The single most thrilling experience of my entire life

I bid on a hair cut from the Sam Wong salon and I won.  I believe I was supposed to be cut by Jocelyn, but guessing from her My Space page, she's moving.  Or something.  But she wasn't there, which is just as well b/c her blog is poetry.  As it happens, the man Sam Wong was there for me.  I paid $30 at the auction, which is more than many people spend on a cut, but is low for me.  What isn't low is the $75 this cut usually costs.    I hadn't had a cut in way too long, so I was hurting.  The fact that it is Friday the 13th was not lost on me.  Steve pointed out that he was boarding an airplane on Friday the 13th.  Please, I'm getting my hair cut by someone I've never met!  No one cares what you look like in a plane crash. sheesh.  (although Jerry pointed out that Steve will have a 30 hour Friday 13th since he's flying from London today.  Hope Jason doesn't show.)

I go in and a young thing with that weird choppy white hair with random clips, giant retro-80s (GAH!) glasses and bright red lips hands me a bundle.  "This is your robe.  I'll take you to the bathroom to put it on."  Robe?  I check, nope, no stirrups on those chairs, so um, robe?  "Oh, you can just put it on over your shirt.  Some people like to just wear the robe."  Yeah.  Some people like to wear giant 80s glasses.  I'm going to just slip this on, okay?  It's like a graduation gown.  But without the stylin' hat/cutting board.  Sam comes out. He's a Chinese dude (get OUT!  Really?  With a name like Wong?  no, seriously) about my age or older b/c who can tell with Asian dudes? They look 25 until they suddenly look 90.  He has shoulder length hair and a guayabera shirt open to the 3rd button and a charm of some sort on a leather thong. Necklace kind. I didn't see his skivvies.  But he looks cool.  Of course, because he's an Asian dude.

He runs his hands through my hair, weighing it, pulling it this way and that, asking me about what I want, how much work I'll put into it (none), etc.  He hands me back to Ralphie Girl to shampoo.  She gives me a looovely shampoo and scalp massage.  Now those who know me know I'm no fan of massage in general, but I love me a head rubbin'.  Especially a mint scented one.  She brings me back out to the chair and one of the two old dogs hanging around the salon (like getting your hair cut on Jed Clampett's porch!) comes over and begins to methodically lick my leg as if it were included in the treatment.  Um.  No thank you?  I scratch her ears and try to scootch her away.  She licks my arm while I do it.  I love the doggies, but I can't see that this is popular with much of the $75 haircut crowd.  Unless they bill it as an Organic Enzymatic Sponging.

Sam comes back, combs me out.  Then he starts beating me in the head.  No, really.  He has his comb and scissors in one hand and he kind of karate chops (not a slur.  Really) my skull with one hand and the comb.  Then he pulls out a strand of hair and cuts the bottom 1/8 inch off.  BapBapBapPuuulllClip.  BapBapBapPuuuullClip.   It felt like imagine a cut would feel from Edward Scissorhands.  Weirdest haircut EVER.  Once he has battered me senseless, he clips it all up again and clips, basically, one hair at a time. Clip, measure.  clip, measure.  It was very....deliberate.  Finally, an hour later, he hands me back to Ralphie for the blow out.  Why do salon blow dries take so long?  It's like the blow drier contains the exhalations of a single vole.  Then Sam comes back, runs his fingers through it again, and sends me on my way.  I was basically pleased, although honestly, after all that work, I ought to be unrecognizable.

Taking a picture of myself is always a treat.  I always get one of 4 looks.
"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I will CUT you." 

The Hypnotist 

I spared you the most common one: "Dude, this is good weed!"  But yes, I took many and those are the cream of the crop.  I'm ever so photogenic.

To paraphrase Vincent, "It's a good haircut, but it ain't worth no fuckin' $75."