Beauty Dish April 2006 Archive (from old blog)

Saturday, April 1, 2006   Review: Avon Anew Clinical Man So Soft Two weeks ago, Avon sent me a preview tube of the upcoming Avon Anew Clinical Man So Soft. According to the postcard accompanying Man So Soft, this product comes out next quarter and will be fanfared in the Mens Catalogues, the core Avon brochure, and in radio, television, and print advertisement. Usually when Avon sends me an advanced preview, they also send a boat load of sales literature and customer handouts, but this time I only received the Avon Man So Soft and five boxes of samples. Frankly, I have no idea what this product does, but applaud Avon's efforts to include men in their best selling Anew Clinical line. I decided to do some blind market research and enlisted the assistance of my best customers. My first victim... er... customer, MaryAnne, lives in a hundred-year-old adobe home surrounded by a natural wood fence. I hauled my Avon past a chained and sleepy rotweiller, knocked on the door, and handed her five samples and the latest brochure. "MaryAnne, I really could use your help. Avon sent me this new Man So Soft, but I don't know what it does. Can you test it on Frank and let me know what happens?" MaryAnne looked at the samples in her hands. They looked like condom wrappers, all square and grey, enhanced with a manly font. "Birdie, what is this? Man So Soft? Does this cure the problem or does it make your man soft and tender?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Heck if I know. Just call me and let me know, ok?" I left MaryAnne standing on her porch, gazing at the Man So Soft. I sent a silent prayer to the universe that Frank was game and continued on my way. Fourteen days and three couple customers later, I still had two full boxes of samples and three couples ready to experiment in the name of Clueless Saleslady Research. The data is in, and this what my customers have to say: From Anita and Gary, college professors at the local state university: "We 'tried' it and it wasn't very hard to use except for the fact we didn't know how to sure how to use it, so Gary had a couple suggestions, but asked me several times before hand whether I was sure that the effect was permanent because he felt that in one scenario, that could be a very good thing, but in the other hand, he could really be let down. Anyway, we 'tried' it and we can tell you that, clinically speaking, once you get it on, it really does the job." From Juanita and Esteban, ranchers: "After a long day on the ranch, sometimes I'm really tired at night, but Esteban being the bullheaded man that he is, doesn't always want to settle down at night. So I was hoping this would help him settle down and so I left it on the bathroom counter and told him after he gets a shower why doesn't he try some of this on himself. He asked me what it was for, and I told him that it does what a man needs. And he seemed to understand and I didn't have to say anything else. So I went to bed and Esteban came out of the shower and got into bed with me and we had a few minutes of nice cuddling and that was it. I had a good night sleep. I think this is a good product but the next morning Esteban didn't say anything about it. In other words, it works for me." MaryAnne and Frank, motel owners "We decided to leave the samples in our hotel rooms and leave a questionnaire where the users were asked to leave their comments. All five were used, but we only got three comments back. Comment number one: Whatever the hell this stuff is (is it legal?) John would really like to get our hands on more of it although what he did with it I don't know. Comment Number Two: We like very much this sample. My husband's hair is very soft. And taste good, too. Comment Number Three: Is this a joke? What's wrong with you people? I didn't sleep all night! So, dear readers, I am still stumped as to what Man So Soft does. I still have twenty samples, so if anyone would like a sample and assist me in this blind market research, please drop me an email. P.S. I don't think it's edible. edited on April 4 to add: This was my 2006 April Fools blogging joke! I had a lot of fun writing it! 5:16:45 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Sunday, April 2, 2006   Fan Boys Movie Shoot in my town!!! My tiny New Mexican town is, in a way, the very last Wild West village left in the country. During the renovation craze of the 50s and 60s, my town rested, too poor to cover existing Victorians and ancient adobes with a nouveau facade. As a result, movie companies love the ambience and character of this town! I've already seen three shoots, and was an extra - along with my boys - in the upcoming film, Astronaut Farmer, starring Billy Bob Thornton. Today, Fan Boys is being filmed just eight blocks from my house! The boys and I watched a big filmed brawl between Star Trek and Star Wars fans! Guess which side we were rooting for! Ha! The crew has been wonderful this morning - they gave my boys a copy of the Call Sheet. William Shatner is in this movie, too! The film will follow a group of hardcore Star Wars fan boys who set out to take their dying friend to Skywalker Ranch to see the movie in a perfect setting before he passes away. The crew is filming at the Montezuma castle this afternoon, as well as a shoot in the one-screen movie theatre five blocks from my house. I'm scooting back to watch a car crash involving a bronze bust of Captain Kirk on the plaza, but in the meantime, check out a couple of cute photos of the Trekkies in the film and my boys, Harry (9) and Gandolf (11): I'm bringing my Avon to pass out to the crew and will report back with more photos! And, you're just gonna have to wait until we're done for the rest of the cowboy and Scientologist story! 