In truth, I was dragged kicking and screaming into the world of shaving after 35 years of merely giving the beard a quick trim with a small set of battery-powered shears. Cost – almost zip. When the First Mate quietly slipped the news under my guard that my rapidly disappearing melanin had led to a look that, (put frankly) was reminiscent of a dweller in the Hunza Valley in the spectacular mountains in Pakistan (famous for the incredible age of its inhabitants).
This same woman (in my interests, apparently) has a sly way of telling me it’s time for a haircut. She gives a tonsorial weather report – describing my quiff as “cloudy, but fine”.
I changed the beard from a quick mow of a natural pasture, to a goatee that was reminiscent of a sea captain, or possibly a reclusive literary giant – mostly white. Not what was wanted, Jan. So I mowed the goatee down, and in one of those whimsical moments, I let go of the reins and just shaved off the whole damned thing.
My face felt like I had used it for sanding down the back deck. Red and raw. I mean I was feeling like a third degree kind of dude. So the First Mate applied one of her girlie face creams and stood back as the steam rose from the rapidly-evaporating moisturiser.
But the whole show settled down and now I was faced (literally) with the difficult decision about what to do next. I could just let the pampas regrow, but at the cost of adding ten years back on the clock. Or I could contemplate shaving again.
The Emmlets (who, in their first twenty years of life, hadn’t seen me beardless) didn’t help by looking horrified and pointing out “Shit, Dad, you have NO LIPS !!!”. But I was determined to try to see my way through the thicket.
So I went in search of the perfect shave – which seemed to me to be a matter of finding the perfect mower. My old Dad had used a Remington electric shaver for as long as I could remember. A straight, reciprocating no-nonsense thing. He was theologically opposed to the Phillips triple rotary kind and warned me off them as a child with no need to shave, but a need to remember his lesson well into the future. So I was permitted to practice.
Allowing for the march of time, and harbouring the fear of a lacerated face from a blade shaver I went for a new battery-powered Remington that was easy to take on tour.
This managed to leave just enough white stubble for me to look like an ageing rock star, but failed to actually provide what the advertisers call “a clean shave” and which by extension must have meant that I was wearing a dirty shave.
Next step was the dreaded blade shaver, but things had apparently come a long long way from the old Gillette blue blades of my youth. Razors were no longer tagged with the “safety” epithet. All the fear had been removed by encasing the blade in plastic and encouraging the punter to throw away the whole razor when the beast becomes blunt. But that was just the half of it. No, it was more like 16%-20% of it since the state of the art was apparently the five or six blade wonder with upbeat names starting with F – like “Fusion”, or “Focus” or “Fabbitron 6”. I was convinced that any whisker that escaped blades one to five was a sitter for blade 6 and I was impressed by the cartoon graphics that showed how blade #1 dragged the whisker up just that bit further so that blades #2-6 could effectively cut it off below ground level – leaving a baby’s bum smooth shave.
But there was a catch. Six blades (apart from being so expensive that a credit card purchase was in order – sufficient cash being just too heavy to carry) cause a huge amount of drag on the skin. So sir will be requiring a top quality shaving gel. Note, the brush and soap have apparently also gone the way of all flesh. Thus started the search for the perfect shaving crème.
This is no mean crusade. Not enough lubrication = sandpapered face and pain. Too much lubrication and the six blade wonder skims across the fuzz and doesn’t cut anything. Not enough moisturising and the skin dries out and cracks like those heels in chemist shop windows. Too much moisturiser and “Whoo hoo – look at Mr Greasyface”.
And shaving goo comes in a range of products from $2.79 – the Pig-Tel Lard’n Lye for Men right up to miracle products from Provence ($54.95) promising micropellicules of energising foodgemoosiac that apparently reverse ageing and improve sexual prowess. I mean if Sean Connery uses them, how come he always looks unshaven. Huh ? Huh ? Yeah, and George Clooney ? Huh ? Huh ?
So I’m on the treadmill now. The endless pursuit of the perfect shave. And the secret search for the ideal treatment for the eruption of alarming amounts of ear and nose hair, that unlike the “cloudy but fine” hair hair, sprout black and luxurious.
It’s enough to razor the dread.
astyages said:
Shaving and the wearing of short hair are habits we picked up from the Romans… they liked as little hair as possible on the head because it was too easy to make terrible use of in a battle; far to easy to be grabbed by the hair and swung around helplessly.
🙂
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astyages said:
… and tonight’s featured album is ‘Weasels Ripped my Flesh’, by Frank Zappa; beautifully illustrated by our resident digital artist, Warrigal, who is borrowing Frank Zappa’s surname for the occasion. Mr Zappa says that’s okay, just as long as he gets it back by midnight or he turns into a pumpkin…
😉
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Warrigal said:
Those by-lines are MJ’s territory. The only offence I committed was unlawfully appropriating and adapting the copyright work of Neon Park.
