About a year ago, I decided to buy a single-edged razor from Supply. I did it partially in a quest for a better shave, but also out of frustration at paying high prices for multirazor cartridge blades.

I tried, but hated, Dollar Shave Club. I also subscribed to Harry’s, and while I enjoy the lower price and convenience of a subscription, overall their quality is not impressive.

When I ordered the Supply razor online, I immediately started receiving emails with links to tutorial videos. This timing is poorly thought out, as without having the product in hand, the videos aren’t very helpful. Additionally, I was annoyed by the anti-tracking alerts my computer displayed every time I watched one.

Once the razor arrived, I quickly realized that the tutorials didn’t accurately reflect the true out-of-box experience of loading the first blade. Here’s what they left out: The razor ships with a metal shim where the blade goes. My shim was red. You need to remove that before installing a blade. In my case, the shim was stuck in place and the only way to remove it was to disassemble razor by removing the thumbscrew under the head, (The thumbscrew is another thing that’s not mentioned in the half-dozen tutorial movies they inundate new buyers with.)

Because I wasn’t sure how to load my first blade, I reached out to Supply via email, and then via text when I didn’t get a reply after a couple of days. Unfortunately, their eventual responses didn’t answer my question clearly.

I was off to a rocky start, for sure.

Also in the “poor experience” column, it’s not clear in the online store, but you get an 8-pack of blades with the handle. It’s nice to have the blades, but they should tell you exactly what’s included.

All that aside, the Supply razor consistently gives me the best home shave I’ve ever accomplished. It definitely takes some practice though, and here are my tips:

• Focus and do not rush. Do not let your mind wander when you shave. Enjoy the moment of mindfulness.
• Do not press. Not because you’ll cut yourself, but because you’ll weirdly get a closer shave with a light touch.
• Angles matter. Although all razor manufacturers will tell you to be aware of your whisker grain, it is even more important now. Additionally, make sure the Supply logo is against your face.
• When you replace the blade, its position in the handle matters. (Another fact omitted by the tutorial videos.) This is where the thumbscrew adjustment comes into play. See the photo below and note there are no cutouts visible above the cutting edge.

I also recommend buying the handle grip, particularly if you shave in the shower. The razor is heavy and can get quite slippery.

Overall, I’m pleased with the Supply, although I’ve kept my subscription to Harry’s for use when I travel. The Supply razor is simply too heavy and expensive for me to take it on the road. But when I’m away from home, I definitely miss it.

You can get blades from the Amazon, but for the razor itself, you have to order direct. (That way they can send you all those tutorial videos.) The razor I have is now called the “The Single Edge SE,” and the price has come down from what I paid. However, don’t believe that “no learning curve” ad copy, there will be an adjustment period from using multiblades.

If you read my overview of AirTag cases, you might be wondering why I don’t use Tile products, as their thin, notched design doesn’t yearn for a case.

Well, I did use Tile, until the arrival of the AirTag. I took a half-dozen Tile Pro tags on a long trip to Europe, and they were nearly worthless. It was common to go a week or more without the tags ever being seen on the network, even by my device.

The issue, as far as I was able to determine, is that the tags are only seen by devices that have the Tile app installed. And there simply aren’t enough of those to make for a robust and useful location network. (Although this doesn’t explain why my phone, positioned mere feet from the tag, sometimes still couldn’t see it.)

When I switched to using AirTags, I thought I might be able to sell my Tiles on eBay. But seeing that they are going for pennies on the dollar, clearly other folks have figured out their underperformance too. (I ended up recycling mine.)

Trust me, if you want something that can actually locate your items, your answer is AirTag. It’s remarkable how well they work.

After the initial novelty of iOS’ “Live Photos” wore off — several years ago — I’ve mostly ignored it. To me, it’s too gimmicky, and because it also records audio, I’m always a little worried that it’s going to leak information if I share the photo with someone else (“…smile for your evil Aunt!”).

But I’ve recently stumbled upon a new use for it that is making me reconsider.

Earlier in the day, I was taking a photo of a waterfall, which Live Photo really is good at, and had left the feature turned on. Later, I had snapped a selfie with a group of friends. When I reviewed the photos later, I was sad to discover that the selfie sucked because one person had their eyes closed. Because Live Photos was still enabled, I was able to pick a new key frame where their eyes were open, rescuing my only snapshot of the evening.

