Matt Wixon: Humor Me

Humor Me: Avoiding Thanksgiving disaster

2010-11-24T11:48:00.000-06:00

By MATT WIXON

If you get a special feeling in your gut this Thanksgiving, it might be the overwhelming joy you feel when sharing the holiday with relatives. Or, perhaps, the overwhelming joy you feel as those relatives share a cab back to the airport.

Either way is perfectly normal, especially if your grandfather likes to tell dirty jokes, your brother-in-law is a heavy drinker and your Great Aunt Hillie smells like she collided with an aisle at Bath and Body Works. But if that special feeling in your gut doesn’t go away when they do, our friends as the U.S. Department of Agriculture pass along this reminder:

Turkeys can be Party Central for Salmonella bacteria.

That’s according to the USDA’s poultry-preparation fact sheet, which has lots of useful tips for turkey, a widely domesticated bird that is often found in areas of North America, generally between two slices of bread. Thankfully, the fact sheet also points out how to avoid Salmonella enteritidis, Staphylococcus aureus and other bacterias that sound like members of the Lithuanian National Basketball Team.

The key is to cook your turkey thoroughly, which means following these instructions closely:

1. Poke the plastic-wrap covering with a fork
2. Heat on high for three minutes
3. Stir mashed potatoes
4. Enjoy!

Well, those were the instructions on the last turkey I cooked. Actually, those were the instructions on the only kind of turkey I’ve ever cooked, and with good reason. My limited cooking skills make those four steps above challenging enough -- including Step Four.

Of course, you probably want a “real” Thanksgiving turkey. The kind that has legs and thighs and breasts and once dreamed of starring in a Disney movie. You’ll need to cook that turkey for several hours, or several days, or maybe until you wake up at 4 a.m. the day after Thanksgiving screaming, “The sales have started! I need to get to Macy’s!”

For a more specific cooking time, let’s again turn to the USDA, creator of the famous food pyramid that guides the eating habits of nearly four Americans. According to the USDA, a turkey is safe to eat if its internal temperature is heated to a minimum of 165 degrees. That means you’ll need a meat thermometer, which can be easily found at a meat-thermometer store near you. It’s a little more difficult at other stores, but if you check near the one-quart electronic yogurt makers, you’ll probably find it.

And remember, Salmonella and other bacteria can ruin a Thanksgiving faster than your sister-in-law’s Avon presentation. So you’ll want to get a good thermometer. Or maybe two, because if you get behind on your Christmas shopping, a typical 4-year-old will believe that a flashy digital meat thermometer –- with a few Elmo stickers on it –- is the very rare Take My Temperature Elmo.

But Matt, I don’t have a meat thermometer, don’t have time to buy one, and in fact, I only exist to ask a question in this column. Is there another way to know when my turkey is fully cooked?

Yes, there is.

One way is to find cooking times on the Internet, based on the weight of your turkey. Other ways include cooking the turkey until your relatives are actually hungry enough to eat the dreaded candied yams, or until the turkey looks like it has an unlimited-use pass at Planet Tan. For reference, keep a photo of George Hamilton in your pocket.

If you do that, your turkey should be a success. And your Thanksgiving will be, too, if you remember these tips:

1. Nobody needs a reminder that they’ve already had two helpings of mashed potatoes.

2. In desperate situations, it’s OK to fake an illness and hide in the bathroom. Migraines are a good choice because they can be debilitating for hours and legitimately strike without warning, like right after your mother-in-law gives you parenting advice.

3. Time spent with relatives can be uncomfortable, but they love you, and deep down, you know you love them too – and that someday they may be your only match when you need a kidney.

4. Enjoy!

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com. Have a great week.

Humor Me: Milk, fireworks and July Fourth

2010-07-02T12:31:00.005-05:00

For years, we’ve heard the “Got Milk?” slogan. Either brilliantly or stupidly simple, it’s easy to remember. But now milk is taking it up a notch to show how it is so much more than just a healthy beverage.

This week I saw a commercial that said, “Across America, milk brings families together.”

So, so true. I think right now there is a mother calling her son, who lives a thousand miles away and is unsure whether he should come home for the Fourth of July.

Mom: Johnny, are you going to come home this weekend? Everyone’s going to be here … your brother, sister, even Uncle Louie if his parole officer will let him.

Son: I don’t know, Mom. I’ve got work I need to catch up on, one of the kids isn’t feeling too well, and …

Mom: Well, we’re going to have milk, you know.

Son: Milk? Really? You mean like the kind that I’ve seen in the refrigerator case at the grocery store three blocks from my house? Well, OK then!

The subtle sarcasm might hint at my skepticism of milk’s claim. More likely to bring a family together: a cooler filled with beer or an unlocked liquor cabinet. Especially if Uncle Louie can get some tips from Lindsay Lohan on how to unhinge an ankle monitor bracelet.

So what really brings people together on Independence Day?

Fireworks, of course.

Yes, it’s time for another Fourth of July. It’s the annual day when U.S. citizens head to parks, throw down blankets and celebrate things truly American such as freedom, determination and the right to pay four bucks for one of those glow-in-the-dark tube things that you can wear as a headband.

That’s part of what makes America great. And that’s why, before the fireworks begin, we will proudly stand up and sing patriotic songs such as “The Star-Spangled Banner” and “God Bless America.” And then by the second verse, we’ll not-so-proudly sit back down when we realize we’re more fluent in the Black Eyed Peas than in the Rev. Samuel F. Smith.

Wait a second. The Rev. Samuel F. Smith? Who is he?

Well, you must not have seen the Jeopardy! episode with the category “Patriotic Potpourri.” But take your best guess:

A. The Rev. Samuel F. Smith was the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence and composed the song, “You’re a Grand Old Flag.”

B. The Rev. Samuel F. Smith, also known as the Minister of Rap, was an 18th-century hip-hop artist who rallied revolutionaries with his hit single, “Taxation Without Representation is Funkadentally Whack.”

C. The Rev. Samuel F. Smith wrote the words to “America,” perhaps the most patriotic song ever to include the commonly used phrase, “‘tis of thee.”

The answer, of course, is that Rev. Smith wrote the lyrics to “America.” I know this because, nearly 30 years ago, a teacher in elementary school taught me that lesson. And also because, nearly 30 years after I got nothing from that lesson because I was making paper footballs and drawing pictures on my desk, I looked it up on the Internet.

I also found the lyrics. Here’s the first verse, which most of us know:

My country, ‘tis of Thee,
Sweet Land of Liberty
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside
Let Freedom ring.

Now on to the second verse. Everybody sing!

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.

OK, I heard a lot of humming out there. I guess that’s because most of us know a lot more about rock ‘n roll than “rocks and rills.” But let’s try another patriotic favorite, “America the Beautiful.” It starts with “O beautiful for spacious skies” and then ends with “from sea to shining sea!”

It ends there for most of us, anyway. But there is a second verse:

O beautiful for pilgrim feet,
Whose stern impassioned stress,
A thoroughfare of freedom beat,
Across the wilderness!

Well, at least I can say that I knew there was something about “pilgrim feet” in there. Maybe I remember that from the last Independence Day celebration, or perhaps I have at least one remnant memory from history class at Horizon Elementary School (home of the fightin’ Panthers and disappointing test scores).

But so what if you don’t know all the words to America’s patriotic anthems. And so what if you think that pieces of an animal are the “ramparts” we watched gallantly streaming in “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

Memorization isn’t required for patriotism. And neither is an intricate knowledge of history, which is good because surveys show that many Americans don’t even know what country we were declaring our independence from back in 1776. But if you don’t know the exact date when George Washington crossed the Delaware to defeat the Nazis with a nuclear bomb, that doesn’t make you any less of an American.

All we need to know is that this is the greatest country in the world. And that we have unparalleled freedoms, incredible opportunities and the right to the credit we deserve — and in some cases, no payments until 2012.

So on this Independence Day, stand tall, Americans. Watch the fireworks, and if some patriotic crooning breaks out, proudly sing the words you know. After that, just kind of hum and move your lips like Justin “Screechy” Bieber or the late, great members of Milli Vanilli. You’ll still feel the togetherness.

And make sure that nobody drives home after having too much, uh, milk.

Humor Me: Soft-serve ice cream and Wal-Mart greeters

2010-06-01T11:33:00.003-05:00

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written a humor column. A few months, actually, but you know how it goes. You get busy, you get tired, you get to thinking about everything that needs to be done … and then you get asked by a 2-year-old to play with the trains upstairs.

With three sons, I usually have a lot to write about and little time to write. I’m also committed to finishing a novel this year -- the working title is “Novel to be Rejected by Publishers” -- and I’m still doing promotions for The Great American Staycation, which came out last year. (I’ll be interviewed next week for Fox News’ Strategy Room show. I’ll be the guy wearing a blue shirt and sweating a lot.)

All the promotion is worth it, of course, because of the financial gusher that the book has provided. In fact, a month ago I pushed forward my retirement age from 65 to 64 years, 9 months. Unfortunately, my 7-year-old then told me he would like to attend a college where “it either snows or there is a beach,” which pretty much rules out in-state tuition. So I moved retirement back to age 67.

And now the stock market has become a “Biggest Loser” spinoff. If the swan dive continues, I expect to retire at age 80. I’ll be semi-retired, anyway, because I’ll need to supplement my income by working a couple days each week as a Wal-Mart greeter.

Anyway, let’s get to the main, or at least final, topic of this column:

How to save money this summer by finding free entertainment.

