TO ROLL OR SPRAY, THAT IS THE QUESTION

An unknown author once said “The average woman would rather have beauty than brains, because the average man can see better than he can think.” Moderation is a good thing but we have all seen the consequences of overdoing a good thing. Most of us have come across a woman at one time or another who dared not smile for fear of causing her makeup to crack, flake off and land in her vichyoise.


I am not sure what posses some women to go to that extreme but as a kid we use to joke at home about the women who looked like they used a paint roller to apply their disguise. It always seemed a bit wasteful since none of the beautiful women in my life were ever prone to overdue the war paint. Come to think of it, my grandma Tessie never wore any makeup of any kind. Without it she was most elegant. She Who Must Be Obeyed has been known to judiciously apply the paint from time to time but not to the extent that it would rub off on the phone or the chin rest of her violin. None of the women of my life have ever used much camouflage, i.e. the over use of foundations, colorants, fake eye lashes, pancake makeup etc. It just wasn’t necessary.

But for those of you who strive for utter and complete pore eliminating coverage there is really good news. L’Oreal has come out with a new makeup that you actually apply with a roller. No doubt it will take some practice to get it to roll on smoothly without any overlap lines or holidays. (painting terms). I worked once for a commercial painter and it took some practice to apply the latex evenly to a wall and they were always flat. I never once however, painted a wall that had a large nose in the center. Good luck putting a roller over your honker and have it look smooth.

I think it makes better sense to spray it on instead. For approximately $50.00 at the local Home Despot you can purchase a Wagner sprayer and a gallon of latex color matched to whatever shade you want to be that day. You could place a cone over your face to prevent overspray onto the neighbor’s car and pull the trigger. It would take a little touch up around the edges but it would certainly be more even than the roller. You may have to tape off your eyebrows and lashes and plug up your nostrils but what a finish. A little blue tape on the lips would certainly be in order.

Where lipstick is concerned, the important thing is not color, but to accept God's final word on where your lips end according to Jerry Sienfield.

Thankfully, beauty is easier to remove than apply, and a swipe of a wash cloth in the right direction and you are you once again.

Thanks for listening. I feel much better

The Early Termination Fee

I was watching an ad for a cell phone service company and read the fine print that appears for a brief second during the ad. It turned out to be a disclaimer that if the buyer cancelled the contract before the 200th year as stipulated in the contract there would be a $175 dollar early termination fee. Who in the name of all Wall Street Greed thought up the concept of “the early termination fee”? I began to think out loud and said to myself “Wow I hope this doesn’t catch on.”

I can see it now. I have been going to the same $6.00 haircut place for a number of years and if I were to move or just go down the street to the $5.00 place, I could get a bill from my old barber simply for not coming back. “Sorry you no longer want us to give you a crappy haircut. Please remit $175 as an early termination fee”. If Hollywood Video found out I switched to Netflix they might send me a $175 bill for not coming in anymore too. If the concept really gets some wheels I could get billed for changing the tv channel before the program is officially over, which in actuality means the show plus 28 minutes of moronic commercials. Computers could keep track and add the fee to my monthly cable bill. It would certainly make me think twice about cancelling my subscriptions to Skateboarder and Creative Knitting magazine.

Come to think of it, early termination fees have been around as long as people have been borrowing money. I seem to recall a fee if I paid off a loan on a car or the house earlier than the contract indicated. Come to think of it, even if you make it through life physically and emotional unscathed, your family is billed a termination fee by the mortuary chosen to fleece your survivors.

The ultimate insult would be to die as the result of an accident in the prime of life and get to the gate in Heaven only to be told that, I since I showed up before my time, I would have to return to the world as the greeter at Wal-Mart as an early termination fee.

Thanks for listening. I feel much better.

OH POOH !

This is a bit of writing I did before I starting the blog. I recently submitted it to the Tacoma Tribune for consideration as a guest columnist, but unfortunately was not selected. Enjoy.

