Choppers For Sale

The Lane Brothers' Point-Counterpoint Guide To Etiquette For Young Men

Let a Smile be Your Umbrage

The final thing you will need to know about public grooming is the care and cleaning of your teeth. Once you have that down, you should be all set. "Oh, really, " you might sneer, "and what about braiding my armpit hair, wiseguy? Were you just going to gloss over that?" Well, yes, I was, but, now that you have painted me into a corner, I'm afraid I have to admit all I can do for you is refer you to Dr. Hildegard von Doyberger's standard reference text, The Art of Armpit Hair Braiding in the Post Modern Age, vols. IX - XLI. Hope you like Sanskrit, Curious George!

Now then, it is important to know that a clean, sparkling white set of teeth is considered essential among people of quality who chew gum. The big toothy smile you flash as you pass them on the street should make them want to vote for you, not run for cover. If they start edging away from you, then clearly you're doing something wrong.

Those in the know will try to tell you that it's best to use a whitening agent of some kind to get that bright smile on your teeth. Some of these work better than others, but they don't last. If you want to be free of repeating the process add nausea, then your best bet is to apply a coat of good old American white paint. And don't get the cheap stuff either. Tell the guy at the Piggly Wiggly you want the third best stuff in the house and price is no object. Right away this will mark you as a mano di respetuoso.

Now, before you apply the whitening agent-and I hate to sound like a squeaky record, but here it is-your teeth must be clean. The way you go about this in a public setting, where you may not have a toothbrush and roadmap handy, would be to high yourself to a restroom, thoroughly wash hands, and then leave a fingertip unrinsed. That is the very selfsame fingertip you will run across your teeth, top and bottom, inside and out, until they are squealy clean. Spit repeatedly until the soap bubbles are gone, and then you are ready to paint your masterpiece, Beethoven!

Fine, I hear you grumbling, but what about floss and mouthwash? Right you are: what about them? Here is what.

Flossing can be done anywhere, anytime, or as your dentist will be only too happy to tell you: everywhere, all the time, night and day and, if possible, in your sleep. Floss on the street, floss in your yard, floss by the palace at the change of the guard. Floss when you can, and floss when you can't. If you're all out of floss, use the leg of your pant. Floss after snacks, tangerines and desserts. Floss 'til you drop and floss 'til it hurts. Floss when you're sick and floss when you're well. Floss hard in this world so you won't burn in Hell. Take his words with a grain of salt if you must, but then, for goodness sake, floss!

As to gargle and mouthwash, let us remember, it's not just about good teeth, it's about a good mouth. There are a number of excellent products out there claiming to be mouthwashes, and they all kill germs to some extent. However, to do this, they must contain alcohol or, at the very least, iodine. That is all very well and good for making your germs take the dirt nap, but not so good for the whitening on your teeth (remember that, Sparky?) Clearly, you do not want to wash your mouth out with an alcoholic beverage or you will rinse the paint off. On the other hand, you would not want to have anything stinky swirling around your gums. I would suggest that you use soda pop. As to where you spit it (remember this is all about being in public), you ought to be able to hold it in until you can find a spittoon. That's what they are for, Quit Eating Dogs. But then if you are going to be so horribly antsy that you can't wait for the next available cuspidor, here is a handy reference chart, indicating places where you might and might not spit:

Sidewalk , yes Welcome mat, no Laundromat, no Mud puddle, yes Mad poodle, yes Salon floor, no Saloon floor, yes Golf course, no Miniature Golf course, of course

There you have it: all you need to know about public grooming and what not.

Now you are ready to go out into the world, so tie those shoelaces together and hop to it!

Counterpoint Essay #3

Taking Umbrage

Well, here goes my brother jabbering away again about something he knows so little about. It is quite easy to be smug about tooth care when you only have three of them to take care of. It's quite another thing when you have to look after 37 like the rest of us.

And yet, with only the three teeth, what kind of imagination does he bring to the bear? White paint? Oh, please, my grandmother could have thought of that, and she was deaf as a post! Instead of "whitening" your teeth like all the other "sheep, " how about purpling them; or reddening them; or greening them? Do you see where I'm going with this? Your mouth is an empty crayon box, just waiting to be stocked with every color in the coloring book. Tell me this, do you want to make a splash or do you actually want people to drop dead from boredom as you walk past them? Their blood is on your hands.

With all that blood on your hands, you might think you barely have enough time left in a day to pick up the dry cleaning, but there are a number of creative and useful ways you can spend your day if you will just take the trouble to make what they call a "tod o" list. Why they call it that, I do not know, but let's play along. The idea is that, when you wake up, after your morning mug of champagne to get rid of those pesky dt's, you jot down a list of things that will make this a brighter and more productive day for you. For example, here's one that occasionally works for me:

1) Think a happy thought 2) Rearrange your salt and pepper shakers 3) Turn on the telly 4) What, you need more?

If that is too exhausting (and maybe it is to start with, but I would suggest you keep it in mind as a goal to strive toward), then you may want to try out my short list:

1) Go back to bed

Either way, it's a "heads, I win, tails, you lose proposition, " but I shouldn't have to tell you how to manage your time. Yet I do.

On the other hand, unless you are the Tower of Pisa, you can probably get by without a list. The question is, why would you want to? If you make a list, you can't possibly forget stuff. Let us say, for example, you wish to plan a weekend getaway. Here's an example of how a list can be invaluable:

1) Enter bank. 2) Bring shotgun. 3) Point shotgun at teller. 4) Rob bank. 5) Leave bank. 6) Move smartly. 7) Make getaway.

And, speaking of Portugal, why is it that I drive on the highway, but I get high in my driveway? Answer me that, if you know so much. I thought not.

While you are pondering the imponderable, though, you should keep in mind that not everyone is going to see things the way you do or-believe this or not-the way I do. One man's junk is often another man's garbage. Remember that before you become all a-twitter to get rid of those bats in your belfry.

But of all those who did not see things the way we do, there was perhaps none more so than the lately laminated Czech poet, Glub Dzmc. We (my tapeworm and I) were fortunate to discover at a yard sale, and for only pennies on the dollar, The Lost Notebooks of Glub Dzmc. See what I mean about one man's junk? And even though I'm not altogether convinced the owner gave me quite enough money to take the volume out of his yard, I am not going to quibble over a few dollars, when such a .....mine of poetry has fallen into my hands.

Rather than try to give you the well-considered but prosaic reasons why my brother is once again all wet, I thought I would let Glub say it for me in a poem:

The One About the Traveling Salesman with Only One Shoe

On Each Foot

it is sunday or

at least it used to be, so they tell me,

november thirty

something

in the year of our Lord,

and like some

damn thing or another,

the afternoon fog,

ever soupine in its greenpea mountain majesty,

has once again rolled

through our lives without

ever being detected, deflected or even relegated to some

other place and time

where such things are properly viewed

with terror

and alarm.

and renaissance painters come,

and renaissance painters go,

talking about women who tour or maybe

just the barns

on which they have emblazoned chew

mailpouch, Lord, i don't know;

come, jack, the old man said

to his ten of spades, but then he was

nearsighted, so they tell me and

difficult to figure out;

come, jack my queen, he

insisted, pulling all the while

at the leash.

let us get a new leash on life, you

and i,

and a flea collar as well.

do you remember that priest? i asked,

the one in the traffic

circle?

they say he yielded, so they say, then too

there once

was a monk

in siberia whose

life just grew drearier and

drearier 'til he

leapt from

his cell with a hell

of a yell and eloped with a mother

superior.

and renaissance painters come,

and renaissance painters go,

talking about the last

time they think they

got fortunate.