Nashvegas

I made it, I guess. The Girlfriend and I managed to move everything we own to Nashvegas with little more than a couple of cross words and some bruises. She did a great job of finding us a house and the dogs love their new backyard. Yesterday, I had to run some errands and found nirvana. Women may or may not understand this, I'm not sure, but when I came across "Dodson's Barbershop" I spun the Batmobile around and practically ran into the shop.

A little background would be helpful I guess. I used to get my hair cut at "City Barbers" in Memphis. I couldn't understand a damn thing the old geezers in there were saying. I swear one of them looked and sounded just like Floyd from "The Andy Griffith Show." They would cut your hair with clippers, shave the back of your neck with a straight razor (after stropping it just like you see in the movies), trim your eyebrows, snip any errant nose hairs and just generally spruce you up so that maybe a member of the opposite sex would give you a second look. All of that for six bucks.

Then I moved to a much smaller town in West Tennessee. You'd think that barbers would be plentiful in a town that thinks an "Olive Garden" is a really big deal, but no such luck. I endured six years of going to "Supercuts" or "Fantastic Sam's." Not that they did a bad job, you can only screw my hair up so much, but these were hair salons, not barbershops.

Now I'm in Nashvegas and I've found "Dodson's." They have a trophy bass mounted on the wall next to a picture of John Wayne. There is a Snap-on Tools calendar that's about three years old hanging by the entrance and and all of the barbers still put tonic in their hair to slick it back in a pompadour. A barbershop is just a man's place. I can't explain it, but finding one is going to make this transition that much easier.