The Butcher’s Bill
Right after the New Year, I went into Books, Etc. on Exchange St. and bought myself the Complete Aubrey/Maturin Novels in five volumes. Thanks to the Portland library system I had already read the first four books in the series, but a rascally reader had yet to return the next one in the series and the library was missing many of the others. So, I decided that this was to be my Christmas gift to myself.
The novels are great and the storytelling is rather in depth for our age. At no time could I honestly say I follow all of the ropes and sheets and sails and spars and kites being mentioned in his descriptions, but the adventures, the politics, and the lives of the characters definitely grab me and I simply must know how the rest of the story ends. Right now, I am on the very last book and expect to finish it by this weekend.
One of the things often mentioned in the books is one of the characters needing to be shaved in order to be presentable to a person of higher position. The ship has a barber or the person does it himself using a straight razor, as that lovely King of Disposables, Gillette, had not found itself in existence quite yet. Having gotten a bit too caught up in the romantic notion of this manner of shaving, I was rather tickled to notice a barber shop in downtown Bend yesterday advertising its straight edge shaving. Ah, a new experience! "But didn't you see Sweeney Todd?" I hear you scream. Indeed, I did, but surely that would never happen in a little old place like Bend.
Ever. So. Mistaken.
In Don Juan, Lord Byron described shaving as, "A daily plague, which in the aggregate may average on the whole with parturition." While I may not be able to agree with that statement in good conscience, as such a affirmation would perhaps result in no such consequence being ever possible again, I do concur that shaving is a rather regular pain of my testosterone fueled existence.
Still, I walk into the barber shop knowing full well that I have a tough beard and that even I regularly give myself a nick or two. After many hot, steamy towels he lathers me up with a boar bristled brush and starts scraping. He finishes up my right side and I think it is not so bad. My face feels a bit extra raw, but I had heard that straight edge shaving is noticeably better and longer lasting. Looking closer, he decides to lather up that side again and shave it anew. Uh oh. He does the left side twice too. My face feels a bit red. The neck was the perfect place for my Adam's apple to get in the way too and I do believe my chin was of particular difficulty.
Eventually, he finishes and he starts putting hot towels on my face. I see just a spot or three (five?) of red on the towels as he switches them back and forth from under the hot water. Ah, and then the after shave. Alcohol-based, of course. I did not scream, but I surely wanted to. A man would definitely be ready for the kill or be killed corporate world after such a morning ritual.
Not even really looking in the mirror, I payed him (he got a tip just because I did not want to wait for change) and walked out. A few minutes later, I examined the damages in a nearby restroom and decided to head back to the house as I felt so mangled . I cleaned up the missed hairs when I got home, and I decided to stay home today so that my chin and neck could heal up a bit more before I ventured forth into public. Definitely not a pleasant or worthwhile experience, but I guess I can check that "experience" off the list now.
The novels are great and the storytelling is rather in depth for our age. At no time could I honestly say I follow all of the ropes and sheets and sails and spars and kites being mentioned in his descriptions, but the adventures, the politics, and the lives of the characters definitely grab me and I simply must know how the rest of the story ends. Right now, I am on the very last book and expect to finish it by this weekend.
One of the things often mentioned in the books is one of the characters needing to be shaved in order to be presentable to a person of higher position. The ship has a barber or the person does it himself using a straight razor, as that lovely King of Disposables, Gillette, had not found itself in existence quite yet. Having gotten a bit too caught up in the romantic notion of this manner of shaving, I was rather tickled to notice a barber shop in downtown Bend yesterday advertising its straight edge shaving. Ah, a new experience! "But didn't you see Sweeney Todd?" I hear you scream. Indeed, I did, but surely that would never happen in a little old place like Bend.
Ever. So. Mistaken.
In Don Juan, Lord Byron described shaving as, "A daily plague, which in the aggregate may average on the whole with parturition." While I may not be able to agree with that statement in good conscience, as such a affirmation would perhaps result in no such consequence being ever possible again, I do concur that shaving is a rather regular pain of my testosterone fueled existence.
Still, I walk into the barber shop knowing full well that I have a tough beard and that even I regularly give myself a nick or two. After many hot, steamy towels he lathers me up with a boar bristled brush and starts scraping. He finishes up my right side and I think it is not so bad. My face feels a bit extra raw, but I had heard that straight edge shaving is noticeably better and longer lasting. Looking closer, he decides to lather up that side again and shave it anew. Uh oh. He does the left side twice too. My face feels a bit red. The neck was the perfect place for my Adam's apple to get in the way too and I do believe my chin was of particular difficulty.
Eventually, he finishes and he starts putting hot towels on my face. I see just a spot or three (five?) of red on the towels as he switches them back and forth from under the hot water. Ah, and then the after shave. Alcohol-based, of course. I did not scream, but I surely wanted to. A man would definitely be ready for the kill or be killed corporate world after such a morning ritual.
Not even really looking in the mirror, I payed him (he got a tip just because I did not want to wait for change) and walked out. A few minutes later, I examined the damages in a nearby restroom and decided to head back to the house as I felt so mangled . I cleaned up the missed hairs when I got home, and I decided to stay home today so that my chin and neck could heal up a bit more before I ventured forth into public. Definitely not a pleasant or worthwhile experience, but I guess I can check that "experience" off the list now.
– Tuesday, 2008 April 08 @ 9:18 PM | No Comments -