I've never been in debt. Okay, that's not entirely true. Yes, I've been in the kind of debt where I had to make car payments, and I'm currently in the kind of debt that says I have to make house payments.
I've never been in credit card debt, however. Truth be told, I've never even owned a credit card. I don't trust them. I've been conditioned not to trust them thanks to many years of living with college roommates.
Most of my college roommates had this weird outlook on credit cards. Basically, they thought credit cards were magical pieces of plastic that just magically paid for things and that they were somehow immune from the the ensuing debt that came about due to excessive credit card spending.
I'll admit it: I was sort of jealous of my roommates and their magical credit cards. After all, they always seemed to have money and, if they didn't, they just whipped out their credit cards. Books? Put them on the credit card. Food? Put it on the credit card. Night out at a strip club? credit card.
And yet there I was writing checks and budgeting like a fool. I remember thinking that I was doing everything all wrong. I mean, there I would sit, meticulously lording over my finances, while my roommates went waltzing all over town swiping their credit cards with the careless glee of a six-year-old with a loaded pistol.
Then, one year, I was a roommate with a guy named Chad. Chad was actually a former high school classmate of mine. He was, and is, a tech-head. He's one of those guys who was born to know technology. Way back in elementary school, he taught me how to write simple programs for the Apple IIc, and he always just seemed to know everything about computers.
But he didn't know shit about personal finances. He whipped out any one of his many credit cards with the swiftness and ease of a Old West gunslinger. By the time we became roommates, he had already accrued over $10,000 in credit card debt.
I remember thinking what an incredibly large amount of money that seemed to be, especially when I factored in the understanding that he also received financial aid, and that he also worked. Granted, he worked at the local Brach's candy factory on the Gummi Bear line, which paid about as well as you might imagine, but it was still money, so I came to the conclusion that old Chad was a pretty carefree spender.
Well, one day, I popped into Chad's outrageously messy room where I noticed, tucked between two huge bags of pilfered defective Gummi Bears, a credit card notice that was slugged "Urgent!" and another that was slugged "Immediate Payment Required" and still another that read "We Break Fingers And Toes."
Then the calls started coming in, usually two or three a day. "Is Mr. Haugen available? We really need to speak with him." No, he's not here. "Are you sure you're not really Mr. Haugen?" Yes, I'm sure. "Well, when he comes in, have him call Mike at Discover immediately." *sound of shotgun cocking* Will do.
Chad was masterful when it came to avoiding creditors. He always seemed to leave the apartment just two or three minutes before a creditor called. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense. Which was all fine and dandy, except that I ended up being the intermediary between Chad and the creditors, so I got to absorb all the impatient anger and suspicion of basically every credit card company on the planet.
It was the day a creditor appeared, in person, at our doorstep that I realized Chad's debt situation was probably more dire than Chad cared to admit. There was a knock at the door, I answered, and a gentleman in a suit that looked both impressive and threatening stood before me. He asked to see a Mr. Chad Haugen, at which point I heard a little scuffling emanating from Chad's room as Chad scurried out the back entrance which, conveniently, was located at the far end of his bedroom.
We chatted together, the ominous creditor and me, for about an hour, waiting for Chad to get home, even though, of course, there was no way in holy hell Chad was going to make an appearance while that guy was in our apartment. I even had to produce my ID, so the creditor was satisfied that I wasn't, in fact, Chad Haugen.
After that, I believe, Chad ended up getting a loan from his parents, or somebody, so he could pay off his credit card debt at least enough to keep the creditors at bay. He eventually got a job working at IBM, which was a long-assed commute from Winona to Rochester, but paid a whole lot more than the Gummi Bear line.
As for me, Chad's experience with credit cards pretty much scared me away from plastic for good.
"I Almost Learned Japanese Once," c. Ryan Rhodes, Feb. 18, 2003
For me, learning a foreign language is the linguistic equivalent of getting kicked repeatedly in the groin, only not as fun.
My first, and really only, experience learning a language other than English came when I moved to Japan my senior year of high school. Now, having grown up and spent my life in Harmony, Minn., I had pretty limited exposure to what the rest of the world was like. At that time, I thought Japan consisted of rickshaws and ninjas and superior automobiles and electronics.
