Lesson Today, Appreciation Later

 

In my last entry, I talked about one of the who contributed to my enjoying reading and writing, Mr. Przygocki. The other was my 8th grade literature teacher, Ms. DeLong. I talked about them in the foreword to my book POMSILv2, but it was pointed out to me I never mentioned them here. Today, I fix that.

Ms. DeLong, my eighth-grade Literature teacher, introduced me to my favorite kind of written storytelling––the short story. I was attending Central Junior High in Lawton, Oklahoma (Go Cougars!) and like most 8th graders I was gradually turning into the human I’d be versus the kid I’d been until now. As I mentioned before, I had no great athletic talent, but I had a love of reading.

We spent a lot of time in Literature class reading passages aloud from our anthology. Since I was good at sight-reading, I’d get bored waiting on my turn and thumbed ahead through the book, looking at the other titles. Because of the short time between having to read segments and waiting for others, I sought titles that were not overly long.

The book contained an extensive mix of literary types, including excerpts from novels, poems, plays, newspaper articles. I focused on the short stories because I could skim a couple of pages and get away with it. I tore through the macabre and suspense stories first and then on to humor. When the Scholastic Books flyers came around every month, I sought short stories and soon had a dogeared collection on my bookshelf. I also read the unwritten required novel of my generation, The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton. Throughout my life I’ve spent thousands of hours discovering in each a new world and finding myself immersed in the joy of reading, thanks to Ms. Delong. 

Harold Przygocki was my high school English teacher at Denbigh High School in Denbigh, Virginia (Go Patriots!). On the first day of class, he made us learn to spell and pronounce his name properly, then he assigned a weekly 500-word original essay. This met with much moaning and groaning from the student side of the room. After all, we are being told we needed to write an essay the same length as War and Peace every week. In truth, 500 words are about five or six paragraphs of three or four sentences each. Not even close to the number of words Tolstoy wrote. 587,287 words to be exact.

After a few weeks, the initial shock went away, and I got into the routine. It gradually came to like the assignment. I figured out that an essay could be a story and sometimes could be longer. I enjoyed writing stories and trying to fit them into a 500-word container. Some were good, and some weren’t, but it didn’t matter. The assignment taught me that if you were going to write; you needed to write. Writing is a muscle that needs exercise to use it optimally.

Before I wrote my first novella, I prepared myself by writing 500 words a week to get my writing skills in shape. It was one of those lessons you don’t appreciate at the time, but you realize its value years later.

Both teachers affected the reader and writer I am today. I appreciate both.

NOTE:   One other teacher I wrote about was Charlotte Naffin who I had for four years of Latin. Last year, Mr. Przygocki celebrated his 100th birthday. He’s still going strong. I used his name for one of the characters in my book Ferdinand's Gold.

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Lava Lamps, Rick Neilson's Autograph, & 500 Words

 

Every Monday, I take a seat in my writer’s garret and with keyboard in hand try to capture things that have been wandering my mind from the week before. If I find myself without a topic, I have a list of things I thought about before; on weeks when multiple subjects came to mind. Today is a rare exception. I lack a subject and nothing on the list interests me enough to devote my time and energy to explore the nuances that interested me to begin with. In short, I’ve spent the last three hours surfing the web and listening to music.

It’s not a bad way to pass the time, but getting my blog entry done is serious business. After all, there are not millions of dollars at stake and if I cannot get something written, calamities will not befall all of humanity. Or will it? Maybe so, maybe not, but is it worth the risk? Probably not. I mean I’m still troubled by occasional memories of things I did in the third grade which should’ve ended with my apology — guilt for adverse reactions as result of my actions or inactions is a given for me. So here is sit.

My writer’s garret contains many toys, lights, and various other things that I enjoy having around. I've talked about my Zoo, and on days like today sometimes let my imagination room as my eyes move from one figure to the next. I have three lava lamps that, after a few hours provide visual entertainment as lava moves up and down within the colored oil. These lamps were on my wish list since I was an adolescent, and as is with many things I eventually bought it for myself when I was able. I’m pleased I finally have them. Autographed mementos line the walls. I can trace each one back to a specific concert or movie which lies somewhere on my list of favorites.

One productive thing that happened while I was sitting here was that I finally ordered a replacement set of speakers for my computer system. After all, the ones I have and use came with the Dell computer I bought back in 2000. After 25 years, it was time for an upgrade, plus the subwoofer had failed several years ago, but because of the way the system works I still had to keep it in place or the speakers wouldn’t work. I do not know who manufactured the speakers I have, but the ones coming in are Bose, which guarantees they will be a step up.