But I think it works, don’t you?
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astyages said:
Works for me warrigal…
My son’s ex used to (and I think still does) keep ferrets… they’re quite friendly usually but they’ve been known to bite people. They seem to prefer to bite those who are afraid of being bitten; the same I suppose is true of Paula’s son, Brodie’s snakes…
I’ve handled both snakes and ferrets, and have not been bitten… yet! (And I don’t intend to give the buggers too many more chances, either!)
I always thought that under copyright law, if one is ‘borrowing’ elements which are already in the cultural ‘public domain’ and using them to make something which is essentially and inherently different from the original borrowed item(s), even though they may ‘refer’ to their original cultural meanings, that this is quite a legal and acceptable process, since it functions as a formula for much, if not most or possibly even all artistic process from the dawn of time; the process of the creation of art is much the same as the process of ‘bricolage’, as described by Claude Levi Strauss, in his book, “The Savage Mind”.
Thus what Salvadore Dali does with Leonardo’s ‘Last Supper’ is not merely a reproduction of Leonardo’s work, but uses it as a reference to make an original statement at a more profound level…
And, you know, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery… As the comedians often say, “Only steal from the best!”
🙂
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Hung One On said:
Built in obsolescence perhaps
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gerard oosterman said:
Nice story. A bit of a brief candle held onto the life of a man in need of that daily routine ‘ the shave’.
Shit, ‘you have no lips’ is better than, shit ‘you have no chin’. I wear my beard proudly and keep it in reasonable order by an Aldi trimmer I bought years ago for $ 18.- or so.
Lately the growth is becoming erratic and seems to spread to nose and ears as well. Still, a generous splashing and application of Brute is helpful and makes for a lovely Helvi smile; sometimes even lascviviously..
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H said:
yo, yo, not to be confused with yes, yes…
(according to HOO the little ‘yo’ means: I have read your story!)
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Hung One On said:
Yes H, it does mean that. Also it means that you enjoyed it
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H said:
We have been going to the tip a lot lately. The tip-man is a lovely bloke, creative with old Tonka trucks and plants. We have this little card that he has to punch holes in according the amount of stuff we tip.
This means that I have to see his long messy beard while he’s doing it; I’m afraid that one day I’ll get the urge to tell him to cut it off…
‘Hey, Jack, why do you cover that handsome face of yours behind all that hair..?’
Maybe Aunt Mary can advise me on this!
I have already done this wrongly once by telling Phil Mayne on UL to cut his long white beard off, and I don’t even have look at it!
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Hung One On said:
Yes I hate shaving but no longer have a beard. Tutu prefers me clean shaven and in my profession I think it’s better. How about you Big M?
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Big M said:
HOO, I have a beard. Not due to preference, vanity, etc. NO, pure, unsullied laziness!
I’m dissatisfied with every electric razor, with their accompanying lotions, unguents, oils, lubricants, special strips, etc.
I am also unhappy with the manual type, whether, double, triple, quadruple, or a five stack, also with lubricant strips (with Aloe Vera). I can’t afford the six stacker.
So, good luck MJ, if you’re like me, you won’t be happy!
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Emmjay said:
Big M, join me in my quest !
What is it with Aloe Vera ? I think it’s highly overrated – but it raises the question about the first dude who thought “Shit, a cactus ! I think I’ll squash that and smear it all over my uncomfortably desiccated skin !”.
Speaking personally, I prefer the ruminations of that Tijuana chap who thought “Shit, a cactus ! I think I’ll distil some hooch that will go well with salt and lemon !”
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Big M said:
I agree. Smearing cactus pulp on shredded skin isn’t the most immediate use that pops into my mind. Perhaps it was so effective topically that some clever guy experimented with enteral administration. Then again, there seems to be an alcoholic drink for nearly every fruit or vegetable in the world!
No, I’ll stick to my twice weekly beard trim, up in the back shed, and continue to hack at my neck with the razor. The electric razor now belongs to my youngest son. It’s terrific for bumfluff.
The other question is,”Why do these super-dooper, multi-blade things have such a short life, yet cost so much?”
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H said:
Gez does it in the laundry (it is a part of the verandah), so I don’t have to hear or see this males only activity…
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astyages said:
Males only Helvi? I was under the impression that many, if not most, women in this wonderful 21st century shaved on a regular basis, although it’s true that relatively few of them actually shave their chins; only the ones who have had too many facelifts…
😉
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Big M said:
Probably should be ‘unmitigated laziness’, but unsullied kinda rolled off the tongue!
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H said:
…unsullied is a very nice word though, no doubt Hung would agree! Lots of little u’s there…
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