A Tree-Hugger Forsakes his Volvo for a Big White Pickup Truck

Pickup trucks are trendy and raise your testosterone


Pickup trucks, according to Details Magazine, are the new alternative to SUVs which are now so closely associated with soccer moms that they lower your testosterone levels. What can I say? Once again, just as I was with Barry White, bourbon, and ribbon belts, I'm ahead of the curve.

I'm not a gambling man by nature




The realization hit me at 8:30am on Friday morning. My 15 year old Sheryl Wagner club chair was going to sit exposed and unattended in a Washington, DC parking lot for eight hours. I had to get it down to the beach to an upholsterer, so what else could I do? Take it into work with me? I seriously considered it. After all, sometimes people bring their screaming children into the office when they're having daycare issues. At least the chair would be quiet. But, I decided against it. That's just too eccentric even for me. Maybe if it had been an expensive antique...So I gambled. Took a chance, which isn't really part of my nature as a Libra man. I just parked it on the roof of Union Station and walked away, hoping it wouldn't rain and that nobody would go to the effort of stealing an old chair with worn out arms and pillows spewing feathers.

A modest proposal



Its only the first day of Spring, but my artist friend and creative muse Aurelio is already pondering how we can take advantage of my Ford pickup truck to create a more fabulous beach experience this summer. His idea is to start off slow. Perhaps a rug, two or three umbrellas, a small chaise with cushions and an ottoman. Things that are easy to haul in the truck. The big question, of course, is where to set up. Is it possible to do it south of Poodle Beach, just beyond the hot dog stand and close to the water's edge? As the days pass and people get used to the scene, we begin to step it up and bring out a little more each day. Add a pair of twin beds with mosquito nets and cushions. It will be important to ignore any reactions and not to answer any questions. Intrigue and fabulocity.

A Russian Haircut

With gasoline prices creeping towards $3.00 per gallon you start looking for ways to cut back. Jim Beam instead of Maker’s Mark. Boxer shorts from the Gap rather than Brooks Brothers. So, naturally, the idea of paying $9 for a haircut instead of $35 was very alluring.

Don’t get me wrong. Hien, the Vietnamese fella who’s been cutting my hair for 5 years is top notch. I got no complaints. I always look good. But nine dollars…in Manhattan…how could I pass that up?

So I queue up on Saturday morning, joining the Chelsea boys who pay $9 for their haircuts by Igor, a stocky Russian who really looks like he’d be more comfortable in a butcher shop than a hair salon. I’ll figure out later how to deal with Hien. All I know is that I’ve gotta have one of those good looking $9 Chelsea haircuts.

When it’s finally my turn in the chair, Igor gently fits a white crepe paper collar around my neck and then dramatically drapes me with a black cape. He tells me I look like a priest, and then asks me how I want my hair cut. That’s the end of the conversation. In fact, the entire basement salon is devoid of talking. It’s just Chelsea boys sitting there listening to soft rock music and waiting for Igor to cut their hair.

Igor paws my head, pushes it left, right, wherever he wants it. His style is a bit course, but it feels good. A combination haircut, neck and head massage. His focus is intent. And, he’s clearly doing this because he gets off on barbering. It can’t be for the money. C’mon, nine dollars a haircut?

My mind wanders as he cuts and I’m envisioning a scene back in Moscow where a young Igor is cutting the hair of his Russian army comrades, maybe even giving them a Friday end-of-the week shave. The young Russian guys are all sitting around in their underwear, reading newspapers, playing chess, and taking shots of vodka. Very Tom of Finland.

After about 20 minutes, I’m dismissed. No hair product rubbed in. No attempt to sell me anything. I tip him two dollars – the whole thing’s cost me one-third of what I’ve been paying in Washington. And, it the haircut looks pretty darned good.

As for Hien, he’ll certainly know I went to somebody else. Hair cutters can always tell. I suppose I could lie and say I was out of town unexpectedly and needed a haircut real bad. Or, I could just blame it on the pickup truck, the cost of gas, and the lure of a cheap $9 Russian haircut.

See, I do need a big truck




White prairie benches, Milford fetrilizer, some gardening equipment, and a couple of cold beers. It's a sunny Sunday afternoon in Rehoboth and I use the long bed for the first time.

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