The economy is still reeling, so it’s a timely subject. And with some smart financial decisions now, you’ll reap the benefits later. Most importantly, you’ll be less likely to compete with me for a Wal-Mart greeter position in 2050.

(Don’t bother competing for that job, by the way, because I’ve got it down … “Hello” … “Thanks for shopping with us” ... “Does your little one want a sticker?” … “Firearms are in the back corner, near the liquor” … “Don’t worry about the inventory-control alarm, it always goes off. You paid for that, right?”)

OK, enough with all of that. Here’s the tip for some free fun:

Do-it-yourself ice cream.

I don’t mean for you to create ice cream at home. You’ll definitely want to avoid that. My parents used to make homemade ice cream with my brother, sister and I, and although I appreciate their effort to create a family-bonding moment, it was a gawd-awful mess. Or in my dad’s words, a g-damn mess, g-dammit. The ice cream wasn’t that great, either, and ice cream cones at the nearby Thrifty drug store were about 35 cents. Oh well.

The do-it-yourself ice cream I’m talking about is the free soft-serve dessert that some restaurants now offer. You can get yourself a little treat and then sit back and watch as people attempt to pile half a gallon of ice cream into a small cone or bowl.

It’s really a great show. People try to swirl the ice cream evenly so it can rise six inches above the cone, and when the ice cream starts falling on to their hands or the floor, they give this disgusted look like, “What is wrong with this thing?” And even after the ice cream load is centered, there is work to do. The ice-cream glutton must balance his tower of dessert as he navigates back to his seat. He'll need a steady hand and the burning concentration of a tight-rope walker to keep his ice cream off the floor.

Check it out sometime. You’ll see most people go easy on the ice cream, realizing that it’s intended to be a little topper on the meal, but eventually a person will try to max out. And maybe that person has the right idea. Yes, he will sacrifice his pride by standing at the soft-serve station filling a 20-ounce drink cup with ice cream, but ...

It could be best to seize the opportunity now. After all, who knows how long the ice cream will be available? Times are tough for restaurants, too. They could take the ice cream away at any moment or start charging for it. Forty years from now, we might be talking about how great it was when restaurants offered free ice cream.

Hey, do you remember the good old days? Restaurants gave away ice cream for free, gas was less than three dollars per gallon and kids still respected their elders!

What? You just need a cart? Oh, I’m sorry about going on like that. Thanks for shopping at Wal-Mart.

Humor Me: One light goes out, they all go out

2009-12-22T12:51:00.002-06:00

By MATT WIXON

A couple of years ago, I watched Frisco resident Jeff Trykoski stretch Christmas lights across his lawn, drape them over trees, tack them around windows and arrange them in giant snowflakes on his roof. Fifty thousand lights in all, which led me to this thought:

"So, if one light goes out, do they all go out?"

I decided not to ask because Trykoski was working hard and probably not in a joking mood. Also, he was holding a staple gun.

But anyone who put up Christmas lights in the '70s or '80s remembers when lights strings were plagued by "one light goes out, they all go out."

I actually saw my dad yelling at strings of lights several times. Sometimes he combined that with shaking the lights violently, and I think he intimidated a few sets into working.

The world was simpler back then and so were Christmas displays. Today, inspired homeowners can turn dozens of extension cords and thousands of lights into a dazzling holiday moment that is forever burned into people's memories – and retinas.

"Some people think we're crazy," said Trykoski, whose lights are synchronized to music broadcast over a low-power FM transmitter. "We think it's worth the effort considering the people who've been coming by for years who we create memories for."

I certainly appreciate the effort behind the ambitious Christmas displays. Because by the time I've untangled a dozen or so lights sets each year, and attempted to keep my kids from stepping on them, I've pretty much had it.

A few strings on the bushes, a few wrapped around a tree trunk, and I'm done. If one light goes out, even if they all go out, I am done.

And then I'm ready to see the people who really know how to decorate. The people who buy Christmas lights in crates, lug extension cords around in wheelbarrows and begin decorating a few days after Halloween. The people who put a huge, inflatable snowman in the yard and flank it with eight glowing reindeer and a 6-foot plywood cowboy that says, "Merry Christmas, y'all!" The people who are willing to reach high on a wobbly ladder and walk on the roof, which is nearly as dangerous as prolonged exposure to Madonna's version of "Santa Baby."

The displays are awe-inspiring. But can they also obscure the true meaning of Christmas?

Some people would say so. And when a display is so crowded that Rudolph's red nose appears to light the way for the wise men to find the baby Jesus, who is in a stable that includes Kermit the Frog playing a guitar, they're probably right.

But Christmas lights are one of the great highlights of the holiday season. So, for those willing to make the effort to create elaborate displays, you have my admiration and appreciation.

You can also have the string of lights in my yard that just stopped working.

Who knows? Maybe it just needs one new bulb.

***
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Humor Me: 20-year high school reunion

2009-11-13T14:13:00.005-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Last month was my high school reunion. My 20-year high school reunion. Yeah, that’s a little sobering.

It’s hard to believe that two decades have passed since I graduated from Apollo High School, home of the fightin’ Hawks, disappointing test scores and smoke-filled teachers’ lounge. I mean, wasn’t it just yesterday when I could walk through the parking lot and see the school motto of “Pride, Class, Dignity” while avoiding the sharp edges of broken beer bottles?

No, it wasn’t yesterday. You have three kids and like two hairs left on the top of your head.

Thanks for that slap in the face, wise inner voice. I wish you had been around in 1991, when I ate that macaroni and cheese that had been in the refrigerator for more than a week. The only time I felt sicker that year was after I spent six bucks to see Hudson Hawk.

So it’s been 20 years, but is that really a long time?

Oh yes. When I graduated in ’89, the Berlin Wall had not yet come down, Whitney Houston was both talented and coherent, and a first-class stamp was 25 cents. Even more stunning was that people were still sending letters to each other via the U.S. Disgruntled Postal Service. Because, like OMG, there was no e-mail then.

There were no text messages, either. Or emoticons. Or ways to send a Twitter tweet in the middle of a world history class in which a teacher who really didn’t want to be there -- Hi Mr. Grassi! -- put on a marathon of filmstrips to fill class time. To make things worse, the Extra-Strength Clearasil of 20 years ago really didn’t do much but dry out your face and leave the pimples to thrive. It was a dark time for teenagers.

Now move forward to 2009. Teenagers are pretty much the world’s rock stars, right? They’ve got everything going for them, and they’ve got the video, uploaded to YouTube or another video-sharing site, to prove it. As for the Great Satan of oily skin, Clearasil now has something called “Rapid Action Treatment Cream” that claims to visibly reduce pimple size in four hours. And man, life can’t get much better for the greasy-haired teenage boys of today. Gorgeous women find them so attractive that they lose their minds and jump on them right in the school hallway. At least I think so, because I saw it in a commercial for TAG body spray.

(Quick sidebar: The closest I ever got to such a seductive encounter was when I was riding my bike through the school parking lot and got hit by a car driven by an older girl, perhaps a senior. She got out of the car and asked if I was okay, but had I been wearing a potent body spray, who knows what could’ve happened. Wowee!)

Anyway, the point is that a lot can change in 20 years, and that’s why I wanted to go to last month’s reunion. I can only imagine the topics of conversation about Apollo High School, home of the fightin’ Hawks, spider-filled portable buildings and many, many dedicated teachers -- including one so dedicated that he married one of my classmates.

Seriously, it’s true! One of my teachers married one of my classmates shortly after we graduated. Pride, class, dignity ... occasional inappropriate relationship.

Despite all that, I did like high school. And had I still been living in Arizona, I probably would’ve attended the reunion. It would’ve been great to hear talk of the old days, including the awesome basketball team, the dreadful football team and the occasional unsubstantiated rumor that Skinheads were going to take over the campus. I heard that rumor several times, but our campus never did have Skinheads, just a lot of bald teachers.

I probably missed out on some great conversations, but flying from Texas to Phoenix was hard to fit into the schedule. And although I had some great friends back in high school, I can find those people with Facebook, swap stories through e-mail, that sort of thing. I’m also still working on obtaining washboard abs and millions of dollars, and pulling up in my 1999 Honda C-RV with the rockin’ AM/FM cassette player wouldn’t make a great impression.

So I skipped it. But after the reunion, one of my friends gave me a report.

“Mildly enjoyable,” he said. “I chatted briefly with several people, but it tended to be the same people with whom I interacted in high school. It was kinda funny how that works.”

That’s how it would’ve worked with me. Twenty years have passed, but I’m pretty much the same. I was shy in high school, and although a journalism career has forced me out of my shell, I’m still not an effective schmoozer. I’m not a social butterfly who, at least with people I don’t know well, can flit around the room and make conversation. That’s partly why I wasn’t Mr. Popularity at Apollo High School, home of the fightin’ Hawks, mandatory P.E. outfits that bordered on child abuse, and yes ...

Some of the best times of my life.

Some of the best times, that is. But most of the best times of my life have come since the day when I was a dorky 17-year-old walking across the stage to receive my high school diploma. I don’t remember much of that graduation ceremony, but I do remember this:

We once had a mandatory assembly that was supposed to inspire us all to “get high on life, not drugs” or something like that. I remember Starship’s “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” played before and after some guest speaker told us “these are the greatest days of your life!”

Maybe at the time. But 20 years later, I hope that’s not true for most people. The high school years can be great, but what a bummer if your life peaks that soon. If high school is as good as it's going to get, then what do you have to look forward to?

Your first high school reunion, I guess.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com or @mattwixon at Twitter.

