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| - If you didn't already know, my policy on my hair stylists is pretty discriminatory: I only let women and peppery homosexuals come anywhere near it. My experiences with The Olde Barbershop have always been subpar (i.e., paisans named Angelo who don't give a shit), so I have gone the salon route; spending extra coin on shampoos and rising inflections and blow-dry finishes. I decided to get in touch with my masculine side.
In spite of the grisly monniker, Blood and Bandages is a downright congenial spot. The ballcapped-owner Roger is a friendly dude and the shop (100 square feet max, with two chairs) is cozy and liberally daubed with bric-a-brac. There's a taxidermied stag's head, an antique cash register, a lone cactus sitting on a porcelain mermaid sconce, and even an Om (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Om) hanging above the entrance. If you're bored with the magazine selection (which I doubt would happen), the decor will definitely keep you occupied.
I showed up five minutes early for my 13:00 appointment, but had to wait almost thirty minutes to sit down. Not thrilled about this, but I'm an easygoing bloke. Once I sat down, Roger dug right in. He didn't even wet my hair; he just started snipping away like I was an unkempt topiary. (Is this normal, btw?)
It's hard for me to judge a cut immediately afterwards; my gut reaction is generally negative and this was no exception. A few days later however, I'm pleased. My hair was thinned out how I wanted, and my strands have calmed greatly from post-haircut shock. The best part? $22. A happy medium between stylist gougery and Chinatown cheapness. I'm not about to abandon my salon ways just yet, but you can definitely consider me barbershop-curious.
Obligatory Title Pun: It's BLOODY well right.
Menu Readability: Dude, I didn't even see a sign out front.
Need to mention: Now open Sundays. And CASH ONLY.
What this place teaches me about myself: "Gone the salon route." That's a potential euphemism if I ever heard one.
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