Wednesday

While yesterday's asteroid was missing the other side of the world, I was in search of a barber over here in Asia. I've been having trouble getting my hair cut in this country. Some fact of storage, maintenance, or incorrect wattage conversion disabled my clippers. Ever since I first plugged them in here, they've buzzed with a violent grinding clatter too alarming to hold in my hand, much less near my head. I've had these clippers since the eighties, by the way; I might hold a funeral. So I've been on the lookout for a barber. This is what Saigon does have: fancy dye-n-perm salons with uniformed go-go girls and dental recliners with moon helmets attached; or an overturned bucket on the damp sidewalk along yellowing wall where a man has patched into the tangle of city wiring to provide electricity for his own equally scary clippers. The happy medium isn't apparent. In situations like this, I seek advice. One of our neighbors helped: "I think it's here" he said, pointing out an area of the map where his fingerprint covered six intersections and two city blocks. I walked those blocks yesterday, finding nothing but those space salons. They include massages. Then I tried tracking down one of the bucket guys, with no luck. Frustrated, I went to the Rex Hotel where they have a house tailor, fer cryin' out loud, but was advised their barber was closed for renovations. They suggested I go to the building down the street where Sunshine works. What? Sure enough, there was a stylist on the first floor there. He wanted fifteen bucks for a haircut, and I’m too cheap after four months in Vietnam for that kind of swindling. So I gave up and had a drink while my hair grew. [Cavin]