2:13:19 PM    doorbell  [ ]   Fan Boys Movie Shoot in my town, continued! More details from the movie shoot: My town is supposed to be the hometown of James T. Kirk, and as the Star Wars fan boys stop on their way to the west coast, they get into a huge fight with the Trekkies! Some fun pics of the props and camera folk. The bronze-colored statue is James Kirk fighting an alien. 4:57:17 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Monday, April 3, 2006   Wherein I am known for my whopper zits... Today's Wall Street Journal has a story featuring Beauty Dish! The article is titled "Office Technology The Inside View" by William M. Bulkeley. It can be found in the Technology section of today's WSJ, or online if you are a subscriber. Here's what they said about me and the crazy things I will do in the name of beauty science: Of course, allowing freedom of expression on workplace blogs can result in statements that may make managers cringe. Birdie Jaworski, an Avon Products Inc. representative in rural Las Vegas, N.M., has developed one of the most popular blogs hosted at news Web site Salon.com. She has even heard from book publishers urging her to write a memoir. One reason for Ms. Jaworski's popularity: her unvarnished reviews of Avon products, which she tries before peddling to customers. Last fall, Ms. Jaworski wrote of an anti-aging cream: "I don't know how I'm going to get through a two-week trial! This stuff is giving me whopper zits!!!!!" In February, she disclosed that she had stuck with the regimen and has found "my skin is softer and more even-toned than when I started," although fine lines remain on her face. Avon says it encourages its independent representatives to express themselves freely. Thanks, Bill, for such a fun interview, and thanks to Avon HQ for letting us reps speak our minds! runs to the bathroom and looks for zits... 11:30:02 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Marlon Brando, Pocahontas, and Me - The End! Avon + sneaky cowboys + (??) Scientology = The Great P.O. Stand-Off! Please read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four,Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven! The desolate New Mexican Post Office where I met Ms. Hollywood A young Latino boy with jet hair and ripped jeans wandered down the Post Office road. He carried a dish wrapped in foil under his left arm and a gallon jug of water in his right. He walked carefully, with small steps, and he kept looking at the dish under his arm, slightly adjusting it so that it remained perfectly level. A cloud of dust followed his feet, swirled in mysterious patterns that rose into the sunlight. He didn't match my wave, just kept walking, passed me, turned onto the highway and kept walking toward the Corazon Ranch. I let my engine idle, tried to brush my teeth with my index finger and smoothed my Princess Leia buns down as best I could. I wasn't sure what kind of customer my strange maybe-Scientologist was, but she sure sounded cultured and beautiful on the phone. I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror and decided I looked a bit cow-worn but good enough for rural Avon. I shifted into first and headed for the Post Office. I drove the dirt road like a jaded old lady, as if I'd seen it all already and didn't want to see it again. I mentally calculated how much money I would have to deduct for the Avon Bug Guard spray that was ruined in my offroad jaunt. With the diversion I was fifteen minutes late for my meeting, but I breathed deep, let the gritty air erase the cows, the cowboy, Neil Young, the despair I felt at life in general. I glanced at Leo's simple business card. What would it be like to wander the mesa on horseback? I tried to put the thought out of my mind. There's only one road in to this Post Office, I thought. I can take my time, gather my wits. A jackrabbit sat on the sidelines, stared at me thought one eye, furry antennas posed, ready for transmission. The Post Office jumped into view as my car rounded a clump of scrawny juniper. It looked like a simple stucco home, a salmon-colored desert ranch home with small windows and a utilitarian sign with the town, zip code, and official Post Office title. I rolled to a stop, next to the only other car in the drive - a smooth black Lexus with tinted windows. Red clay clung to the wheel walls, and the exhaust sputtered as if the car had just been turned off. I stuck my head out my window and waved at the driver. She opened her door. "Hi! I'm Birdie! I've got your Avon!" I grabbed the bags from the shotgun seat and jumped out of the car. "Hi. Thanks for driving all the way out here. Hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience." The woman stepped out of the car, and I froze. Her hair gleamed copper and gold and artificial silk, artfully arranged in a messy updo fastened by an aqua and silver clip. But it wasn't her hair that I stared at, or her tight trendy jeans with the fashionable rips, or the off-the-shoulder teal peasant blouse that swayed with the rhythm of the mesa winds, or her diminutive height. It was her unique face, her wide-set eyes, the nose and mouth that I thought I might know from the movies, from the gossip-ridden web sites that chart celebrity nonsense. I wasn't sure. A flicker of silver flashed along