So, Merry Christmas. I'm taking the opportunity before I head over to the woman's to post this.
It was a Merry Christmas here at the Deschain household. Much beer was drunk. We watched The Hangover as a family (a very poor idea, may I note). I got some decent swag- new clothes, so good Scotch, a new water bottle, Battlestar Galactica: The Plan, and the real king here, a safety razor plus all accessories.
Now, normally I rock the hobo-student beard to fit in better amongst the unwashed masses at school. It's kind of a moot thing, really- the cargos and shined boots tend to give me away as a practical-minded evildoer. So, now that I have a proper razor, I think I'll rock the smooth face now.
Well, if I stop bleeding in the next twenty minutes. Otherwise, it might be a trip to Slab City for me.
The safety razor is an interesting little piece of history. Your father probably had one. Well, no. Probably your grandfather- they were first widely produced for World War One. They're the first innovation in shaving after the straight razor, so 'safety' is really a comparative term- they're considered much safer than using a monstrously sharp open blade and hoping the wife doesn't nudge you or something. That said, these blades hearken back to an age where shaving was still a proper art form, where a shave was expected to take a full five minutes and last you all day. You get a savagely close shave with them that lasts all day, which is more than I can say about the 3 o'clock shadow you get from disposables. It's one of those quaint old pieces of technology that I actually like to use.
Of course, I also managed to shave off some razor bumps, so I'm bleeding an awful lot. Might need more practice.