Cirque Du Coronavirus

Pandemic shmandemic. I roam through life unfrightened and undeterred.

Case in point: I took my first post-coronavirus panic outing yesterday. The family and I decided to spend the afternoon in a closed tent with about 2,000 of our closest, hopefully uninfected friends. We saw VOLTA, the current Cirque Du Soleil production in their big top, which is set up at Dodger Stadium.

It had everything to make the CDC and World Health Organization shake their hazmat-covered heads.

Crowds of people. Closed space. Different nationalities. Surfaces like chairs and armrests that've been touched by thousands of people before us. Port-a-potties that, shall we say were less than spotless.

It was a recipe for disaster. And yet, we all seemed to have gotten out just fine. There was a vague awareness of everyone being a little more cautious not to be in each other's faces, and no matter when you looked it was always rush hour at the hand washing stations outside the restrooms.

I fully expected lots of empty seats from people who'd decided not to venture out in public. I was also sure I'd see surgical masks everywhere I looked. I only saw one, and there wasn't an empty seat in the house.

Only two things reminded everyone of the current cautions. First was before the show when a young child sneezed, and every head within earshot snapped around to look at him waiting to see what was going to happen next. The other was the clown who came down the aisle before the show, and interacted with me by running his gloved hand up and down my sleeve. It made me a little nervous, although the coronavirus was probably the least of the reasons why.

The show was great, and I couldn't help but be amazed by how similarly built the performers and I were. It was like looking in a mirror.

I definitely don't want to minimize the virus and the cautions to be taken, but life just can't stop because of it. And besides, the precautions aren't that hard to abide by.

For starters I've been washing my hands like Howard Hughes since I can remember. And because I've never been a fan of knuckle crushers or sweaty palmed frat boys who shake my hand like it's a dry water pump in rural Alabama, I'm just swell with handshaking going the way of the Zune. Bottles of Purell? Check the center console of my car - I've pretty much cornered the market.

So here's my take on it all: with or without the virus, life is a high-wire act. Let's not go out of our way to turn it into a real circus.

Close to home

I'd much prefer this were one of my usual sarcastic, snarky posts with a snappy end line. We'd all have a good laugh, then get on with our day.

Sadly, not this time out.

Last week, a school friend of my son's committed suicide. He was only four months older. They were in a rock band together for awhile.

This young man had been somewhat of an outsider. He wound up leaving my son's school and going to a performing arts school three and a half years ago for various reasons, one of which is he was an extremely talented musician. Everyone at school, his bandmates as well as several professional musicians respected and envied what he could do on the guitar. His guitar teacher called him the next Jimmi Page or Joe Satriani.

It was a road filled with promise and wide open to him.

When we got the call and told our kids, they were both understandably in shock, as were we. My son said it's the first person he's known who's ever killed himself. I hope he never knows any others. He asked me if I've ever known anyone who's taken their own life. I've known two - a creative director and an actress. But I only knew them in passing, and would never say I was close to them (which of course doesn't make it any less tragic).

My wife and son went to the funeral last week. And while this is the part where normally I'd crack wise about putting the fun back in funeral, there's nothing funny about it. According to my boy, it was extraordinarily sad. Both the funeral and the reception were uncomfortably silent. You couldn't mention what had happened, and you couldn't not, so no one said anything. It was a silence you could feel.

I can only imagine that in the aftermath his parents pain is more than anyone should have to bear. The details don't matter. What's important is a talented young man, who's life had barely gotten started, was in so much pain he thought taking his own life was the only way to make it stop.

I don't have any wisdom or insight here. All I have are the truisms we all recite by rote and take for granted, until something like this happens.

Pay attention. Watch for signs. Love and hug your kids. Let them know the lines of communication are open whenever they want to talk. Make sure they understand no subject is off the table.

And let them know as unfair as it is, they'll have to live with the fact that sometimes there's no answer for why.

Blade runner

It's not easy being devastatingly handsome. Oh, I know, I make it look easy - and thanks for noticing. But really, it isn't.

The sly smile, the deep, inviting brown eyes you can get lost in. The imperfect nose, that used to be perfect until Eddie Petroff broke it in junior high (whole other post). The distinguished, full and luxurious silver mane. The proudly displayed crow's feet around those knowing brown eyes that say, "Yes, I've lived a life, I know things you don't and I'm ready for more."

When you take all that into consideration, the question really becomes why would I ever want to hide a face like that? The answer would be so I don't have to shave it.

A long time ago, in a life far, far away, I sported a full beard. It was a popular look at the time, and while I thought it made me look serious and intense like Al Pacino in Serpico, or compassionate and magnetic like Jesus, the truth is it was probably closer to Hagrid or Carlos the Jackal.

Still, it served the purpose. I didn't have to drag a razor across my sensitive skin every morning, or afternoon or whenever the hell I woke up. I'm freelance. Sometimes it's all a blur.

Over the years I tried various versions of the beard: A goatee. A mustache. A soul patch. The full Amish. But the problem with all of them was that I had to do some degree of shaving. And not just shaving, precision shaving to keep the lines straight.

I finally settled on a goatee for a number of years.

Fast forward to one of our annual trips to the Hotel Del Coronado. I was out by the pool, and between the Bloody Mary's and banana smoothies (I never was much of a swimmer), I had an epiphany.

An epiphany is three parts tequila and one part pineapple juice.

Then, I had a realization. I couldn't deny the world this face any longer. That, and I didn't want the weird sunburn lines I was getting. So with my rusty seventy-nine cent plastic Bic blade, scalding water and a lot of effort, I was off to the races.

When I got back from the races, I shaved the goatee.

Even though I didn't like the process, I did like what I saw. So for a few years now I've endured the unpleasantness of shaving every morning. Nothing good comes easy.

Then, Father's Day rolled around. And instead of another ten black t-shirts, gift certificates to AMC Theaters and dinner at Walt's Wharf, my son got me one of the best gifts ever: a membership in the Dollar Shave Club.

The initial kit comes with a tube of Dr. Carver's easy Shave Butter, Dr. Carver's magnanimous Post Shave Daily All-In-One Moisturizer and one of three mighty razors - in my case, The Executive, with six stubble-hating stainless steel blades of fury. I get four cartridges a month, so the blades never have the chance to get, how you say, unusable.

For a guy who was used to speed shaving with a Bic in the shower while racing to get to work, taking a little extra time to do it right took some getting used to. But well worth it.

The feeling is extraordinary. It's a closer shave than I ever thought possible, and once you've experienced the silky smoothness of Shave Butter you'll never go back to foam (or hot water) again. I can see my skin glow, and not just from my years at the nuclear plant. I now look forward to shaving every day.

It also doesn't hurt that the DSC website is one of the funniest, best written sites on the interwebs. Here's just a little sample of what you'll find when you click:

I don't usually endorse products or services on this blog. After all, I want to maintain what little integrity I have left. I try to stay impartial. I feel I owe that to my ten readers.

Nonetheless, I'd strongly recommend you give DSC a try. If not for the best shave of your life, then at least for the comic relief.

By the way, DSC also has a product called One Wipe Charlies. I'm still working my way up, er, down to those.