Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Within the past year I've switched from getting my haircut at my local barber (who I never really liked but went to support the fact that he had issues of Playboy in the waiting area) to using a more stylish "unisex salon." It's marginally more expensive but I get a marginally better haircut, so I don't miss Jack's so much. What I do miss, however, is the lather. Any guy who gets his hair cut from an old-school barber knows what I'm talking about, that little machine that looks thirty years old and pumps out the warmest, thickest, creamiest shaving cream ever. Then they rub it into your neckline and sideburns and take a straight-edge razor to your bare flesh and clean up the lines. Lo! how I do miss that wonderful sensation. Instead, these "salons" use that fancy-wancy electric razor that goes scrape scrape scrape along your tender, dry neckline. And it isn't nearly as clean and sexy. It's enough to make me want to go back to Jack's. Well, that and the Playboy.