When we parted company at the end of Series 2 of these thoughts that appear while shaving, there was some consideration of my current hometown, Millburn-Short Hills, as a candidate to be wiped out because of wine and fornication. This of course, comes from the Biblical source of Revelations which described what happened to Babylon. It earned the Mark of the Beast.
Millburn-Short Hills is a town or around 19,000 people in northern New Jersey. It is nowhere as big as Babylon at its peak. Millburn-Short Hills has only three major streets that amount to anything. Babylon had hundreds of boulevards and plazas, so comparing the two cities is a gross mismatch. Nonetheless, several of us have joined together to see that Millburn-Short Hills becomes an inspirational force so that wine and fornication will be wiped out. After all, many of us assume that we came within an inch of having the Mark of the Beast applied to all of us in the recent contra-temps involving our New Jersey Governor.
So the essayist approaches the next subject with fear and trembling. It has to do with exposing some intimate female garments to public viewing. We will try to treat this debate with all the sensitivity and civility that can be mustered.

Bra Straps That Are Exposed

My two sisters must have approached their teenage years with consummate confusion. Their mother – and my mother – had a primitive, Pentecostal view of religion. Things that were “of the world” were to be avoided at all costs. And so it was that Lillie, our mother, railed against half slips and brassieres. They were, according to Lillie, not natural and “of the world.” That means they are works of Satan.
This old essayist freely and openly admits that much of these developments came to me by hearsay. After all, the two sisters were 10 years and 14 years older than their youngest brother. About the only direct testimony came as arguments between these three women boiled over.
Lillie’s idea of a decent woman was one who wore no makeup and certainly, no rouge or lipstick. Her clothing buttoned up to the neck. Her dresses were well below the knee. The two daughters, Verna and Opal, rebelled often against their mother’s sartorial tastes. It is probably logical that the two girls bought their own undergarments from their own earnings as soon as possible.
Verna, the older sister, was church-going and lived a largely pious life. She took voice lessons and sang in the St. Louis Grand Opera chorus. Opal was pretty much the exact opposite. She learned to play the piano by ear and became a waitress-singer at Joe Gonella’s Restaurant or saloon. She wound up marrying maybe three times and her occupation was owning professional greyhound racing dogs.
In spite of their different outlook on life, it must be suspected that both wore bras and half slips – even though everybody knew they were Satan’s handiwork. But suffice it to say, that both the pious one and the hell raising saloon singer, covered up the shoulder straps in every case of public exposure. From the 1930’s through the 1960’s, disclosure of a bra strap would cause censorious controversy. It seemed to me that women were more outraged than men to see an exposed bra strap. Perhaps the offended ones believed the strap-showers were flaunting it.
Men were curious, but they pretended to be looking at something else if they were in the company of wives, mothers-in-law, girlfriends or preachers. Maybe men considered showing a bra strap as a tease.
Well, those days are long gone. Women these days show up at the post office or the grocery store in costumes that leave little to the imagination. There are instances where my first inclination is to look away to avoid violating a woman’s privacy. This is the Whole Foods grocery store, not the Horny Harry’s Saloon in Las Vegas.
Nobody asked me to be a referee or an umpire to say exactly how many clothes a woman must wear to be presentable. And so my reactions are greatly muted. But nonetheless, it would be worth the price of admission to hear what Lillie, Verna and Opal would say at today’s openness. They all died several years ago. You may rest assured that at their funerals, not a bra strap could be seen. So in the end, Lillie pretty much got her way.
For this old essayist, my view is that bras and half slips are not sinful inventions. Satan is in charge of shoes that don’t fit or shirts a half inch too small in the collar. It would come as a great surprise to me to find the Devil diddling around with female intimate apparel. On the other hand, many of us believe that a bra strap showing is clearly the work of unseen sinister forces that man is ill equipped to understand.