the ridge of the mesa beyond us, and I jerked my head to see Leo riding his horse. He was only a wee bit bigger than a dot, but his hair enveloped his body like a Senor Godiva. "Oh my gosh. It's you! At least I think it's you! Sorry. I don't mean to babble! Here you go. Um. The invoice is in the bag." My hands shook as I handed the Avon to Ms. Hollywood. She didn't crack a smile. Her lips remained rigid, swollen with perfection or collagen, I couldn't tell which. She turned sideways, set the Avon on the hood of her Lexus, and handed me an envelope containing cash. I wondered whether she was a size zero or two. Certainly no more. I sucked in my stomach, tried to look like a ten instead of a twelve. I tried to glance casually in Leo's direction, but I couldn't find him, his shadow, his hooved companion. "I left you a little extra in the envelope. I hope you accept tips." She titled her head and the sun reflected off her carefully made-up skin. Her face didn't animate as she spoke, told me that she took cosmetic snake oil, believed in the power of eternal youth. "Yes, I do. Thank you so much, you didn't have to go to that trouble." My voice stammered. I tried to gain composure, tried to recall the list of known celebrity Scientologists, but Ms. Hollywood wasn't on the list. I had to find out. She returned to her car, slid inside, and I ran to her window, leaving my Avon cash sitting against the windshield of my car. "Excuse me! Excuse me! Are you a Scientologist?" I blurted the question as Ms. Hollywood gunned her engine. Ms. Hollywood didn't laugh, didn't answer, and as she drove away I saw the deranged expression of one clay-coated sorta Star Wars Avon Lady mirrored in the rear window of her Lexus. Rats. I waved to the mesa, to invisible Leo, waved goodbye to the Scientologists hiding behind the red and green. I stuffed the money in my glove compartment and headed home. Why didn't I ask her why she bought so much bug repellent? I cursed myself for ignoring the obvious, for falling for celebrity, for the idea that one is better than another, one is prettier, more important, that I am somehow less. Who the hell was she, anyway? I flicked on my CD and let Neil Young sing about Pocahontas. And maybe Marlon Brando Will be there by the fire We'll sit and talk of Hollywood And the good things there for hire When I got home I stuck Leo's card on the fridge. It sits there still, a memory, a gift, a reason to haunt the mesa sometime in the future. 10:50:41 PM    doorbell  [ ]   Tidbit City My Turkish friend, Ulak, called me this afternoon. He's driving to New Mexico for a visit this weekend! Yay! I'm just praying I don't have to wax his back again! I also delivered the Wild County to Marine Man today. And I was surprised, his story is like nothing any of us guessed, and yet it's not unusual or strange in any way. I'll tell you tomorrow. 10:58:19 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Tuesday, April 4, 2006   Spamtastic! Public Service Announcement You've found the eBay fraud spams in your inbox. You've received the Nigerian Millionaire spams. But have you received an Avon order spam yet? If you are an Avon Rep, watch out! Some reps have been fooled by mystery orders arriving in their email. I know of no less than four reps who have placed huge orders based on these spam emails. This is not a joke or a late April Fools. This week I received no less than twelve of these puppies. Here's an example I just received: From: josephdarley@yahoo.com Subject: order Date: April 4, 2006 2:27:13 PM MDT To: josephdarley@yahoo.com hello, i will like to order some item for my cosmetic shop in ghana and i will like to knw the grandtotal cost for the item plus shipping cost. 100 bottles of far away perfum, 100 bottles of haiku eau du perfum, Im in Maine Bangor but im sending these products to my cosmetic shop outside the united states which will be celebrating its 10th anniversary and want to send them this products as Gifts for the hard worker  but i will be leaving to check on some projects in Britain very soon so i will be out of town for sometime so i need you to order the products to your end first and later reship them to my cosmetic shop but i will be the one handling the shipping charges.I will use my Ups account number to pick them up so that will cover for the shipping charges or if you can charge the shipping cost from my card.If you are okay with this let me know asap so that i reply you back with my master  card to charge for full payment and when will you order the products and when will you have them on hand for shipping.i need to hear from you asap. Best Regards Joseph To be frank, some of my customers use the same sort of spelling and grammar mistakes.... but no one has (yet) ordered 200 bottles of perfume! Avon Reps, beware! Don't be fooled by these spams. 