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captainsblogBeen awhile since I got on here, so let's start with the best news: KENNEL COUGH IS OVER! It faded beginning early last week and Doggo has been cough-free for at least five days. I did get a call from the groomer where she likely picked it up, asking after her, and I got back to them to let them know she was okay, that I'd called them to inform rather than to blame, and to make sure she had her next one scheduled, which will be June.
Around the same time on Friday, I took myself in for my own grooming, which had been almost as overdue as hers. No ill symptoms from that, but some nice news: my longtime stylist is getting married this September. They've been together a long time, but she seems very happy to be making it official in the fall.
I've gone long stretches having the same guy or gal cutting my hair. My first snips came at a traditional East Meadow barber shop that, amazingly, at last check was still there:
I'm sure Casey was swept off the floor long ago, but it's cool to see the name hang on.
In the 70s, after I got too cool for traditional barbering, I went to a couple of different "unisex salons" on the other side of our house, run by a skeevy guy named Harry. He charged more for "extra long hair" and was the first to use a dryer on my head. For most of my initial upstate years, I had no fixed address of haircutting, because Donna was with the best darned stylist in Endicott, and Joe's "kitchen table specials" were all I needed. Even on my first go-round in Buffalo, I never settled on a place; oddly, the only one around here I can remember going to was in a building about 500 feet from my current office, and it hasn't had a hair salon in it for decades.
Once settled in Rochester, I needed more frequent professional cuts than trips to the Southern Tier could accommodate, so I wound up with an old paisan named Salvatore, who ran his own shop out of a converted house in Brighton. I stuck with Sal for years, even going back there pretty regularly after we moved here. He eventually sold the building and had a chair someplace else that I never found, but through an almost random process I wound up with a small Buffalo chain called O'Hairs that eventually merged into the national Supercuts franchise that they (and I) remain with. Initially, they were exclusively walk-in, with no ability to book a particular day or time, much less stylist, but Danielle seemed to be fairly regular at the times I picked and once they finally came up with an app, I was able to book her for more-or-less appointments. She was largely running the place during COVID, often the only one there, but they had a fairly full complement in the chairs this past time so they may be approaching a return to normal. I hope Dani will still be there as often after she gets married, because I'm not quite ready to go back to Casey any time soon;)
----
After the haircut, I had to show it off, so I went out Friday night- because when a salon door closes, a saloon door opens:
That's the handle on the door leading into Sportsmens, Black Rock's legendary venue for rock, folk, blues and, this night, Americana- celebrating the life of John Prine, lost to COVID just two years and a day before. The host was local musician Tyler Westcott, who I've been friends with since he opened for a show at a local folk concert several years ago. Somehow, I'd managed not to see him for the entirety of the pandemic, but when I saw he was putting on this tribute, I knew I'd have to take the opportunity.
That's my man, passing the bucket for the Prine family's chosen charity. The show raised $500 for the Hello In There Foundation, named after one of John's songs, which is dedicated "to identify and collaborate with individuals and communities to offer support for people who are marginalized, discriminated against or, for any reason, are otherwise forgotten."
The place was full and full of love; I rested against a pole through the first two old-guy acts-
- before having to head home without seeing Tyler's band, or my other reason for going:
Earlier in the day, my singer-songwriter friend Maria Sebastian posted that her mother had passed the day before, after a long and difficult illness at the age of 84. Although I'd never met her mother, I did remember a moment: of Maria's mom texting her while she was onstage doing a set on a fairly recent Saturday afternoon, and of the love and understanding Maria expressed as she told the audience about it. That was her mom, and our mom (who made it with similar difficulty to a similar age), and many if not all moms.
I had no expectation she would honor her commitment to sing at this celebration, but she quickly replied that she intended to, and sure enough, there she was, sitting at a table next to my leaning pole, waiting to go on. I got in a quick hug and offered some kind words, and will try to make it to one of her gigs when the pain has passed a bit more.
----
The only other occasion to report, on this National Pet Day, is that it's been a year since Jack came home with us:
There he is, all his tabby floofy self, on his Gotcha Day, after a long ride home from Rochester where he'd been fostered after his rescue from a high-kill Tennessee shelter. Bronzini's looking at him rather confusedly, as he still sometimes does. The two of them were cuddled next to each other while we watched a film last night, making very clear that they'd both found there way to the best home ever:
Ours.
