- Chaise
- Most words with a "tion" suffix (democratization, demarcation, flaggelation)
- Words with more than three syllables
- Toutes les mots francais
- Pompous
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Elite Words
Words You Can't Say Without Sounding Pompous:
Monday, December 28, 2009
Shaving for Jesus (and that Creepy Guy at Dominick's)
As all things of worth, the plan was largely born out of laziness and tradition. Spurred on by past breaks from college, I got into the habit of ceasing my semi-weekly shaves in December. Never lasting more than two weeks, my face carpet seldom reached the shag stage. This year continued in that tradition until an incident at the local grocer.
I'd started taking better care of my visage during the past week to prevent the post-shave discovery of the zitty aftermath from eating copious cookies with peanut butter and nuts. In the morning I found myself staring in the mirror. First the left side. Then the right. Comparing the thickness of each. During the day, I'd sit at my desk and evaluate by touch how long the hair had grown since I last checked (an hour ago).
There's something inherently mesmerizing about facial hair, even more so on the women I date. I think it all started with Wooly Willy. I've made mistakes when shaving, often leading to grossly uneven sideburns, but the beauty is that it eventually grows back and I can try again. Also, when shaving I can see how I look with each variation (chops, goatee, mustache, fu manchu).
The beard had grown past the 5 o'clock shadow stage, past the grizzly look and was clearly headed toward rugged mountain man (think Moses). I'd planned on shaving before my trip to Tampa to ease the security process at the airport, but plans changed as I was checking out of Dominick's.
As I was checking out, a middle-aged man and his wife were finishing up their grocery purchase as their four kids meandered around the baggage area. An elderly man with glasses and a white beard, possibly in his late 60s, commented from behind the father that the man and his wife "make good lookin' kids." The father let out a cautious laugh.
The old man continued, "I'll give you two million dollars for them."
It was at this precise moment I saw my future and knew I had to shave.
My cashier decided to contribute to the conversation after giving a quick look at the kids, "Maybe 1.9. It's a recession."
First, if the man even had $2M I doubt he'd be doing his own shopping. Two, that's $500k/kid and I didn't see the kids bag the groceries, so the likelihood that he'll see a decent ROI from their potential as workers is slim. Lastly, the father was smart to walk away from the negotiation table. It could have gotten ugly.
I previously had three reasons to shave:
-Date
-Itchy
-Interview/Event with movers and shakers
But now I have to add "Being perceived as creepy old dude who has a Polansky-esque fascination with kids."
I'd started taking better care of my visage during the past week to prevent the post-shave discovery of the zitty aftermath from eating copious cookies with peanut butter and nuts. In the morning I found myself staring in the mirror. First the left side. Then the right. Comparing the thickness of each. During the day, I'd sit at my desk and evaluate by touch how long the hair had grown since I last checked (an hour ago).
There's something inherently mesmerizing about facial hair, even more so on the women I date. I think it all started with Wooly Willy. I've made mistakes when shaving, often leading to grossly uneven sideburns, but the beauty is that it eventually grows back and I can try again. Also, when shaving I can see how I look with each variation (chops, goatee, mustache, fu manchu).
The beard had grown past the 5 o'clock shadow stage, past the grizzly look and was clearly headed toward rugged mountain man (think Moses). I'd planned on shaving before my trip to Tampa to ease the security process at the airport, but plans changed as I was checking out of Dominick's.
As I was checking out, a middle-aged man and his wife were finishing up their grocery purchase as their four kids meandered around the baggage area. An elderly man with glasses and a white beard, possibly in his late 60s, commented from behind the father that the man and his wife "make good lookin' kids." The father let out a cautious laugh.
The old man continued, "I'll give you two million dollars for them."
It was at this precise moment I saw my future and knew I had to shave.
My cashier decided to contribute to the conversation after giving a quick look at the kids, "Maybe 1.9. It's a recession."
First, if the man even had $2M I doubt he'd be doing his own shopping. Two, that's $500k/kid and I didn't see the kids bag the groceries, so the likelihood that he'll see a decent ROI from their potential as workers is slim. Lastly, the father was smart to walk away from the negotiation table. It could have gotten ugly.
I previously had three reasons to shave:
-Date
-Itchy
-Interview/Event with movers and shakers
But now I have to add "Being perceived as creepy old dude who has a Polansky-esque fascination with kids."
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