2:42:03 PM    doorbell  [ ]   An Hour of Sunshine for a Million Years of Rain My cowboy friends across the street practicing roping steer My New Mexican town forgot it once breathed, once promised railroad riches and mission salvation. I peddle Avon door-to-door in my usual utility kilt and T-shirt, scuffed boots against pavement. Back in California people weren't sure whether I was poor or eccentric. They didn't know I was both. Here my outfits don't breach protocol, don't broadcast silent messages. Everyone here is poor, is colorful, eccentric, so alive. The house across my street houses six young cowboys. They rope lead-pipe steer in the street for practice, their lean bodies framing a block fence marred with teenaged graffiti. They don't care, don't notice the spray paint. I want to offer to cover it for them, dip brush into can and send a mural of horses and antelope and deep open sky across the cement, but I'm too poor to buy the colors. I packed Marine Man's two bottles of Avon Wild Country cologne and two tubes of Wild Country Hair and Body Wash. I stuffed a Mens Catalogue in his crisp white bag and tossed in a handful of samples. I grabbed a few extra books and samples, too, and handed them to the cowboys in the road. They tipped baseball caps, waved me goodbye as I sauntered toward my customer's home. Marine Man lives two blocks away, in a decaying Victorian partly covered in cheap gray vinyl siding. I can see the pointed attic of his home from my bedroom window. His front yard looks like mine - lifeless, a camouflage yard of gold and brown deep in drought. I stood for a minute before I crossed the property, peered into my delivery bag to be sure it contained everything. He opened the door as I calculated and motioned me to join him on the porch. I stepped on pieces of chipped flagstone arranged in a crooked walk and met him at the stairs. "Hey! I'm Birdie! Nice to meet ya!" I extended my hand in greeting, and he took it, shook it with strength and warmth. The man looked much older than I expected, perhaps thirty-five, maybe forty but his voice sounded impossibly young, frozen. "Hi. I'm Dante." He pulled a leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and opened it. "How much?" I sputtered the amount and tried to think of a way to stall him, to get invited inside for a story or a snack. His hands were soft and delicate, not the hands of the local ranchers. He wore a faded navy blue polo shirt layered over a long-sleeved T-shirt. I took his money, thanked him, turned to leave, but I couldn't. "Sorry!" Dante looked at me with a quizzical expression. He reached one hand behind his head and scratched his coarse black hair. "Yes?" "Why? Dante, why? Why smell like a Marine?" His lips turned up in smile, but my heart hurt a little to see it, a weary smile of some kind of aching regret. I cursed my big mouth. "Nevermind, sorry! None of my beeswax!" I turned to run, wanted to jump over his house, over the two neighbors between us, fly home, sit on my stoop and watch the cowboys. But Dante cleared his throat, gave me an answer, something I didn't expect. "It's OK. I should have expected you to wonder. I did ask you a strange question. I'm missing my father. He was a Marine. He died years ago, when I was a little kid. Died on duty. Some days I can barely remember what he looks like. I look at photographs but they don't make sense to me. It's like looking at someone else's relative. They don't look how I remember him. But I remember his smell, can't get it out of my head. I know he used Avon. Somehow that's all I have left of him. A few pictures. Knowing that he used Avon He smelled spicy. Like a father. Like a Marine. You know?" I nodded my head. Dante nodded, too, took his Avon memory inside his home, closed the door. His song-like accent followed me home, made me wonder why I tease my customers, let them be teased when I tell their stories. I opened a Wild Country cologne sample as I sat on my front stairs. The cowboys whooped and hollered, their tiny Latina girlfriends cheering from the back of a pickup truck. I rubbed the sample on my arm and breathed the scent into my lungs. 5:59:15 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Wednesday, April 5, 2006   Round Up You just never know what Avon will send you I found a small cardboard envelope from Avon in yesterday's mail. It contains a shiny navy blue CD (or DVD, I have no idea which yet, haven't inserted it into my computer yet) and is labeled: A Special Message for President's Club Members From Liz Smith. I'll listen (watch?) and report! No school today due to Parent Teacher Conferences. I'm sure I'll say more about this after the fact. Harry and Gandolf are great kids, but.... let's just call them eccentric like their mom.... at least I haven't found any Avon missing from my little office lately... I know I haven't posted the contest results yet. I'm still working on making the presentation something special. Everyone who sent in a story deserves the best. Also, coming up next are a review of the new Avon Anew Clinical Eye Lift, a story about my favorite gas station in town, and two songs! Harry and Gandolf recorded a spoof of Thomas Dolby's "She Blinded Me with Science." Their version is "She Blinded Me with Avon." Ha! Plus a sweet reader sent me a Dance Mix version of my own Avon Prison Blues! Now hand me a purple leotard while I feather my hair.... 6:42:55 AM    doorbell  [ ]

Saturday, April 8, 2006   Got the coffee jitters.... My Turkish friend, Ulak, arrived safe and sound. He fixed strong spicy coffee last night, poured it into my two Star Trek Federation of Planets coffee mugs, and we talked about the old days, the days I lived in So Cal and ran under the frayed wings of beach-bum seagulls most mornings. Things are different now, I keep telling him. Things are more quiet, collected, I don't feel tense. I miss my old life, though, miss my friends, the water. But I needed to move away from the hassle, I couldn't survive in that energy any longer, I couldn't survive. He doesn't understand. I'm not sure I do, either. I only know life is mysterious, long, short, upside-down, and we make the best of it we can. We all do. So what are we doing today? The only thing two Trekkie kids, one displaced woo-woo Californian, and one international man of mystery can do in the Land of Enchantment. We're driving to Roswell and visiting the International UFO Museum! Now. What kind of Avon products do you think aliens would use? 7:54:30 AM    doorbell  [ ]

