One close shave

There's a scene in the movie Gran Tourino (an excellent movie, one of Clint Eastwood's best) where the lead character goes into the barber shop to get an old fashioned shave.


As I was standing in my bathroom this morning, shaving (as I have to do every other day, lest I not get kissed by my beautiful fiancée-type person) with the worn-out-and-in-desperate-need-of-replacing disposable, I was thinking about that scene.

It brought back memories of when I was a kid, going to the barber shop on the corner for a haircut. He'd use the straight razor, the leather strap and the heated shaving cream machine to clean off the back of my neck. I remember him running the blade up and down that leather strap attached to the chair a couple times as the lather was heating. I'd lean forward a little, bend my head down and he'd put the lather on, hot against the skin.

Then there's the feeling of the blade flicking down, removing the hair. I never saw what he did, but I remember the feeling, the sensation.

It's been decades since I've gone to that barber shop. (It's not even there anymore: He closed his business long ago, before he got sick and ultimately passed on.) It's not easy, finding a true barber shop these days. Beauty salons, hair cutterys and their ilk are the de facto standard.

Since moving to DeKalb, I've been going to the one salon Julie uses. It was so strange, going to a new place, after having the same person cut my hair for more than half my life. Even if I was in Pittsburgh, I was going to have to find a new place anyway: My old barber (even though he was more of a "stylist", cutting and grooming more old ladies than anything) retired last year.

They don't really cut hair there. On guys, they use clippers and zip...zap...zip "cut" my hair off that way. Sure, they could use scissors on me, but it's so inefficient, I guess. Slower. More time-consuming, especially since they'd have to use thinning scissors on the back of my head. The top of my head? Not that much there anymore, but the back is still thicker than the Amazon jungle. I think they've lost expeditions in the back of my hair when it gets too long.

The art of cutting hair...the art of using a straight razor...it's becoming a lost one, I fear. It's all about "get in, get it off and get out again", at least for most.

Jessica told me that there's a real barber shop in the next town over. Maybe, when my hair grows out again (if only in the back...sigh), I'll take a trip over there and see if such a creature still exists. Might not even shave the day before, and see if he knows how to use the straight razor.

I wonder how the hot lather will feel on the front of my neck, instead of the back...