I love shaving. To be more precise, I love shaving now. I used to hate the ordeal and wore stubble as often as possible. Fortunately fashion had deemed this look perfectly acceptable—especially if you have a dimpled chin or Roman cheekbones (both of which I lack)—but never mind that. I now love shaving.

I’m a sucker for traditional things, especially traditional masculine things. Perhaps it is because I’m of the Generation-X-lost-male-identity thing that this appeals to me. I could either go all Fight Club, or shave like my grandfather. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I want nothing more than to throw—or receive—a punch, and I’ve done that, but shaving is much more acceptable of an outlet and something that is far easier to do.

In the last few weeks I have tossed my can of gel shaving cream and my Gillette Fusion powered razor in favor of a badger hair brush, a tub of cream and a double-edged safety razor. I’ll never go back.

There is something in the whole shaving ritual that is hard to describe, but it’s a combination of zen like meditation, total pampering and feeling macho. I have no interest in the metrosexual idea of manicures and facials; but creating a good lather, brushing it on your face and gliding a single blade over it definitely is something every man should try. I enjoy the feeling of spoiling myself like Little Lord Fauntleroy tempered with the knowledge that this is probably how John Wayne did it.

The other upshot of this shaving method is Mi Mujer, Mrs. Yanqui, loves it. She no longer complains about whisker burn and is willing to indulge me in my eBay razor purchases. My recent purchase being a Gillette Milord that was manufactured between 1947 and 1950 I look forward to shaving with. Something about shaving with 60-year-old razor made for the generation before my father began shaving appeals to me.

Of course, my mother informs me that my Grandfather used a straight razor, but baby steps. I’m sure I’ll get there eventually. Call me a nerd, call me a shave geek, but at least I’ll be well groomed.

China has found the secret to combating climate change: Artillery.

BEIJING (Reuters) - China is preparing an arsenal of rockets and aircraft to protect the Olympics opening ceremony from rain, hoping to disperse clouds before they can drench dignitaries at the roofless “bird’s nest” stadium.

Officials believe there is a 47 percent probability of rain during the August 8 opening ceremony and a 6 percent chance of a heavy downpour and will try to drain humidity from clouds before they reach Beijing.

More than 100 staff at 21 stations surrounding the city will have 10 minutes’ notice to fire rockets or cannons containing silver iodide at approaching clouds in the hope of making them rain before they reach the stadium. Three aircraft will also be on stand-by to drop catalysts to unleash rain from the clouds.

I want to know how Chinese meteorologists are so accurate. A 47% chance of rain on August 8th? I can’t get an accurate forecast for a barbecue next week here. Maybe I need to call in the air force.

Well 50% of the population has one at any rate.

This is an Australian ad for a ‘feminine hygiene product’ that at least addresses what it is used for; Swapping euphemisms for slang, yay!

I think it’s more clever than the current batch of horribly conceived advertisements for ‘feminine’ products, but then I’m a bloke. I don’t even have a beaver.

Edit: Since I have an example of a clever approach to selling the product, here’s an example of an awful approach. It played in Spain every single time I saw a television on. I had the damn song stuck in my head by the end of my trip.