It’s about time to get up and fix myself some lunch. Then I need to get ready to take my recyclables to the recycle place so that they can be recycled. In short, it’s time I close out this entry.

In the forward to POMSILv2, I talk about my high school English teacher, Mr. Przygocki, and his weekly assignment of a 500-word essay. In the years since school, I believe such an assignment is a good way to keep writing muscles in shape. So, all in all I have completed something today. I did my workout. 542 words worth.

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Nock, Draw, Loose...

My daughter recently mentioned she felt it was important for children to travel. I couldn’t agree more. I think travel is one of the most mind and spirit expanding things a person can do.  

Growing up as a military brat, traveling was just part of the way life was lived. The major benefit of doing it that way, opposed to vacation traveling, was you usually got at least a year at a location. There was time enough to feel at home and enjoy it. 

Since travel was a given, my parents made sure I got whatever opportunities were available at each location. One of the most unusual was archery. My Dad was a bow hunter (standard longbow), but we lived anywhere he could teach me that skill. However, on Fort Benning (one of the most opportunity rich environments for dependent, or at least it was) the Youth Activity Center (YAC) had an archery class. So, among the other things I was signed up for while we were stationed was that class.

Every Saturday, me and about 20 other brats got together at the archery range. This was a dedicated archery range, not a multi-use field, with in-ground quivers at one end of the field and huge targets on the other. The first couple of classes were in a classroom, and we learned about different bows, various arrow tips, and how important the arrow’s feathers were. The instructor also covered basic safety rules to avoid accidents and emphasized the importance of the Range Master.

The Range Master owned the range and his commands were absolute. He told us when to load the arrow into the bow (Nock), pull back the bowstring (Draw), and fire (Loose). In general, he maintained order and told us when it was safe to retrieve our arrows from down range. Many years later, I learned the military rifle range management practices mirrored the Archery Range Master’s practices. I will say, at no time while I was there was anyone shot with an arrow accidentally. 

When we finally got onto the range, we learned how to use elevation to get our arrows into the center of the target and how to adjust aim for wind. It may sound kind of trivial now, but at the time they were all important lessons to putting that arrow into the center of the target. My memory may just be sweetening the experience, but I don’t recall ever completely missing the target. Of course, that doesn’t mean it was in the bulls-eye every time either. 

Years later, it became popular to give everyone a trophy just for participating, but in order to get a patch from YAC had to earn it. Military bases then were big on rewarding with a patch versus a trophy. I earned a patch for hitting the bull’s-eye x number of times. I recall getting quite a few patches growing up, but few of them got sewn on.

I can recall only a handful of times since that archery class when I picked up a bow and arrow. It’s just something that went by the wayside over the years, but still remains a fond and vivid memory. An experience I had when I was a kid that not everybody gets to do.

My fondest memory of my time in archery class was getting my first kiss from the blonde daughter of my dad’s Commanding Officer. I’ll never forget Mary Ellen Anderson. Maybe a combination of the two experiences is where my admiration of Robin Hood began.

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Theatre Hand Off

In May 1990, I walked off the stage of Havens Auditorium in Kokomo for the last time. I never expected to reenter the theatre as I was about to move, but I felt immense satisfaction when I took my last curtain call as King Arthur in Camelot. Now, 34 years later, I walked back into Havens through the front door versus the stage door. I was going to see my granddaughter begin her performance journey.

I wasn’t really familiar with the audience side of the theater, but I don't think there had been any major changes. Havens was full of parents, siblings, and grandparents who’d come to see their family member perform. My pride is why I called this her performance when, in reality, it was a performance of several groups of students from the local dance studio. That meant there’d be several performances before and after my granddaughter’s class made their appearance. That’s okay, young kids performing for the first time publicly need all the applause they can get.

As a people watcher, this was an entertaining environment. You could easily tell which parents and relatives had kids currently on the stage. Loud applause, cheering and calling their child’s name, as they leaned forward in their seats enraptured in the performance before them. As someone who didn’t do team sports growing up, it was great to see parents giving the same energy this as those who might sit in the bleachers watching their kids on the field.

When I watched my granddaughter dance with her group of peers, it'd be expected for me to claim she was the most talented kid up there. However, I realized that objectively a lot of what I was seeing was simply her genuine talent, not just my familial pride. 

