House of Noise

I have a headache. But I'm happy. I just returned from the barbershop, where being loud doesn't make you right, but it definitely helps your case. The barbershop, as everyone knows by now (thanks to Cedric the Entertainer, Ice Cube, Eve, et al) is a cultural centre for black people. Ideas are exchanged, good-natured insults are traded, and more than anything, men engage in the ancient art of debate. At high volume. Very high volume. The sound waves traveling through the barbershop could level a small building if channeled properly.

Conversation topics change in the blink of an eye. One minute a hapless barber is set upon by five patrons for the poor state of Duke basketball, and the next, Julius Peppers is said to be most certainly doing steroids. Sports are usually the main theme of the day, but nothing is taboo in the barbershop. Barbers must strike the delicate balance between perfecting a difficult fade haircut and winning a heated argument about the efficacy of LeBron James' fadeaway.

And did I mention it's loud? It's really, really loud. But we love it.