This past Thursday morning while vigorously engaged in fast-walking through the city, enjoying this glorious weather suddenly thrust upon us, your friendly bartender began thinking about his blog… you know, what the hell he should write about so you don’t pull up a stool with nothing to read. And it being the day after St. Patrick’s Day as he made his way toward the river at an admirable pace… that day when all of us bartenders lick our wounds… he suddenly thought, Why don’t I write about that… surviving St. Patrick’s Day? The (a-hem) sheer courage of it all. Or to really stretch the point… the downright saintliness!
For just like St. Patrick on March seventeenth do we not try to do what he did? Do we not give succor to a thirsty flock while chasing the over-served snakes out of Bar-land with sticks? And do we not give complete absolution to some who’ve… (Ooops?)
Then I walked by a fancy nail salon and all thoughts of bartender saintliness flew out the window. Yes I suddenly realized that what we do (even on March seventeenth) is child’s play compared to what I was seeing through the window. It was a woman who was tending to a man who was getting his toenails clipped. Good grief, Charlene Brown! And even though no longer humping the fast-walk my heart rate kept up its pace, in fact it might’ve sped up a bit as I gaped. (Shock does that.)
Is this possible? I thought. What the fuck is he doing? Why is that man in that chair in his bare feet? Do vanity and sloth, in that order, know no bounds?
Now of course I’ve heard of this thing going on… guys getting toenails done… and I realize it’s spring and some clowns can’t wait to “thong it”, but to see it up close and framed in a sheet of glass like that, well it just defies analysis but damn it I’ll try!
First of all, to get to the heart of the matter and pay proper homage here, why haven’t these women been heralded somewhere on television? Somewhere, anywhere? And that TV show “Dirty Jobs” immediately comes to mind. For doesn’t the taking of the male foot and placing it in one’s bare hand, that foot after a winter of hibernation in argyles and sweat socks, qualify as a “dirty job” in spades? I mean without even clipping a nail, dear reader, doesn’t the mere handling of that thing rate you coverage? Me thinks so.
Or why haven’t these women at least been featured on PBS’s “American Masters”, for surely is not what they do a mastery of virtues… tolerance and downright courage chief among them? Again, me thinks so. For these are indeed extraordinary women performing in extraordinary times, and no less a heroine than Rosie the Riveter during The Big One. And if you don’t think these are extraordinary times, when in the past has the American male done things like artificial tanning, facials and pedicures? That answer is never!
I mean, can you imagine a guy in the Nineteen Fifties saying to his wife over breakfast, “Listen, Hon, you better pick up the kids after play date, I’ve got a few stops to make when I leave the workplace. First of all my toenails need buffed and my legs are as white as alabaster, and I think I could use a facial from all this dry weather.” No, a guy back then if he uttered such words would be deemed some fabulous time traveler, not to the present but the court of Louis the Fourteenth. And of course he’d be stoned.
Which brings us now to Yeti with regards to TV shows…
I’m thinking of maybe putting this guy… the man I saw in the window… on “America’s Most Wanted”, for to me what he asked that woman to do broke the law. Yes, producing those nasty slabs, dear reader, and requiring they not just be touched but actually worked on, has to be somewhere listed as a crime against womanhood. Or at least a minor affront to the laws of decency. (You should’ve seen those puppies!) And when you really get to the truth of the matter (ugly feet or not), who does he think he is… freaking Nero? Or King Herod? Some royalty lounging on pillows eating grapes while his subjects are tasked with his preening or in this case “pruning”? Holy ped-o-file, Batman!!!
In other words… how hard is it, Bigfoot, to grab some clippers, grab each toe by its wriggly neck then reduce its granite tip by at least two inches? I would say not very. Because unless you’re that guy Jim Carey played in the movie “Dumb and Dumber”, who required no less than a power sander for the job, I’d say the task is not all that hard by a lot. But, hey, that’s just me. I’m not one who sends out for personal hygiene. End of story!
So in closing… to all you brave manicurists out there who’ve been given the task of getting Yeti ready for summer, I not only applaud your efforts I gladly canonize you. You’re a saint! And to all my brothers and sisters out there who toiled behind the stick this year on St. Patrick’s Day, you’ll have to wait til next year to receive my homage. (Unless you decide to moonlight tonight as nail boy!)
Over and out from Bar-land, see ya’ next week-end! .