Upon arriving, however, there were no rickshaws or ninjas to be seen, though I suspect they were hiding behind all the superior automobiles and electronics. In all seriousness though, the one contingency I had not prepared for became glaringly obvious almost immediately. In short, I learned that the Japanese have an irritating habit of speaking, well, Japanese. Who knew? Here was this entire country speaking a language other than English. I didn't know how to react to such craziness.
Actually, how I reacted initially was to simply point and grunt my way through stores and restaurants. This technique worked remarkably well, but I couldn't help but feel there must be a better, less rude, way.
Eventually, my school provided the solution I needed in the form of a beginners Japanese class. The class consisted of about 10 students of varying degrees of Japanese obliviousness, and a dynamo of a teacher, Toki-sensei.
Learning a foreign language in a classroom setting is an exercise in irritation and humiliation. On the one hand, you have students who pick up the nuances of the language with maddening ease, while on the other hand you have people like me who can't absorb anything not English-related.
One student in particular, of Chinese heritage, understood many of the complicated kanji characters that make up the Japanese written language, and he delighted in showing off with irritating regularity. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who wanted to tackle him out of his desk and choke him until he was only faintly breathing. I would sit and listen to him drone on and on, just seething, wondering "Why!? Why are you in this class!? Why!?"
And then there was Toki-sensei. Always upbeat, she would encourage me, and the other struggling students, the way parents encourage their children to take their first steps. And even she lost patience with the Chinese know-it-all on occasion, so I was obligated to like her.
To say I was shaky at speaking Japanese would be a severe understatement. I never fully grasped their sentence structure and their multitude of ways of saying the same thing, each one more correct than the next, depending on the situation. They have so many ways to count things, I lost count.
So, there I sat, battling through dialog, with Toki-sensei coaching me along as I spouted forth such every day sentences as "The weather is nice. How much is that? I'll take three of those hamburgers. Should we take the train to the coffee shop?" Now, I didn't drink coffee, but I considered starting just so that last sentence wouldn't go to waste.
Of course, any illusions I may have developed in class that I may actually be catching on were quickly shattered once I went back into the reality of daily Japanese life. The Japanese didn't seem to understand that I was only a beginner. I think they should develop little buttons you can wear so people know your level of language proficiency, and they can slow their speech down accordingly.
As it was, there were no buttons, and the standard speed of conversational Japanese hovers somewhere around Mach 4. I would laboriously ask a store clerk how much something was, only to be greeted with a torrent of Japanese that sounded like an Alvin and the Chipmunks record played super fast.
The school year eventually came to a close, and I flew back to attend college here in Minnesota, where people speak English, well, for the most part, and I quickly lost what little Japanese I had learned. Then, about two years ago, a Japanese company in America, having seen my resume online, contacted me about a job that paid $75,000 a year for a Japanese to English translator.
"I almost learned Japanese once," I offered hopefully. "But I didn't."
I didn't get the job.
Yo, Saddam. . . Debate This!
Apparently, there are some people out there, presumed to be living in a doped up world of la-la land, who actually think a debate between Saddam Hussein and George W. Bush would actually accomplish something. To those people I ask, "How much dumber are you willing to allow yourself to be?" Simply because Dan Rather glommed onto the only intelligible piece of nonsense from his much-hyped interview with Hussein doesn't mean the Iraqi dictator intends to do anything but stall even further.
And, even if Hussein is serious, let's put his offer into context by looking at how the Hussein/Rather interview was conducted. If this is the standard Iraqi practice for conducting Hussein interviews, I ask you, in all seriousness, if it makes any sense at all to put Bush and Saddam up against each other in what amounts to a political version of really bad reality TV.
(CBS) This interview was taped on February 24, 2003, by Iraqi TV crews, as is standard practice for Hussein, and the Iraqis delivered a tape that combined all three cameras into one composite feed. However, as far as we can determine, the content of the interview is intact. There are places in the tape where two people are talking at once and there are repetitions. This is a transcript of that composite tape and we apologize if it is confusing in places.
In places? This whole freaking interview is one giant jumble of "what the fuck?" But, don't take my word for it:
Rather: I want to ask questions in two categories, please. Category one would be those questions that I think many, if not most, of Americans would like to have answered about the news of right now. And in category two, more philosophical questions.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: The news are with you. News are almost (UNINTEL) (Editor's Note: "UNINTEL" refers to a sound or word that the transcriber finds unintelligible.) different way. But the facts news are there, with you.
