Lot's of encouraging and thoughtful replies. I'm very appreciative for every comment so far. I'm reading everything and taking notes. The last time I gave this a try I spend a few months studying and practicing intensely on the subject.
The things I'm taking to heart now that I didn't quite understand in the past are how important a good strop is. The shop where I bought the Boker razor from didn't have a selection when it came to strops. Also the salesperson, although helpful, probably didn't appreciate just how desperate I was to learn as much as possible. I don't think he was as enthusiastic about straight razor shaving as I was then.
As a way of giving some back-story, I'll relate what really discouraged me and ultimately got me to give up shaving altogether for the past couple of years (yes I grew my beard out completely and I miss it very much). Towards the end of my shaving experience, I began to get depressed because I could never hone my razor to the level it was when I bought it (which still wasn't as sharp as I'd like). I saw a really helpful set of videos on youtube showing a method using a whetstone with a slurry and black electrical tape. I didn't have the stone, but I had the tape and the spyderco. I thought I was in for sure.
Fast forward a few weeks and I'm failing miserably and the edge is getting worse by the day. So I finally gave in and called in for some help. Enter a man that sharpens kitchen knives with his mobile utility van. He was visiting my parents to sharpen their set of knives, so what I thought was a reasonable conclusion, he must know what he's doing and that he could help me.
What took place was quite shocking, and perhaps nightmare worthy to many of you. To the squeamish, you have been warned. I handed him the razor asking him what he thought, and he said something to the effect of "Oh nice! I've always wanted to get into sharpening these." That was red flag number 1. He swung open the back door to his van and turned on his belt sander... And as quickly as he turned it on and sat down, he was grinding away on the razor. I was speechless. I couldn't move either as I watched in horror of what was taking place.
What he handed back to me was an edge that was worse off than before. He asked me to try it out and see what I thought. This, obviously, I could not do. So I smiled and said "Sure". I went to the bathroom and examined the edge closer with the tiniest bit of hope that something magical might have happened. I put the blade to my beard and, what next? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The razor couldn't cut one strand. I think that was the moment I really died inside.
Well I can't actually remember anything after that. I don't even know if I saw the man again. If I did, I know I probably just lied and said thanks, as would be my normal way of avoiding confrontation and not making waves. Besides, I knew I was the one to blame when I saw the belt sander turn on. I should have stopped him there. Wherever you are, mobile kitchen knife sharpener, may the razor gods be with you. I hope you've found what you've been looking for.
