After posting on Open Salon for over two years, I recently realized that I have pretty much run out of ideas for posts.  Concurrent with that realization was the realization that few people care what I think about politics, religion, etc.  Hell, even I don't much care what I think about politics, religion, etc.

So I have decided to do a series of posts on The Good Life -- gadgets, experiences, people, etc., that make life better for me.  The first in this series is about the haircut that I received today.

For those who know me only from the cover of Time magazine, you will realize that I no longer have hair down past my shoulders.  The spouse put her foot down and commanded that, like Sampson of the Bible, I be shorn.  I think she didn't like the idea of having a husband whose long hair looked better than hers.

So my hair was removed at Supercuts, though it felt more like an amputation than a haircut, and I understood why Sampson lost his strength.

And there is something creepy about Supercuts, something unseemly about getting a man's haircut in the presence of female clients.  It's like using a urinal in the women's restroom -- difficult not to look at others, and hoping that no one is looking at you.  And Supercuts has nothing of the ambiance of  the old style barber shop -- no stacks of hunting and fishing magazines, no old men smoking cigars in the waiting area, no taxidermied animal heads, no spitoons.  How someone can get a haircut outside of the presence of a spitoon is a mystery to me, but I knew that this is a burden I would have to bear.

And so I began to search for a true barber shop, something that would evoke my childhood barber shop memories, even though I knew the experience would be spitoon-less.  Fortunately I did not have to look far.  My father-in-law informed me of a good barber shop, presided over by "Peggy." 

Times change.  The spitoon is gone, the cigar smoke is gone, and even the male barber is gone.  But I decided to give Peggy a try.

No appointment was necessary, and I just appeared.   Though run by a woman the place looked like a barber shop.  It had a kind of cluttered, bachelor-pad look to it:

 If you wonder what that thing hanging on the wall is, yes, it is the back end of a deer, or at least the simulacrum of one:

 No doubt about it.  I was in a barber shop.

 A young man and his son were there; the little boy was already done and Peggy was putting the finishing touches on dad's military-style haircut.

Then it was my turn.  Peggy invited me to the chair, removed my glasses, and put a paper collar around my neck.  The haircut went well, and I conversed with Peggy as she worked.

She said that she had been in the hair business for over thirty years, and was certified in several specialties.  About seven years ago she decided to get out of beauty shops ("too catty") and go into barbering.  She also does hair coloring and has a stable of ladies whose hair she services in her home.  She works part-time in this shop and also part-time in another shop.  After so many years of caring for other people's hair she has tendonitis in both arms and can no longer work full time.  

After trimming my eyebrows and the hair that unfortunately grows out of geezer's ears, the haircut was almost done.  She finished by retrieving a handful of hot shaving cream from a dispenser and applied that to the back of my neck, and trimmed a precise line with a straight razor.

She said that she also does shaves with a straight razor the old fashioned way, with a hot towel on the face.  She explained that the whole process takes thirty minutes, so she charges twenty dollars for a shave, instead of the fourteen dollars for a haircut.

Finally the haircut was done, and I approach the cash register with wallet in hand.  She casually asked if I were working, and I replied "not now, but I'm looking."  Instead of the fourteen dollars she rang up eleven dollars, without comment.  I thanked her for her kindness, but paid the fourteen dollars plus a two dollar tip.  

Overall it was a great experience and a great haircut.  It happens that the area's best meat store is located next door, and I went in and purchased dinner.  

And in case you're wondering, here's the final result:

 Next time, maybe a shave too.