With a Ho, Ho . . . Hum

I was sitting around the other day, scratching the dog and thinking about Christmas when it occurred to me that a nose-hair trimmer might be just the thing for my uncle Leo.

Leo is such a nut that nothing commonplace would ever satisfy him. So I am constantly on the alert for items that will appease his unusual nature. Do-it-yourself tattoo sets and dancing martini glasses. Stuff like that.

What called my attention to the nose-hair trimmer was a radio commercial from Sharper Image, a company that sells the Turbo-Groomer. For only $39.95, one can buy this snazzy little gadget that trims one’s nose hairs without pain or fuss. Ear hairs too.

Thinking about the commercial caused me to wonder why, as a man gets older, the hair in his nose and ears suddenly begins to sprout? Exactly what were God’s intentions? That we regress to a more primitive state?

This started me thinking about what would happen if, due to medical advances, the life span of man increased by, say, 100 years. Would we slowly devolve to the level of paranthropus, the hairy, small-brained creature from which we sprang? Would we still attend operas and symphonies or would it be a bottle of Bud and the NFL from then on?

I looked in a mirror. Just as I suspected. Ear hairs. I do not own a Turbo-Groomer, so I found a pair of scissors and began carefully clipping. Cinelli came by and saw the scissors at my head. She thought I was suicidal. “Don’t do it,” she said, “think of the dog.” “The dog?” “Those are his trimming shears.” Oh.

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Dieting techniques are big on the Internet. Companies have turned from brazen pitches (“Remove ugly fat!”) to smoother, more intimate means of reaching their potential customers through e-mail. Like, “Hi, Al. What romantic weather. Makes you want to do something fun! There was no fun in my life once. I was so bloated. But I found a sensible way to lose those extra pounds.” It was signed Naomi. She wants to hear from me when I am no longer bloated. Fat chance.

Leo is not bloated. He is a skinny, intense man with the faint mannerisms of a chicken hawk. Furtive. Searching. But he’s getting on in years. So what about a casket?

Direct Caskets is a Van Nuys company that sells coffins below cost. Cinelli heard their radio commercial first and asked me how I wanted to go. I said, “Go where?” She said, “You know, to the great beyond. Do you want burial, cremation, entombment, mounting and stuffing or what?”

I said, “Surprise me.”

I visited Direct Caskets once for a column, but never thought about a coffin as a Christmas gift until now. Uncle Leo would appreciate both the humor and the convenience. He might even sleep in it. Houdini did.

The coffins at Direct Caskets have names. Like the Going Home, the Traditional, the Moses. The cheapest ones, made of particleboard, are called the Congressional and the Pentagon. Someday, one may be called the Florida for burying political ethics.

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Cinelli, being the more giving of the two of us, suggested that we might donate to a charitable organization in Leo’s name. A few years ago I gave money to a skid row mission based on an ad that featured a hungry old man eating a bowl of stew. Or maybe it was a pork chop.

The ad said that if I donated, they’d give this poor, unfortunate creature a good meal. Then I discovered that the poor, unfortunate creature was a model. I was angry until I decided that there are probably more poor old models than there are poor old drunks. So I still give money.

“Here’s an ad,” Cinelli said, going through the mail, “for an animal shelter in Utah. They take in strays. Look at these pictures.” The cover of a pamphlet was adorned with cuddly kittens and adorable doggies.

“They’re models,” I said, handing back the pamphlet. “Uncle Leo can’t stand animals or models.”

I searched the Internet. I was drawn once more to caskets. I’m not sure why. Grace Projects, a California nonprofit organization, sells a kit to build your own casket. It’s called a Carpenter Casket, named after old Al Carpenter, a mortician.

The $19.95 you spend for the kit goes toward burying poor people. After they’re dead, silly. The ad warns, “This is not a novelty item!” I’m not sure what Leo might do with it, so I guess the casket is out. I’ll send him the Turbo-Groomer instead. He’s beginning to look a little shaggy around the nose and ears anyhow. And he’s displaying an unhealthy interest in football.

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Al Martinez’s column appears Sundays and Wednesdays. He can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com