Scruff

8:01am
B-Trip: Home

The best things in life are free. That's why I don't get too excited over new products. Things like the iPhone or Wii seem very cool but I've found if you have a little patience, sooner or later the parent company will mistake your wife for a transvestite and send her a complimentary version of their product.

That's how I came across this Gillette Fusion. It arrived yesterday for Mr. Elle Pice. (And not a moment too soon. When her whiskers get too long, it really takes away from her goatee.)

The six-bladed Fusion seemed all the rage a few years ago, but I couldn't be bothered. The Mach 3 handled my facial hair with aplomb. Six blades seemed, to use dictionary.com's Word of the Day, overweening. I promised myself I'd never move on from the Mach 3 until something truly revolutionary came along: A thirteen-bladed picture phone razor, for example, that when used diligently helps manage the scourge of AIDS in Zimbabwe.

Still waiting for that one, Remington. Tick tock.

But how easily my opinion can be swayed. I'll surely use this razor. It also comes with a coupon for replacement blades. If that makes them cheaper than Mach 3 replacements, I guess Gillette's "Send A Razor To The Tranny Wife" promotion can be considered a rousing success.

That is, assuming the half-dozen blades don't slice off my cheeks. I'll let you know.

12:05pm
B-Trip: Home

It's not often I feel like royalty. I mean, I may occasionally experience a vicarious thrill when knighting someone or hurling a crumpet at one of my scores of attendants...but by and large my existence seems to have more in common with a commoner. Except, perhaps, this one.

But one occasion that consistently provides the unexpected pleasure and indulgence fitting of a king, queen, or, at the very least, an alderman has to be when the heater kicks on while I'm Taking D. It's Winter's solemn promise.

And it's rare in Southern California. Our heater is only turned on a few weeks each year. And like every Blue-Stater, it doesn't work very hard so the odds of receiving a blast from our furnace are long.

But when you do......mmm, mmm......

And that's exactly what happened during this D. I've often been told I was born under a lucky star and this proves it. (On a related note: I'm also confident that Madonna was singing about me in "Lucky Star", though that's been somewhat difficult to certify. And though I continue to shine on her wherever I am, the restraining order has complicated my dogged research.)

But I digress...my old apartment had a vent right beside the toilet. It was nice because it served to warm the seat in advance of my arrival. But if the heater fired up while you were Taking D, things got uncomfortable (singeing leg hair, forsaking dreams, etc.).

Our current B-Trip, however, provides the best possible vent placement. The heat comes from the wall directly across from the toilet, enabling a pleasant warm breeze. Like shitting in the Maldives, I imagine. It wouldn't surprise me if people wanted to Take D here on their honeymoon. That's how luxurious it is. (Elle & I are still trying to determine if we will open our home for such a purpose, but keep those requests coming in!)