Showing posts with label plastic surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plastic surgery. Show all posts

Monday, September 10, 2018

Thinking of getting plastic surgery to resemble Arnold Palmer


I wonder if people would think I was taking things too far if they knew I was thinking about plastic surgery to make me look exactly like Arnold Palmer. That way I could skip the sometimes tedious bits of me telling stories about Arnold Palmer and vault right into the role of being Arnold Palmer.

I think it’s what Palmer would do. He held nothing back.

Today would have been his 89th birthday.

I’ll be celebrating with not one, but two book signings — and, whew, both are indoors! I’ll be at the hometown Youngstown Grille from 10 to 1 p.m., and at the Penn Area Library in Harrison City at 6:30 p.m..

Each has the potential to be special. 

From the book:

“He was is in here for breakfast every other week or so,” says Grille owner Scott Levin. “He liked our French Toast so much, he asked for the recipe so he could have it made for him when he left for the winter. And Jerry Palmer was always in here. He was just a great guy, too. We miss them both.”

Levin remembers the time Arnold Palmer was in for breakfast when an awestruck young father sheepishly approached his table with his 2-year-old son in his arms. “He told him he’d named the boy Palmer in his honor. They’d never met before. It was beautiful. And it happened right here in the Youngstown Grille.”

I like the story of Palmer and Tom Ridge dining there, both wearing AriZona Tea Co. shirts. Levin’s young son, Jeremy, saw the shirts and asked if the famous pair were traveling sales reps.

He was sort of correct. Nearly 2 years after Palmer’s passing, Forbes reports the Palmer estate still earns $40 million a year from AP Tea sales.

The Grille — just named by Tribune-Review readers as best breakfast in Latrobe! — has been aggressive in promotions and I’ve at every step been humbled by community support.

And I’m eager to present my talk at the Penn Library. I donated some advance books two weeks ago and was warmly greeted by enthused staff.

So, yes, both have the potential to be special.

Of course as few know better than I, both also have the potential to be incredibly lame.

I’ll never forget the time I was invited to speak at the prestigious main Carnegie Library in Oakland … and no one showed up. Not a single person. It was an abject humiliation. Pittsburgh that year had a population of 307,504 and on that afternoon every single one of them had something better to do than hear me talk.

The library staff were embarrassed for me and struggled for excuses. They couldn’t understand it, one said. The previous week’s program had drawn 86 people.

What, pray tell, was the topic?

“How to raise chickens in your home.”

So having appearance-altering surgery would be a small price to pay to avoid another disgrace like that.

Think, too, of how interest in my public appearances would zoom. Event planners wouldn’t be hiring me.

They’d be hiring Arnold Palmer!

And Palmer exuded matchless charm. Actor Kirk Douglas said in 1970 that no one -- not Sinatra, John Wayne or Ronald Reagan -- had more charisma than Palmer.

So if I rudely burp beer in your face, you’re disgusted and I’m an uncouth lout. But if it’s me looking like Palmer and burping beer in your face it’s like you’ve been sneezed on by nectar-sipping butterflies.

I could tell Palmer stories in the first person. I could fool the whole world into thinking I was the legendary golfer brought back to life. I could do this right up until someone asked to see me swing a golf club.

And that would be the end of that.

No matter. I’m just spouting off. When it comes to surgery, I’m just too chicken.

But I guess in the eyes of some you can never be too chicken.


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Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Full body transplant & why I'd want body of a black female


A 62-year-old former gas company worker in Harbin, China, has volunteered for a daring new procedure to remedy the cruel quadriplegia he suffered in a wrestling accident.

He wants an entirely new body for his fully-functional head.

This is just a guess, but I’ll bet he wants wants one that can kick the ass of the opponent who injured him.

The N.Y. Times said Chinese doctors are going to attempt a full body transplant for Mr. Wang Huanming. It would involve removing the head of a suitable cadaver and stitching the Huanming noggin up top. The story was about 2,000 droning words on procedure, science and ethics.

I was disappointed there wasn’t a single mention of donor selection process.

What kind of body does Huanming get?

I understand if you go in for a rhinoplasty you get to pick your nose — and I mean that in the purely cosmetic sense.

Breast implants, too. Certainly, the patient has a say in the size, shape and heft of the new hooters.

But what’s the protocol when you get a whole new body?

Is there a body catalogue? A necrophelia-friendly website? Or do they wheel Huanming through the Harbin morgue and pull the drawers open one after another until he finds one that looks just right?

He gets a brand new body.

Man, if it were me I’d snag something female.

See, I’ve always since adolescence dreamed of having instant access to a woman’s body. Oh, the youthful nights I went to bed dreaming I had a woman’s body in bed with me. 

I just never dreamed medical science would one day make it possible the woman’s body I dreamed of possessing could be just below my neck.

Understand, mine wouldn’t be a sex change operation. My head would still be hetero.

In fact, with a woman’s body at my/her fingertips I’d become hyper-hetero.

Something from Victoria’s Secret would be nice, sure, but I wouldn’t be picky.

Ideally, I’d like a body with abnormally long arms so I could I could always scratch those hard-to-reach places.

And I’d want something short, about 5 feet or so. Any taller you’re always going to be hitting your head on open kitchen cabinets. Perspective adjustment will be a real bitch so you wouldn’t want someone who excelled at basketball. 

Plus, a small body would make flying commercial feel roomier.

I think, too, for purposes of race relations I’d like the body of a black woman.

My white head walking down the street atop a black woman’s body would send a message that the races can co-exist. 

Of course, my daring idea might cause stress on my marriage. Val would justifiably fear I was cheating on her even on nights when she knew I was home all alone.

And she might get jealous, accurately pointing out I was spending more time with my new body than I did with my bride.

But I’m sure the three of us would eventually learn to get along, and if I got one that was roughly shaped like Val we could cut our wardrobe expenses in half.

Sure, I’d miss things like writing my name in the snow and some of the other sporty recreations that go along with having a penis, but I still think having some strange woman’s body would lead to all sorts of fun.

I think it would make up for all those lonely years when the women I was chasing wanted nothing to do with me.

The article said the greatest risk would be the potentially fatal consequence of common transplant rejection.

That wouldn’t be a problem with me.

Female bodies have been rejecting me since I was 15.



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