City Lights

My wife and I were driving all over Tucson last night looking for a movie that she had to watch, and we ended up quite ways up into the foothills of the Santa Catalina Mountains. We could see the lights of the city below, and Marquette looked out across the valley at the lights and made a comment about how beautiful they were. She asked me, "You don't really think that city lights are very pretty, do you?" I told her no, not really. We talked about it for a couple minutes, and then moved on to something else. I thought a little bit about Marquette's opinion, and how it really differed from my own. I really hate seeing all those lights. I don't like living with a million other people, I don't like the traffic, and i don't like the noise. I really dislike how all those lights completely block out the stars and the moon, and I don't like all the activity that goes on at all hours of the night. 

I think that a landscape lit up by moonlight, devoid of any thing except the fluttering shadow of an owl or a bat is wonderful. Its peaceful, still and quiet, but not silent and motionless. The chirping of the crickets help to digest thoughts about the day. This is what I think is beautiful, and although I can't see for miles across the valley, like I can when all of Tucson is lit up, there is the definite feeling that I am standing in a place that is way bigger than me and my thoughts.

Shaving like a Real Man

My dad gave me a new razor for Christmas this year. Its a shiny Parker safety razor, solidly made from stainless steel. As soon as I got back from being with my parent s over the holidays, I went straight to the drug store, and bought a boar bristle brush, shaving soap, and a pack of razor blades. I shaved that night, and as soon as the brush touched my face, I knew that I had crossed a threshold. My generation has a completely different idea of what shaving is than my grandfathers did. When a boy has reached the age when he needs to start shaving, he is given whatever the latest gimmick in shaving is; a five bladed razor with moisturizing aloe strips and vibro-action was the latest I heard about (although I hear the vibro-action is pretty cool). For my grandfather, and more so for his father, shaving was part of the art of grooming, and would be performed with delicacy and finesse. This would have been part of a set of skills mastered by a gentleman, and as I slid the razor through the foamy soap, I felt myself standing taller, straighter, more like the gentlemen I sought to emulate by learning such a skill. Yet, there was something primal to this act as well. Men have been shaving for millenia, ever since the first man grew the first beard, and the first wife kissed the first kiss, and told him to do something about that beard. Men from the great civilizations have grown beards, and shaved them off. Caesar of Rome, Alexander the Great, the great Pharaohs of Egypt have all shaved, and their tools have escaped the ravages of time to be found thousands of years later, ready to be sharpened and shaved with once again. I threw away my old Gillette SensorExcel last night, and shaved with a proper razor. As I did so, the spirits of men throughout time seemed to reach forward to me, as if to say, "That is what I call a close shave."

Joining the Blogging World

My mother just set up her own blog over Christmas, and my wife, brother, sister in law, and most of my friends all have blogs, so I decided to jump on the bandwagon. I have always been more of a tactile sort of guy, I prefer the idea of writing my thoughts down on a real piece of paper. There is something very personal about the physical act of writing that society has lost. The act of writing, the feel of the ink as it flows onto the paper, the subtle movements of the wrist as one crafts a communication between themselves and others, is fast becoming lost to us. Using something as impersonal as a computer to write the most personal of communication: a journal, ones diary; it is an offense to the art of writing. But, so few of the great writers of our history have been able to touch us, and in this information age, we can read of experiences and note profound statements from people who would otherwise be forgotten, through their web logs. So, after reading my moms beginning blogger book, I decided to give it a shot. I would never presume to think that the meandering river of my thoughts will ever amount to anything as deep as those of our great writers, but I feel that being able to place our own mark, to leave behind our own tracks to be seen, is an opportunity that should not be wasted. This being said, I may still decide I like paper better, and decide to leave. But for now, I am excited to start this blog.