BIG TIPS
JULY 17, 1998 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE 13
Where did the pinkie-in-the-air custom come from?
by M.T. "the Big Tipper" Martone
When a hot new beauty product comes out, am I ever featured pressing my face against the drugstore window longingly? No. Therefore, my obsession with Biore Pore Strips has caught me completely off guard.
These are little fibrous patches which, when pressed onto the bridge of your nose, adhere to all the grime in your pores. Size matters: I have a pretty small nose, and the strip wraps up almost to my eyeballs, although as far as I know I have no blackheads on my corneas.
After the madcap thrill of tearing it off, you get to examine the strip for the "porcupine"-like evidence of your apparently inadequate grooming technique. This is strangely compelling, but why should this come as a surprise to me, when I can while away a good 20 minutes of a boring workday absent mindedly sticking Scotch tape to my lips and ripping it off?
Well, the first one's free. It did not take long for me to realize that I was a user, and since you're not supposed to do it more than once a week, it followed that I had to drum up some innocent pores.
My unknowing victims arrived last night to watch a movie, and before the previews were finished, there were three people sitting in the dark with white patches on their respective snouts. There was a nerve wracking moment as we tentitively pulled a strip off of a sunburned nose, but the big payoff came when we got to Bill. Why hadn't I thought of doing it to a guy before? His strip looked like it had a pine forest on it. All told, it was a big night of largely consensual thrills.
So, apparently, you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, and you can pick the outside of your friend's nose.
If I may be so bold, I'd like to assume that you too have certain commercial jingles that run through your head repeatedly, some more relentlessly than others.
For me, the stickers are predominantly from my childhood, and their front-burner position in my mind seems to have no relationship to whether I would have used, or even desired the product itself. There's just something eternally resonant in their concise, triumphant clarity: "Nobody demands more from a Datsun, than Datsun, we are driven!"
I have, however, a certain canon of recurrent tunes, so when the unprecedented "Dip in a Chip, it's not your average cracker, it's a chip with the dip built in!" started ringing in my head every morning for the past week, I was mystified.
Was my body trying to tell me something? Was I suffering some sort of clinical dip deficiency? In Dip in a Chip's heyday, did it come in clam? The source of my inspiration was revealed unto me this morning, though, when I put some of my new gel in my hair. It's Dippity Do.
Dear Big Tipper,
What's up with the pinkie in the air while drinking tea?
Dear Acting Classy,
Class Act
You'll be happy to know that this fussy gesture is archaic and only necessary if you want to keep your pinkies toned. Oddly, I found the answer to this one in an etiquette guide for teenagers (How Rude! The Teenagers Guide to Good Manners, Proper Behavior, and Not Grossing People Out by Alex J. Packer, Ph.D., 1997).
Most manners grow out of practical considerations, and in this case, tea cups used to have no handles, and were consequently pretty darn hot. The fewer fingers in contact with scorching ceramic, the better.
Dear Big Tipper,
What would you do about reaching a girlfriend who's always on line? Her phone just rings and rings, because her answering machine can't pick up when she's on. I'm frustrated to death.
Dear Call Waiting:
"Ring" Her Neck
Do as I do, not as I say. I won't give up my answering/fax machine because I'm a chronic
screener, and I like to hear who's calling before I pick up. But I'm not on line that much at home. Encourage her to get voice mail, or give it to her as a present. You could also visit her on her turf: E-mail her. Good luck.
For a limited time, everyone who sends a letter or e-mail question to Big Tips will receive a piece of Blessed Mother bric-abrac: a key chain, a little statuette, perhaps a magnet. I am breaking up and dispersing a huge collection over the course of this year, and you are my latest recipients.
For more information on this "Diaspora Project," contact me at M.T. Martone, care of the Chronicle, P.O. Box 5426, Cleveland 44101, or fax to 216-631-1052, or e-mail to martone@drizzle.com.
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