Humor Me: Neiman Marcus' Christmas Book

2009-10-07T15:12:00.007-05:00

By MATT WIXON

The 2009 Neiman Marcus Christmas Book was unveiled a few days ago, and just in time. I mean, it's just three weeks until Halloween. And then we'll only have -- try not to panic -- less than two months to race from store to store, look for gifts and beg store owners to stop playing "Last Christmas" by Wham!

So what's in this year's book?

Well, keeping in mind the state of the economy, Neiman Marcus said it made an effort to offer more affordable options this year. That's why you'll find an electric motorcycle that goes 150 mph and costs $73,000.

I believe there's one out there with a little more power, but it would've been in the $90,000 to $100,000 range. That's just too pricey.

Anyway, the book is out there for you to check out. But I don't think most of the items compare to the 2007 book, which I "reviewed" for The Dallas Morning News. Here it is ...

OK everyone, let's get busy. We need to raise $1.59 million to fund one of Neiman's greatest offerings ever:

A private holiday concert by the world-famous Kirov Orchestra.

The concert features Regis Philbin as host, but more important, piano virtuoso Lola Astanova and maestro Valery Gergiew. I'm told they are incomparable and had nothing to do with "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer."

Yeah, $1.59 million is a little steep. But the concert is for 500 people, and if we divvy it up, that's only $3,180 per person. Pretty cheap when compared to some of the other gifts in the Christmas Book.

For example, you'll need $110,000 to have Brazilian artist Vik Muniz create a portrait of you and a friend in chocolate syrup. A lot more, I assume, if you decide it's clothing optional. You'll also need $75,000 for the cutting-edge robot and $73,000 for the mobile phone with 7.2 carats in diamonds.

Even the front-yard dragon topiary is ridiclously expensive. At least for a topiary. It's $35,000, and that doesn't include the legal fees you'll face when you receive this letter in the mail:

"The homeowners association has decided your 100-foot dragon with brown-glass eyes, custom-welded steel frame and gold-leafed horns doesn't abide by the neighborhood covenant."

I'm guessing the HOA also will have a problem if you store your $80,000 Papalotzin ultralight plane in your back yard. Maybe you could cover it with a pair of $9,500 Lippi Cat fur coats, but note that the coats might soon be recalled because they were manufactured in China.

So who buys these fantasy gifts?

Who knows, but the gifts are actually more practical than in the past. Back in 2003, the Christmas Book offered a $555,000 motorcycle so powerful that it was NEVER intended to be driven. Fantastic! I can save a few bucks by not buying a helmet.

In 2005, there was the $3.5 million skycar. Very cool, but there was a minor problem: the skycar was a prototype and had never completed an untethered flight.

Kind of a risky gift. And an inexcusable faux pas if that gift malfunctions while holding someone hundreds of feet in the air.

This year isn't as bad, although the $2 million rocket racing franchise, including a Mark-1 X-racer with 1,500 pounds of liquid oxygen thrust, is a little out there. So is the $1.4 million two-person submarine. But at least the submarine has leather seats, which is a nice upgrade from the cloth seats you find in most two-person subs.

The submarine also comes with a two-day training program, which I'm sure is more than enough time to learn how to operate it.

Hey, who wants to take the first deep dive with me? Don't worry, I'll bring the instructions!

I'll pass on that, but the private concert does sound great. I just need to round up 499 people who want to hear the Nutcracker Suite and the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto. Actually, 500 people, because I can't afford my share.

It's expensive, I know, but what an opportunity. The world-famous Kirov musicians will even allow us to select a third masterpiece for their performance.

That means, in one magical night, you can hear the Nutcracker Suite, the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto and "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas."

Truly incomparable.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Videos: Ryan's birthday and Nathan on the go

2009-10-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

Ryan's 7th birthday. Video quality is much better on the TV!

Nathan on the go

Humor Me: Warning, this is a commercial

2009-09-02T13:13:00.008-05:00

By MATT WIXON

My favorite commercial right now starts with an old, beat-up truck pulling up to a drive-thru. The truck stops, and suddenly a large metal claw emerges, picks up the truck and appears to peel its trashed exterior to reveal a brand-new Toyota truck. The new truck is set on the ground as this appears on the bottom of the screen:

Warning: Do not attempt.

Silly warning, you’d say, but I just think it needs some clarification. If I am able to commandeer a giant wrecking claw from some junkyard, or perhaps find a Home Depot with a really big rental operation, does the warning refer to the dangers of using the claw in such a manner? Or does “do not attempt” refer to thoughts of invoking some kind of David Copperfield magic, or perhaps evil spirits, to turn my clunker into a sweet new ride?

Car ads are the greatest for nonsensical warnings. You’ll see cars doing slalom courses on snow-packed roads, performing 90-degree slide turns, skidding on all four wheels and racing across stretches of desert like they’re part of the Saudi Arabian paparazzi.

Then we’re warned that the driving is done by a professional driver on a closed course. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. It’s an excellent point, considering many amateur drivers on open courses have yet to master getting between the parking stripes at Kroger.

Of course, when I say it’s an excellent point, I mean it’s an excellent point for an exceptionally small part of the population. The part of the population that probably believes, after seeing a Hummer ad, that the world’s most mastodon-like vehicle can orbit Earth like a space shuttle.

We all know it can’t -- yet. But the Hummer would be a pretty cool-looking spaceship. I bet if NASA added a rugged-looking chrome grille and a little more militaristic styling to the space shuttles, more Americans would consider space travel. Especially if they could tow a bass boat.

Anyway, car commercials have silly warnings. But that’s not to say warnings and disclaimers don’t have a place in commercials. Here are a few possibilities:

Disneyland commercials
“Professional actors on closed course. That’s why it looks like there are only a few people here at The Happiest Place on Earth. Under normal conditions, we are also the Most Crowded Place on Earth, and you may experience extended waits for some of our more popular areas of the park, such as Adventureland, Tomorrowland and Bathroomland.”

Commercials with celebrity endorsement
“Paid spokesman. Celebrity might not even know what our product is, but give us a break. How many Domino’s Cheeseburger Pizzas do you think Donald Trump ate? How often did Fabio spray I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter on anything? How much of that anti-constipation yogurt does Jamie Lee Curtis really eat?"

Breath freshener/chewing gum commercials
“Small point: No breath freshener can make you blow cold air that can freeze a mirror or window pane. Larger point: Our breath freshener will not make potential sexual partners lust for you, nor can it cover up every personal flaw -- whether it be physical, intellectual or a garlic-based halitosis.”

Cruise-line commercials
“Professional actors on closed cruise ship. Feel free to try, but you will not, and frankly CANNOT, be as happy as these highly caffeinated actors. Also, actors in commercial were not infected with the Norwalk virus that plagued several ships in recent years and caused passengers to suffer gastrointestinal distress. Your distress may vary.”

Weight-loss commercials
“We always include ‘weight loss not typical’ in our commercials, but seriously, your weight loss may vary. Put it this way: About 10,000 people tried our weight-loss plan last year and we only needed one for our commercial. And that person didn’t eat for five days because she went on a cruise ship that had a Norwalk virus.”

Natural male enhancement commercials
"Professional actors on a closed course, trying really hard not to laugh. Also, please don’t ask us, ‘What is natural male enhancement?’ because we can’t describe it on television. The guy takes a pill and then he can throw a football through a tire ... you figure it out, OK? If you can't, you might want to ask a friend, and a few days later, find a new circle of friends.”

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Humor Me: Public speaking nightmares

2009-08-12T10:00:00.010-05:00

By MATT WIXON

In a recent letter to the editor in The Dallas Morning News, a 14-year-old pointed out that his high school's requirement of one semester of speech should be eliminated.

"High school is supposed to help get you ready to go into college and the business world," he wrote. "If someone's career will involve speech, then he or she can take it."

The letter was well-written, especially for a 14-year-old. But I think the requirement of a speech class should remain, and here are two reasons why:

First, no matter what you do in life, the skill of public speaking is useful if not essential. If you can look someone in the eye and deliver your thoughts with confidence, or at least without throwing up, you'll have a key ingredient to success.

And second, and nearly as important, I want other people to go through what I had to go through in high school. That's right, leaders of tomorrow, it's your turn to feel the terror of public speaking today! But don't worry. Your high school speech experience will probably be like mine, and you'll quickly learn how to stand in front of a crowd and babble randomly and nervously while nearly tipping over the lecturn with trembles of panic.

My speech I most remember from high school was on eliminating nuclear weapons. It should be noted that I’ve never had a negative opinion of nukes, but after a teacher assigned me the speech, I did had a very negative opinion of him.

Don’t be nervous, Mr. Stewart told the class before our first speaking assignment. He then passed along the well-worn strategy of picturing audience members in their underwear. Apparently, this is a popular strategy for dealing with nervousness. It was even mentioned in an episode of "The Brady Bunch," the most influential show ever to have nine people living in a house with three bathrooms. (Or was it two? Did Alice the housekeeper have her own bathroom? Hmm ... perhaps it's the subject for a high school speech.)

But the thought of picturing people in their underwear doesn’t ease my nerves. I think it would just make me feel overdressed and consider hanging out with other people. So I skipped that strategy as I took on nuclear weapons.

“Since the United States first developed an atom bomb …”

I think that’s how the speech started, but I don’t really remember. I can’t remember how it ended, either. But I do remember that when my name was called to give the speech on nuclear weapons, a part of me hoped somebody would use one to destroy the school.

Pretty selfish, I know. So many innocent people would die. But at least my classmates would be spared from seeing me trembling behind a lecturn, sifting through sweat-smeared notecards and staring down at the floor as I talked about global disarmament.