Sunday, April 9, 2006   Caption the photo! Gandolf and Harry at a diner on the way to Roswell 7:06:29 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Caption the photo! 7:08:32 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Flying Shoes posted a teaser here, but moved it to the full story..... 10:12:31 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Monday, April 10, 2006   Flying Shoes The tractor in front of Raphael's service station. I left two Avon brochures on the vinyl seat, natch. My town drinks from a river that forgot how to run under a sky that forgot how to cry. Most townspeople call it the "Mighty" Gallinas, though it runs nearly dry now, barely trickles past sun-punished reeds, cuts this place into east and west, old and new. You could drop a match and light the sky. You could breathe the local green chili stew and ignite the air, evaporate the train station, the haunted Casteneda Hotel, the dilapidated roundhouse. The City Council voted extreme drought rules into effect a few weeks ago. No washing cars! No watering lawns! Restaurants can't wash coffee mugs, and tonight I walked past the restored wild west hotel where Roosevelt's Rough Riders held their first reunion in 1899, stood at the window, watched the bar where Doc Holliday held medical court, where Billy the Kid downed harsh whiskey. The bartender mixed good gold tequila and fresh lime in a salt-rimmed Dixie cup. Tough times. I walk my Avon streets in this drought. My skin catches dust like my car windshield, leaves a soft patina of grime along my bare legs, my arms. Most days I kick my cowboy boots against the ground, let the loose dirt fly to heaven. No grass keeps it close to the ground, nothing alive, nothing awake beneath my feet. Please rain, I ask the blue above me, ask God, ask anyone, anything who might listen. Please rain. Please help us. The Gallinas continues to fade. I stop at Raphael's service station, Fina, every time I haul my Avon brochures and attempt to hand them to people who might care. The business sits at the end of my street, across from the drought-dead car wash, the enforced-paper-cup Pizza Hut. Raphael bought the station this past week, paid for it in hope and pieces of paper labeled I.O.U. Raphael shrugs his shoulders when I bring up the endless sun. "Birdie, this is nature's circle. We must complete the cycle. Rain will come when it's time." I never use any other gas station. I drive my car to Raphael's. I stand in his dinky convenience mart staring at the glass canister offering shots of shelled piñon nuts while he fills my tank. He doesn't let anyone else touch the pumps. The drivers take it easy, pass gas on their cell phones, consult maps and lipstick-torched cups of bitter coffee. They don't know there are places along most busy road where you must pump your own. Raphael sports a long ponytail the way most Native Americans do around here. He decorates his gray hair with leather and beads, with silver tourniquets, with woven suede dangles. He doesn't fix his hair according to the weather. None of my compadres do. We wear the same styles, defy the sun, the wind, the relentless dust. "Birdie, the wind determines our fate. If you're born in the wind, you can face a hundred heartaches. You can withstand the force of change. God Bless the babies born in the Spring." I stared at Rapheal as he spouted tired nonsense, the words of the stuck-in-north-east-New-Mexico, the philosophy of the perpetually broke and tired. I jangled my keys, got ready to drive north, to Santa Fe, to someplace cultured, remembered. "God, Raphael, I don't want the wind anymore. I thought New Mexico was quiet. I thought the mountains would offer me rest. Geeze, this place is like a sink hole. It's collecting my thoughts. It swallows them, this harsh wind. I'm so tired of these same old blues." Rapheal smiled. He didn't say a word. Once a month Raphael holds "Customer Appreciation Day." He tapes a crooked hand-written sign to his grime-coated window. Please come in and celebrate! I carted sixteen overstuffed Avon brochures the day of Raphael's Customer Appreciation Day this past month. I taped the new Anew Clinical Eye Lift samples to the glossy pages of my bible, let them tempt my imaginary customers into a life of youthful expression. I carried the only gifts I had - three tubes of coconut-flavored Avon lipbalm, a spray bottle of Avon Bug Guard, and a handful of samples for the new Shine fragrance. "Hey Raphael! What's up, man!" I waved Hello and opened the door to his shop. Raphael continued filling the pump of some tired local elementary teacher. She slumped in the seat of her beat Ford Escort as if five minutes of fuel were twelve hours of good sleep. I waved, but she didn't recognize me, or didn't care. Raphael's wife bid me hello. "Bienvenido, Birdie! You shilling your Avon shit?" She uttered the Spanglish that 70 percent of my county spoke, a Castilian Spanish over 400 years old, pushed a place of cinnamon-laced biscochitos my way. I accepted a cookie, took a bite. "Hey, yeah. I am always shilling Avon shit. Geeze. What a crappy life." I handed her a brochure and extra samples and dropped my backpack on the counter. "So what's Raphael got up his sleeve for this Customer Appreciation Day?" His wife laughed and pointed at