John’s Recon

May 30, 2009

Is A Vibrator And 5 Blades Worth It In The Morning?

Filed under: Uncategorized — John Prichard @ 10:10 am

Now that I have your attention with my catchy title … I recently moved up from the Gillette Mach3 Turbo (3-blades) to the Gillette Fusion Power (5-blades with a vibrator). I know, why move up when you had a razor that could go 3 times the speed of sound and had some kind of Turbo … not sure exactly where the exhaust port was. I did this because I read that 5 blades were spaced closer together so your skin didn’t push up into and between the blades as easily … so a close shave, a more comfortable shave, with less pressure.

After 6 months of experimentation, I would have to make the following conclusions:

  1. Both shave fast, close and easy with a new blade in them
  2. Both wear out the blade at the ten day mark
  3. Both give about 4 more days of shave with a daily stropping (piece of leather I use as a strop to the visible side of the blade)
  4. The Fusion vibrator makes the last 4 days less excruciating by randomizing which layers of epidermis will be chosen for laceration

So save your money if you haven’t moved up. I will continue to use the Fusion since I’m not sure what Gillette is using for feed-back to get the Turbo on the other one.

Both of these razors are much much better than the Gillette Safety Razor I had to use twice a day in boot camp during the Vietnam Era. You see, even though we were training for war we had to have the “uniform” look of baby faces. Yes!-Drill-Sergeant used to say, “I want your faces as smooth as a baby’s behind”. I’m not sure what woman would allow her baby close enough to this sadistic SOB to allow him to touch its behind. Drop-and-give-me-10 used to joyously mis-pronounce my name as Pric-Hard instead of Prichard (like Richard with a P in front). I got a new nickname later, see note below. It wasn’t even true since I’m sure they were feeding us saltpeter in our food. In fact, the only day in boot camp that I didn’t have to shave twice was on Gas day.

The evening before Gas Training day, don’t-call-me-sir-I-work-for-a-living got us all together and said, “If all you congressmen’s sons choose not to shave tomorrow, I won’t notice.” Well this was as bad an omen as it comes. His expression for sniveling baby pansies was “congressman’s son”, since drill sergeants were recently disciplined the year before after a congressman came after them for bullying his son. I can’t even imagine what it was like before this more “relaxed” environment although there were stories. Now he was showing a nice side … it is going to be hell tomorrow. It was. Many learned how to puke in a gas mask that day. Not me … I learned how to burp military grade CS Gas after I had gulped too much … a huge guy on my right had rolled over onto my gas mask in the low-crawl pit which made it difficult for me to retrieve quickly. To my knowledge, this was the last time my breath ever smelled like burning insulation from an electrical fire … CS Gas has a very recognizable odor … it also burns raw skin … very nice of Drill Sergeant to spare us on this one.

My new nickname: During an inspection, where you line up in front of your bunk, I got a new nickname. You line up in a line and stand at attention and have this 5-foot sadist take two steps to the next person in line, you, abrupt left-face, one step in, and his chest is within an inch of yours. Since he is over a foot shorter and standing so close, his Drill Sergeant’s hat (smokey the bear style) touches my chin when he looks up to stare into my eyes … of course, at attention means I am staring out across the barrack hallway over his head into the eyes of another poor soldier waiting his turn.

“Pric-Hard”, he says with the same tone of voice that Jerry Seinfeld used to say, “Hello!      New-man!”.  The tension in the barracks was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “What did you do before you were drafted?” he barks out loudly so the entire barracks could hear. Well, I was traveling all over the place to concerts and such before I was drafted. I took my Dad’s advice of not sticking out in a crowd and cut my long hair before I went in. All of these thoughts racing through my mind … I am going to be “outed” … I needed an answer quick. I said in my loudest and most respectful voice, “I just bummed around, Drill Sergeant!” with as straight a face as I could muster. I have never seen or heard of an entire platoon completely loose their composure. I looked out of the corner of my eye without changing my gaze and they were doubled over with laughter. He rapidly turned to face the others and gaffaws were instantly choked off in the middle all over the building. He faced me again, “And what kind of job allows you to bum around, Pric-Hard”. “A Hippie job, Drill Sergeant”, I shouted back with equal conviction. I could see there was “silent” laughs on this one but no one made a sound. He glanced at my neatly folded locker and said, “Carry on, Hippie”. Wow, I didn’t even get an inspection where he always finds something to make you do 50.

I had finally shed the dredded Pric-Hard. From that moment forward I was called, Hippie by the Drill Sergeant and the platoon. I also found other “hippie-companions” who had drafted in disguise like myself. As for the entire platoon, they did 20 laps in the low-crawl pit for loosing their composure … I went away scott free.

Create a free website or blog at