Everywhere I turned the last two days I was stepping in it. I mean literally up to my ankles in pooh. I stopped by my daughter Sarah’s yesterday, after going to the dump, to get a little starter for the compost pile. The heifer was in a stall in the barn and Mercy Cow, its mother, was in the front pasture so I backed the truck into the cattle shed where these two poop machines had made generous deposits. I drove home and unloaded the treasure. It mixed well in my compost heap but I found that for the rest of the day everything smelled and tasted like pooh.
Today I went back to Sarah’s to watch the demise of their heifer, only to find myself up to my ankles in pooh. Keith (of Keith’s Custom Slaughter, Tire Store and Funeral Home) had shot the poor critter and dragged it from the stall. About twenty minutes into the removal of the beast’s leather coat it began to rain and I stepped into the stall but forgot to look down. The term “pooped” is a nautical one that refers to water coming over the gunnels of a boat and onto the deck or into the hold. I had on low cut shoes and got pooped in the stall.
I drove home to find that Larry from the septic sucking service was draining the last remains from my septic tank. Larry said it was quite full. I am guessing it was the result of my preparation for a recent colonoscopy. There is never good news when you have a septic system, so I was not surprised to hear Larry say solids had leaked into the liquid portion of the double tank. It seems there was a crack at the bottom of the wall that separates the two halves. He said he could fix it for a mere $700.00. I immediately found my shoes soiled again. He applied the defibulator all septic sucking services must carry in their trucks and when I regained consciousness he said I could fix it myself. It would entail climbing into the tank with a bucket of concrete and shoving the concrete into the void between the two tanks. Being no dummy and already finding myself unfit to associate with most of the human race, I decided to do the deed myself.
I obtained the required premixed concrete from the Home Despot. The clerk at the checkout made a funny face when I paid so I spoke to her in French. She seemed to understand completely. I got home and attempted to climb into the tank only to find the ladder I was using took up most of the room. (That’s another ways of saying my ass was too big to fit in the hole). I quickly built a skinnier ladder and climbed into the tank only to find the septic sucking service leaves about ten percent of the waste in the bottom of the tank. Its starter poop. Yea just like sourdough. Pooped again!
You have to understand I am, under some situations, quite claustrophobic. It all stems from my youth when my older brother used to torment me by holding my wrists and sitting on my chest while dripping slobber onto my forehead. Climbing into the tank took a lot of effort but the repair was successfully completed. Barbara threw away all my clothes.
When A.A. Milne wrote the adventures of Winnie the Pooh, he should have talked to me first. He would have chosen a different name for the bear.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

The Most Effective Birth Control...Nudity

Barbara and I recently spent a couple of weeks on vacation in South America. My daughter and her family live on one of the upper floors of a high rise in Cartagena Columbia. The front of the building faces Cartagena Bay. Between the building and the bay is a busy street and walking path that goes all the way from the end of the spit to the naval base near town. Lots of people use the path, from early in the morning to late at night. No matter what time of day you will find walkers, joggers, skateboarders and any number of maids out walking the family snack (dog). The climate is tropical, which means it is warm all year. Most people dress casually; some are more casual than others. One of the regulars on the path was an older man who wore no shoes, no hat, and no shirt.

Yes, it was EL SPEEDO. This man has proven my theory that the best form of birth control over the age of 40 is nudity. El Speedo obviously thought he was the most alluring specimen on the path. Distracting yes, alluring no. The man should have been cited for failing to maintain his property. Perhaps you have seen the website about the people at Wal-Mart. This guy would have made the hall of fame. He came in way ahead of the two old guys I saw at Playa Blanca who were wearing thongs. Most people think thongs are modern swimwear attire. We had them when I was a kid. You could get one anytime an older and larger kid or brother pulled your whitey tighteys up over your shoulders. We called them wedgees. Let’s hope El Speedo doesn’t buy a thong. Thanks for listening. I feel much better.

The Best Way To Get Around

Cartagena Colombia is a city of about a million people. Paved roads appear to be an after thought which are crowded with all kinds of public transportion; being driven by hundreds of people who have never had a driving lesson. Traffic laws appear to be actually traffic suggestions. Stop signs exist to help the guy selling coffee and gum have some place to lean against. Honking is a way of life. The taxis honk to let you know they are available. The following photos are an overview of the way people get around.

Taxis are everywhere. I think that perhaps at one time there were lanes actually painted onto the pavement but since no one pays any attention to them they were never repainted when they wore out. There is a beggar on one of the streets who has dug a hole and patches it with sand from a small bucket and then asks the cars stopped at the light to pay him for patching he hole he dug.

Motor cycles are a major form of transportation. If a cyclist has a vest with a number on the back he is actually operating a motor cycle taxi.
The burro is a common version on the American pickup truck. I have seen the pathetic burros pulling a cart load of rebar, paint and cement along with four or five Colombians
Water taxis take people from the city to a nearby island. They park just offshore (no dock) and a crew member give the rider a piggy back ride to the boat.

