9:30pm and all is well ...
Or so I keep telling myself. I am not feeling much better, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep myself amused. Up until 8:30pm, I was feeling quite content on account of watching Myth Busters on SBS. However, the free-to-air television schedule has not shown much promise since then. The Dave Chappelle show is interesting in parts, brilliant even, but that voice just tends to grate in your head.
I don't have to be anywhere special this evening, yet I feel like shaving. Unusual as it sounds, this simple routine of masculinity has always had a soothing, refreshing effect. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I start work at 6:30am. This means waking at an un-Godly hour, downing a cup of sub-standard coffee, taking a shower, and - of course - running four layers of machine sharpened steel across my face at a time when I can hardly stand.
The act of shaving at early hours in the morning is not without benefit. For one, there is a greater kick to it than any cup of instant coffee. As I stand in front of the mirror, bleary eyed and sleepy, my mind subconsciously begins to calculate the risk of injury. Given how tired I am, it's not insubstantial. From the moment all four blades touch my skin, I know that it will be an ordeal simply to avoid injury. For one, how can any instrument equipped with four blades purport to be a 'safety razor'? Second, is it wise to have 'rubberised strips' to bring these four blades even closer to your skin? Third, do the Gillette/Schick engineers consider the very real possibility of serious razor burn when using a four bladed razor?
Some years back, I purchased a three bladed Schick Razor which was meant to 'mould' itself to the contours of your skin. If you're a guy, this is particularly useful when shaving around your chin. Anyway, the razor did not bend quite as readily as demonstrated in the advertisment. I had nightmares where I pictured myself in front of a mirror, pushing down hard on the handle so as to make the razor bend. I press too hard, feeling my hand slip. As I clear up the fog on the mirror, I see myself with no chin, my tongue dangling just below my neck. The only sound I here is 'Oh Schick, Schick Schick .. MOTHERF*CKIN Schick'.
Or so I keep telling myself. I am not feeling much better, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep myself amused. Up until 8:30pm, I was feeling quite content on account of watching Myth Busters on SBS. However, the free-to-air television schedule has not shown much promise since then. The Dave Chappelle show is interesting in parts, brilliant even, but that voice just tends to grate in your head.
I don't have to be anywhere special this evening, yet I feel like shaving. Unusual as it sounds, this simple routine of masculinity has always had a soothing, refreshing effect. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I start work at 6:30am. This means waking at an un-Godly hour, downing a cup of sub-standard coffee, taking a shower, and - of course - running four layers of machine sharpened steel across my face at a time when I can hardly stand.
The act of shaving at early hours in the morning is not without benefit. For one, there is a greater kick to it than any cup of instant coffee. As I stand in front of the mirror, bleary eyed and sleepy, my mind subconsciously begins to calculate the risk of injury. Given how tired I am, it's not insubstantial. From the moment all four blades touch my skin, I know that it will be an ordeal simply to avoid injury. For one, how can any instrument equipped with four blades purport to be a 'safety razor'? Second, is it wise to have 'rubberised strips' to bring these four blades even closer to your skin? Third, do the Gillette/Schick engineers consider the very real possibility of serious razor burn when using a four bladed razor?
Some years back, I purchased a three bladed Schick Razor which was meant to 'mould' itself to the contours of your skin. If you're a guy, this is particularly useful when shaving around your chin. Anyway, the razor did not bend quite as readily as demonstrated in the advertisment. I had nightmares where I pictured myself in front of a mirror, pushing down hard on the handle so as to make the razor bend. I press too hard, feeling my hand slip. As I clear up the fog on the mirror, I see myself with no chin, my tongue dangling just below my neck. The only sound I here is 'Oh Schick, Schick Schick .. MOTHERF*CKIN Schick'.
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