Actually, there’s no way I used the phrase “global disarmament.” It might’ve been in the notes, but when lips are frozen in fear, any words over two syllables are a struggle. I probably said something like, “all countries should seek ‘golf ball dish ornament.’”

Fortunately, my classmates weren’t listening. This was guaranteed because it took a week to finish everyone’s speeches and we didn’t know when Mr. Stewart would call on us. So while I was mumbling about “new clear pro lifter raisins” — a.k.a. nuclear proliferation — the other students were doing one of two things:

Daydreaming in a euphoria that kicked in the moment they finished stumbling through a speech on capital punishment, abortion, gun control or another controversial topic.

Praying to the heavens that they would not be next, and because God might not intervene, following up the prayer with a telepathic message to the teacher that said, “please, please, PLEASE … anyone but me.”

It was horrible. But I did learn some things from speech class. Most notably that, when giving a speech, I had a nervous habit of scratching my eyebrow every few seconds. And that even “ultra dry” antiperspirants are no match for terror sweat.

I also learned a couple of other tips. The first one sounds strange, but it’s really true: you should exercise a few minutes before the speech.

Why?

Because exercise transforms nervous energy into enthusiasm. Those smooth operators at Toastmasters International even recommend it.

They don’t however, recommend it during the speech. But if you get nervous midway through, why not? Few things liven up a dull presentation like a well-executed back handspring. Just make sure you stick the landing.

I also remember that visualization of success is important. You should try it before your next speech. Moments before zero hour, picture yourself giving a clear, effective delivery and the audience rising to give you a standing ovation.

You can also plan to visualize the audience in their underwear if you want. But in that case, please don’t ask me to be in the audience.

***
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Humor Me: Sleeping on the job

2009-07-17T14:56:00.001-05:00

By MATT WIXON

As your body calls out for its afternoon caffeine fix, the boss calls for a meeting. Moments later, you and your colleagues are in the conference room, daydreaming about 5 p.m. as the boss talks about the company’s new policy on Post-it notes.

Or maybe he’s talking about plans to stripe the parking lot with yellow paint instead of white. Or announcing that, after a six-month study, management has decided to change a comma to a semicolon in the company’s mission statement.

Whatever the topic, it’s one of those essential meetings. And that’s when it hits you. An elephant has landed on your eyelids and you are being pulled into the Darth Vader-like grip of sleep -– and perhaps unemployment, if the boss sees you.

You try to resist the dark side, staring hard at the boss and focusing on every word:

And furthermore, we feel we can improve our performance vector and overall synergy with the use of Helvetica 10-point bold in ALL office memos ...

You fight it, but it’s soooo difficult to keep your eyes open. You start to regret your decision to stay late at the karaoke bar to perfect the high notes on "Dream Weaver." But maybe this drowsiness isn’t your fault. Maybe it’s just the lulling hum of the fluorescent lights and the tick-tock lullaby from the clock above your head.

You open your eyes wide and blink hard. "This is ridiculous," you think to yourself. "I just need to keep my eyes open."

Sure, it sounds easy. But you’re in the gravitational pull of sweet sleep, the most powerful force in the world. That’s right: The most powerful force in the world.

Some people say it’s money that makes the world go around, and there certainly is truth to that. Lottos have a huge following, and studies have shown that the tilt of the Earth’s axis depends on the location of Donald Trump's ego.

Other people say sex is the world’s most powerful force, and yes, adult movies make a gazillion dollars a year. And of course there was Baywatch, the show lasted 12 years with about four recycled plots. Actually, Baywatch didn’t need storylines at all -- just a 60-minute loop of slow-motion beach running.

Very powerful. But the lure of the dark side, the force that can make a table in the conference room feel like a downy pillow, is much more powerful. The proof:

You’ve spent years putting in long hours to build your career. Going into work on weekends. Laughing at the boss’ bad jokes. Pretending you actually care about how he did on the back nine at his private golf club that defines you as “pond scum.”

It will all be for nothing if the boss sees your head flopping at the end of the table.

But the power of the dark side has taken over your brain. You think, maybe if I just close one eye, I’ll make it through this meeting. Maybe if I just turn my head a little toward the back wall, away from the boss, I could shut my eyes for a couple of seconds.

Just a couple of seconds, huh? Our brains are so naïve when sleep calls.

Suddenly, the boss’ voice fades into a drone mumbling that sounds like the teacher talking to Charlie Brown: “wha wha wha, bla bla, blabla.” Your head tilts downward, sucked into the vortex of dreamland. Then, just as your face is about to hit the table in front of you, your head jerks back up and you think, "What the heck just happened?"

What happened was a very close call. You’re terrified it will happen again, but you can’t stop it. Your head gets heavy, you start falling forward, and ...

OH SWEET MERCY, it sounds like the boss is finally wrapping things up.

So in conclusion, please remember to only use the yellow highlighters with internal memos and reserve the pink highlighters for highlighting faxes. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow, when we have a meeting to discuss future meetings. Thanks everyone.

You return to your cubicle, filled with relief. But you’re also shaken by the experience -- shaken by the thought that, had the meeting lasted a few more minutes, you would’ve been drooling on the conference table.

So you decide to show your dedication, at least for the last three hours of the day. You will be productive. You will do some good ol’ fashioned hard work.

Good for you. And good luck with that, because the Dark Side will never stop pulling you in. Except at about 2 a.m. tomorrow morning, when you're lying awake in bed telling yourself you need to get some sleep so you won't be a walking zombie the next day.

In that case, drink a little warm milk while reading a stack of office memos. That should knock you out.

***
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Humor Me: Vacationing with the kids

2009-06-29T11:09:00.005-05:00

By MATT WIXON

The check-in line at Great Wolf Lodge in Grapevine has a sign that says, “Start your adventure here.”

What kind of adventure?

Well, about 50 feet from the sign are two animatronic trees that will be harmonizing with a pretend raccoon before the day is done. It’s that kind of adventure.

It’s kind of like being immersed in a Disney movie about kids taking over a hotel and building an enormous water park inside. Unlike a movie, however, Great Wolf Lodge offers the added bonus of a chance to spend $25 on a magi wand or $50 on a stuffed animal with your child’s wish sealed inside.

Bring the whole family and your credit cards. It’s that kind of adventure.

But wait … this is actually a positive review of Great Wolf. The biggest reason is that the water park, which is huge, great for all ages and kept at 84 degrees year-round, has pretty much ruined every other water park for me.

Great slides for kids and adults. Very short lines. No sweltering heat or need for me to slather SPF 150 sunblock on my pale skin. It’s so different from the experience at most water parks, where you bake in long lines while trying not to notice aging back tattoos.

(TATTOO SIDEBAR: Have you ever noticed that tattoos -- while they are pretty cool, edgy, sexy, all that on young skin – give off a very different vibe on older skin? It’s kind of like seeing a mom drive by in a minivan that’s blasting death metal. And an elderly person who is heavily tattooed? He or she looks like a dented UPS package that fell off the conveyor belt and got stamped dozens of times as it traveled the world.)

Anyway, the Great Wolf water park is definitely a winner. The staff is also pretty cheerful and helpful. Not so helpful during my visit were the elevators, which broke down in the morning as we were trying to get a stroller to our room on the fourth floor. Also not helpful was the person who swiped my wife’s sandals off the deck of the outdoor pool, leaving Janell with no shoes as we were leaving the resort.

Janell had to walk to the car in a pair of sandals normally worn by our 6-year-old son, Ryan. Janell was pretty ticked off as she walked to the car with her toes hanging out over the end of Nerf pool sandals, which looked ridiculous enough to become the next fashion trend. But upon further review, we decided that her sandals were probably picked up by mistake and not actually stolen. That could certainly happen in the rush to pack up a family’s pool paraphernalia. Also, although the economy has caused us all some pain, I find it unlikely that anyone would stoop so low as to swipe a pair of $8 Wal-Mart flip flops.

My wife did manage to avoid the greatest adventure of our trip to Great Wolf: staying overnight in the hotel with our two oldest sons. That was a very exciting part of the trip for Ryan and Cooper, and for me, uh … it was memorable. Here’s how it went:

After a long day of water-park fun, my wife drove home at about 8:30 p.m. with our 16-month-old son. We decided that getting Nathan to sleep in a hotel room was more adventure than we wanted. So Janell left, leaving the two double beds for Ryan (age 6), Cooper (age 4) and Dad (age well beyond that at which sleepovers are thrilling).

After a trip to the arcade and some of Cooper’s leftover birthday cake, it was time to go to sleep. Or at least it was time to discuss the sleeping situation.

First, Ryan showed me several options that would create lighting conditions like those at home. Ryan flicked lights on and off throughout the room and brought up other creative ideas. My favorite was his idea to leave the door open on the microwave because that was like having a night light in the room. We finally decided to leave the bathroom light on and crack the door.

After a bedtime story, Cooper and I climbed into one bed and Ryan got into the other. But then Ryan decided that he wanted to sleep in our bed, too, giving us three people in one double bed. Then Ryan changed his mind because it was too hot and went back to the other bed. Thank goodness.

He fell asleep pretty quickly. Cooper, on the other hand, decided that he needed to touch my arm every 30 seconds to make sure that I was still there. I’m not sure how long it took him to fall asleep, but it took me even longer. Part of the reason was a tremendously overstuffed pillow.

