Cordless

Cordless: (adj) requiring no wire

Comparing my pioneer spirit using the examples of those who trekked West in the mid-1800’s, I would definitely let you know that I am not one of the people dressed in buckskin, who is way out in front of the Conestoga Wagons, killing buffalo and tracking beaver.

That’s not me.

Honestly, you probably would not find me in the first wave that hopped onto those wagon-beds and went off into nothingness, with nearly nothing in their possession, believing they were going to turn it into something.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

In the realm of being adventurous, I would probably be the schoolmarm. In other words, once others had gone ahead, tracked the buffalo, taken their wagons and opened up a town, I would be willing to join them to teach their children the ABC’s.

I prefaced this article with this example because I want you to understand that when cordless, or wireless, microphones became available, I did not buy one nor did I want to use one.

I heard horror stories.

You know—stuff like buffaloes trampling frontiersmen.

I heard these microphones didn’t work well, the sound went in and out, and even one strange tale about someone nearly being electrocuted.

I waited.

I persisted with cords in my microphones until one day, in a store, a guy explained to me that he had come up with a system to turn any microphone into a cordless one simply by attaching some ugly-ass apparatus on the bottom.

With my schoolmarm enthusiasm, I got one.

I used it in a production—and it lived up to all of its hype, and also manifested all of its demons. Even though the small-town audience was very impressed at seeing a cordless mic at work, when the play was through, I sold it.

I may have to revise my statement.

Maybe I’m not as wild and crazy as I think. Perhaps I am not the schoolmarm.

In the vast spectrum of the American Western, I would probably be the town undertaker.


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Clean-shaven

Clean-shaven: (adj) description of a man without a beard or mustache.

I must be careful.

As I share my thoughts today, I must remind myself that there’s a danger of offering sour grapes–or souring the grapes that are available.

Yet I don’t like beards.

I have to admit that I am incapable of growing one. Underneath my chin hair will sprout, making me appear to be a Jewish rabbi, but on my cheeks I appear to have chihuahua skin. Yes, maybe you could call me the “German Hairless.”

When I was younger this created some despair in my soul because I was very concerned about my level of masculinity. For a time I even pretended to grow a beard. Every day, as I tried to groom it into some sort of creature of respect, it mocked me from the mirror.

My sons have beards, and there seems to be a rebirth of interest in them at this present time.

But I feel the beard is representative of too much macho, rugged, “frontiersman energy” in a time when we need to be gaining mutual humanity between the genders.

And truthfully, I think women like to look at beards, but feel much different when they’re up close and personal.

So I am ill-suited to write this essay. There should be some whiskered, wizened soul sharing the beauty of his manly landscape instead of clean-shaven me, sitting here, trying to present an argument for smoothness.

But you’re stuck.

I am clean-shaven but I am still a man. Just wanted to make that clear, in case there was any doubt.

And for those who choose to grow beards and flaunt their hair mass, I must tell you with all honesty that if it’s close-cropped to the face it looks decent, but if you let it grow out too much, it begins to look like pubic hair suspiciously sprouting out of your head.

 

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