Makes perfect sense to me. "Luke, the news are with you. I am your father." Is this how a Bush/Hussein debate would start, with a jumbled mess of unintelligible garbage? And remember, this is the content after CBS did it's damndest to translate and piece together what the Iraqis ALLOWED CBS to have. Can you imagine what the Iraqi people were allowed to see? But, let's continue:
Rather: Mr. President, do you intend to destroy the Al-Samoud missiles that the United Nations prohibits? Will you destroy those missiles?
Translator For Saddam Hussein: We have committed ourselves to Resolution. We're implementing that resolution in accordance with what the United Nations wants us to do. It is on this basis that we have conducted ourselves, and it is on this basis that we will continue to behave. As you know, it a-- is allowed to produce - r- r- land-land rockets, with a range of up to 150 kilometers. And we are committed to that.
Rather: I want to make sure that I understand, Mr. President. So, you do not intend to destroy these missiles?
If Rather can't even understand what the heck is going on, what the hell chance do we run-of-the-mill Americans have? But aside from that, we also see how Saddam avoided the question all together, saying that Iraq is working for compliance while sidestepping the obvious question about destroying missiles.
(SKIP IN TAPE)
Rather: Mr. President, I do appreciate your agreeing to spend an hour, because I want to ask questions in two categories, please.
What just happened? A skip in the tape, and all of a sudden Rather is thanking Saddam for his time? What about the missile question?
Rather: So, you do not intend to destroy these missiles?
Okay, I guess we're back. But, really, WTF?
Translator For Saddam Hussein: Which is that? Which missiles are you talking about? We do not have missiles that go beyond the prescribed ranges, by the…U.N. The inspection teams have been here. They have inspected every place. And if there is a question to that effect, I think the question should be addressed to them.
(OVERTALK)
What? If I understand correctly, instead of asking Saddam Hussein about his own weapons, Dan Rather should be asking the weapons inspectors. Apparently, it's just too much for the Iraqi dictator to remember all the trucks he's had loaded with WMD and carted around the country. So, please, ask the inspectors.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: I think the United States and the world also knows that there is - I think the U.S. and the world know that Iraq is - no longer has the (UNINTEL)-- weapons. And--
Translator For Saddam Hussein: You have started your questions with the sort of (UNINTEL) and (UNINTEL), but not with the - However, you're free to (UNINTEL) whichever way you'd like.
Well, if you're free to UNINTELL and UNINTELL, then by all UNINTELL, go ahead and UNINTELL. This reminds me of the Smurfs, where everything was a smurf or just smurfy.
Rather: B--
Translator For Saddam Hussein: May I translate?
Rather: Yes, please.
At this point, I think, the translator must have realized that he was abou four hours away from a freshly slit throat, so he started translating out of his ass.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: Thank you. The President says, the United States - the world - knows that there is nothing in Iraq of… whatever the noise has been made about. And I believe that that noise and the fleets that have been brought around and the mobilization that's been done were, in fact, done partly to cover the huge lie that was being waged against Iraq about chemical, biological and nuclear weapons.
Oh, THAT noise.
And it was on that basis that Iraq actually accepted Resolution - accepted it, even though Iraq was absolutely certain that what it had said, what the Iraqi officials…had kept saying, that… Iraq was empty, was void of any such weapons, was the case. But Iraq accepted that resolution… in order not to allow any misinterpretation of its position.
And, indeed, in order to make the case absolutely clear that Iraq was no longer in possession of any such…weapons. Iraq accepted to agree to deal with that resolution. That is why, when you talk about such missiles, these missiles have been destroyed. There are no missiles that are contrary to the prescription of the United Nations in Iraq.
Well, except for those pesky missiles the inspectors accidently turned up awhile back that were designed to carry chemical warheads. How DID they miss those?
These missiles were des - missiles that were proscribed - have been destroyed and are no longer there.
Thank Allah for swift moving trucks staying one step ahead of inspectors.
Rather: What do you consider to be the core issues? You said that I had started - and indeed, I started with the news of the day. But what do you consider to be the core issue, the basic issue?
