And now I have "it".

For the past 5 or 6 years my daily go-to scent has been Polo Blue (and before that, starting in the mid 90s it was Polo Sport). Like with any product that you use on a daily basis, things can get a bit boring. So I decided to mix things up.

Continuing with my Old Spice brand loyalty, I figured why not kick it old school with something that's been around for generations*? If Bruce Campbell can get paid to endorse the aftershave, then it's good enough for me. So I went to the store and picked up a buoy-shaped bottle of their Classic scent.

It's actually a lot less spicy and more powdery smelling than I anticipated it would be. But I dig it and will keep it in my rotation so as to shake things up a bit. I just wish it was made with bits of real panther.

*Though I've read that the formula was tweaked once it was sold to Proctor & Gamble.

Pouf! It's gone.

I don't like using bar soap. It leaves my skin feeling gritty and dry. So years ago I switched over to body wash, long before it became hip for men to use it. Back then it was just me and Craig "Ironhead" Heyward doing so. ("But, Ironhead, what's with this thingy?" R.I.P.) I've been through my share of, for lack of a better, more masculine term, poufs. It just so happens that recently I was in the market for a new one.

At first, I briefly considered the Axe Detailer Shower Tool because of its two levels of scrubbing resistance. But then I realized that it is an Axe product and I refuse to use their stuff because I am neither 14 years old nor a douchebag. Next.

So in a striking display of brand loyalty*, I settled on the Old Spice Deck Scrubber. It looks as manly as a pouf can look, in that it resembles a bar of soap (kinda). But I think the main reason why I picked this up rather than a garden variety $.99 one from Target is that college football season is upon us and the Deck Scrubber has a scarlet and gray motif. That's right. Even in the shower I'm a Buckeyes fan.

*See, Old Spice Classic scent body wash is my "thing".

Let me tell you, that only made the bees *more* agitated.

"He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man." - William Shakespeare



I've been growing my winterbeard out for about three months now and, while I must confess that I look totally bitchin', I realize that I'm a bit too grizzly. See, except for my mustache* and one long, freaky bone-white hair sprouting from my chin, I haven't trimmed my beard at all. It got to the point where it started to curl. Not really wanting the Odysseus look just yet - I'm saving that for when I retire - I decided to clean myself up.

Figuring that it was my patriotic duty to stimulate the economy, I went to Bubba's Barbershop a few days ago and had one of the fine gentlemen who work there give me my first ever professional beard trim. The guy took a lot off, but at least now my face looks nice, neat, and presentable. Like a pair of freshly-pressed slacks.

Usually, I keep my winterbeard until Spring Break (Easter), when I have Fun With Facial Hair Week at the beach. But I think this year I'm going to keep it indefinitely. I'll probably rethink that decision come summertime, when the ungodly Virginia heat and humidity will have me wanting to rip it out at the roots with my bare hands.



In other beard news, right before the big trim I bought a new bottle of beard shampoo (this one by Beardsley) and a sweet tortoiseshell beard comb. Unlike my last bottle of shampoo, this one has a fruity smell to it and I'm not sure if I like that better or not. But it does the job and is a third cheaper yet twice the size of the Bluebeard stuff.

As for the comb, it won't be of much use until my winterbeard soon turns into a springbeard.

*How do people tolerate eating with those things? And having the flu, for that matter?

Toothless and broken

Picture it: London, March 2001. I check into a hostel that reeked of wet towels, only to discover that I had left certain necessary toiletries back in the States.

Undaunted, my friends and I go to the chemist and I check out its selection of combs, among other items. One immediately caught my eye: a small, tortoiseshell model, packaged with a similar black one. They was the right price (cheap!), so I bought them. For the rest of the trip they performed swimmingly.

I was so impressed with how the comb handled my dark chestnut tresses, that I made it my primary comb. Over the years it has served me well, but in the last few months the comb has steadily been losing its teeth. But it soldiered on, taking whatever I threw at it.

Unfortunately, this week it broke and lost most of its functionality. Is it any coincidence that this horrible event occurred the night before I had my first haircut since Thanksgiving (yes, I felt like a dirty hippie)? Rest in peace, old friend. I am forever grateful for your years of service.



Some may claim that British steel is the pride of that land's manufacturing industry. While that does indeed rawk, I contend that it is in fact comb production that should receive the accolades. The sun still hasn't set on that part of the Empire.

I have a vague idea of where I put the tortoiseshell comb's black partner, but I'm not completely certain it's there. Unfortunately, I fear that I'll have to resort to replacing it with an inferior, likely toxic comb produced in Red China. *sigh*

Song to get you through the weekend: "A Shogun Named Marcus" by Clutch

While doing some research for Beard Week, I read a joking suggestion from some random person on the internet that if one's going to start growing a beard, one should also start listening to Clutch. Better them than, say, the Spin Doctors, I guess.

While Clutch's lead singer sports a long beard nowadays (see this video), my favorite song from them is 1993's clean-shaven "A Shogun Named Marcus." When I really want to rawk out in my car, this is one of my tunes of choice.

It also reminds me of a service that I subscribed to in the early 90s. Each month this company would send me a VHS tape full of alt rock videos and this Clutch song was featured on one edition. Ah, memories. I'm going to have to dig out those tapes some day.

Micah World Bearded Awesomeness Hall of Fame

Originally, I had planned on recognizing a litany of people who have achieved excellence in facial hair and life*, but then realized it all boiled down to the yin and the yang of bearded awesomeness: Ernest Hemingway and Jim Henson.



One was tough, rugged, manly to the Nth degree, and a literary master. The other was funny, sensitive, good-hearted, and a master of puppets. Both are two of my favorite people that have ever walked the Earth.

I doff my beard and raise a glass to you, good chaps. Although you were two very different people, both you and your beards made this world a better, more bad ass place.

*Rick Rubin, the dude from Iron & Wine, Uncle Jesse, Moses, 2/3 of ZZ Top, Katie Holmes, Jasper from "The Simpsons," Santa Claus, Willie Nelson, Gandalf, Stonewall Jackson, etc.