I got a haircut yesterday. The style — short in back (but left intentionally not cleaned up near the neck), a little longer on top, and much longer on the front sides and bangs — is apparently called a “chelsea,” which I learned from my grumbly ginger barber. Trying to explain how you want your hair to look to the person who’ll be taking scissors to it can always be a stressful process, especially when the place is full of other waiting customers who have nothing better to do than gawk as you attempt to remember how long an inch is and how many of them you want hacked off your head. While sitting in a plush leather chair at Johnny’s in Santa Cruz (the kind of annoyingly traditional barbershop that has Playboy magazines out for waiting customers and golf on their TV, but they always give a damn good haircut), I was relieved to spot a poster with a bunch of different androgynous styles to choose from. I thought I’d just have to point, but that presented its own challenges. “I’ve only done this cut once before, and that was like seven months ago. Your hair is pretty coarse, so this is going to take a while.” My barber really had quite the personality, but I think it turned out ok.