Around the same time on Friday, I took myself in for my own grooming, which had been almost as overdue as hers. No ill symptoms from that, but some nice news: my longtime stylist is getting married this September. They've been together a long time, but she seems very happy to be making it official in the fall.
I've gone long stretches having the same guy or gal cutting my hair. My first snips came at a traditional East Meadow barber shop that, amazingly, at last check was still there:
I'm sure Casey was swept off the floor long ago, but it's cool to see the name hang on.
In the 70s, after I got too cool for traditional barbering, I went to a couple of different "unisex salons" on the other side of our house, run by a skeevy guy named Harry. He charged more for "extra long hair" and was the first to use a dryer on my head. For most of my initial upstate years, I had no fixed address of haircutting, because Donna was with the best darned stylist in Endicott, and Joe's "kitchen table specials" were all I needed. Even on my first go-round in Buffalo, I never settled on a place; oddly, the only one around here I can remember going to was in a building about 500 feet from my current office, and it hasn't had a hair salon in it for decades.
Once settled in Rochester, I needed more frequent professional cuts than trips to the Southern Tier could accommodate, so I wound up with an old paisan named Salvatore, who ran his own shop out of a converted house in Brighton. I stuck with Sal for years, even going back there pretty regularly after we moved here. He eventually sold the building and had a chair someplace else that I never found, but through an almost random process I wound up with a small Buffalo chain called O'Hairs that eventually merged into the national Supercuts franchise that they (and I) remain with. Initially, they were exclusively walk-in, with no ability to book a particular day or time, much less stylist, but Danielle seemed to be fairly regular at the times I picked and once they finally came up with an app, I was able to book her for more-or-less appointments. She was largely running the place during COVID, often the only one there, but they had a fairly full complement in the chairs this past time so they may be approaching a return to normal. I hope Dani will still be there as often after she gets married, because I'm not quite ready to go back to Casey any time soon;)
----
After the haircut, I had to show it off, so I went out Friday night- because when a salon door closes, a saloon door opens:
That's the handle on the door leading into Sportsmens, Black Rock's legendary venue for rock, folk, blues and, this night, Americana- celebrating the life of John Prine, lost to COVID just two years and a day before. The host was local musician Tyler Westcott, who I've been friends with since he opened for a show at a local folk concert several years ago. Somehow, I'd managed not to see him for the entirety of the pandemic, but when I saw he was putting on this tribute, I knew I'd have to take the opportunity.
That's my man, passing the bucket for the Prine family's chosen charity. The show raised $500 for the Hello In There Foundation, named after one of John's songs, which is dedicated "to identify and collaborate with individuals and communities to offer support for people who are marginalized, discriminated against or, for any reason, are otherwise forgotten."
The place was full and full of love; I rested against a pole through the first two old-guy acts-
- before having to head home without seeing Tyler's band, or my other reason for going:
Earlier in the day, my singer-songwriter friend Maria Sebastian posted that her mother had passed the day before, after a long and difficult illness at the age of 84. Although I'd never met her mother, I did remember a moment: of Maria's mom texting her while she was onstage doing a set on a fairly recent Saturday afternoon, and of the love and understanding Maria expressed as she told the audience about it. That was her mom, and our mom (who made it with similar difficulty to a similar age), and many if not all moms.
I had no expectation she would honor her commitment to sing at this celebration, but she quickly replied that she intended to, and sure enough, there she was, sitting at a table next to my leaning pole, waiting to go on. I got in a quick hug and offered some kind words, and will try to make it to one of her gigs when the pain has passed a bit more.
----
The only other occasion to report, on this National Pet Day, is that it's been a year since Jack came home with us:
There he is, all his tabby floofy self, on his Gotcha Day, after a long ride home from Rochester where he'd been fostered after his rescue from a high-kill Tennessee shelter. Bronzini's looking at him rather confusedly, as he still sometimes does. The two of them were cuddled next to each other while we watched a film last night, making very clear that they'd both found there way to the best home ever:
Ours.