New Jersey’s Roundabout Roadways

As a means of shifting gears from female underwear and the current situation with the resignation of New Jersey’s governor, it may be well to say a few words about the roadways in this state.
In England, many years ago, when highways intersected, the English invented a devilish device known as a “Roundabout.” At heart, the roundabout places a large circle where the roadways come together. The theory is that drivers can stay with the circle until it is time for them to peel off and continue. That, my friends, is THE THEORY. In our mother country, all cars and trucks are driven from the right, but on the left side of the roadway. Perhaps that makes it easier for Englishmen to negotiate roundabouts while avoiding accidents from every quarter.
When highways in the Great State of New Jersey were laid out back in the 1920’s, a commissioner or a governor made the fatal mistake of borrowing roundabouts from England, calling them circles. Most have by now been discarded because of the great number of accidents they cause. It seems to me that here in New Jersey or in England, cars entering the roundabouts do not reduce speed and assume they have the right of way. Those are two fatal mistakes.
There are no signs signaling drivers to stay in a lane. In effect, when drivers enter a roundabout, it soon becomes a matter of bullying or luck that determines how cars will proceed. These devices may have been appropriate for England in days when cars were driven more slowly, but they are completely out of place in New Jersey.
Let me give you an example. On Highland Avenue at the railway station in Short Hills, New Jersey, there is a roundabout that connects with Hobart Avenue, a busy street, and at least two other lesser streets. It has been my observation that Saturday driving is by far the most treacherous day of the week. Young men in testosterone hyped sports cars and SUV’s who have been working in offices all week are out to show how quickly they can exceed 60 miles per hour. This is a formula for disaster.
It is made even more dangerous by the existence of a dark railroad underpass a short distance from the roundabout. When drivers emerge from the underpass, they enter the roundabout and feel no need to slow down – even when making a left turn – because they are following the contours of the roundabout. On the other side of the roundabout, if one wishers to peel off and enter the railroad underpass, he or she must deal with cars on the right side coming from Hobart Avenue.
This is a small example in a small town that is ripe for head-on collisions as well as cars plowing into the side of other cars all of whom can claim they have the right-of-way.
The roundabout in this town must cover a half to three quarters of an acre. There are benches where people may sit on the lawn to watch the near and full collisions. And the roundabout serves another purpose. It seems to be owned by the local government. As Christmas approaches, partisans put up signs extolling the joys of Christmas. It seems to me that people who adhere to the Jewish faith also occasionally put up signs or symbols. Angry letters to the editor of the local newspaper deplore putting up signs that erode the church-state relationship.
Perhaps there is something to be said for reading the handmade signs extolling the benefits of Chanukah and Christmas as a demolition derby takes place in front of them. We dumped the tea in the Boston harbor to show our disgust with the kingship of George III. Roundabouts would seem the obvious next rejection of Merrie Olde England, but there seems to be no movement to abolish them. Perhaps when a Saturday office worker in a souped-up Hummer runs over the religious signs, there may be a movement to do away with the roundabouts. Just remember what the Brits say, “What you gain on the turns, you lose on the roundabouts.”

The Demise of Dear Sir and Yours Truly

This little shaving thought has nothing to do with bra straps or New Jersey roundabouts. It isn’t supposed to. The thought that strikes me today often will have no reference to previous thoughts. When a thought makes a repeat appearance, it is interpreted by me as a spiritual sign that it should be written about to keep the Mark of the Beast away or to avoid the fall of Babylon which was described a little earlier.
This comment which will close the Third Edition of Shaving Thoughts has to do with an ancient custom in English usage which has made no sense since the age of chivalry. In this edition it is asked why in the world should letters start with an obvious falsehood and end with what is known as a “complimentary close,” that is equally outrageously false.
For all the years this ancient essayist attended schools, teachers demanded that every letter start with the greeting of “Dear Sir” or
“Dear Miss Brown” or “Dear Mr. bin Laden.” Every letter was expected to end with a pledge that could never be fulfilled when it is written, “Yours truly.” Is this a marriage where the writer pledges himself to the recipient of the letter as “Truly yours”?
A letter arrived here for example, addressed to “Dear Mr. Carr” with a complimentary close of “Sincerely.” The letter is from my broker. In telephone conversations, we address each other using first names. It is my expectation that both of us are sincere in getting our business done. But here is a form of written address that has survived hundreds of years. For many years now, my reaction has been, “enough already.”
My correspondence studiously avoids referring to anyone as “Dear” in the opening salutation. If it fell to me to write Osama, my letter would simply say, “Mr. bin Laden.” Closing the letter might pose a different problem as there would be a strong tendency on my part to say, “Drop Dead.” No opening “Dears” or “Cordially” or “Sincerely,” or “Yours truly.” Statements of that sort seem completely hypocritical to me, whether to bin Laden or to the local preacher.
If there is something that is complimentary or derogatory, it can be said in the body of the letter. Wouldn’t it be absurd to write a letter excoriating someone and sign it under the complimentary close of “Cordially” or “Sincerely”?
Advancing age and retirement probably make it much easier to adopt the modern form of letter writing that is proposed here. It is easy for me to envision a boss with a 1900’s mind set insisting on “Dear Sir” and “Yours truly.” Ah, but those people must be worked on because continuing the customs that were in vogue prior to the Boston Tea Party profits no one.
It is quite obvious to most everyone that breaking the habits of a lifetime might be very difficult to do. On the other hand, practitioners of the advanced form of enlightened correspondence, will notice a freedom and happiness never known before. Accordingly, trashing “Dear Sir” and “Yours truly” and “Sincerely” comes with high recommendations from this old essayist.
E. E. CARR
August 31, 2004
~~~
“Satan is in charge of shoes that don’t fit or shirts a half inch too small in the collar.” A-friggen-men.
I’d put this in the top 20 essays on the site, I think. I gotta get my ‘category’ features working again (I can’t add new ones right now) so that I can designate that appropriately.
The discussion of roundabouts compels me to show you the amazing work of traffic engineering that Burlingame California has invented. It takes all the worst parts of roundabouts, and combines them with the worst parts of a traditional intersection.
Introducing the traffic diamond:

Regarding the last section, I still haven’t completely settled on how to treat greetings and closings for work emails. “Hi bin Laden,” “Hey bin Laden,” etc can seem too informal. But starting a work email with “Dear bin Laden” would be extremely strange. A colleague of mine was criticized by starting an email with “Hey guys,” because Sephora is a largely female company, and apparently “guys” was insulting. Closing is equally awkward. I won’t say “Yours Truly” but I usually default to “Best,” which doesn’t make a tremendous amount of sense either. I always like to read it in my head without the comma and line break — “Best Kevin.” This way I can imagine that I’m just closing each email by declaring that I am the superlative Kevin, which is important because there are currently three total Kevins involved in my project alone.