Taking a load off

About a month ago, I realized that my neighbor's compost pile was lacking carbon.

I could have simply resorted to any of the convenient carbon sources that I encounter daily: dry leaves, rice shells, wood ash.

But I didn't.

I decided to contribute a little bit of myself to his pile.

After nearly eight months of growing my hair out into an outstanding Jewfro, it was time to get that mop under control.

Actually, it was more of a realization.

I can't think of a single experience that pushed me over the edge. I think a culmination of months of kids yelling "Michael Jackson" every time I walked down the street. Plus there was the time the little girl called me ugly. Plus there was the hair blocking my sight. And the weight.

So ... I decided to look for a barber.

The thing about me and my hair is that we don't trust anyone. The same woman cut my hair for more than fifteen years (I don't really remember when I started going there). A few times, I tried other places, out of convenience, but it just wasn't the same. Then, she moved to another state, and I had to face reality. My hair and I had to become more trusting ... which would be great practice for the Peace Corps.

I went to Coach and Four in Ann Arbor. They didn't really do a great job, but the atmosphere was great. I don't know if they had seen my quality of afro for thirty years, so I forgave them. Then, I went to a Russian guy, in his basement. He gave me the shortest haircut of my life, and probably the cheapest. Then I left for the Peace Corps — prepared to grow it out for two years if I couldn't find a half-decent barber.

Well, the verdict about my town is that there is no decent, let alone half-decent barbershop.

The other volunteer in town got her hair cut and was unhappy to say the least. Her haircut was so bad that even I noticed. Then, when another volunteer was in town visiting, they both decided to give it a shot. It couldn't be worse than the local butcher.

I'll let the following photo essay describe the experience

1. Not the most pleasant experience of my life



2. I need 350cc of Soul Glo, stat.



3. From this, I then shaved down to a mustache, which has since been eliminated to maintain my good standing in the community.



4. My kitchen floor



5. That is no dead animal in the compost pile



During the actual haircut, the stylists found tons of organic matter (nothing that was moving), which should pan out really well for the compost. It was mostly just twigs and leaves. I told me neighbor that I was adding my hair to his compost and he was totally stoked.

Some of my Peace Corps friends thought I should plant some seeds in there and see what happens. That would be a bit ridiculous and require me to sleep sitting up and spent a lot of time in the sun. I like a ridiculous experience as much as the next guy, but that would have pushed the line.

The next morning, I had to teach in the high school. When I walked into class, some of the students gave me a standing ovation.