She held her head up and looked at the audience. You could tell she was concentrating on what she was doing by the expressions on her face, but that was also an outward reflection of the inner workings driving her performance. She radiated calm and confidence. While some kids were a bit confused and stopped between various routines to prepare for the next action (which is normal for a first performance on stage) she flowed fluidly from one thing to the next. Did she remember all the routines, or was it just that she knew her motions needed to be tied together rather than seen as separate bits? She has stage presence.

When the show was over, we met backstage to present her with flowers; she had done an exceptional job and deserved the praise. More than that, she now owned that stage and I was okay passing it on to her, as she deserved to be there.

From the first time I took the stage as a Kindergartener (toy soldier in a Christmas play) I felt the electricity that is live performing. Throughout my life, I have found great joy being on stage, and it has been my go-to place for recharging and rebirth. Be it a theatre with a large cast, a club or coffeehouse with just a friend or two, or in a train station or around a campfire with just my guitar I have found great satisfaction in that connection with an audience be they large or small. Some of us have been fortunate enough to thrive on the exchange of energy that feeds the performer while entertaining the watcher. 

The only two things I wanted to do on stage which I never got around to were sword fighting and tap dancing. Not sure I will ever get around to those, but that’s okay. As I hand off the spotlight to my insanely talented granddaughter, I know she will do that and more.  

The highest praise I ever received came from a fellow performer, years after we had on stage together. She called me a natural on stage. Thanks but I’m not really one to judge that, Susie. However, I have no doubts that my granddaughter is a natural performer.

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Every Song In My Life Soundtrack Has A Backstory

Start the music, then read the background tale.

Terri was my first adolescent crush. Her brown hair was long and straight, her eyes a dazzling blue, and she possessed a beautiful smile, which was in the process of being made into an awesomely straight smile by sets of braces on both top and bottom. Her solitary imperfection was being my best friend’s girlfriend — until it happened. One magnificent Friday afternoon, he broke up with her. Later, he confided in me he did this because he wanted to go out with a different girl. Since Mark wished to ensure a smooth transition from one girl to the next, he felt breaking up with Terri hours before his first date with the other girl was the smart way to make it all happen while leaving everyone happy about it. His logic, not mine. Looking back, still pretty stupid.

 Since Mark was on a date and I was not, my Friday evening was completely free, which was a good thing because Terri invited me over. For those of you who were unaware, life on a military base is incredibly structured, and much of where you can go and what you do is age based. My friends and I were too young as ninth graders to go to the Teen Club, so instead, we usually hung out in someone’s backyard listening to music and talking. This activity would go on from sunset until parents ran us off. I’m not sure why or how, but on that evening, it was just the two of us alone on her patio under the light of some bamboo tiki torches. Having just been dumped, she was melancholy. We listened to music on the radio, and I told jokes to cheer her up. My entire repertoire then was borrowed from George Carlin with a bit of Richard Pryor thrown in; not exactly appropriate for the situation, but I got her to laugh and took her mind off things for a while.

As luck would have it, the King Harvest song "Dancin’ in the Moonlight" came on the radio. Terri leaped out of her chair and grabbed my hand, pulling me into her. It was one of her favorite summer songs, and she always made it a point to dance whenever it was played. Even though I was little more than a target of opportunity, I accepted my fate with a good amount of grace, letting my ego be stroked since my crush was now in arms. At fifteen, I’d slow danced with girls many times, but never one who’d first danced through my mind first. It could have been that, or it may have been any number of other things, but the way she danced was something I never felt before, as she seemed to be caressing my body with hers while we moved to the music. At fifteen, it was a mind scrambler.

Midway through the song, she began speaking softly to me––almost whispering in my ear. I’m not sure if she was actually talking to me or not. Terri seemed more to be having a conversation with herself about why she chose Mark to go out with rather than me on the day when we all first met. As if she came to some sort of decision, she lifted her face to mine and kissed me. Considering both of us wore braces, there was a certain amount of subconscious caution on both our parts, but it was still a beautiful and memorable kiss.

Before the weekend was over, we shared more than a few walks holding hands, enjoyed two sunsets, and more than a few terrific kisses. It was the best weekend of the summer. On Monday, I left for summer camp and was gone for two weeks. When I got back, I found she and Mark reconciled, but fortunately at the same time I was also told my father got orders to Virginia and we’d be moving in a couple of weeks. At least I wasn’t forced to stay there and dwell in the aftermath. I never had contact with either of them again.