Translator For Saddam Hussein: In all divine religions, god, the Almighty, has reiterated to man in all his Holy Books and to humanity, in general, that there are two basic, most important things in life, that is, after the issue of the creation and of the issue of faith.
These two important things are food and peace. This is in Islam, this is also in Christianity and in all the other religions. So, the most important thing for man in his life and the preservation of his life and preservation of the lives of others is to establish peace and security for himself and, through that, his right to life.
Not only to obtain food, but also to obtain - to insure peace, and so that man can exercise his right in life and exercise his role towards others in the same way as he would like others to exercise their roles.
Food and peace? Can you imagine if, in our Constitution, instead of the pursuit of "Life, Liberty and The Pursuit of Happiness," the framers had opted for "Food and Peace?" Kind of leaves a lot of room for translation, to say nothing of torture and fear and summary execution. I get a kick out of the variation of the golden rule at the end there. So, how, I wonder, does Saddam validate his invasion of Kuwait. Was he exercising his role towards Kuwait in the same way as he wanted Kuwait to exercise its role? I wonder.
Rather: Mr. President, do you expect to be attacked by an American-led invasion?
Translator For Saddam Hussein: We hope that the attack will not take place. But we are bracing ourselves to meet such an attack, to face it. I'm sure you've observed the general life in Iraq. You've been here for a few days now. We hope that such a possibility doesn't take place, but you've been here. You've been here for a few days, and you've seen how the people live. They live normally. They get married. They establish relationships. They visit each other. They visit their neighbors.
They get arrested. They get tortured. They watch their loved ones get tortured. They get gassed. They die by the thousands during Saddam's reign, with the death toll numbering over one million so far.
They travel around Iraq. They are enjoying life in the manner that life is provided. But at the same time, they also hear the news…because the officials in the United States keep talking about attacking Iraq, about the possibility of attacking Iraq, which is why the people are in Iraq, which is only natural - that they get prepared for such a possibility.
Even though, God Almighty invites us…and we hope that -- we pray to him that -- the Americans will refrain from such an eventuality -- to avoid both the Americans -- to spare the Americans from committing such a mistake -- and also to spare Iraq and the Iraqi people from being involved in such an experience. And those who would like to ride the bandwagon of evil, it's up to them.
Just for the record, I'd love to see a parade featuring a float entitled, "The Bandwagon of Evil." I think a good Wagner tune would complement that nicely.
Rather: Are you afraid of being killed or captured?
Translator For Saddam Hussein: Whatever Allah decides. We are believers. We believe in what he decides. There is no value for any life without imam, without faith. The believers, while taking caution and care and trying to veer out and avoid any dangers and any traps that may be prepared by his enemies, in order not to fall on them, the believer still believes that what God decides is acceptable.
(OVERTALK)
Of course, it helps if you have loyal bodyguards, an arsenal of personal weaponry, and you haven't actually appeared in public for over five years, but, overall, the will of Allah prevails.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: When we were--
Translator For Saddam Hussein: Bear with me. I - my - my answers are (UNINTEL) long.
Rather: Mr. President, I have all night. (LAUGHTER)
Nothing like a good belly laugh with a despotic dictator to ease tensions.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: When we were young, ordinary people in… Iraq, before, the Iraqi people had suffered a lot of deprivation and backwardness. People did not even find - many people did not even find.
Male Voice: Are you satisfied with translation?
Because, you know, if you're not, we could have him killed or something.
Rather: Yes, no, the translation is excellent. It's superb.
And now for a butt-load of patting himself on the back.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: Did you - people - generally did not even find - shoes to wear, in those days. And - people in the countryside were deprived of most essential things in life. And people even in the city were deprived of the most basic - requirements for a decent life. For a simple life.
We, those days, decided to place ourselves to the service of our people, and I'm not going to indulge in a story about what we did for our people and the sacrifices that we made and the dangers that we went through in order to insure for our people the dignity that our people deserve, because this is a story well known, and I am not going to indulge into that.
But in those days, we did not ask the question whether we were going to live or die, but we simply relied on Allah and we moved ahead. We relied on God because we decided that what Allah brought will be acceptable.
