When I was a kid, I could not wait to have armpit hair. Those mysteriously positioned tufts were the ultimate mark of manhood; a sign that you had what it took to treat a woman right and then some. I ended up waiting longer than most guys I knew to get the goods, and eventually I became desperate. One Christmas, the only thing I asked for was a little sprout in the pit.* Perhaps a divine gift was bestowed upon me that day, for I located my first dark, thick, man-caliber armpit hair in the left crevice. With my arm raised toward the heavens and my legs locked in a power stance, I executed an uncharacteristically aggressive fist pump — pure elation. Nowadays, after having cultivated these crops far beyond a lone filament, one would think the hair provides a constant source of exhilaration, affirmation, and confidence. Incorrect - somehow I have become completely indifferent towards my armpit hair and I feel that this as somewhat of a shame. Shaving it off could result in a newfound appreciation, but after all those years of awaiting its arrival, this stuff is staying intact.
*I didn't ask my parents per se; I just asked in a general way.
LETTER to the bald
To every bald man and woman on Earth who is distraught that his or her hair is gone, I am here to tell you that it is not. Yes, that is correct, your hair lives on. Although it may no longer be atop your head or whatever body part it was formerly covering, it is out there - somewhere. Consider the possibility that the majority of your missing hair has been swept away to the recesses of your home and is residing peacefully with you at this very moment. Perhaps a lock made its way out to sea through the drain and is now floating amongst exotic marine life. Maybe you once lost a strand while on board an international jet, and that hair continues to navigate the globe day after day. Even if some of your misplaced hairs were somehow burned, the resulting particles of smoke surely drifted up towards the clouds, broke through the atmosphere, and are bravely pioneering the unknown frontier, all on your behalf. Let’s face it, your scalp was a prison.* Sure those hairs looked really good on your head, but were they happy? Maybe so, maybe not, but I guarantee that they are enjoying their freedom. If this is too much for you, I urge you to recognize that no matter where your hairs may be, they haven’t forgotten about you, where they came from, and how to get back home, right under your cap.
*A hair on a scalp is what inspired Plato to write The Allegory of the Cave.
Ice is very special for a number of reasons, most notably this one: when ice is touched by someone, the person can be absolutely certain it is indeed ice that he or she is feeling. This may sound like a phenomenally unremarkable observation upon first read, but this quality of the frozen substance is quite rare amongst types of matter. We live in a time when an exhaustive variety of natural and synthetic materials make up our environments. Many things are engineered to feel like other things, many things just happen to feel like other things, and many things feel unique yet remain unidentifiable through touch alone. With ice, there is no mistaking that initial dry chill immediately followed by the wet depression formed from your digit’s warmth. After your finger settles in, explore the impossibly smooth surface as you generate more aqueous matter with each motion. If you are still unsure of what that is (not that you would be), give your finger a lick, and the pure untainted taste will tell you. Imagine a world where touch was mankind's only sense — in this place, ice is sacred.
When it comes to the apparel kingdom, the t-shirt holds the throne. A t-shirt collection reveals the owner’s cultural interests, tourist ventures, color preferences, and of course, artistic taste. Not to mention, they are inexpensive, easy to stockpile, and everybody looks cool in one. So yes, t-shirts are amazingly simple things, but one aspect of them often bugs me: graphic placement. You see, people have faces, and I strongly believe that our faces should be the frontside focal points of our bodies. T-shirts commonly sport their graphics front and center, so when worn, the graphic usurps the role of the wearer's frontside focal point from the face. Now look, I love graphics, but faces really deserve to be our frontside focal points for masking our horrifying skulls all these years. That being said, I can't think of a better backside focal point than a well crafted graphic, as the backs of our heads leave something to be desired from a visual stimulation standpoint. Simply put: face on the front, graphic on the back — balance.