When I wrote my book “Moonlit Silhouette,” I patterned the heroine after Terri. Part memory and part fantasy. It’s okay, I hold a valid Poetic License so I can adapt reality at will when needed to fit a story. One thing I wanted to include was a few of the lyrics from “Dancin’ in the Moonlight” as part of the book, so I contacted the composer Sherman Kelly for permission.  He provided me with the contact information to get approval from Sony and we swapped a few emails about memories the song brought back for us both. A really nice guy. The folks at Sony were not so nice, making me wish I used the song and then asked forgiveness rather than permission. In the end, I didn’t use the song but wrote lyrics to a new song just for the book.

Here’s the King Harvest original:

This song still holds memories of the weekend with Terri. It is one of the many vital parts of the soundtrack of my life.

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Live From Nowhere In Particular...It's Saturday Night!

I'd just turned 16 and started working at Baskin-Robbins. It was a time when changes in my life were speeding up and I was doing my best to not get left behind. I'd just come in from work on a Saturday night and found myself alone downstairs, my parents asleep upstairs. I turned on the TV and started flipping through channels. 

The news was just ending, and it was at least a half-hour before Dr. Madblood’s Movie came on. Howard Cosell had a new show, Saturday Night, and even though I was not a sports fan; I thought it might be a way to fill the thirty-minute gap. After flipping the channel to NBC and plopped down on my dad’s recliner.

Then something different happened. A person I had never seen before was on screen talking about something, then he tripped and fell before saying “Live from New York it’s Saturday night.”  

What the hell was this? 

As you may have guessed, it was October 11, 1975, and I was on hand for the birth of something that is still alive, well, and kicking. I wasn’t sure what it was, but again

I was just looking to fill half an hour, so I left the TV tuned to it. The announcer reeled off names of people I’d never heard of, but then got to people I had heard of before. Billy Preston was the musical guest, as was Janis Ian. I liked Billy and Janice was okay, too. Jim Henson was billed as being on the show, and I knew that meant Kermit the Frog. I liked Kermit. (BTW no Kermit) Then came the clincher, my favorite comedian George Carlin was hosting. Maybe I was going to skip the replaying of The Horror of Party Beach on Dr. Madblood. There was also Andy Kaufman. Who?

Carlin did a great monologue that included a discussion of the blue food that I still remember. In all the years since, I still have never found a blue food. Then came the sketches. I was quickly introduced to comedians that would fill my next few years with laughter. Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Garrett Morris, Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman, and John Belushi. Because he started the show, and then later did the Weekend Update newscast, Chevy Chase struck me as being the leader of the cast, but he also struck me as being a real jerk. It was hard to tell how much of that was an act and how much of that was him. Over time, I found it was pretty much him. 

I did not know what I was part of that night, but I knew it was significant. The show I was watching turned into a heavy part of my life for several years as I always tried to make it home on Saturday nights to watch it - as this was before VCRs and DVRs. In between the sketches, the music of Billy and Janis provided a nice mind cleansing to prepare you before the next comedy bits. Then Andy did his Mighty Mouse bit. At first I was perplexed, but before it was over I was laughing out loud.

The show became the instant topic for Monday mornings at school. We shared various lines from the show that became part of our lexicon, and because it was live, we also talked about the mistakes we caught. Plus so many recurring characters and tag lines -- Never mind. The comedy and music became part of my life, as evidenced by just a small sampling of blog entries:

• Got Cat Class & Got Class Style With a Christmas Twist
• With Paradise In Sight, She Cried Out "Stop Right There!"
• Your Other Most Important Vote of 2012
• My Year In Live Music 2018, Act II: Paul Simon -- Tell Me That Crazy Story One Last Time
• I Got a Fever, and the Only Prescription...Is More Cowbell!!

Oh yeah, and an obsession with cowbell.

When I heard they had made a movie about Saturday Night Live, I was immediately excited. I wanted to see what it took to put on that show. It was lucky that I could never catch in the theater or even watch it streaming until recently. This allowed me to sit down and take time to watch the movie uninterrupted and then follow it immediately with the first episode from 1975, since it is exactly where the movie ends.

I think the movie is well made; the people portraying the various cast members, writers, and even Lorne Michaels did a great job. As a theatre kid, I understood and shared the underlying electricity as they prepared to go on stage for the first time. The props that were in the wrong place, people who were suddenly missing minutes before the curtain went up, and more. I think the movie perfectly captured what it must’ve felt like that first time. It also gave me insight into a lot of things I was unaware of.