(PILLOW SIDEBAR: Do hotels generally use overstuffed pillows because they seem more fresh or upscale than an average pillow? I can understand that a flat, mushy pillow can seem like it’s worn out, but that’s the kind of pillow I prefer. The pillows at Great Wolf were like completed Jiffy Pop bags. They were so plump that my head felt like it was nearly at a 90-degree angle as I tried to fall asleep.)

The next morning, Ryan and Cooper both agreed that it was the best sleepover ever and that they slept really well. Apparently, they slept well despite waking up several times to go to the bathroom and get drinks of water. Each time, Ryan would tap me on the shoulder to let me know what was going on. Cooper also would tap me on the shoulder, but not to tell me he needed a drink or needed to go to the bathroom. Cooper just wanted to make sure that I hadn’t died or been replaced by a mannequin in the 10 minutes since he had last checked.

The most interesting part of the night was when I noticed Ryan sit up in the bed for a minute or so and “sleep sit.” At least that’s what I think he was doing. I said, “Ryan, are you OK?” and he just kept sitting there, looking straight ahead, his eyes opening and closing as he nodded off. He looked like my dad trying to fight off sleep in the middle of a church service or me battling the sleep monster in one of my political-science classes in college.

The day we returned from Great Wolf, I felt a lot like I did in those political science classes. I was tired, hungry and a little confused. How could the trip to Great Wolf be so much hassle – going anywhere with three kids always is -- and yet so much fun?

At this point in my life, I guess seeing my kids have fun trumps just about everything else. And I know I should enjoy any experience in which my kids still want to have fun with me because I know that won’t always be the case. The “parents are a total embarrassment” stage will be here before long.

That will be a very different kind of adventure.

***
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Wixon Boys Dance Party 2009

2009-06-15T19:40:00.002-05:00

Not the best resolution with YouTube, but good enough to see the amazing dance moves of the Wixon boys. OK, maybe not amazing, but definitely interesting. The amazing part was that nobody was injured during the filming and nobody had to sit in our house's "timeout" spot.

My High School Yearbook Video

2009-06-12T14:50:00.007-05:00

Twenty years ago, I graduated from high school in Glendale, Ariz. My school was Apollo, home of the mighty Hawks, the motto of "pride, class, dignity" and at least 100 cars with bumper stickers that had been altered from "IN-N-OUT BURGER" to "IN-N-OUT URGE." Apollo also featured some sweet fender benders during lunch break, when half the senior class would tear out of the parking lot hoping to make it to Burger King and back in 30 minutes.

I was thinking about this because I recently received my 20-year reunion invitation. It reminded me of the goofy video I did a couple of years ago to accompany one of my humor columns. It features some highlights from my high school yearbook that are probably similar to many yearbooks.

Here's the video, presented by the person voted "most likely to be forgotten or confused for some guy named Mike, Mark or Max." Oh yeah, and Class of '89 RULES!

Humor Me: Spelling out success

2009-05-27T11:15:00.007-05:00

Iwrote this column a couple years ago, but since the National Spelling Bee is back on national TV this week, I decided to repost it:

Humor Me: Spelling out success

By MATT WIXON

Kids always get critized for not knowing much. And during this week of remembering our fallen soldiers, I bet someone asked, "How many American children can even locate Iraq on a map?"

Well, considering a recent survey showed that two-thirds of adults ages 18-24 couldn't find Iraq, I'm going to say not many. Unless an episode of "SpongeBob SquarePants" featured SpongeBob hanging out with Mr. Krabs on a sand dune near Baghdad.

But that's enough talk about the kids who can't find Iraq. Let's take a positive spin and talk about the kids who can spell Iraq — and nidifugous, obmutescence and docosahexaenoic acid.

Those kids take the stage this week at the Scripps National Spelling Bee, which for the first time will be broadcast live in prime time. PRIME TIME! That means kids who make it to the final rounds Thursday will have a national audience as they face spelling challenges such as "succedaneum," "hepatomegaly" and, because the competition is on ABC, "Eva Longoria."

How many people will actually tune in to see the riveting excitement of do-or-die spelling? Hmm ... that's a tough call. But I think the ratings could be as boffo as American Idol if the National Spelling Bee made a few subtle changes.

(The screen is now turning into wavy patterns as we enter fantasy mode)

Welcome to America's Spelling Idol! I'm Ryan Seacrest, America's No. 1 punchline. Now stepping to the microphone is our next contestant, who must spell this word:

"Argillaceous."

SPELLER: May I have the definition, please?

SIMON COWELL: (with totally affected English accent) My gaaaawd ... You're off to a dreadful start. Just begin.

SPELLER: A-R-G-I-L-L-A-C-O-U-S

SIMON COWELL: (throwing down a pencil and sighing) That ... was ... hideous. Positively aaaawful. Your ignorance of the letter "E" inflames the bile in my soul like every breath Paula takes.

PAULA ABDUL: (brushing back her hair to show a dazed look on her face): This might not have been your best performance, but you've got a great style, and I liked the way you started with the letter A. I vote "yes."

RANDY JACKSON: (leaning back in his chair) Uh, we're not voting on this show, Paula ... Oh dawg, this just wasn't your night. Come on, how could you misspell argillaceous? Don't you know that the Latin suffix "aceous" is often used in adjectives corresponding to classification names?

(We now return to reality)

As it is now, the spellers simply hear a little bell ding when they blow the spelling of a word never uttered outside a spelling bee. Then they walk off the stage, knowing that although they didn't win first place, they achieved something they can brag about while getting stuffed in a locker at school.

OK, I just reinforced a ridiculous stereotype. The truth is, not every elite speller is a total Poindexter who in 20 years will annually make more money than I will make in my lifetime. (I know this because I was a nerd in high school, and I don't make that much money now and I can't spell "succedaneum."

And the truth is, I will watch the National Spelling Bee. I like to see these sharp young minds get rewarded for their academic discipline. I like to see kids who can spell "sclerodermatous" despite growing up in a misspelled world of Froot Loops, Cheez Whiz and Beanee Weenees.

Another note on a misspelled world: Why would a manufacturer of EDUCATIONAL toys go by the name Playskool? That's like having a tutoring service called "One Plus One is Three."

It's also more reason to cheer these 275 elite spelling go-getters. So that's what I'm doing today, and that's what I'll do Thursday night. I've even decided who I'm rooting for:

The kids with an older sibling who has already competed in a National Spelling Bee.

Why?

Because it's got to be difficult to follow in the footsteps of a sibling who can call you an ignoramus and spell it correctly, too. I think the younger brothers and sisters deserve a chance for their own paradisiac moment.

With a win Thursday night, the jollification can begin.

***
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Humor Me: Signing day at Barnes & Noble

2009-05-12T14:44:00.009-05:00

By MATT WIXON

So I was sitting there at the front of a Barnes & Noble, parked behind a table loaded up with my books. Lots of my books. More than I could ever imagine selling in one hour without appearing on Oprah or changing the title from The Great American Staycation to How to Achieve Financial Freedom and Have the Best Sex Ever.

(Although my book doesn’t directly address achieving financial freedom or having the best sex ever, those things could possibly be achieved by reading it. Reading the book might even help people solve their problem thighs. Please feel free to spread wild rumors about the book’s magical properties.)

Back to the signing day:

At Barnes & Noble, I was sitting directly in the line of sight of people walking into the store. That made sense, because it allowed everyone to see me, and when somebody was talking to me, it was great. But when I was finished talking with a potential staycationer, book-buyer, curious passerby or a lonely person looking for conversation, I was sitting at a table looking straight at the store’s entry.

When people walked in, I didn’t want to stare right into their eyes. If I was a customer, that would definitely scare me away. But I also didn’t want to be looking down, and thus appear to be disinterested, rude or a slightly overdressed member of the shoplifting-prevention team. I needed to give out a vibe somewhere between uncomfortably aloof and borderline stalker.

I’m not sure how successful I was at that, but at least I looked legit. Next to me was a sign with a picture of the book (good!), a picture of me (ugh) and an announcement that this was a Barnes & Noble “event.”

Hmm … I’m not sure I would’ve called it an “event.” Sounds a little grandiose. Sure, some people who had bought the book came out for the signing. And I met some other nice people who asked about the book and then bought it. But the book signing, the first of two this month, was kind of awkward.

Other authors had prepared me for that. If you’re not a well-known author, they said, expect some slow times. And don’t expect to sell a lot of books, either. People walking into a bookstore probably aren’t going to impulse buy a book they haven’t seen before. And how many people in this world want to start up a conversation with someone they don’t know?

The real value of a signing is that the “event” is promoted in a store for several weeks, which means potential buyers walk into the store seeing a display for your book. This is a good thing, of course, because there are currently 14 quadrillion books sitting on shelves, lost in the masses, gathering dust and getting overlooked for something like A Mother’s Gift, the novel written in 2001 by noted author Britney Spears and her mom.

Among the customer reviews for that book:

“A part of me has died after reading this book.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the best book. But I can only hope that my book will earn the sizzling sales of Spears’ novel, or perhaps sell as well as Terrell Owens’ Little T Learns to Share (surprisingly unavailable is "Little T Learns to Throw a Tantrum"). Spears and Owens would bring in some big crowds for a signing.

As I looked around me during a break in the storm of people trying to talk to me –- two at one time can count as a storm, right? -– I noticed some other books that would pack the house for a signing. Next to racks of magazines were books such as Tori Spelling’s Mommywood, James Patterson’s 8th Confession and another titled Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven. Yes, that title will sell. Maybe what I need is a title like that and one of those romance-novel covers featuring a slightly modernized Tarzan and Jane preparing to get it on.

I had lots of time to think about these things because I’m not a well-known author. But I did learn a few things from the book signing.

