December 28, 2004

8:36 p.m.

David and the Do

Slightly more productive today. I found a local yoga place; inquired at another health facility; got a way cool haircut.

I love my hair stylist. I haven't seen him in at least two years, since I've been cutting my own hair; but, driven crazy by the geekiness of my growing-out phase, I called up the salon where he now works and got an appointment for this afternoon.

David is tall and broad-shouldered and gay. He has a teeny little waist and hips, and unusually short legs for such an otherwise tall fellow. His hair used to be long and ringlety, and he'd gel it so it would separate into these lovely, highlighted curls. Now it's about 3/4" long and bleached almost white.

It was delightful to see him, and he gave me a wonderful haircut which is super short on the sides and back, but longer on top than it used to be. Ahhh, what a relief.

Rose, who has been going to him for many years, told me later to ask him sometime about San Francisco. Apparently he lived there for a while after high school, leading a terribly debauched life. One morning he literally woke up in the gutter after a particularly wild binge the night before, and determined then and there that he had to get out of there, or he WOULD die.

So he called his mum in Connecticut and begged for bus fare, and she sent it. He came home, moved back in with her, and hasn't left since. At some point he went to hairdressing school, and that's the rest of the story.

He's no spring chicken so she must be in her 70s at least. He took care of his dad until he died, and now takes care of mum, the house and the yard. When she dies the house will be his.

We were discussing the merits of cutting one's own hair, and he said, "Oh, yeah, I used to cut mine, before I got into the hair thing. I'd go out to a bar, and come home drunk and think that cutting my hair would be a pretty good idea. So I'd spend two hours doing one side, and by then I'd be sober and go, "What the HELL was I thinking?!'" But I guess he put those drunken urges to good use in the long run.

I told Rose, he's one of the coolest people I barely know. I asked her if she thought he'd come to my housewarming when I eventually have it, if it's a small gathering including her and Mike, whom David already knows. I heard him say he's good one on one but not so good in crowds. She said she'd mention it on Thursday when she goes for her cut, and see what he says.

Anyway, the back of my head feels like a greyhound again.

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I'm despairing that my coveted rugs will ever go on sale. I visited them again today, but their price tags are still in the stratosphere. If they're not reduced by New Year's I'll inquire again.

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I feel better today, for no reason that is apparent to me, except perhaps the haircut. But things look a bit brighter. And tomorrow is another day off -- though I need to venture back to Vernon for an oil change and order some snow tires, all of which will take most of the afternoon if I choose to do it. I might wait until next week if I feel lazy. But it's supposed to be in the 40s tomorrow, so going outside wouldn't be a bad thing. I wonder if I should take a walk.