i have no idea what i am doing

i hate the word blog. it sounds mucky. like something that would smell of frogs and pond scum. therefore i have had an unreasonable aversion to blogs. the irony is that i've been knee deep in pond scum and that doesn't bother me.

so the upshot is i really have no idea what i am doing. i've scarcely ever even read a blog before in my life and i've often wondered how many people out there think they are so interesting that someone else would want to read what they spew. but now i guess i am one of those people. after all, i have been quietly spewing into journals for the past 39 years so why not let the world in on it?

but for a first blog post i have nothing, absolutely nothing, profound to spew. in fact, i've nibbled my nails for days wondering HOW DO I START? then i figured what the hell. i will start with bald heads.

shaved heads, really. i am a fan of the shaved head look. but some facial hair with it is preferable, guys, so take that as advice from a professional looker. goatee ideal. see, i saw not one, but two shaved heads on my lunch hour today in the gym and they could have been titillating if only they were closely shaven. instead they had stubble. titillation deflated.

five o'clock shadow is great on a face - i mean look how well it works on george clooney. but take it from a shaved-head-fan, five o'clock shadow does nothing good for your skull. we do not want to see the degree to which your hair receded before you opted to off it. stubble is bad enough on a woman's legs. you have to squint to notice leg stubble. but this is a head we're talking about. there is no squinting when something is big, round, and eye level. it is right there in our face. a mark of your laziness.

i know, who am i to talk? i did not shave my legs for a week until today when i made an appointment for a massage. so it was a quick and dry flick of the schick at my desk (yes, you read right) so that i could spare myself the shame as a masseuse ran her hands over my grizzled legs.

when i see a shaved head part of the titillation is the little fantasy of running my hands over the skin, over the skull, fascinatingly devoid of hair. stubble on a skull is therefore like a beautiful woman who smiles at you, only to bare brown teeth crooked as old headstones. don't do it. if i can dry shave my legs at my desk, you can damn well run a razor over your lovely head.