I love New York. It feels like the East Village is the smallest big neighborhood in the world. Sometimes this works against you.

A couple weeks ago I was walking down the street and passed by the guy who has cut my hair for the past two years, Danny. I hadn't had a haircut for over two months and was looking pretty shaggy. I told him I was growing it long and Danny told me I should clean it up, trim the sides, etc.

Fast forward to today. I was out getting coffee and on the way back I ran into my gym trainer, Ron, on my block. For some reason he's always hanging out around there. So we start chatting and he tells me I should get a haircut before going to California. Then he walks to Danny's shop and pulls Danny outside and tells him to cut my hair.

Now the problem is, I just got a haircut yesterday *from someone else* for the first time in two years. I actually went to my friend Marco's salon in the West Village and got a super fancy haircut (it was free, it looks awesome). Obviously Danny knows I just got a haircut, and I didn't get it from him, and I feel like an ass because I went to someone else. Argh.

Anyway, slightly awkward situation. Pretty crazy that in the East Village shit like this can happen.