the left side of the counter. "The usual, hon. Help yourself." She added something in Spanish, something about drinking in good health, and I eyed the open gallons of Jack Daniel's and Jim Beam. "Pick your poison, Bird." Raphael pushed the glass door before him, gave his wife a twenty, motioned to the Dixie cups towering toward the gas station ceiling. A policeman entered behind my friend, grabbed a cup, filled it with a generous portion of whiskey, let it settle his stomach. I did the same. "Doesn't this promote drinking and driving?" I questioned Raphael, downed my drink with a groan, my feet my only transportation. "Birdie, this land is dry enough." I walked home four shots later, my feet sending Jack and Jim thank yous to some other plane of existence, my coconut lipbalm sitting on Raphael's counter for anyone who wanted more of a Piña Colada existence. "Raphael," I whispered as I left. "Raphael. You have the name of an angel, but you're a devil. You know that, right?" He laughed, waved goodbye. I tripped home, my feet sending bad dirt anyway they could. The sky sighed, collected my alcohol breath like bad checks, didn't signal relief. 9:17:20 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Tuesday, April 11, 2006   My parrot is smarter than your Honor Student... wait, that's not right! My youngest son, "Harry," was awarded the "Student of the Month" award yesterday! He also made the A Honor Roll, one of only three third graders to do so. Yay, Harry! In other news, I've been slathering on the brand new Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite and Stretch Mark Cream like it's goin' out of style! I will have one big honking review soon! Tomorrow morning I'm posting my Anew Clinical Eye Lift review, and it's a doozy.... Caption the photo! Harry is congratulated by the principal 5:32:27 PM    doorbell  [ ]   Avon As Big As Your Head! It's Celebrity Photoshop Week at Beauty Dish! So far I've featured Audry and Cap'n Kirk. We're currently featuring our national administration. Who should represent next? 5:41:57 PM    doorbell  [ ]

Saturday, April 15, 2006   Weekend Odds and Ends! Happy Passover to all Jewish Beauty Dish readers! And Happy Easter to all Beauty Dish Christians! I wish a peaceful and loving weekend to all! I got to meet Lech Walesa this past week in my small town. He gave a lecture at the Armand Hammer World College. I described some of his comments in a little discussion essay I posted at the mediacenterblog.org site. Comments are welcome at that site, so feel free to jump in on any of the discussions. I may live in the middle of nowhere, but a lot sure happens around here! 10:35:51 AM    doorbell  [ ]   Top Ten Reasons Why David Letterman Needs an Avon Lady "Mesmerize" your late night audience... The top ten reasons why David Letterman needs an Avon Lady: 10. Add pizazz to your pencil toss with Avon Glimmersticks! It's America's number one eye-liner! 9. Raise your ratings in thirty days with Avon Lift and Tuck. "Tightens the tummy and lifts the rear in JUST 4 WEEKS!" (Weekly photo updates a must!) 8. To keep pesky guests from ever coming back, spritz yourself with Avon's Bug Guard Bug Repellent. 7. Add suspense to Will it Float with a capful of Avon Bubble Bath. No one knows till the bubbles are gone! 6. Nail your jokes with the Avon 3-in-1 Manicure System. 5. For male guests with unruly nose and ear hair, live treatment with Avon Men's Personal Groomer. (Batteries not included) 4. Only your Avon Lady will know that you buy the Avon Skin So Soft Hair Removal Microwave Wax Kit for that out-of-control back hair problem. (Ouch!) 3. Free samples! 2. After jokes that tank, what could be better than Avon Cleanse for a refreshing "on air" body wash. And the number one reason why David Letterman needs an Avon Lady? The next time Drew or Courtney are on the show - Dave, get ready with a tube of Avon Bust Sculpt. Applies in just twenty seconds! 7:06:08 PM    doorbell  []

Tuesday, April 18, 2006   Review: Avon Mark Safety Patrol Protective Moisturizer for Behaving Skin SPF 15 by Bonnie of Wandering Willow Bonnie tells it like it is! There are three things I look for in a sunscreen, beyond the basic ability to protect my skin from sunburn. First, it must be easy to apply in a smooth way that covers my skin evenly. I don't care if its lotion, oil or spray; I just don't want uneven coverage. Secondly, I like it to be absorbed into my skin, so I don't retain a film of grease. Ever get trapped in the bathroom after applying sunscreen because your hands are too slippery to turn the knob? That's what I mean. Thirdly, I have to be able to tolerate the smell. I am allergic to a lot of perfumes. A fourth consideration might be a name that makes actual sense in the English language and contains fewer than nineteen syllables.... but then I'm picky that way. This "Protective Moisturizer" aces the first two requirements! It has a nice texture, and glides on smoothly for complete coverage. I tried it on my legs, and the moisturizer aspect of it did make my dry skin feel good and look better. It's great for dry skin. I stayed out in the sun for several hours on a warm sunny day, so it got a good test. SPF 15, no sunburn. The problem comes with requirement number three. The strong smell triggered my allergic reaction, I'm sorry to say. My skin loved the lotion, but my nose didn't. The next day, my husband needed sunscreen. Without saying anything, I handed him the Mark Safety Patrol Lotion. He put it on and we got into the car to go somewhere. Soon he was complaining about the perfumey smell. Probably sitting in an enclosed car made it worse. It's not a manly fragrance. I asked him for his opinion of the texture. He said it was a pretty nice texture, and didn't feel greasy at all, and his skin felt soft. My assessment is that if you like perfume, and don't need high SPF, then this is the sunscreen for you! Thanks, Bonnie, for sending in such a great reader review! 2:34:02 PM    doorbell  []

