The older I get the less inclined I am to try new things. I used to laugh at Dana Carvey's Grumpy Old Man routines on Saturday Night Live, but I wouldn't if I saw them now because I'd be laughing at myself. We grumpy old men don't laugh at ourselves. We don't buy newfangled razors, either. Or we shouldn't. I did and the one I bought stinks and I don't like it.

I've never been big on razors. My beard has always leaned closer to the peach fuzz camp than the one for wire brushes. I can go a week without shaving and walk down any street without being arrested for vagrancy. Yet, when I do shave I want a close shave. This is why I've never liked electric razors. Tried 'em. Always too much stubble afterward. It's an aesthetic thing. A tactile preference. I want to be able to run my hand along my cheek and find it as smooth as a girl's. I should probably look into this, but there are too many more important things to worry about.

Shaving, when I do it, has always been relatively simple. I gave up using shaving cream so long ago I couldn't tell you who was president at the time, or even which party was screwing us. Never been a good market target for Big Shava. In fact I've avoided the giants for decades, shunning Schick and Gillette for plastic Bics. Until recently I bought the cellophane bags of a dozen or so throwaway razors.

Several months ago, on an insane impulse, I bought instead a pack of three plastic Bic Soleils. Not sure why I made this sea change choice, but I believe what closed the deal for me was the fact that I could buy replacement blade heads, which seemed – and still does – a smarter consumer choice than replacing the whole thing whenever the blades got dull. I could keep one handle in my travel bag, one in the bathroom, with the the third as a spare in case I lost one of the others. Besides, the handle had a modern, sensuous curve to it with a little indentation for my thumb. It felt good in the hand. My first shave with my new Soleil was so unexpectedly pleasurable it made me want to be a more frequently shaving man. I had a notion to look for a preacher so Sunny Soleil and I could tie the knot.

The honeymoon ended too soon, as soon as I tried to find replacement blades. A gimmick, my cynical mind wondered? Never intended to sell replacement blades? I did manage to find some after checking three different stores, but it was clear that these were not priority inventory items. They were pushing Big Shava's stuff. So when my replacement blades got dull I broke down and bought a Schick.

By then I'd read something about the war between Schick and Gillette over new razors they were marketing. Both sounded similar, with contoured handles, four titanium blades, swivel heads, “prep strips” and probably other attractions described in print so fine I couldn't find them. The war was not being fought was not in the features, however, but in the featuring. Gillette was spending more money on retailers to display its new product more prominently than Schick's. Sure enough, this is what I found at Wal-Mart when I went to find new replacement blades for my Soleil. Gillette was everywhere and Schick was just out of the spotlight.

The Bics themselves were pushed to the bottom of the rack by the new stuff, and there were no replacement blades. I looked at both the Schick Quattro and the Gillette Fusion Pro Glide. Fancy packaging, shiny metal razors. I hadn't owned a metal razor since Kennedy was in the White House. I bought one of the two as a practical matter, figuring at least I wouldn't have to hunt for replacement blades later, or at least until the next new marketing venture hit the shelves. I bought the Schick on the principle, longstanding with me – at least since the brilliant Avis commercials - that it's better to support a trying harder number two than the top dog.

My first shave with the Quattro was a huge disappointment. Felt good in the hand, of course. Felt good on the face, as I figured. Was afraid of my beard, my sissy beard. Then I noticed the whiskers jammed between the four “no friction” blades. Couldn't get them out. Would need a stiff-bristled brush, and even then, not sure.

I should have Googled for blog-type comments on these razors before I bought one. They would have told me the same thing I'd experienced – the honest ones, that is.  Other comments, and all of the posted “reviews,” sang praises in four-part harmony.  I found no middle ground.

I now have a nicely contoured, shiny metal paperweight called “Squattro.” I shaved yesterday with the plastic Soleil I found in my overnight bag. A bit of stubble today, but after the shave my cheeks were as smooth as a girl's. I should probably look into this, but my time would be better spent Googling replacement blades.