Breaking in the new: Hair care specialists

Let's face it -- sticking with a barber or stylist ends up being a matter first of convenience, then of comfort and familiarity (as well as skill, of course). In my Indianapolis days, I wandered from SuperCuts to SuperCuts until I finally found Kelly, who I stayed with for about 4 years, even after she moved to a different shop. Similarly, my first haircut in Winthrop was the result of a 3-minute walk down Main St. to Terri, who I stayed with for the next 8 years, even after we moved to the other side of town.

So what to do when you move to a new, unknown place? Well, the girls are easy -- there are enough places specializing in "kids cuts" that Kim found a suitable place easily. For her part, Kim hasn't gotten a style since we've been here, and I don't think she's particularly looking forward to breaking a new one in (she adored her East Boston girl).

And I did what what most any guy would do -- I looked in the Yellow Pages, found the closest barber shop, and took a shot. What the hell, it's only hair.

Talk about a complete 180. Terri is a fiftyish woman of Italian descent who decorated her tidy shop with framed sports-themed pictures and mixed standards collections with mafia tunes on her CD player. She knew my name, recommended books to me, and always asked how the girls were doing. My first Minnesota cut was done by Uy (pronounced "we"), a sixtyish Vietnamese immigrant whose barbers chair faces shots of him, in full uniform, taken at his country's Military College in 1969, and who told me several times that he does ladies and children's cuts as well.

The cut itself was fine, and Uy was a pleasant enough guy. It's just after 8 years, I found myself actually missing the sounds of Rod Stewart singing Cole Porter. Then I realized it wasn't the music I was missing (thank GOD), but rather the comfort and familiarity of the friend I'd made in Winthrop.