I admit I knew Chevy was a jerk, so that was not a surprise but things like Garrett Morris questioning why he was there I was unaware of. The same with Lorraine Newman. The trio of extremely talented women who were on the show was amazing, yet they all questioned their own talent. John Belushi’s failure to sign his contract until the last minute was an interesting revelation. No doubt he could’ve made it without the show, but would the show have made it without him?

Learning what Lorne Michaels went through to get this on the air was also surprising. I’ve always looked at TV as something that was carefully scripted and choreographed. Maybe so, but from the show itself to the way it wound up on the air instead of a rerun of Johnny Carson proved that perception was another a bit of Hollywood magic. Should we talk about Michael O’Donoghue? No, we shouldn’t.

If you haven’t seen it yet, I would advise you to watch the movie but only if you can follow it immediately after with the first episode. Seeing how they got there and what they eventually delivered together like that is perfect. In fact, I think it should be required watching for anybody doing anything on stage. It shows you how you go from that mass confusion of high energy to delivering a product that the audience raves about without ever knowing what it looked like just a minute before the curtain rose.

PostScript: I haven’t watched the show in years. It has morphed into something I no longer recognize nor enjoy -- but that’s okay. I am not 16 anymore and that’s who the show is for.

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See My Beard -- Ain't It Weird?

 

I have no recollection of exactly when I made the decision, but it must’ve been around 8th or 9th grade when I decided that when I grew up, I was going to have facial hair. My commitment then was only to having a mustache. Over time, I decided I’d go further and have a beard as well. The primary driver behind it, as best as I can remember, was Vincent Price or maybe Snidely Whiplash.

It may seem strange to want a mustache based on movie villains, but that’s the way it was — C’mon man, I was in 8th grade. As time passed, I realized a lot of the men I admired for their creativity had mustaches, Edgar Allen Poe and Mark Twain, for example. As I got older, and time marched into the 70s, there were many more folks with mustaches that I admired, Burt Reynolds and Tom Selleck to name just two. All of this solidified my decision to be mustachioed.

So, by the end of high school, and thanks to the gift of facial hair from puberty, I grew a mustache. Ever since then I have had one, except for twice in my life: Air Force basic training and once in the 90s, for two weeks after a botched attempt at trimming. I also had a beard occasionally. During most of my college years I sported a full beard, but it wasn’t until after I was out of the Air Force and moving on to my next career that I grew fuller facial hair which started as a close-trimmed beard but then morphed into a goatee. At one point I tried a Van Dyke but the upkeep was killer. To paraphrase the words of George Carlin "See my beard, ain’t it weird—– don’t be skeered it’s only a beard — now that I’ve shared this affair of the hair—do you care?" 

Care or not, that’s not what this blog entry is about, anyway. It’s about my foray into beard care products. I know, I know—– my last entry about how to towel dry after shower — now this one about beard care. Where the hell is this guy at? Don’t worry, my dwelling on such matters will end with this entry—at least a few months.

While I am blessed with full facial hair, I’m cursed with sensitive skin. This means after my goatee gets to be a certain thickness, I get flaky skin under it. Beardruff. Also, when I grow my beard longer, it gets course and even after careful trimming, I’m left with flyaways that give me an unkempt appearance. I’ve tried shampooing, and using various head hair products on it without success. I even picked up a bottle of beard oil, but it just left stains on my shirt. Then I discovered a full range beard product. 

My research was more accidental than serious; I was talking to my barber (Hunter) about the issues I was having. He suggested I try Uppercut Beard Balm and let me try a sample. It kept my beard more controlled, and the scent wasn’t bad. The biggest take away was the realization there were products out there for what I was experiencing. I'd discovered a new world of stuff. 

Before I proceed further, a disclaimer: No review ever published on this blog is produced because I am paid or given payment in kind. If I find something good, I share that discovery here and you are free to do with that information whatever you choose with the knowledge the review was unbiased. Of course, your mileage may vary and you may or may not agree.

In today’s environment of algorithms and data mining, the simplest way to start research is to perform a simple Internet query for what you’re looking for. Within 24 hours, you’ll be deluged with pop-up ads, email, and ads on your social media timelines. That’s what happened to me, but in and amongst all the noise, I found one ad that caught my attention. It was from a company called Lived Bearded.

Among the things that drew my attention to it were the variety of scents available. I don’t know about you, but it bugs me that products are only available in a baseline scent that was decided upon either by a focus group or the owner’s girlfriend. I should want to smell like coconut/lime with patchouli accents --- really?