1. Patience pays off. After waiting through some slow times, I sold a few books when people approached me after I had found the comfy space between being uncomfortably aloof and a potential stalker.

2. When the sirens go off for a tornado warning in the area, the book signing is officially over. (I was packing up a few moments after the Cowboys’ practice facility was demolished by high winds).

3. There is a magazine called Glutes. Yes, seriously. I could see the current issue from where I was sitting, and the cover included a headline “Your Best Butt Ever!”

Coincidentally, that headline is also part of the title of my next book:

How to Get Your Best Butt Ever While Achieving Financial Freedom and Having the Best Sex Ever.

As seen on Oprah, I hope.

***
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Humor Me: 90s music in commercials

2009-04-27T15:35:00.002-05:00

By MATT WIXON

It’s amazing how music can bring back memories. A familiar song comes on the radio and what happens? Suddenly your mind is flooded with thoughts of another place and time, thoughts of old friends, maybe even thoughts of a lightweight mop that can also sweep and dust.

That’s what I think of when I hear Devo’s “Whip it.” The song was recently part of a commercial blitz for the Swiffer, which is truly the most exciting household cleaning product ever to include the phrase, “When a problem comes along, you must Swiff it.”

Sure, the original song was about something very different than housework, and the music video featured whips, mature content and –- unless I missed it -– no Swiffering. But I’m sure turning “Whip it” into “Swiff it” was irresistibly easy.

Kind of like another ’80s song, “I Melt with you,” ending up in a commercial for Burger King. So what if the song has lines about living without hate and saving the human race? Melt with you, melting cheese on a hamburger ... it’s perfect! And come on, you can’t save the world on an empty stomach.

You also can’t survive the world with an empty wallet, which is why many ’80s tunes have been used in commercials. The musicians who take the cash are often called sellouts. But I see them more as clever opportunists because they give new life to their music, help sell quality products, and most importantly, because I’m contractually obligated to mention that milk does a body good. Also, this sentence is sponsored by Odor-Eaters and the entire column is built Ford tough.

Anyway, ’80s songs have dominated commercials for years. But as we slide closer to a new decade (almost 2010, can you believe it?), it’s time for songs from the ’90s to get a chance. Some of the songs that we could see in commercials:

1. “Livin’ la Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin
The song became a hit in 1999 and it’s tune is recognized worldwide. That makes it perfect for McDonald’s new blended coffees.
Original lyric: “She will wear you out, livin’ la vida loca”
In commercial: “Everyone will shout, I love frappuccinos with mocha!”

2. “Achy Breaky Heart” by Billy Ray Cyrus
Before Billy Ray Cyrus was wowing people on Dancing with the Stars by wearing too much makeup, he was known for making us all achy-breaky in 1992. Could his tune sweeten sales for Pop Tarts?
Original lyric: “Don’t tell my heart, my achy breaky heart”
In commercial: “Don’t take my tart, my flaky, tasty tart”

3. “Macarena” by Los Del Rio
The song that took over the planet in 1996, aided by a simple set of moves that made us all look like we were playing a game of Simon Says. The song was so overplayed that it quickly became cheesy, making it ideal for a Kraft “Cheese and Macaroni” commercial spot. I’m so confident this will happen, child actors might be doing the dance at auditions today.
Original lyric: lots of Spanish words, followed by “Hey Macarena!”
In commercial: lots of kids dancing, followed by “Cheese and Macaroni!”

4. “Ice, Ice Baby” by Vanilla Ice
Yes, it’s perhaps the most lampooned song ever. But hear this 1990 song once and it’s stuck in your head the way Vanilla’s hurricane-proof hairdo was stuck to his head.
Original lyric: “Ice, Ice Baby”
In commercial: So many possibilities. Minute Rice, rice baby. Old Spice, spice baby. Smirnoff Ice, ice baby. Or maybe as a public-service announcement featuring Vanilla Ice talking about how to get rid of lice, lice baby.

5. “Tubthumping” by Chumbawumba
The title might not give it away, but this is the song that gave us “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never going to keep me down” in 1997. Yes, that will now be stuck in your head all day. But in a country that seems to discover maladies so we can have more medication, this is bound to show up in a pain-reliever commercial.
Original lyric: See above
In commercial: People getting knocked down, getting up again, but thanks to pills, nothing’s keeping ’em down.

***
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My CNN interview on staycations

2009-04-12T20:09:00.007-05:00

It started with an e-mail that had “CNN Interview Request” in the subject field. Sent to me by an associate producer for CNN, the e-mail started like this:

“Hey Matt,

I’m writing to find out if you can join Fredricka Whitfield during CNN Newsroom Saturday at 3PM CT/4PM ET, to discuss your book The Great American Staycation.”

I received this e-mail on April 1, so I was suspicious. But no fooling … none of my old college buddies were involved and it was not a prank. It was truly a golden opportunity to get some national publicity for my book -- or perhaps pass out or throw up on live television and became a YouTube legend.

Thinking about it now, maybe I should have done something outrageous during my interview. A million hits on YouTube would undoubtedly translate into some book sales, if only from people who felt sorry for someone who was humiliated in front of a national audience.

But the interview went pretty well, or so I’m told. I’m too embarrassed to watch myself on television so I still haven’t seen the whole thing. But I do remember, and I will always remember, the way I felt as a CNN producer told me, “After this segment, we’re coming to you.”

I was sitting in a chair in a Dallas studio, with a microphone clipped to my jacket and a backdrop of the Dallas skyline behind me. I was staring into a camera, listening to the show through an earpiece, wondering what question Whitfield would start with and how shiny my head looked under lights nearly as bright as the sun.

(Column continues below video)

Some makeup would’ve mellowed that shine. And 30 minutes earlier, when I had arrived at the studio, the makeup room was pointed out to me. But yeah, like I’m going to put on makeup. It’s not that I’m too manly to allow some makeup touch-ups, it’s that I have no idea how to use makeup. So what if my head would be shiny and my skin a little blotchy? Better that than my amateur makeup application turning CNN Newsroom Saturday into a freak show.

Anyway, back to the interview. I was sitting in my chair, listening to the earpiece, and I heard the intro. “So Matt Wixon wrote a book on staycations …”

Oh man, they really are coming to me.

I hadn’t felt incredibly nervous until that moment, when I realized my national television debut was just seconds away. My heart began pounding so hard that I wondered if it could be seen under my jacket. Any kind of television interview can cause anxiety, including the one I did last week on Good Morning Texas. But the CNN one was more stressful because I had never met the person I was about to talk to, I had no idea what question she would ask, and I was looking into the lens of a camera instead of the eyes of another person.

Finally, Whitfield asked her first question. And …

Seriously, I don’t remember much of the interview. But you can see the video above. What I do remember is that the interview was much faster-paced than I expected, and I didn’t feel I had enough time to answer a question fully.

When I was done with my interview at the start of the show, I was asked to stick around so they could talk to me some more. So for the next 30 minutes, I sat in the chair, waiting for the producer to again say, “we’re coming to you.”

In the meantime, I tried to follow the show in my earpiece, but it was sometimes difficult. I couldn’t see a monitor and the audio sounded like muffled AM radio. I stayed alert, however, to the possibility that I could be back on at any moment. My nose itched at one point, but I didn’t want to scratch it because I thought that would be the moment when CNN would put me back on the screen and the scratch could be mistaken as a pick, like in a memorable episode of Seinfeld. (Hmm … a nose-picking author on YouTube … another way to get a million hits!)

Finally, Whitfield came back to me. A few more questions, a little more discussion, and then the show was over. I was relieved as I walked out of the studio, but also a little disappointed that I didn’t get to mention some of my best staycation ideas and strategies. (Start subliminal message … For lots of great ideas, buy The Great American Staycation … end subliminal message).

So the CNN interview wasn’t perfect. But I can’t complain. I got the chance to go on a national show, and I didn’t throw up, pass out, fall off the chair or get frozen in fear and stare blankly into the camera.

Well, I don’t think I did any of those things. Like I said, I haven’t watched the interview that closely.

And if any of those things did happen, it’s probably better that I don’t know.

*** "The Great American Staycation: How to Make a Vacation at Home Fun for the Whole Family (and Your Wallet!)" is now available. You can find it in stores or online.

My staycation interview

2009-04-09T21:43:00.000-05:00

I was on CNN on Saturday for an interview about staycations, and I should be able to upload that video in the next few days. But today I was on "Good Morning Texas" to talk about staycations, and it's much easier to get that video.

Good news: Although I was nervous, I didn't suffer an attack of flop sweat.

Bad news: Well, I'm not sure if there is any. But I don't like to watch myself on television, so I didn't look at the video too closely.

Here's the clip:

Humor Me: Yoga dropout

2009-03-23T20:03:00.007-05:00

By MATT WIXON

A few years ago, I tried yoga. I tried and failed.

Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, because you can't really succeed at something that you commit to for less than an hour. Certainly not something like yoga, which is defined as a system of exercises for attaining bodily or mental control and well-being.

Yep, that's yoga. A moving meditation that can unify the body, mind and spirit as it balances your energy centers -- also known as “chakras.” Sounds great, but that's not beginning yoga.

Beginning yoga is defined as a system of exercises for attaining humiliation as you nearly fall through a coffee table while trying to achieve the Extended Camel Posture (Purna Ushthra Asana in yoga terminology). Beginning yoga is what I do, or more accurately, did. My dedication lasted approximately 39 minutes — the running time of an instructional yoga video.

