my 300th entry (of course this includes photos, which is kind of like cheating), so i think i will return to a topic i have often written about here. hair cuts.

in response to my friend´s query, my spanish is pretty good. perfect? definitely not.

in general i hate haircuts. i remember the good ol´days of university and even most of the time in cali and then in arizona (where i fondly remember ¨kitchen cuts¨ with a pair of school scissors and my hair in a pony tail) when i never needed a ¨professional¨ to cut my hair because it was long and anyone* could do it. *special note: when your barber says, ¨hey, i am gonna grab a beer, do you want one too?¨ say no. and then leave before the barber returns with her or his beer. i learned this lesson back in blacksburg, va when my friend courtface ¨of course i can cut your hair, i cut my sister´s all the time¨ killer was given the sheers and asked to ¨trim¨ a bit (like the use of passive voice to remove any guilt from the true agent-me- and placing all blame on the object). of course she began very well (again, all that is necessary is cutting, evenly, from one side to the other, and as my hair length was at my shoulders in all parts, this did not seem to be difficult to either of us), but as she reached the other side and the 2 to 3 inch difference in length was noticed, i lamented letting her have a beer before beginning (and not asking what number it was- 3, 4, 5?).

once i cut my hair off a few years ago, two actually, i thought it would be good to have short hair. hot climate and short hair= good. well, the problem is that you have to cut it every two months or so or it looks, well, crappé. not only is it a waste of time, but in oaxaca, land of 100 degree daily heat, it was a pain in the ass to find someone open during my lunch break (aka siesta for all businesses).

this all leads me to my last year here in the city. cool weather, lack of stifling humidity and a desire to extend the period between barber visits all had me in the mind of growing my hair longer. i am, as i remember my buddy jimmy describe in college so eloquently, in the awkward stage. not short enough to look dashing, not long enough to be a hippy, just right for ugly.

you would think that getting a haircut would help all of this. you would think a stylist could fix this for me and make life better. well, then start sending your donations because the last time i went to stylist to cut my hair and actually was happy with the result was over 6 years ago in charlottesville in preparation for my sis´s wedding. the experience was different, but the results cannot be denied. i am vain. unfortunately, i am also cheap. this results in me going for the cheapest cut around. so it goes.

last saturday i had made up my mind. scraggly, unkept and in dire need of some form, my hair was beginning to make its own demands. as usual, hair won.

i made my way past the barber shop on my street, site of two butcherings in the past year, and ventured into the previously locked sliding glass door of a one woman salon. my friend told me the woman was good, not perfect, but in my price range. as she later informed me, my frugality (read: cheapness) precluded her from recommending a better stylist (the one she goes to, paid for of course by her mother. would i were so lucky). no matter.

the cut was going well for the most part. she was doing generally what i asked and with help from my friend, who gave instructions also, we were well on our way to making the billy look somewhat respectable (key word: somewhat). there was no blood in sight and i had not stood up and stormed out, so all in all i could not complain.

then we came to the end. she had cut, although not exactly what i wanted, the general idea, as best i can explain it in spanish (although explaining haircuts without a photo is like me explaining the finer points of a petrarchan sonnet to an orangutan). i was pleased more or less.

the next words at first confused me, but i saw that she was actually touching the comb to my sideburns and assumed she was going to thin them out (hook up a fade like jimza back in the day). i told her sure and then could only sit in awe at the audacity of her next move.

instead of moving the electric razor in an upward motion, she touched the cutters to my skin and slid down. gone. an inch above the bottom lobe. vanished.

i think it was my mouth hanging open that tipped her off that she had done something to upset her client. staring at my reflection, and the white patch glowing on one side of my face, i came to a realization of some worth. not since i was 15 years old had i sported the no sideburns look. 14 years give or take. a damn long time. michael jordan was still kicking ass. the braves actually won a championship recently. bill clinton was still first term. alice in chains was awesome and pearl jam was still fairly new on the scene. in other words, i saw myself transported back in time. i find it only barely coincidental that i am teaching h.g. wells the time machine this semester.

my friend immediately began laughing behind me, which the mirror showed her to be in front of me. the lady with the sheers was not sure what to do. well, clearly there was not much to do. get the other side too. damn. unless she can make hair regrow in seconds, there was no real choice.

that first afternoon was unfortunate in that i spent at least 15 minutes dwelling on the past and all the good times my sideburns and i had. the swords. those were weird. the nike swoosh. worse. fat chops, unattractive but fun. the backward burn, the most recent. in all i could not stop looking at myself in the mirror. all i saw was a picture that sits on a desk in my father´s office in virginia from my first year at woodberry. my hair is about the same length and now my sideburns were too.

that first day i rationalized it by saying that in two weeks you would never know they were cut off. excised. ripped away.

but then i realized that i live in mexico and no one down here has known me for more than a year. to them, after 3-4 months of beard in the winter, not having sideburns would not be that strange. a day later the lack of burns was growing on me. i started to like it and two days later i shaved the ¨pre-burns¨ that i was already growing. the decision was made (for me).

so i write to you now as a younger man in many ways. of course, not in any of the ways that count, like age, but you know what i mean. or not.

all in all i am pretty pleased with myself at how well i am taking it. sure, there was the initial rude reaction and being pissed off at the lady. but, i learned a new word, patillas=sideburns, and now have a look i have not sported since the early 90´s. and i can laugh about it now. good times.

pictures will be coming soon.