Live Bearded has a sample pack which let me try each of their baseline beard care products (shampoo, conditioner, oil, and butter) in each of the six scents they offer. It doesn’t get much better. It was $10 for the sample pack when I ordered; now it’s $20, but you get a $10 credit on your first order. Still very fair and it lets you try everything. I’ve seen other companies wanting twenty bucks to try your choice of two of their scents and you only get one product. I like that Live Bearded let me weed out what I did and didn’t like from their full selection.

Here are Live Bearded’s selections and each fragrance's elements:

Tombstone: Sweet Tobacco, Cedar

Executive: Leather, Vanilla, Cedar

Legend: Sandalwood, Vanilla

Canyon: Juniper, Cypress, Fir Needle

American: Cedar, Pine, Vetiver, Bergamot

1880: Bourbon, Bitters, Citrus

What I liked about these from the outset was that all of them seem to be reasonable smells and the names were not trying to be something they weren’t. At my age, do I need Midnight Nekit Body in the Mist with traces of cedar, rosemary, and a hint of Arctic glacier? To me, the scent of soaps and shampoos is a secondary consideration. What I’m most concerned about is the way it blends with what cologne I choose to wear it with or the scent of other products I use. I’m sure you have run into at least one person in your life who is using ten different products with ten different fragrances resulting in a something akin to Dumpster at Sunset. One scent not part of the set is unscented. There’s no real reason to get a sample of that. We all know what nothing smells like.

Okay, I’m not going into the science of each product. They do what the label says they do: The shampoo shampoos, the conditioner conditions, etc. I liked how each of them worked except for one which I will talk about later. Want the ingredients, etc., check out Live Bearded's website.

My method was simple, because I have a goatee and not a full mountain man beard. I was able to get two uses out of each sample. I tried each of them, using all four products of the same fragrance, and I even used a little scorecard that came with the sample pack to track scents and performance.

Shampoo: I was a little disappointed the first time I used the shampoo, because it didn’t lather up. The second time I wet my beard well before applying the shampoo and all was good. You don’t have to use a lot of shampoo in order for it to be effective, and once I was able to get it foamy, it cleaned very well.

Conditioner: Because you have to rinse the shampoo out first, your beard is fairly wet by the time you put the conditioner on. It lathers up nicely. It’s best not to allow it to sit on your beard for a bit before rinsing. The feel after rinsing it out is quite pleasant as your beard feels nice and soft.

In the shower, the scent of the Live Bearded surrounded me and most times was quite pleasant. No, I didn’t like all the fragrances, but that is why they produce several flavors.

Oil: After my shower, I would apply a small bit of the oil to my beard and rub it through. It felt good against my skin as I worked it all the way to the roots. I’m happy to report that after a month of use, I wasn’t finding any oil stains on the front of my shirts from using the oil. It was probably because it soaked in versus the oil being stain-free or maybe I was applying the correct amount versus too much. Regardless of why, I liked it didn’t ruin my shirts.

Butter: I just disliked this product. Never got satisfying results, regardless of how I applied it. I used as instructed. Tried using more. Tried using less. It just did not work for me. The butter made my beard feel stiff, as if I used Aquanet on it. Maybe this is something that only people with longer beards need and appreciate.

How did it all work together? I no longer have beardruff. While I still have flyaways, they are easy to smooth down and they stay down when I comb my beard after applying all the products. The coarseness of the hair is also gone. Now that it is properly conditioned, it feels nice. The sample pack from Live Bearded has proven that their products will solve my problems and have convinced me they are worthwhile.

My trial period led me to choose not one but two fragrances that I liked: Executive and Tombstone. They mesh well with my cologne and also my hair shampoo, etc. As for the other fragrances, there were none that I out right hated, they just didn’t suit me.

(Since I didn’t like the beard butter, I regressed to the beard balm I had on hand. Fortunately, the two fragrances I chose mesh well with the scent of the balm.)  

Finally, I appreciate the way Live Bearded products are available for order. I hate it when a company forces me to buy things I will not use or dislike in some sort of preassembled kit. Live Bearded seems to understand and lets you order the shampoo, conditioner, and oil separately. You aren’t forced to order all four products to get what you want.

Customer Support: Sometimes you need some help to make things right. Because of my error, one of my shipments from Live Bearded got mis-routed. A quick email to the company and Danielle fixed it within hours. There is nothing more you can expect because it simply does not get any better than that.

I heartily recommend this company. For 10 bucks I found products I need and fragrances that work for me. 

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