At first, I had high hopes because my wife loved the video and said that it improved flexibility and strength. I decided to give it a try, as a favor to my wife, and of course, my chakra. I play a lot of sports and stay reasonably in shape, so I thought balancing my energy centers wouldn’t be too difficult. The video’s description also mentioned that the yoga workout would help me find relaxation in my strength, which sounded great. Strong and relaxed -- what a nice combination.

After a few yoga postures, however, I wasn’t feeling the relaxation in my strength. I was seeing the comedy in my weakness. The Cobra (Bhujangasana), Downward Dog (Adhomukhasvanasana) and Warrior Pose (Virabhadrasana) convinced me that learning yoga would be much harder than spelling Paschimotanasana (Forward Stretch). Fifteen minutes into the tape, I was tempted to return to a more familiar posture, the Recline With Beverage.

But I didn’t want to be a quitter. I still feel bad that my childhood voyage into martial arts only lasted long enough to learn how to count to 10 in Japanese. And my soccer experience wasn’t much longer, albeit long enough to learn that flying soccer balls always assume trajectories that collide with the faces of players who wear glasses.

So I decided to persevere through the entire yoga routine. It helped that I was in my house, and not at the health club, where my yoga ineptitude would be on full display to the people achieving the human pretzel (Mr. Salty Posture). In privacy, I could attempt to push my body toward its spiritual center, or at least give my chakra a good stretch if my downward dog (Maggie) would stay out from under my feet.

The yoga instructor’s encouragement helped. “Good,” she said at one point, not noticing that my tired spiritual center had led me to cheat and bend my knees during the forward standing bend. “You’re doing great today,” she said later as I failed to do what she calls the “Crane Posture,” or what I like to call “Impossible for Me.” I may not have been succeeding in the -- this is a quote from the video box -- “time-tested spiritual discipline where exercise and relaxation meet,” but at least the instructor was giving my chakra a pep talk.

I tried to copy the instructor’s postures, but it was like trying to trace a Rembrandt. Her picture-perfect postures are probably framed in a yoga studio somewhere. My postures, on the other hand, are the equivalent of a preschooler’s crayon scribbles on a wall of the studio.

And some of the postures I couldn’t even do. “You might not be able to do this right away,” she said, again in a very encouraging voice.

Right away? No, I’ll never be able to stand on my hands and lift my knees over my shoulders.

But at least she has faith in me, which might convince me to watch the tape a few more times. I figure that even if I don’t do the routine, I’ll have somebody telling me that I’m doing a great job. That is sure to make me feel better as Doritos crumbs roll down my shirt.

I could also just fast-forward to the end of the workout, the part of the workout I enjoyed the most. That’s where the instructor told me to lie down, close my eyes, and feel every part of my body relaxing. “Feel your legs relax, your arms relax, your head relax,” she said. “Feel yourself sinking deeper into the floor.”

Now that was relaxing. After sinking deep into the floor, I came up to a seated position. The instructor told me I “did a terrific job today,” although she probably tells that to all her students.

Following her lead, I brought my hands together and bowed forward as she said “Namaste,” a greeting that means, in part, “I honor the place in you which is of love, of truth, of light, of peace.”

Such a beautiful ending. But the next morning, I was so sore that I groaned as I got out of bed.

Loosely translated, I believe “ugh” and “argh” mean “Oh, my aching chakra.”

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

The Great American Staycation

2009-03-10T20:51:00.010-05:00

"The Great American Staycation: How to Make a Vacation at Home Fun for the Whole Family (and Your Wallet!)" is now available at amazon.com and it will be in stores March 18. It has ideas, strategies, and tips from people who haven taken staycations for years, along with a few stories of the strange vacations my family took when I was a kid.

The description of the book is here. The story behind the book is below.

***

Twenty-five years before “staycation” became a buzzword, my parents packed their three kids into a rented van for an overnight “fake-cation.”

Yes, a fake-cation. As in fake vacation.

After all, the van wasn’t really rented. My parents got it at a reduced rate, or maybe even free, in exchange for listening to a sales pitch on conversion vans. When the sales pitch was over, the van was all ours for the next 24 hours.

And what a 24 hours it was.

To escape the summer heat in Phoenix, Ariz., we drove 75 miles north to higher elevation. We swam in a creek, ate dinner somewhere, and then slept in the van in a grocery-store parking lot. One bench seat folded flat into a bed, and my parents slept there. My brother slept on the floor, and my sister and I each slept in a captain’s chair.

The captain’s chairs reclined less than an airplane seat, making sleep almost impossible. I remember struggling to get comfortable as I watched cars zoom by on a freeway next to us. The next morning, with our 24 hours nearly complete, we headed home.

It was one of several fake-cations my family took when I was a kid. One time, my family spent a weekend at an RV park that was mostly populated by retirees. The park had a small, deteriorating miniature-golf course that was fun for an hour or two. But after that, my brother, sister, and I had nothing to do but play cards in the RV and walk over to the shuffleboard courts and sling around the sliding discs. I remember I ate an entire box of Cheez-Its in one day during that trip. Not because I was hungry, just because it was something to pass the time.

The most memorable moment of that weekend was when my brother and I, tired of watching the three channels available on our portable five-inch, black-and-white TV, walked to the RV park’s community center. We found a television there to watch, but that only lasted a few minutes. We got yelled at for turning up the volume because it was interfering with the man calling out the Bingo numbers.

Very memorable, but not the greatest vacation. Truly a fake-cation.

But I don’t blame my parents. Three kids were expensive to fly anywhere. And the emotional cost was probably higher, given that my brother, sister, and I could get into an argument in the middle of church. On Christmas Eve.

Money was tight, and so was time. My dad, an insurance salesman, switched companies so often that he didn’t accumulate a lot of vacation days. He did accumulate a lot of business cards, however, and we used the backs of the outdated ones to write down phone messages.

Obviously, the seven-day family vacation to Walt Disney World wasn’t an option for my family. But now that I’ve taken some jabs at my parents, I’ll give them some credit. Even without much money or time, they still wanted to put some kind of vacation together.

That’s exactly what millions of Americans, including me, are thinking right now. How are we going to spend our next vacation?

We’d all love to really go all out. We’d love to jet away for a fourteen-day trip to somewhere exotic. We’d love to lounge on an exclusive beach and snap our fingers to have someone deliver us food, drinks, and in my case, SPF 140 sunblock.

But for many of us, reality is cramping vacation fantasies. The economy is in a downturn, home values are sinking, salaries are stagnant, and somewhere in this great country, a father-of-the bride is breaking the heart of his daughter:

Honey, you know how much I love you, but the economic conditions right now just aren’t conducive to having a five-foot ice swan at your wedding reception.

Tears will follow, but hopefully, so will an acceptance of the current economic conditions. Because most Americans –- young, old, single, married, with or without kids –- are feeling the pinch.

That brings us to the staycation. The stay-at-home vacation. The kind of vacation nobody really talked about until it became a product of necessity. The kind of vacation that my parents tried to pull off back when the economy was in another mighty swan dive.

But those were fake-cations. A staycation doesn’t have to be that way.

I know this because I’m now in the position my parents were in 25 years ago. I’m not an insurance agent, money is probably not as tight, and I’ve never planned a vacation that includes a three-hour sales pitch and a free set of steak knives. But like my parents, my wife and I have three kids. And since we started having our kids, and heard “it’s a boy!” three times, we’ve spent many vacations at home.

"The Great American Staycation" has some of our ideas and strategies for a vacation in your hometown or nearby. But more importantly, the book has the ideas and experiences from more than 20 other "staycationers" who are a lot smarter than me.

It's not like a typical travel guidebook. Those are loaded with useful information such as maps, detailed descriptions of towns, attractions to see, and where to eat. But sometimes the guidebooks read like the instruction booklet to George Foreman’s Lean Mean Grilling Machine.

I hope my book does a little better than that. It’s kind of an “anti-travel” book, so it won’t read like a travel guidebook. I’ve written humor columns for more than 10 years, and I think that tone fits staycations well. Because to take a staycation, you need to have a sense of humor. You need to have a positive attitude, an open mind, and a willingness to try something new. You can’t take yourself too seriously.

If you read the book, I hope it will help you be ready to plan a staycation that doesn’t feel like a fake-cation.

You can make it real, you can make it special, and you can make it memorable.

Final thought ... if you use Facebook, you can also find the book by searching "staycation." I just created that Facebook page for the book, which includes links to the book on Amazon and allows you to sign up as a "fan." That helps market the book, and it also allows me to give you any updates on the book.

Thanks to everyone who read this far!

Humor Me: Your kid won't be famous

2009-02-26T15:12:00.008-06:00

By MATT WIXON

I've stopped watching American Idol this season, as I always do after a few weeks. My only interest in the show is to watch the train-wreck auditions. The auditions where someone belts out a hideous rendition of "I Will Always Love You" or "Over the Rainbow" or tries to take a country song and give it the R&B treatment.

It's hilarious. But also kind of sad, especially after the judges give them blank stares of cut them down with some clever phrase they've been waiting to use. What the judges say, however, isn't the sad part. It's what the singers often say:
"I'm not going to quit. I know I can make it!"

Well, I applaud your doggedness. But I hope when the cameras are off, your parents come up with some better advice than, "That's right, honey. Don't quit. You are going to make it!"

Maybe so, but not as a singer. And that leads me to a message I want to send to kids. A message that could land me in detention.

Hey kids ... you know that inspirational "if you set your mind to it, you can be anything you want to be" speech? The one we’ve pounded into your head since you stuck the quarter so far up your nose that we couldn’t get it out?

Well, it's a lie.