The important thing, the basic thing, is that whatever Allah accepts will be in the service of the people and now, after having achieved all this march, having reached what we have reached, now we've become leaders of the country. Some of my comrades are ministers and vice presidents and the rest. We're not going to ask ourselves now whether we should change our course or whether we should ask about life and death.
MALE VOICE: It's morally unacceptable to ask such a question.
It's morally unacceptable? So much for freedom of speech, even for Saddam Hussein apparently.
Translator For Saddam Hussein: How could we ask such a question when we, basically, as freedom fighters, did not ask it at the beginning? The people accepted us and accepted the fact of our revolution and the principles of our revolution, and they have committed themselves to them. And I do not believe that any officials in this place now should ask a question whether he's going to live or die.
The question should be how deeply in strength he remains to his commitment to the people, to the basic principles from which we proceeded. And whatever the will of God is, then the will of God will be there. Nothing is going to change the will of God.
Male Voice: (UNINTEL) to- to the - Iraqi people, and humanity in general, also.
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
There's much, much more, and you can read it all here. There's some interesting tidbits about Osama bin Laden and Al Queda.
But, in my mind, Hussein would have nothing more to say in a Bush/Hussein debate than he did with Dan Rather. He's simply trying to saddle himself with protestors who are too incensed about war, and too lazy to do research about how repugnant Saddam actually is. He knows this is his final hour (hopefully) and he knows the Bush administration will call his bluff at every turn. His time has come and gone, and there's no room for additional debate.
Hey, Cabbie, Can I Give You A Push?
Last night, I found myself behind a taxi cab, pushing it to freedom from the icy grip of the side of the road. The kicker: it was OUR taxi.
One thing I repeatedly take for granted in Minnesota is the speed and efficiency of the snow removal crews. Sure, I bitch about the 1 to 4 snow to sand ratio, and the salt is pretty much eating my car away right now as I type, but damn if those roads aren't kept amazingly clear even during the worst snowfall.
Here in Dallas, one inch of snow, one ridiculous inch of snow, has effectively shut down the downtown area for two straight days. Last night, as our taxi crept cautiously from one intersection to the next, we watched buses and shuttles bounce helplessly from one curb to the other, unable to find traction due to one stinking inch of snow packed down to the consistency of polished steel. Then, suddenly, it was our turn.
Our taxi inched toward an intersection, the driver over-corrected when the wheels spun ever so slightly, and we just kind of glided to the side of the road, hit the curb, and stuck there. There was nothing we could do, really, but offer to get out and push. This was a massive task, because finding a foot hold on anything meant initiating a small mining operation with the heel of the shoe to provide any semblance of traction. The ordeal was made even more difficult because our taxi driver had no clue how to free an ice-trapped automobile.
For the record, for you readers in warmer climates, you do NOT simply step on the gas. This does not work. It should be a rocking process, gradually moving back and forth, gaining forward momentum with each rock ahead, with pushers providing the needed extra oomph. It took awhile to explain and coordinate this process with a taxi driver who was flustered and embarrassed.
We freed the cab and our fare was waived, though I still gave him a five dollar tip. One of the co-workers asked if he would be willing to take us to the airport today, to which he responded, "No, Ma'am, I don't."
Last day in Dallas. I'm ready to come home.
UPDATE: This girl can wash my car any day.
ANOTHER UPDATE: Roselyn Sanchez is apparently a hot search term today, so I'm going to repeat her name her a bunch of times to boost my traffic. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez. Roselyn Sanchez.
Tech Bubble Burst My Ass
If there's one lesson that I learn again and again in this job is that the tech bubble never burst. It is at full inflation. People just haven't figured out how to appropriately market it yet. As I immerse myself in this world of tech geeks, it's painfully obvious that the enthusiasm and development of the technology world is alive and well.
True, in the late, late, late, 90s, ill-informed folks with unbridled ambition used technology to make themselves wealthy without understanding the way business and technology really work (see pets.com), but technology never died because of that; the only thing that died were 1,000+ Internet sites that envisioned unlimited profits without understanding a profitable business model.
Some of the shit being paraded around here is light years ahead of anything most businesses will ever see, but they better, because they won't be able to compete without it.
Beer Instead of JFK
One of my co-workers, Kelly, and I took the short train ride down to the grassy knoll. Okay, not really. We were supposed to visit the JFK assasination site, but a little thing called snow, an inch of it, has apparently closed down Texas. The entire state of Texas. Closed. Again, not really, but it seems like it at times.
