Showing posts with label haircut. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haircut. Show all posts

Friday, August 31, 2007

A hairy tale

I've just now gotten back from my haircut at one of the most interesting barber shops I've ever been to, a dandy's paradise called Freemans Sporting Club. Freemans is actually a men's clothier; I asked how much a made-to-measure suit goes for and was told, "about $3000." For that princely sum, they'll make you a suit that fits like a glove, from virtually any material, including deadstock wool manufactured in the 1950s. But I'm just here to get my hair cut, and the barbershop is in the back of the store. The haircuts are much, much cheaper than the suits.

Freemans Barbershop looks like it was built in the 1920s (to see what I mean, check out a picture here), but it wasn't. It's only eleven months old, so the whole place is anachronistic. The barber chairs were made in the 1920s, but there's a 21st century stereo system playing rock n' roll on a window sill. There's a rack of this month's men's magazines (GQ, Details, Esquire) by the waiting bench, but there's also a secret stash of Penthouse issues from the 1970s under the bench. The amply tattooed barber is an amiable 30-something chap who is privy to the latest in technology -- he's looking to import a hot new Japanese hair product into New York -- but wears a porkpie hat and uses a straight razor. And his name is Shorty. It says so on his business card.

How was the haircut? Quick, unfussy, and nuanced; Shorty knows his stuff. I'll be going back, but next time, I'll bring my own reading material.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

More short notes

First, an explanation: Every time I write some short notes, like I'm doing at this very moment, it's not that I have nothing to write about -- it's that I have too many things to write about. I wrote on Monday that I occasionally have about fifteen things in my head at the same time, waiting to be typed out in little digital letters on a too-small monitor, all vying for the spotlight. I used the number fifteen then because I needed a random number, but tonight, I really do have fifteen things to write about. Is that just an incredible coincidence, you might ask, or is Darren lying through his teeth? We shall see.
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The last thing I wrote was number one. This is number two: I've been given the day off tomorrow (Friday), a fact I should be celebrating but strangely am not. Days off from work are few and far between, even in a creative industry like mine, so I end up using them for things I have to do rather than things I want to do.
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Which means, in all likelihood, I'm going to get a haircut tomorrow. In a previous post, I told you how much my laundry bill is. There's no way I'm going to admit how much I have to pay to get my hair cut. That's the problem with hair -- it grows back! And when my hair is long, I look like the kid Bruce Lee beat up in high school.
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The good news is that after I get my haircut, I'll still have time to visit the Museum of Modern Art, my single favorite art venue in the world.
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Also, I'll be attending the Seaport Music Festival in the evening.
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So it looks as if I'll be having a well mapped-out, eventful day tomorrow. But to paraphrase Robert Burns, the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. And let me tell you something: there's no better place than New York to make a man feel like a mouse.
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At the very least, I'll have an extended weekend. Monday is the federal holiday known as Labor Day (not to be confused with May Day, which is celebrated on May 1st outside the United States).
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This is item number eight of fifteen: I found out Cameron Diaz is in New York shooting a movie. An acquaintance of mine sat next to her at a Korean restaurant, and that very same day, I was walking home from work and saw that the street was going to be closed off to accommodate a film crew. There were signs posted up on buildings informing the public that parking on the street was disallowed because Twentieth Century Fox was shooting something called What Happens in Vegas... So I went home and looked it up on IMDb, and guess who's starring in it.
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Here's my connection to Cameron Diaz. Remember Prince Street Cleaners, the laundromat I go to around the corner? [Read this post to refresh your memory.] Well, a few months ago, I stopped by to pick up my laundry, and John, the guy who runs the place, told me that if I'd dropped them off later in the day, I would've bumped into Cameron Diaz. She'd ducked into the laundromat to get a button re-sewn, and had waited inside as patiently as the paparazzi had waited outside, cameras in hand. Now, I don't particularly care for Cameron Diaz, but she obviously has superb taste in picking laundromats.
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Actors are in the city all the time, because at any given time, there are countless movies and tv shows being filmed in New York. But no matter how common this is, people will still stop and gawk. When they were shooting You Don't Mess with the Zohan a few weeks ago, I met a woman who told me she was waiting by the side of the street for Adam Sandler's limo to drive by. Never mind that there was no guarantee of even catching a glimpse of the actor behind those tinted windows. Ridiculous, I thought, as I took out my camera and waited with her.
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Number eleven: Speaking of ridiculous, there were two topless sunbathers on the roof of the building next to my office this past Tuesday. Tuesday was cloudy.
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Twelve: Oh, who am I kidding? I don't really have
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fifteen things
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to write
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about.