As the co-author of Las Vegas: Underfoot I am amused at the absurd notion that the vibrant design of casino carpeting is psychological manipulation to induce gambling. Clearly, it is designed to make you drink more alcohol.

Just prior to the end of the Before Times, my wife and I spent about six months traveling and living in Europe and the UK. We learned a lot about extended trips and being nomadic, but the most common question we get about the trip is how we managed to pack for multiple seasons and climates.

We each had a medium carry-on bag, and the equivalent of a briefcase. Both of which were small enough to fit in the relatively tiny overhead shelves of European trains, and not be too much of a burden for carrying through cities. (Once we arrived overseas, we didn’t fly at all, our transportation was by foot, train, ferry, ship, or taxi.)

You’ll find plenty of sites with advice about luggage and what to wear and pack. But the one tip we learned — and never saw documented elsewhere — can be summed up in two words: fast fashion.

That is, we didn’t carry clothes for the three seasons during which we travelled (Summer, Fall, Winter). We bought and discarded clothes along the way. And the best and most useful of those came from the chain store Primark.

Primark, based in Ireland, is known for inexpensive clothing that doesn’t last long, which is perfect for this kind of trip. As the seasons change, replace what you’re packing. Doing this also removes anxiety from the laundry quandary — when your clothes are temporary and cheap, local laundry service or wash-in-the-hotel-sink becomes less worrisome.

How inexpensive am I talking? A whole outfit for less than the price of a meal! For example, I bought $12 jeans, $8 shirts, and a $22 jacket that I ended up bringing home and now wear for doing yard work.

Even if you’re not going on a long-term trip, packing light is always a good idea. And returning home with fewer clothes than you left with opens up room in your luggage for gifts, souvenirs, or other treasures you might find along the way.

An unanticipated bonus is that now, when we look at photos from our trip, not only do the locations bring up happy memories, but so do the long-lost clothes that we are wearing.

Yes, Primark is for travelers. Get a list of their locations from their website and bon voyage.

One of the most popular posts on Kevin Kelley’s “Cool Tools” site is my review of the Shave Well Shaving Mirror. It was also reprinted in the big (and fantastic) Cool Tools Compendium.

After I wrote an addendum to my review, the Shave Well company introduced their travel version, which I immediately bought and have taken on countless trips.

Nine years later, the mirror continues to be extraordinarily useful. Seriously, if you’re a shower shaver (or want to be), it’s a must-have accessory.

Instead of shuttling my travel-sized mirror between bathrooms at home, I recently decided to buy one for each shower.(Getting lathered up in the shower then realizing your mirror is in the other bathroom is a bummer.) When I looked on Amazon to buy another, I discovered that the success of Shave Well has spawned a host of imitators. Shamefully, an extra-large knockoff caught my eye, and I bought it. Bigger is always better, right?

Well, so far, so good. I am enjoying the larger size, but naturally, it’s also heavier. Too heavy to hang on the wall using the inexpensive suction cups that I use with the smaller Shave Well. And I’m certainly not going to cement a hook to my tile wall!

Instead, I recommend IKEA’s excellent suction cup hooks, such as the Krokfjorden or Tisken. They hold remarkably well.

(Photo by Kevin Baquerizo)

This year, I’ve driven back-and-forth across much of the United States multiple times. Resulting in at least 6000 miles of travel, and several weeks of being on the road.

As a fan of Blue Highways, stopping in small-town America is always a highlight. (Although not always a respite when in Trump-y areas, such as Deadwood and all of Oklahoma.)

One consistent attribute of many small towns is what I’ve come to call “Dead Soldier Square.” It’s remarkable how many places have memorials to residents who have died in recent military service. Occasionally, it’s an old-school statue, but more often the memorial consists of photos of the dead on streetlight poles, or otherwise distributed along Main Street. Every so often, the placards are placed in the windows of empty storefronts, which makes them even more haunting and evocative by combining two forms of civic loss.

The photos of dead youth haunt your every step. The intention is probably to remind the living of their sacrifice, but I suspect the actual result is numbing and normalization.

It’s especially poignant knowing that for at least some of these young people, joining the military was the only viable means of escape from the town. And now, in death, the town is the only place where they are remembered.

