Original Publication Information:
Suedomsa the Magazine January 1998 Volume One,
Issue Six
Introduction by Tracie Walker
I once was assigned a paper on the scientific theory of chaos. The
subject loomed over me like a dark stalker we know so well and I slipped
into that comfortable coat - procrastination. But, alas, the day came (or
the all-nighter, I should say) when I was pressed by forces within (or my
professor's reminder of the high pointage value of the paper, I should
say) to read the 300 page plus book entitled "CHAOS".
I was transformed overnight. Transfixed. Not only is the chaos theory a
mathematical principal that explains frog populations to cotton prices to
weather patterns, but it became a part of my religion, a new philosophy to
live by.
Chaos says that in processes that have no pattern whatsoever - that are
chaotic - there IS an underlying pattern: changes over short lengths of
time or in small factors imitate exactly the pattern of chaotic change
over long periods of time. For example, the boom and bust of cotton
prices over a year almost exactly reflects how prices change over decades,
with periods of high prices that suddenly for no apparent reason hit rock
bottom.
Okay, you say, so what is so profound about the chaos theory?
I began to look at my life in all its "booms" and "busts," moments of
elation then places of depression. Then I saw how that up-and-down-ness
happens every day: lunchtime - high elation to the point of euphoria, rush
hour on I-15 - deep, dark, angry despair. All just the cycle of life. What
a moment of revelation!
The new year has come and gone just as quickly as our fleeting notions to
make a list of resolutions. But the yearly ritual of taking a look
backward and making mental blueprints for the year to come happens on many
different scales. The chaos theorist demands that we take a closer look,
then step away and look at our lifetimes to see similar cycles of burial
and rebirth. Maybe it was the old boyfriend you finally buried.
Pictures ripped, letters burned; time called to start afresh. Or the
decision to change majors (who wants be a radiologist anyway when you can
write novels all day?) Or the day the beef with dad was laid to rest.
How many times in our lifetime do we get such an excellent opportunity to
start over, to wipe the slate clean as at the new year? Heaven forbid we
embrace it with a casual "Auld Lang Syne" or just a bottle of wine.
We lay ourselves down into the black mist, into other worlds, then wake
with the sheets wrapped around and free ourselves, and duly take up our
worries of yesterday. A wise man once said, "Why worry about tomorrow
(much less yesterday!)? You won't add a hair to your head or a centimeter
to your height." But you just might lose some hair or a couple of inches
each new morning if you don the scaly old skin of yesterday.
Well forgive me or waxing didactic. But know this: I am not the woman I
was last year. Nor the year before (thank God!). I am the Phoenix, and I
rise out of the ashes of time and space.
Did I Shave My Beard For This? By Andy Marx
Beards.
Despite the trendiness of beards (particularly of the goatee variety) I
decided to grow one. After all, I bought cords last spring. Although I
was before my time with relaxed fit jeans.
I hate shaving. Over Thanksgiving weekend, I did the unthinkable: I went
four days in a row without shaving. Unthinkable because Thanksgiving is
among the few occasions during the year that shaving is a requirement. A
self-imposed requirement, but a requirement nonetheless. Family holidays,
days I'm on the clock, and anytime I have to wear a tie are the three
occasions that warrant shaving.
Many years past, a friend, Matt, told me that I don't know how to shave.
He then demonstrated his own efficient method of trimming the beard (as
though he had much of one). I wasn't impressed. He told me that using
warm water facilitated a closer shave because the heat does something
groovy with the follicles. I wasn't impressed. A close shave was never
top priority. By ten o'clock, no one can tell anyway.
My first shaving experience was an electric razor bought by my uncle. I
was in awe of this gift. It was too early to begin shaving but that
didn't stop me. Nobody told me to hold off. By shaving daily at such an
early age, I probably encouraged my facial hair to grow when it would just
as soon as wait. I had everyday of my adult life to shave, was I really
in a hurry?
Oh yeah. Because on my block, I was the only kid even near that moment
when shaving would be a necessity and not just a luxury. Liz, a redhead
across the street my same age, hadn't yet grown in her mustache fully. It
wasn't long before shaving became a hindrance more than anything else.
I remember the day my first electric razor broke. My friend brought it to
me in two pieces. She said she had been playing with it, and some dirt
had dumped out on to the floor. I was appalled. Didn't she know that
was facial hair? Apparently she really didn't. She knew the razor made a
neat noise and my brothers would run away from her when she attacked them
with it. I never found out exactly what she did to break it.
I started using razors of the manual variety. And have since that time.
What disappoints me about my goatee is that I still have to shave
everyday. It feels scratchy and still itches after two weeks. Everyone
says it looks good, even my mother. The verdict isn't out, as far as I'm
concerned, because I still haven't decided if I like it. I am willing to
let it keep for a while because everyone tells me I'm projecting a "boss"
image.
Someday I suppose I'll have to get a beard trimmer. The price to pay for
being trendy. I only draw the line at jeans marked size "huge". That is
one image I don't need to perpetuate.
