Ryan, in a manner deeply unbecoming an economist, is questioning the need for continued human progress:

I remember when men would shave with tools, real tools, that doubled as farm implements or at least good kitchen cutlery. And when we wanted a bracing splash of aftershave, well, that’s what the tumbler of scotch was for. All right, so I don’t remember that, but I do remember when the two blade disposable you got in your freshman welcome pack was sufficient to hold things down until that study abroad trip junior year when you first tried growing a beard. Rust builds character, my friends.

I'm sure this sentiment is heartfelt. But I can't help but note that both Ryan and certain other razor traditionalists can plausibly be described as Aryan Supermen. I'm sure it's very convenient to have the sort of blond, wispy facial hair that can be removed with gentle abrasion from, say, a disposable plastic dish scrubber. And I don't mean to disparage my own more problematic stubble — men like Kriston and myself find rough facial hair useful in a variety of situations, e.g. igniting a strike-anywhere match and using it, with cupped palms, to light a hand-rolled cigarette as we stare flintily at the loneliness of the great Western range. From horseback.

It's just that taming that sort of beard — some might call it the sort of beard that tamed America — requires more decisive, even violent measures. That's all.

Speaking of beards, here's a shot I took this morning before shaving:

As you can see, it still sucks. But I'm happy to say that this is only about five days' growth — reaching this point took much less time and involved much less discomfort than doing so has in the past. Like everything else in this increasingly globalized world, my beard's crappiness remains constant, but its cost is plummeting.

(Take that, Avent.)