And what is the Deal with that blue liquid that the combs are in???

So it's time to talk about something serious... My hair.

My hair is very special to me, like a pet or second-favorite child, and I've spent countless hours giving it nothing but love and attention. Only the finest and most expensive hair-care products are allowed to touch its precious follicles, and our bond grows closer with every deep-conditioning treatment.

As far as cutting goes, I never was very picky. I kept is simple, so any chimp with a razor and scissors could do a decent job, and then I'd take care of the rest at home. So, in Madison, it was always Cost Cutters, and they never let me down. "Take an inch off the top, and shave the sides and back, #3 razor guard," I'd say, and that's what they did. Sometimes, if they decided to go beyond my expectations, like by using the little texturizing-scissors thing or by flirting with me, I'd give them a tip.

So now I've moved, and had gone over two months without a haircut. I've gone longer (eight, ten) but at this stage it's difficult to manage sometimes, and I decided it was time for a trim. Last Saturday afternoon we were driving up to Madison for a party, so I decided to get it cut on Saturday morning. Now, my neighborhood has a lot of little 'salons,' but all of these look rather minimalistic and expensive, and, being poor, I tried to find someplace a little more cost-effective. Plus, I'd never need the fancy-type places in the past, so why start now?

The only no-frills, inexpensive-looking place I could find was a barbershop. It had a spinning pole outside and 70s decor. Now, I had a few reservations about the barbershop. First, I hadn't been to one in a number of years, and that didn't go very well (My hair had been bleached to an orangish color, and the barber didn't seem to realize this until he was nearly finished cutting). Secondly, I've had bad experiences with crusty old men touching me. But, I figured, how bad could it be? I wasn't asking for much. So I walked in. There were about 5 barbers, no customers. The barbers ranged in age from 30 to 70. Remember the old logic problem about how you go to a town with two barbers, and one of them has a horrible haircut and the other a great haircut, and of course you get your hair cut by the one with the bad hair, because obviously they cut each other's hair? Remember? Well, I tried to find the one with the worst hair, but instead he found me. I didn't have a choice, really, I hung up my coat and he was the only one that stood by his chair and got ready for me to sit down. So I thought maybe this was a good thing, like he was the number one barber in the rotation, and therefore got the first customer. His hair looked like it hadn't been cut in years, it was a grayish/white and hung down to his shoulders in one giant curly clump without any individual hairs visible to the naked eye. I'm not sure what nationality he was, he had an accent, though he didn't really speak. In case he was a 'talker,' I had planned on making up an elaborate life story (My name would be Chester). But he didn't say much of anything. I sat down and he got everything ready and grabbed his razor and stood poised an inch from my head. I told him what I wanted, and he got set to begin. There was a TV in the corner behind me, with a college basketball game on, and when he saw my glance at the TV he wordlessly turned the barber chair around so I could watch the game. I thought to myself: "Awesome." I really dug the place, big black and white tiles on the floor, wood paneling and a goddamn television right in front of me. But, as the unnamed barber began whirring and clumps of hair began falling onto my smock, I realized that since I was watching the basketball game, I could not see the mirror, and had no clue what was happening. He didn't seem to be cutting that much off, and was almost exclusively using the electric razor. Then he got out his straight-razor and did the back of my neck. He used the scissors for a bit on the top, put some old-man goop in it, and then brought out a giant man-brush and actually brushed my hair. When he turned me around... well, I wasn't horrified or anything, that would be a pretty predictable story. He didn't cut enough off the top, but oh well. And it looked all brushed and bushy, so I figured I could fix it OK after my shower. It looked neat enough though. I paid him, it was more that I was expecting ($17) so I was lucky I had that much cash on me, and then I hurried home.

When I got home I took a closer look. In retrospect, the lighting in the barbershop was not too bright, and I was a bit too far away from the mirror. The sides around my ears were shaved pretty short, but instead of blending in with the longer hair on the top, it just kind of looked like the top hairs hung awkwardly over an abyss, and curled under a bit, sort of like a stalk of celery or Beaker from the Muppets. To make matters more interesting, the left side looked semi-decent, but the right side was a much more exaggerated version. I decided to wash my hair and see if it was any different after I re-styled it. It really wasn't. It was fine on top, fine on the left side, and then a large tumor was growing out of the right side of my head. M got home from work at this point, gave me a compliment before I pointed out the deformity. She expressed equal horror, though she was mostly laughing. She then attempted to 'fix' it with a scissors and my sideburn/beard trimmer, both of which she wielded while standing on the toilet. I had my head over the sink. I really couldn't see into the mirror, but I could hear: brrr, brrr, brrr, BRRRRRR, "Whoops!". The sink was completely covered in hair, and when we finally agreed it was good enough, or enough damage was done, what was left cannot be properly described. From a distance, I'm sure it looks normal and fine, but upon examination, the right side looks like it was cut with a weed-wacker and/or samurai sword, the hair on top is an inch longer on the far right side, hangs down before awkwardly being chopped off. I keep looking in the mirror today, I still can't decide if it's OK or if it's a disaster. At the party Saturday night of course M had to tell everyone the whole story (a shorter version, I'm sure) and everyone could tell that something weird was going on, but all said they didn't notice anything at first. I think if I get a job interview anytime soon, I'm going to have to go somewhere else to get it fixed up. It obviously bothers me enough to write 1200+ words about it.