You have cut hair before . . .

. . . I mean, human hair . . . right?

I always have a healthy sense of fear before letting somebody new cut my hair. I went to Floyd's "Barbershop" last night because they were open until 9pm and I didn't want to wait and possibly end up looking shaggy before Yom Kippur with Keely and her family. I guess hours are an ok justification for patronage, but . . .

Slowly disappearing are the days of the old barber. I remember going with my dad to get my haircut at the barbershop and walking in to see all barbers either working, smoking, watching western shows on TV or a combination of the three. These guys knew how to cut hair without the muss and fuss of a hybrid salon for dudes.

As there are no events in the immediate future that require neat hair beyond this weekend, I'll start searching the side streets and neighborhoods for a real barber. The true lament is that Louie sold out his share of the shop on Pearl St. and I don't know where to turn. Same thing happened with my first barbershop in Denver, at least I can get a burger there now.