Author's Note: Any family members with heart conditions should skip the first paragraph.
Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially living in New York. You had to know that sooner or later some guy was going to put a blade to my throat and then make me give him money. For me, that day was yesterday. When it was done, I breathed a sigh of relief, smiled to myself, and tipped him. Because, really, if there's anyone you want to make sure you tip well, it's the guy with the blade on your jugular.
For those of you who haven't figured it out yet (and for those family members who heeded my warning) I went to the barber shop and got a professional shave yesterday. You see, last month I started growing a playoff beard in support of the San Jose Sharks. But last Sunday when the Sharks were eliminated from the playoffs, I was left looking like Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top for no reason. But, like, if he only grew facial hair on his neck and not his face. So really more like Kyle Orton. This was all well and good when it was in support of my team, but once they lost it was only nasty and brutish (sadly, it was not short). And since I was also in need of a haircut, I decided I'd take care of it all in one fell swoop.
So I looked for a barber shop where I could end my participation in the Grizzly Adams look-alike contest I had apparently entered. I came across a place called Solomon's Barber Shop. Given the name, the yarmulkes were not surprising. The Russian accents were. Still, despite the fears instilled by the film Eastern Promises (sorry, no link-- it's graphically violent, and this is a family blog) I went in and asked for a cut and a shave.
Men, (and some of you women... you know who you are) if you have never been professionally shaved, you really should try it. Yes, you could always shave yourself, but you don't have the time, skill, or equipment to do the job a professional does. Essentially, it's the male version of a manicure or pedicure. The parallels are actually quite striking. Both are grooming tasks that you can really do yourself, but to an inferior degree. Both leave you sounding like Ron Burgundy. Both make you feel pampered. And both will be gone (or at least will have lost their professional touch, which was the whole point) in a matter of days.
Now, I realize that I may have lost some of my men there. After all, if you're reading my blog, you must be a real man's man, right? So why would you want something I describe as being kin to a manicure? The key here is that it's got all of the benefits of a manicure, but with all of the awesomeness of being manly. I've never had a manicure before, but I imagine it doesn't involve a guy expertly wielding a razor sharp... um... razor right around your neck. And I'm not talking about one of those razors that has more blades than Wesley Snipes' filmography, I'm talking about an awesome, straight edge, kill you where you sit razor. And a piping hot towel wrapped around your face. It's really a wonderful experience.
In the slightly paraphrased words of Ferris Bueller, "I highly recommend getting one if you have the means. They are so choice." Add that to my list of discoveries here in New York.