Blogger has been unkind to me today, and for that I ask for your forgiveness. I know that you need me; I understand the extent of your cravings for my words - I am the sun's first rays after an Icelandic winter and you are the widow of a good man - I am the Astropop and you are the overweight kid down the street after a game of capture the flag - I am the Grateful Dead t-shirt and you are the cable repair man - I am getting really tired of this bit.
Here's a link to a great article about the proper way for a man to shave his face. Men, if you've been around enough of them, I've found, enjoy talking about shaving. They discuss their opinions of the best razors, the best cream, the best technique. Any man who uses an electric razor is, with good reason, frowned upon and cast out of his circle of friends and made a pariah, justifiably. Much is made of foam or gel; three blades or four; with the grain or against; cold razor or hot. What this article presupposes is that the whole modern enterprise is faulty and the time is high to return to the badger hair brush, the tub of cream, and the double-edged blade.
Call me a fop if you wish, a dandy if you must, but I like Mr. Greenberg's suggestions and I plan on taking some of his advice. One would be a fool to not even give it a go, especially after lines like this: if you’ve never lathered up in the morning with a fine English shaving cream that smells like fresh-cut violets, limes, or lavender, then you are truly missing out on one the great manly pleasures of all time.
If you see a man walking the streets of Southern California with the sweetest, softest damn cheeks you've ever seen, don't think twice, it's alright.