Friday, April 21, 2006   I am NOT an Avon Lady stripper! I stamp the back of each one of my Avon brochures with my name, address, e-mail, and cell-phone number, stamp them in time to music, in time to my repeating thoughts. Every two weeks I perform the ritual, gather ink and pressed rubber and some kind of stiff drink in a plastic egg cup, spread my work on the living room floor as my young boys sleep. I used to let them assist until the great Body Art Stamping Spree. It took me a good five days to wash at least thirty smudged versions of my name and number off of Harry's backside and another week to remove traces from Frankie the pot-bellied pig's rump. Really, the less said about this, the better. I thought about it this morning, about all those flimsy books, the repeated twist of my wrist every two weeks, and calculated that I've branded over 10,000 brochures since I started selling Avon two years ago. How many trees died for my books? How many lost hours have I spent spamming my neighborhood with my beauty pleas? Maybe everyone is a slave to dead wood, to movements your body remembers when your mind ponders something else. A man called my cell phone this morning as I added two years of brochures. I didn't catch the call, heard the ring as the shower pelted me with heat and hope, as my mind remembered the campaigns I optimistically purchased 500 brochures. He left a short message, just a macho first name and telephone number. I stood in the bathroom, heat pouring from my hands, dialed his number. "Hi! Is this Rocco? This is Birdie, the Avon Lady, returning your call!" I sounded ridiculously alive, bright, as if I stood on the corner of Frantic and Spastic holding a dozen pink balloons. I applied the new Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite and Stretch Mark Cream to my belly with my left hand as I listened to his plea. I tried to remember how many days I have been using the product, tried to tell if it were doing any good at all. Not really, I thought. "Oh good. Good, good, good, good, good. I need an Avon Lady. Next Friday night. Not tonight. Next Friday. For a party. How much do you charge?" He spoke in tiny bites, his voice a breathy growl. I stopped moving. My hand stuck to my belly, a dab of unrubbed cream beneath it. I cleared my throat. "Ahem. Uh, Rocco? I am really not sure what you're asking. I don't hire myself out for parties. But heck, I might, if you need me to do makeovers or something. Can you tell me a little more about your party?" I closed my eyes and waited for what I knew would be an unsavory answer. "It's, you know, one of those bachelor's parties. For my friend. He's getting married next Sunday. We don't need makeovers. We need a girl. You know. A girl. I looked in the phone book but there ain't nothing like that around here. Julio told me to call the Avon Lady. He said you were kinda old but still hot." I glanced at the hand pressing stretch mark cream into the belly that looked exactly 40 years old to the mirror in front of me. I squinted my eyes, tried to see beyond my own expectations. I guess I'm not that bad, I thought. "Rocco?" I used my sultry telephone sex voice, waited for him to say Yeah. "Yeah? Heh heh heh." Rocco giggled, as if the anticipation of having an Avon Lady shed lotions at his party was the biggest secret fantasy of his life. "Listen up, Rocco. This is important. Avon Ladies don't strip. We don't strip. Not even a little. We don't normally attend bachelor parties, either, but I would be happy to drop off a nice gift basket of products from our Men's Catalogue at the start of your party." I said "gift basket" like it was a chapter in the Kama Sutra, like I promised sixteen unusual positions with massage oil and sandalwood incense. Rocco didn't peep. I heard him breath, heard his brain cells whirl into activity. Should he say yes? I didn't give him time. "Rocco, I'll be there right at the start of the party. I won't come in, mind you, I'll drop it at the door. But this gift basket will be the.... best. gift. basket. of your friend's life. Now. The charge will be one hundred bucks, even. Can I expect a check or cash?" Rocco mumbled his answer, gave me the party address, and I hung up the phone. Now. What should I put in Rocco's gift basket? 11:05:30 AM    doorbell  []   All the pretty boys in a row I am archiving all the Avon as big as your head fun pictures! Enjoy! and feel free to recommend a good candidate! 11:09:02 AM    doorbell  [ ]

Sunday, April 23, 2006   You know you're an Avon Lady when.... ... your local shipper comes to YOU for boxes. ... you go purse shopping, and the first thing you think is "How many brochures can I fit in there?" ... when a few days go by and you haven't done a makeover, you start seriously eyeing your dog. ... you know more about doorbells than the guys at Home Depot. ... you get pulled over for speeding, and you hand the officer samples with your registration and driver's license. ... when you remember your kids' birthdays and major holidays by which Avon campaign they fall in. ... when your son needs a pencil to do his homework, and you hand him a Glimmersick. ... when women you don't recall meeting before walk up and ask for samples. ... when you recite forty-eight different lipstick shades from memory, but you can't remember what's on your grocery list. ... when all over town, people look at you when someone asks for local directions. Now! It's YOUR turn! You know you're an Avon Lady (or Customer!) when... 10:29:45 AM    doorbell  []

