Mason wasn't calling me back and I needed a haircut. Finally I left the following message. "Mason, I made a new t-shirt that says 'Hair By Mason' and I'm wearing it right now with the messy ass mop on my head. You better cut my hair before you're name is ruined."
So, mason called back. He's taken a room in his basement, moved in a barber's chair and a barber's sink and all kinds of fancy stuff and a friend of his even put up a few paintings so he's got a regular little salon. He cut my hair, giving me the mid life crisis special as requested. In other words, he recreated the haircut I had when I was 21. Then my friend Tom showed up and we got to talking. I haven't seen Tom in a while and it sounds like he might sound-track my pod cast. Oh by the way, I'm getting a pod cast together. Of course I am.
Anyway, Mason saw I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry so he started messing with my hair, and the SOB gave me cornrows. It hurt and I'd say, knock it off it hurts, and he'd say "Shut Up!" and I'd say, "You can't tell me to shut up. I didn't ask you to do this." And he'd say "Shut Up!" Then I left his house in Oak Park (a largely black neighborhood) with these dopey ass corn rows in my hair. Mason's neighbor saw me get in my car and nearly fell down laughing. Don't worry, my hair and I are doing much better now.