Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Price of Good "H"
I'm not sure if its a Jewish thing (I don't think it is), but when I was growing up I never went to a barber. In fact, when I thought of what a barber would look like, it resembled Eddie Murphy In "Coming to America." As a youth, my hair was always taken care of at Salons, where gay men and beautiful women parading around in trendy clothes replaced black guys with clippers in their hands ready to shape-up and cut anything that sits in the chair for 8 dollars. Please don't mistake what I'm saying as me being above anybody else, because that's not the point I'm trying to make(even though that is true as well). Point being, it wasn't until I started paying for my own haircuts that I recognized the difference in what spending a little money on your "H" can do for not only your head, but for your soul as well.
Take for instance this 20 dollar cut I got the other day in Livingston. The place had the look of an upgraded barber shop, with hot towels, straight edge shaves, and all the accoutrement to boot. But as I sat in the chair and made small talk with my new friend who has traveled all over the United States cutting hair, i realized his techniques were not what i needed. He asked what I wanted, and what I got was something that resembled the leftover hair on top of a "Troll Doll's" head after my 11 year old brother and I got after it with a pair of scissors. After he singed my face with a hot towel, tightened me up with a straight blade, and gobbed enough hair gel on me to make what happened look presentable, I paid and walked out. The hair cut was a complete failure...In fact, not one mirror I have checked has made the hay trimmings on top of my head look even remotely decent.
I knew at that moment that what I wanted was only 2 blocks up the street, and a mere 20 dollars more. Instead of holding out and getting what I knew was right, I settled for the bells and whistles of a head rub, and now I'm paying the ultimate price.... Bad "H." For the next few weeks, I'm going to stare in the mirror even more intently, begging for the shit on top my head to grow back as quickly as possible. I promised my hair that I would never let it down again, and that this would be the last time I took the cheap/easy way out. I've written several poems to my hair and have even played the guitar for it, begging it for forgiveness. The last time i checked (about 2.5 minutes ago), I was still in that awful "too short" phase, that will hopefully lead to the bliss of that one week where the hair blossoms into the perfect length, and the vision of what i told "Rodney" what I wanted will come to life...
Until that day comes... don't call or write