Along with laundromats, our neighborhood is completely overrun with barber shops and beauty parlors. When there are only two on a side of a block it starts to look like a market niche waiting to be exploited. Maybe one of these places could balance things about a bit and trade places with one of the five Washington Mutual banks on each block of the upper west side so I could get some money out of an ATM without traveling half the length of Manhattan.

This is all a preface to the irrationally stressful process of getting a haircut. This was the first one for me in at least a year. The multitude of choices seemed a bit intimidating, but it also meant that should I be dissatisfied, I wouldn't run out of more places to try for a long, long time. Eventually I settled on a nearby place that advertised its "Hairmatic $10.00 Designer Cut System." The idea of a system seemed to reduce the chance of some extreme result. Then again, it's also totally ridiculous.

I've written before about having trouble communicating with haircutters, as nominal as my requests tend to be, but it's quite another matter when they speak no english whatsoever. An english-speaking guy at the counter took care of the initial consultations, and was slightly incredulous that I didn't want to give it "any style at all"? After that I was mostly on my own.

So apparently to this haircutter, the word "trim" meant to cut as little as physically possible. After no more than a few minutes, she was brushing off my neck and I sensed it was time to speak up if I didn't want this to be a complete waste of money. "Uh, could you cut a little more?" She called over the interpreter. "Un poco mas?" I tried to say "Si," but "Oui" came out instead. After this process repeated two or three times I was feeling a bit like Oliver Twist, and I think she started to complain to the adjacent employee. I figured it was good enough.

Since third grade I've avoided any formal learning of Spanish, because it's so ubiquitous here that it just doesn't seem exotic or interesting. I've also never particularly liked the sound of it. But living and working in an area where it may as well be the official language, I'm starting to think it would be nice to be a bit more confident with it. I always found it odd when, at several points in my youth, those around me suddenly found it immensely entertaining to curse at each other in Spanish. I guess cursing itself can become so humdrum that a new way to do it is always exciting.