Visiting a Harlot

This is something you can't blog about everyday...

Today is the end of an era of sorts. Today I, Robbymac, had approximately 18+ inches of hair cut off. I now look like every other middle-aged 40-something in Winnipeg. Except that I still play bass in bar bands. Oh, and let's not forget the multiple earrings.

No tattoos, however, because me and needles are old enemies, and I can't for the life of me think of why I should pay hard-earned money for some crackhead to stick me repeatedly with bloody little needles filled with ink.

The guy who cut my hair, it turns out, is a member of the local Winnipeg band The Harlots. We had a great time, while he gave me a totally new look, shooting the breeze about the Winnipeg club scene, touring, etc., because I've heard of his band, and he's heard of mine, too. Actually, everybody in that place (the staff) looked like they probably moonlight in a band somewhere -- it reminded me a lot of Hollywood.

So, I can honestly say that to celebrate the momentus event (for those who've known me since high school) of getting my hair cut short, I visited a Harlot.

They're probably still sweeping up all the hair I left behind (and I don't suddenly feel weak or anything...)