Instead, Kelly and I scoped out the area (no pun intended), just in case the JFK thing opens up tomorrow and we can actually get in. After a quick perusal, we stopped in at a huge Mexican restaurant that was pretty much deserted and ordered a couple of beers. And what beers they were! Huge, monstrous bells of amber delight. Of course, after a couple, I now have a slight buzz on and I have to sit in on interviews for the next few hours.
UPDATE: This is no ordinary snow. This is a strange hard-packed veneer that can only be safely traversed via ice skates. One of my meetings was cancelled because the guy I was supposed to speak with went off the road, not once, but twice before turning around and going home. I stand by my earlier statement.
Pussies.
Cowboys Can't Deal With Snow
I watched the evening news with a huge smile last night. Apparently, Dallas is not used to snowfall, and they were at a total loss as to how to deal with a full inch of accumulation. It was hysterical, watching these newscasters, bundled from head to toe, trying to convey the nastiness of an INCH of snow. In Minnesota, an inch of snow is the equivalent of a slight sprinkle.
Dallas is not equipped to deal with such a monumental weather phenomenon, and the streets today remain white, while motorists try to navigate the strange new surroundings. I was greeted on the elevator this morning by a frazzled Texan who exclaimed, "I've never seen anything like this!"
Pussies.
The French Waiter Who Needs a Foot in His Ass
Last night, after eight consecutive hours of shmoozing with no eating, myself and five other co-workers went to the hotel restaurant to eat, a little French establishment on the ground floor of the Le Meridien. I have never, and I mean never ever never, had a waiter such as this. It took ten minutes to get menus, and ten minutes after that to get drinks, but it was when we were ordering that this French surrender monkey showed his true colors.
One of my female co-diners was in the middle of ordering, when the table behind us asked the waiter for a fresh bottle of wine. To our absolute amazement, our waiter, who had been less than hospitable to begin with, turned around while in mid-order and began pouring wine for the table behind us, and then he disappeared to get them a fresh bottle. He did not return for 10 minutes. WTF?
And he was the Employee Of The Month, or so it said right below his name-tag. I can't imagine what the worst employee is like. Sheesh.
The Expo Floor of the Over-eager
The expo floor opened at 4 p.m. today, and within ten minutes I was inundated with promotional crap. Sure, a "I'm DIGNIFIED" button provided by Dignus seems witty, but after three minutes of wearing it, and getting some incredulous glances, I decided that wearing an "I'm DIGNIFIED" button is contradictory somehow. Also, if I see one more cloth frisbee tossed over my head, I may have to poke the thrower's eyes out with my "I'm DIGNIFIED" button. There would be a certain amount of poetic justice there I think.
In other news, I'm wearing those new stain resistant Dockers that don't wrinkle and keep their crease even if you were to throw yourself off a hotel balcony and land on your "I'm DIGNIFIED" button. For a man that can't quite wrap his mind around the concept of an iron, these pants are a God-send, so, thank you God.
And, finally, I'm told there's a JFK museum really close to my hotel, and, according to reports, JFK is still dead.
Minnesota Follows Me Everywhere
Okay, this is Dallas, and Dallas is 32 degrees, which is cold, for Dallas, from what I hear. The only satisfaction I take thus far is that Minnesota is battling -37 degrees, which is cold, for Mars, from what I hear.
In other news, I ran five miles on a treadmill today, and I decided that I don't like treadmills. After five miles at 8 mph, I defy you to disembark and successfully walk straight, even with a four minute warm-down. Won't happen. I walked straight into the water cooler.
News update. A beer would really hit the spot right about now.
A Close Shave in Dallas
You know, if you shave your head, as I do, you fall in love with the Mach 3 blade really fast. So, when I opened my bag last night and discovered that I had forgotten mine, there were many expletives shared with the hotel walls. I went on a pilgrimmage in downtown Dallas today to find a Mach 3, but to no avail. I had to content myself with those plastic torture devices available at the hotel gift shop. These things haven't seen active use since the practice of bloodletting.
End result? A couple of nicks and, if you have ever shaved your head, you know that head nicks don't stop bleeding until sometime next week.
Anyway, more updates as time and events warrant.