Tuesday, April 25, 2006   Salma looooooves her Avon! Thanks to Beauty Dish reader, Jennifer, who sent in the hilarious Avon As Big As Your Head shot now at the Avon Lady cam: who knew Bust Sculpt was this.... exciting?? Jennifer is also a Unit Leader in her Avon business. You go, girl! Thanks, Jennifer! I welcome any other reader submissions! Come on, fire up your Photoshop and send me your fave celebrity (or yourself!) with Avon As Big As Your Head! 7:49:39 PM    doorbell  [ ]   Intergalactic Avon One Turk + aliens + Avon samples = Chaos in the Alpha Sector! My Turkish friend, Ulak, drove from San Diego to visit me. He drove with the soft marine winds at his back, drove a day, a night, through the Mojave, past the City of Sin, into the sand art plains of Arizona, a hundred million cacti at his heels, until the winds grew dry, pushed him into the drought-ridden lands surrounding my town. He pulled into my drive, pulled close to my car, and grunted as he stared at my license plate, at the yellow rectangle with the official numbers and the state slogan: The Land of Enchantment. "Humph. What's so enchanting about it?" I sat on my crumbling cement stoop and waved my arm like a television hostess bestowing a refrigerator, a bedroom set, and six cases of macaroni and cheese to a game show winner. "What's not enchanting about it, Ulak? Just look at it! Look at it! And welcome, boy! Welcome to my crazy town!" Ulak sat in his car and stared for a long time. I saw his dark eyes register the graffiti on my neighbor's cement fence, the dust bowl I called a front yard, the twisted catalpa tree that would not bear buds this Spring. He looked at me, at my neighbor's house, and I could hear him calculate the days we must have remained without rain. So different from my old California home, I thought. He must think I'm crazy to move here, to this place of sifted dust and poverty. I gazed at the graffiti, the way the letters lurched along the ochre brick like boxcars on a fractal train, thought about the times my cowboy neighbors tossed lariats in the street. They don't care about the dirt, the noise. They live the enchantment, catch it with rope. Ulak shut the ignition. His car groaned, shuddered to silence. "Hmmmmph. Every man has his own style of eating yogurt." My two young boys ran to the car to greet him. They grabbed the door handle and hauled him outside. "Ulak! Ulak!" My youngest son, Harry, pulled a crumpled paper from the pocket of his jeans. "Ulak! We want to go to Roswell! Mom said you'd take us! Please, Ulak! Please!" I tried to shush my boys but they didn't hear me. They kept their ears focused on the man standing in my driveway, a man with old world morals and overgrown back hair. He raised one bushy black eyebrow and eyed my boys. He took Harry's paper, unfolded it carefully, and read the internet story about the alien archive two hours south. "Hmmmmph. UFO Museum. Roswell." He paused, held the paper a bit further from his face, read the copy out loud in a slow, exaggerated voice. "See the famous Roswell UFO crash site." My boys stood on their toes. A stray dog wandered past, unaware of the galactic history being made. Ulak cleared his throat. "Well. There are many things mysterious in the world. We will go in the morning. And I will convince your mother to leave her work at home this time." I stared, my mouth open in protest and surprise, but Ulak laughed. "Birdie. You bring those little samples everywhere. This time I am a guest from a faraway land. You must not take them and embarrass us all. Now. Show me your house." I tried to smile, gave my friend a hug, but the little monster in the back of my mind took control. Like hell, I'll leave my Avon at home, you big Turk! To Be Continued.... 9:16:51 PM    doorbell  []

Thursday, April 27, 2006   London Calling.... I'm getting ready for my trip to London for the We Media Global Forum. You can read the program of events and see the speakers list here: We Media Global Forum Program of Events The places where you can see the "We Media Fellows" listed is where I will be a part of the formal discussion. I am so excited to be a Fellow at this event! I will be live blogging at mediacenterblog.org as well as here during the conference. I have been asked to cover Nitin Desai's, Special Advisor to the Secretary-General of the United Nations lecture for the official conference blog. I hope to be able to convey as much information as possible both here and at the official blog during the forum, and look forward to sharing my insights and experiences with you. Now! I will have a couple extra days in London! What should I see? 7:37:16 PM    doorbell  []

Friday, April 28, 2006   ... and the FINAL celebrity of our Avon as Big as Your Head week(s)! Covergirl Wandering Willow with sweet grandbaby is our final celebrity for the Avon as Big as Your Head tour! Hey baby, spritz me! See all the celebrities archived here. Part Two of the Roswell story as well as a formal (and interesting!) review of the new Avon Super Shape Anti-Cellulite and Stretch Mark Cream coming soon! But first... I gotta pack! 5:27:06 PM    doorbell  []