Haircut

I was once a little boy with hair. That is a true statement. It is also true that I never gave serious thought to my hair. All I knew about my hair was that on occasion Mom would give me a haircut, and on these occasions she would invariably make the comment, "T.J., you have a great head of hair!" She would then proceed to cut the bulk of it off. Most people, upon having such accolades poured regularly upon their heads, would grow justifiably vain of their locks. I never fell prey to such vanity. The praise was, after all, coming from my mother, and mothers are notoriously biased when it comes to their children's tresses. Even after developing a particularly admirable patch of white hair, though, I abstained from growing fond or careful of my hair. I consider this to be a rather remarkable part my identity.

I feel that it is in no way contradictory to follow this statement of carelessness as to the quality of my hair with the admission that it is a matter of concern to me where I get my haircut. It may be, in fact, that the reason I care about where I get my haircut is because I care little for my hair. Cutting my own hair is not an option. That would be spending too much time on my own hair. I am a barber shop guy. I want to get my haircut to the classic sound of Merle Haggard while sitting under the constant, unwavering gaze of an eight-pointer hung on the wall. I want to exchange lies with the barber about our most recent fishing trips. I want to get a get a Coke from a fifty year old Coke machine when the shearing is done. Most of all, and this is an absolute must, I want to refrain from even the slightest hint of any conversation about hair during the entire time I am at the barber shop. It is largely for this reason that I hate going to hair salons. There is nothing good about a hair salon. I have no desire to have some guy running his hands through my hair and talking about "possibilities." If I can't have a barber shop, I prefer to take steps such as going to church during the week and having the church secretary do the shearing. This was my course of action throughout college (for those of you who don't know me, yes, I went to college).

Why, you ask, am I spilling so much figurative ink over my preferences of the setting in which the hair is taken off the old noggin? Well, a couple of days I had a new haircutting experience here in Taipei. I went to a tiny place near a night market where one may find three dollar haircuts. The haircutee approaches the emporium and deposits a hundred NT bill into a machine that then spits out a ticket with a number printed on it. Ticket in hand, he stands patiently on the street until his number is called. At this time he enters the establishment and spends about 10 seconds inside before exiting with a fresh new outlook on life. Yes, these barbers are quite efficient. The barber's sheet barely has time settle down before it is whisked off again. In those few seconds, follicles are severed and then sucked up by a shop vac that is waved a few times over the head. One might think that they would leave a mangled mess on top of their victims' heads. This isn't, I don't think, the case; though in keeping with my usual attitude towards my hair, I haven't given to much thought to the quality of its post-haircut state. I wasn't in the shop long enough to be sure, but as far as I could tell, there was no Haggard in the air, deer on the wall, or Coke machine near the door. This is not optimal haircutting conditions, but there was also no time for talking about "possibilities." Thus, it was an acceptable place in which to leave part of yourself behind.

In other news, a typhoon has found Taiwan to be rather intriguing and has engaged in an elaborate dance with the island. It rushed past once and then decided that Taiwan might just be worth a second look. Since then it seems to be making some sort of ceremonial step around the island. Somehow the typhoon has decided that the best way to win Taiwan's heart is to pour out incessant and unceasing rain on it. The typhoon is wrong. It has been raining for a week now, and Taiwan is tired of it. Stop making a pest of yourself, Megi. Take a hint and go away now.