On Shaving
I'm greasy. There, I'll admit it. I'm not a fan of shaving.
My shaving schedule, if such a thing exists, is set by a schedule that some primal society followed. When the human sacrifices came a long, long time ago, this is when I shaved. Which makes you think about how awkward it must have been for those guys who helped in the human sacrifice, when they met their husbands down the road. "Oh, hey, I remember you from somewhere...oh yeah! You ripped my husband's entrails out." At least it would have livened up mass.
I remember, back in the day, when I went to catholic mass at my old church, sometimes they livened it up with a polka band. Sure, it was lame, but they had a beat, and it was a nice break. You'd look forward to the polka mass, something that happened magically, seeing those old guys playing their little instruments.
I'd imagine that human sacrifices were something like that. You'd hear about Quetzacoatl and his myth, and then bam! Human sacrifice mass, just to spice it up.
So after that tangent, I like the scroungy look. I can't grow a beard - my face grows like a very poor bearded lady. I'm sort of looking to being on a deserted island so that I can finally have the chance to grow that sucker out. Because I want my face to be rougher. Right now, it's too baby-ish.
Plus, I want it because I can't have it.
Plus, I like the safety/warmness of the mini-stubble. It feels more natural than not shaving.
It's one of those things limited to men. You can pee standing up and grow stubble.
It's part of my character to want to be different than what I was born with. I'm not from a family of beard growers. I don't have the face for it.
Because really, human sacrifice and polka mass, there was nothing the watchers could control about it. It happened to me. But you keep going, hoping that this mass will be the one that has the polka, that this time your stubble will have grown a bit more, that you'll finally be able to have what you can't control. And that's where hope comes in. Stubble is hope for a greater beard. And by shaving regularly, I wouldn't have that hope.
Am I bullshitting? You'll never know.
My shaving schedule, if such a thing exists, is set by a schedule that some primal society followed. When the human sacrifices came a long, long time ago, this is when I shaved. Which makes you think about how awkward it must have been for those guys who helped in the human sacrifice, when they met their husbands down the road. "Oh, hey, I remember you from somewhere...oh yeah! You ripped my husband's entrails out." At least it would have livened up mass.
I remember, back in the day, when I went to catholic mass at my old church, sometimes they livened it up with a polka band. Sure, it was lame, but they had a beat, and it was a nice break. You'd look forward to the polka mass, something that happened magically, seeing those old guys playing their little instruments.
I'd imagine that human sacrifices were something like that. You'd hear about Quetzacoatl and his myth, and then bam! Human sacrifice mass, just to spice it up.
So after that tangent, I like the scroungy look. I can't grow a beard - my face grows like a very poor bearded lady. I'm sort of looking to being on a deserted island so that I can finally have the chance to grow that sucker out. Because I want my face to be rougher. Right now, it's too baby-ish.
Plus, I want it because I can't have it.
Plus, I like the safety/warmness of the mini-stubble. It feels more natural than not shaving.
It's one of those things limited to men. You can pee standing up and grow stubble.
It's part of my character to want to be different than what I was born with. I'm not from a family of beard growers. I don't have the face for it.
Because really, human sacrifice and polka mass, there was nothing the watchers could control about it. It happened to me. But you keep going, hoping that this mass will be the one that has the polka, that this time your stubble will have grown a bit more, that you'll finally be able to have what you can't control. And that's where hope comes in. Stubble is hope for a greater beard. And by shaving regularly, I wouldn't have that hope.
Am I bullshitting? You'll never know.
posted by Marshall McMahon at 1:06 AM
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