This is a taxi motor cycle and a city bus. The guy standing in the doorway yells at people on the sidewalk telling them where the bus is going. There are no real bus stops. You wave at a bus and it will stop, even if its on an inside lane. The bus driver honks continually letting people know he will stop and pick them up.

LET'S HEAR IT FOR THE BIRD

I’m just waiting for the flames to die down so I can clean up the kitchen a little. You are probably all saying the same thing, “Frank cooks?” Yes I do and contrary to the opinions of my children who one time endured an experiment with sweet and sour tuna fish and that one time I fixed corn pancakes I am a very good cook.
Barbara and I are spending Thanksgiving home alone, just the two of us. That has not happened in our entire married life. I think the rest will be good for both of us. We had invited the usual suspects but had to tell them they were on their own after Barbara's surgery. Lots of people have invited us to share the meal with them but we decided it would be better to have a quiet day at home.
The last time I had Thanksgiving without any family was in 1963 in Grenoble France. The French are, for the most part, ungrateful; so Thanksgiving has not spilled into their endless list of national holidays. Turkeys on the other hand are also ungrateful, but available only around Christmas. You can find them in the shop windows, hanging by their feet with head and feathers still attached. They don’t seem to mind the indignity. They hang there with the rabbits, quail, ducks and geese. It’s kind of like a barnyard on a hook but the animals are very quiet.
In 1963, my missionary companion Elder Hollinger from Panaca Nevada and I decided we wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving and get a turkey. We rode our Lambretta motor scooter 20 kilometers out of Grenoble and in a little village called Morrin we found a turkey at a farm house. It cost us 64 francs ($15.00) and weighed 8.5 kilos. The old farm woman put it in a feed sack and I held onto it while Elder Hollinger drove back to town. Unfortunately, someone cut us off and he drove into the ditch. I fell off but managed to hang on to the bird. I must have been some sight. A slightly stupid looking Mormon missionary wearing a suit, white shirt and tie and lying in a ditch with both arms wrapped around a turkey in a dirty feed sack. The turkey survived. Since it was only the 15th of November, we took the bird back to our apartment and tied it up in the bathtub. We fed it until the fateful day and I dispatched it with grace and a flick of the wrist. Dinner that year was mashed potatoes, gravy, dressing, and the toughest turkey I have ever eaten.
This year I am thinking that a couple of KFC two piece meals would be really good. I’ll make my own cranberry sauce.
Thanks for listening, I feel much better.

Keep Off the Roof

My wife Barbara has been suffering from a prolapsed disk in her lumbar spine for the last two months. The pain has been constant and sometimes quite severe. Last Tuesday I took her into the ER at our local hospital and they admitted her and immediately put her on morphine which eased the pain somewhat. Wednesday afternoon she underwent successful surgery to release the pressure from the disk on the nerve root to her left leg. The surgery appears to have successful and she is recovering nicely. Her doctor told her the injury was caused by old age.

A few weeks ago a good friend fell of the roof of his shed and was badly injured. He has spent a few weeks in a rehab center and I understand he has now returned home.
Today I found out that our former Stake President fell off a ladder yesterday while trying to clean his roof and suffered a concussion, two broken ribs, and a torn lung. In addition I find that another friend was just released from the hospital because of another medical problem. All are about the same age.

I have decided that sometimes bad news just needs another vehicle of delivery.Let me give you an example

Larry, a single guy with a cat, asked his friend Bob to watch his house and the cat for a few weeks while he was out of town. Bob said he would be glad to do so and Larry told him he would call every week to see how thing were going.
Larry called at the end of the first week and asked “How is everything?” Bob said, “Fine except your cat died.” Larry was terribly distraught but pulled himself together and said, Bob, you don’t just tell someone their cat died like that. It’s too brutal. You should say that the cat fell off the roof and it’s not doing well. You should have me call back and each day say that the cat is worse and then after a few days you can tell me that the cat died. That way it will soften the blow.” Bob said, “I understand, I guess I could have been a little more tactful. “Great” said Larry “I will call you next week.”

The next week Larry called again and asked “How is everything?” Bob answered; ”Fine except your mother fell off the roof.”

Thanks for listening, I feel much better. (And so does Barbara)