When you reach a certain age (translation: perceived to be old by your friends), should you mention, even in passing, "the good old days," you're automatically labeled as old-fashioned.

Probably true, to some degree. And I'm guilty, in at least two categories: Telephone directories and barber shops. Strange as it may seem, they are both related.

In the good old days, allow me if you will, we had one telephone directory. In large cities you had the residential white pages in one book and the business directory in separate yellow pages. Megacities, such as Dallas, had to split the yellow pages into two volumes, since only an Olympic weightlifter could heft the book otherwise. Small towns combined all this information in one book.

Since deregulation of the communications industry, savvy publishers started cranking out more and more telephone directories. We at home, just as you, keep finding new ones at our doorstep or at the end of the driveway. And at last count we have 10 of them now, all with different names but serving the same communities. Just for Collin and Grayson counties you can flip through the Yellow Book, Your Town Yellow Pages, AT&T Yellow Pages, Verizon Yellow Pages and Neighborhood Yellow Pages. The list goes on, but you get the point.

Since every computer literate person considers them passe, as their fingers fly over computer keyboards with the needed information popping up instantly on the screen, I would guess that the phone books must appeal only to the computer-challenged generation.

Now for the barber shop connection.

Let's slide back a number of years first. In my previous life (translation: before retirement), at one time I worked in Tampa, Fla. Settled in my new job, the only item on my to-do list was to find a barber shop. It had to be (here come the magic words) an old-fashioned barber shop. Styling salons were unacceptable. Unisex shops were out.

Not to worry. Only one phone book in Tampa. Letting my fingers do the walking, as the old Southern Bell commercial advised us, there it was: Carl's Barber Shop on Columbia Boulevard, close to my office and the apartment. Perfect.

Saturday morning, I'm inching up Columbia, following the address numbers, looking for Carl's. Strange though, all the businesses have signs only in Spanish. Ah, there it was. But it wasn't Carl's, it was Carlos Barber Shop. Refusing to blame my poor eyesight (after all, the print was quite small) I laid the blame on poor lighting in my office.

Carlos was Cuban, the shop's clientele was Cuban, and they all spoke only Spanish. As time went on and I became a regular customer, Carlos became my mentor. I found out that Columbia Boulevard to the locals was really known as Boliche Boulevard (for you culinary fans, boliche is a traditional Cuban dish of eye of round stuffed with pork). He translated the barber shop's conversations and told me where to get the best Cuban sandwiches. And to some of my questions, it was a stern "No, no -- only bad people go there."

The telephone directory served me well. And I didn't need 10 of them.

Ken Gaidziunas is a staff writer for the Van Alstyne Leader and The Anna-Melissa Tribune.