It’s election season in Nevada, and I was surprised to see how many candidate signs were placed in empty lots around Las Vegas. They were all lined up, like rows of corn plants in the Midwest.

But after seeing so many of these strange outcroppings, I began to notice a disturbing similarity. Many of the signs featured portraits of the candidates. (In fact, at first glance, they’re easy to mistake for Realtor advertisements.) However, of the signs that featured a photo, they were almost exclusively showing Caucasians. Mostly men, of course, but also white women.

Now, granted, Nevada is about 73% white, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that the message being sent was “Vote for me because I look like you.”

As the co-author of Las Vegas: Underfoot, a photo book about Sin City’s terra magica, I was thrilled to find a thoughtful appreciation for casino carpeting at Casino.org. A kindred spirit, indeed!

Earlier this year, my wife and I decided to take advantage of an apparent lull in the plague by hitting the road. Specifically, “the mother road.”

Route 66 begins in Chicago, just a few blocks away from our home, and ends somewhere in California. (Where, exactly? Figure it out. Have you confused my blog with Wikipedia?) Our plan was to drive it through Arizona, then diverge into fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.

I should note that one does not actually drive Route 66. It doesn’t exist anymore, except as various non-contiguous historic snippets of varying length. Most of them are business loops through small, forgotten towns that desperately suckle from the teat of having once been a vibrant part of the route.

We’ve driven portions of the route before, I knew there was no shortage of roadside kitsch to explore, so I thought a travel book would be helpful in this regard. (Alas, online resources like Atlas Obscura were unimpressive.) However, I was surprised to find that my local Barnes & Noble had exactly zero books on the subject. What the hell? It’s literally a Chicago landmark.

So, I turned to the Amazon, making heaving use of their “Look Inside” feature to preview the contents of each book that caught my eye. Thank heavens I did, as it revealed how boring and filler-packed each book was. I began to fear that I would never find the mother lode about the Mother Road. (Forgive me.)

Then I came across Secret Route 66 by Jim Ross and Shelly Graham. The book’s subtitle, “A Guide to the Weird, Wonderful, and Obscure,” was right up my alley. Look Inside revealed the location of road tar footprints improbably left by a very heavy bird crossing the road. I couldn’t click “Buy Now” fast enough.

I’m glad that I did. The book added a lot of flavor to our road trip. If you’re going to buy into the nostalgia of taking such a drive, you should embrace all the quirky and cheesy things that come with it, and this book will help you do so.

My initial concern about the book was its age. Published in 2017, I feared that the ravages of Trumpism and COVID-19 would render much of the information obsolete. Some information the book includes was probably out of date before the book rolled off the printing presses. However, many of the roadside attractions have weathered other storms and are still in operation (although barely so, in some cases). Furthermore, like the aforementioned chicken footprints, many of the features that Ross and Graham have included are not dependent upon visitors to keep them afloat. (The authors do love pointing out old bridges, for some reason.) As with any book, use the web to sanity-check any information that would throw your plans out of whack if it’s no longer correct.

If you get the book, I recommend paying attention to the small towns that the authors highlight. We pulled off to visit several of them, and they were almost all worthwhile, charming stops. One that we intended to visit is Galena, Kansas. But I accidentally programmed the navigation system for Galena, Missouri instead. We discovered that Galena, MO is a town of less than 500 people with a surprisingly large “downtown” for its size. However, we felt like we were in a Twilight Zone episode. Every business (even City Hall) was locked up tight in the middle of the afternoon. We didn’t see a single person, but there were at least a dozen cars parked on the streets. Was there a mandatory town meeting in progress? Were they watching us? It was an eerie and interesting visit!

The book does have one glaring flaw: a complete lack of any discernible organization. For example, the first item in the book is from the middle of the route. Did it not occur to the authors or publishers that a linear progression, East or West, would make perfect sense? Its random presentation of locations makes the book very difficult to use as a planner, and worse, worthless as a reference during the drive itself. Even a simple map of the route, with locations indicated, would make the book much more useful. Truly, what were they thinking?

To work around the problems of aged info and perplexing organization, I recommend creating a Guide in the Apple Maps app. Moreover, while you’re at it, take a look at the curated Route 66 guides that are available in Maps, they’re perfect for the mainstream attractions.

Happy trails!