I didn’t have the Internet growing up, so I immediately think anything online is cool. Sometimes I’m irrational about it. For example: I have never been to Denise’s Barber Shop, which is about four blocks from where I live, but they accept reservations online. I am therefore convinced that Denise is a world-class hair stylist who also knows judo, takes in stray animals, and plays a mean kazoo.

(It’s not just the web site, though. She also offers a service for the “follically challenged.” Back when they were passing out hair genes, I was doing jello shots and mistakenly mumbled about wanting something in a nice, gradual widow’s peak.)