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8 - Orono Weekly Times Basic Black by Arthur Black Hands off my hands Why do you figure Michael Jackson wears that white glove so much? I think I know. I think it's because the hand that's in the glove is close to half a century old and beginning to look it. And Michael Jackson, AKA The Neverland Kid, simply couldn't stand the rest of the world knowing that his hands look old. He's not the only one trying desperately to turn back the biological biological clock. Hair dyes and wrinkle creams are selling as never before. Wave after wave of new diet fads wash over the populace. You see people signing signing up for Pilâtes and Tai Chi lessons. Jumping in the pool for AquaFit classes. Wheezing around gymnasiums with their fellow Aerobics fanatics. All in an effort to slam the door on Father Tune. And then there's the knife In 2003, U.S. surgeons performed performed nine million cosmetic surgeries, ranging from botox injections to liposuction and not forgetting chemical peels, dermabrasion dermabrasion and microphlebecto- my -- which is a fancy word for stripping out varicose veins. Fountain of Youth pursuers are getting their lips inflated and their bums trimmed; their boobs fluffed up and their tummies sanded down. Not to mention ear tucks, eyelid nips and extrachin extrachin removals. The latest surgical fad? The hand job, so to speak. Folks are lining up for "hand-lifts' a reconstructive reconstructive procedure that removes removes liver spots and injects fat cells to smooth out wrinkles on the customers hands. A proper hand-lift will set you back somewhere between five and six grand depending on the toniness of your surgeon/specialist. And you'll need to hire someone to turn the pages of Vanity Fair for you while you're recovering -- it can take six months for the hands to 'settle' as the cosmeticians say. Even then there might be a teensy- weensy bit of scarring to contend contend with. And oh yes - you'll need to check in with your surgeon for a wee tune-up (more injections, possibly some 'colour' adjustments) adjustments) every six months or so. But hey - look at the up side. You come out of it with hands as smooth and soft as a papoose's posterior. Why, those hands will look like they belong to an eighteen-year old mademoiselle of leisure. Might seem a little incongruous incongruous if they're attached to the arms of a senior citizen, but what the hell--wear long sleeves. Or not. My hands are even older - and older looking - than Michael Jackson's, but I'm kind of fond of them. For one thing they are indisputably my hands and nobody else's. There's that purple seam that runs across my right index finger between the first and second knuckles; Picked that up opening a can of dog food back when I was a pup. My left thumb is still crooked from that time I pitched off a toboggan and jammed, it into the frozen turf four or five decades ago and one of my knuckles bears a dime-sized scar from a clumsy fist fight way back in Grade Eleven. And then of course there are the wrinkles. My hands have more seams and creases than an unironed bedspread, but I don't mind. I earned those wrinkles packing snowballs and paddling canoes; pounding nails and washing dishes. I like my hands just the way they are. But they're not the most Wednesday. April 13, 2005 impressive set of dukes I ever saw. Those belong to a senior citizen brother-in-law of mine whose hands have done more things in this life than most. And they show it. They are big and red and beefy They don't look like the kind of hands you would find hoisting a Wedgwood Wedgwood china tea cup or conducting conducting a symphony orchestra. Nevertheless they are a spectacular spectacular pair of paws. Here is some of what his daughter, Adrienne, wrote about her father's hands: "His hands have always fascinated fascinated me... they have built homes to shelter family and friends, held evety tool imaginable with confidence confidence and skill, tinkered cold, silent engines to life and knuckle- danced their way across countless kitchen tables to entertain a mes- . merized child. With fingers like thick sausages and the grip of a grizzly, grizzly, his handshake reveals the strength and integrity that define his utter being. His hands are the book of his life. Their wrinkles and blisters, their nicks and scars are the words in his wonderful tale." Michael Jackson, eat your heart out.