Not a big, horrible lie. Nothing like when parents tell their kids "and if you get out of that bed again, the invisible snakes will get you." Or like when my dad would tell me he had something called a "plumber's helper" to force me to eat vegetables.

(Note to kids: The plumber’s helper was also mentioned in the movie A Christmas Story, so I’m guessing many of you are being threatened with this contraption. So remember that if you just move the food around on your plate, it will look like you ate some of it. Also, you can hide spinach under a potato skin and green peas can be smeared on the underside of the table. Good luck!)

OK, back to the topic of "you can be anything you want to be."

For a 5-year-old, I think it's probably a good message. It provides motivation, builds self-esteem, all that good stuff. It's also hard to determine a career for the skill set of "knows ABCs, spells name correctly, can pop off G.I. Joe's head and place it on Barbie's body."

But let's move forward 10 years, to when the leaders of tomorrow become the Mountain Dewds and Dewdettes of today. That's when we have to be a little more careful with what we say. For example, last year I spoke to a group of teenagers and more than half of them planned to be pro athletes.

Sorry guys, you’re more likely to have athlete's foot. Just pull out your calendars and schedule the disappointment now.

That's harsh, I know. Especially for kids who've probably been told they can do anything. I remember the teachers at Apollo High School -- home of the fightin’ Hawks, ripped jeans and Motley Crue T-shirts -- told me that if I set my mind to it, I could do anything.

So I tried to be a professional basketball player.

And you know what? More than 20 years later, I can whip NBA superstar Shaquille O’Neal in a game of H-O-R-S-E if no dunks are allowed. I also have above-average height, know all the rules of basketball, and although this is hard to believe, many people compare me with former NBA Most Valuable Player Steve Nash for my lack of fashion sense.

Still, I never made it to the NBA. And although it's possible that I didn't set my mind to the goal, I think my bling-bling career washed out because of a lack of quickness. And because I can't jump over a copy of The Da Vinci Code. Not even the paperback edition.

The painful truth is that we can't all be anything we want to be. We can't all have glamorous careers. Some people will be rock stars; some people will sing "Muskrat Love" on karaoke night. Some people will make a fortune in stocks; some people will make frappuccinos in smocks. Some people will be Mel Gibson; some people will arrest him on a suspected DUI.

This isn’t meant to squash dreams. The oldest of my three sons is 6, so I'm all about "go for it, guys!" right now. I think if you're 6 years old, it's good to dream big. Maybe you really will be a pro athlete, world-renowned doctor or performer in "Sesame Street Live."

And if you're a teenager, you shouldn't give up on your dreams. But if you can't sing, you can't sing and that's that. So have a backup plan as you consider this:

When you pass age 25, "dreamer" is pretty much code for "loser." Yes, even if you've almost learned to play guitar and you swear your band is about to get its big break. Yes, even if your Hollywood fame is just one juicy role away.

The one possible exception, of course, is if an NBA scout might discover you today when you’re shooting jump shots in your driveway at 6 p.m. My address is in the phone book.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Humor Me: Lover, find your match

2009-02-10T12:03:00.007-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Another Valentine's Day approaches, and here you are, still looking for that special someone.

Maybe special isn't even a requirement anymore. You just need someone ordinary who can show you an extraordinary love -- or at least pose for a photo that you can send to your meddling friends and relatives.

I know it can be difficult. Especially this week, when lucky-in-love people get to show their special someone just how much the Valentine's Day Retailer Mafia can squeeze out of a bank account.

But don't give up hope, because there's still time to find love. In fact, there's still time to find a date for Valentine's Day. Just go to a chat room and identify yourself as a blonde named Candee or a wealthy entrepreneur named Harrison.

Unfortunately, that probably won't turn into a serious, long-term relationship. Compatibility is required for that. For example, although my wife doesn't like sports and I do, and although she likes to watch makeover shows and I don't, we are both human. That helps us make our marriage work.

There are deeper elements of compatibility to explore, of course. That's why dating Web sites use compatibility questionnaires with their clients.

The one here, however, is free and easy. Even easier than trying to fool your friends by saying "I love you too, honeypoo," to a dial tone.

When you're finished with the survey, find another reader, match answers, and then who knows? Soon you could have that funny tingling feeling in your stomach BEFORE eating Mexican food:

1. When a couple has an argument, it's important to ...
A. understand disagreements are part of a healthy relationship.
B. always keep the lines of communication open.
C. wear a microphone for maximum effect.

2. Which statement most resembles your beliefs?
A. "I believe a strong relationship is based on mutual trust."
B. "I believe a strong relationship requires compromise."
C. "I believe you are sitting in my seat. Move."

3. Public display of affection ...
A. makes me uncomfortable.
B. is perfectly fine with me.
C. should be choreographed and practiced beforehand.

4. I like to travel ...
A. some, but I'm not that crazy about it.
B. anywhere in the world, because I'm adventurous.
C. anywhere within state lines, because I'm on parole.

5. Would you live with someone before getting married?
A. No, because it's despicable and should never happen.
B. Yes, because there is nothing wrong with that.
C. Yes, because I'm currently homeless.

6. I enjoy dinner by candlelight ...
A. because it makes a dinner special.
B. because it creates a romantic mood.
C. because the lack of light allows me to pretend my date is someone else.

7. If "fun and carefree" are on one side and "serious and organized" are on the other, I am ...
A. leaning toward fun and carefree.
B. leaning toward serious and organized.
C. checking my calendar to see when I have time to weigh the question thoroughly.

8. In financial matters, I've been called ...
A. thrifty.
B. a spender.
C. by four different bankruptcy lawyers in the same day.

9. I would like to have children ...
A. as soon as possible.
B. when my partner and I are ready.
C. stay out of my way unless they are bringing me a drink.

10. If roses are red and violets are blue ...
A. my heart overflows with love for you.
B. you da wild thang that makes life true.
C. is this a passive-aggressive reminder that I should've bought flowers?

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Humor Me: Diary of a 1-year-old

2009-02-03T11:19:00.003-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Wow, the last year went by fast. It’s hard to believe, given my youthful looks, but I have now hit the big zero-one. It happened last week, in fact, as my family and I celebrated my first year of life. I’d like to say it was a great party, but I only got to watch everyone else eat pizza and cake while I was “treated” to things like spoonfuls of Stage 2 chicken-and-rice dinner, fruit medley and Cheerios.

Seriously, Dad ate like five pieces of pizza. Isn’t that ridiculous? Also, at the pizza place, Dad thought it would be fun for me to sit on the motorcycle video game to pretend that I was playing. He didn’t even put a coin in. I might still be young, but I know what’s going on when the screen is flashing “game over” and “insert coin.” I wasn’t born yesterday.

No, I was born a full year ago. And now that I’ve reached this milestone, I thought I would share some of my diary entries from the last year. That’s right, I keep a diary. I have a lot of free time these days, and it’s never too early to get started on the memoirs.

From the diary of Nathan Wixon:

Day 7

I’m a week old now but still adjusting to the big move. The new place is much more spacious, but a bit bright and drafty. There’s also way too much activity around me as I try to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open most of the time, but when I open my eyes for more than 30 seconds, my parents goes absolutely bonkers. I’m worried they may not be very intelligent and that’s a hereditary trait.

Day 31

I’ve pretty much got this world figured out. I wake up, I eat and then I try to relax for a few minutes as I suffer through full-body hiccups. Then I poop and get my diaper changed by Mom or the guy who is allegedly my dad despite the fact that I have a ton of hair and he has zippo. After the diaper change, it’s time for me to give my grumpy-man look while I attempt to focus my crossed eyes on whoever is holding me. Then I fight the creeping sleep monster by crying my eyes out in my bassinet until the sleep monster defeats me.

Day 58

Tested my Emergency Broadcast System today. I just screamed for no reason, and so far, the system works well. Fortunately, this was only a test. If it had been an actual emergency, well, I would’ve done the same thing.

Day 75

Hello? Anybody out there? I’ve been screaming for like 10 minutes and nobody is coming here. It’s a shocking lack of gratitude for someone who just this morning made his parents’ day by smiling for the first time. Of course, I was only smiling because I had released some gas, but don’t tell my parents that. I like to see them get excited by these small achievements. They’re so cute at this stage, don’t you think?

Day 124

I just discovered that I have two older brothers. They are always playing crazy games and bouncing around on couches and talking really loud when I’m trying to take a nap. Until recently, I assumed that they were just hired to keep me entertained by wrestling next to my activity saucer. But now Mom and Dad are always telling them to “Watch out for your brother,” and I think they are referring to me.

Day 140

For the last time, Mom and Dad, I hate the baby swing. BOOOORIIING!

Day 159

How old is she? How old is she? A person asked that today. It made me so angry that I nearly spit up on mom’s last remaining non-spit-up-stained shirt. Then I went home and threw a ball around and tried to break stuff. I also tried to tell my parents to get rid of any of the jumpers in girly pastel colors, but all that came out was “gah.”

Day 160

Spit up on mom’s last remaining non-spit-up-stained shirt.

Day 209

Went in the pool today. A little chilly, but I kind of liked it. I splashed with my hands while Dad held me and then suddenly –- don’t ask me why –- I decided to try to dive bomb the water with my face. Not such a good idea. Dad thought it was funny until I decided to grab some chest hair to help regain my balance.

Day 262

Today was pretty exciting. I pulled all of the pots and pans out of the kitchen cabinets, put my hand in the dog’s water bowl and then knocked over the fake ficus tree in the kitchen. A pretty full day, and I could’ve done more if not for these stinkin' naps I have to take.

Day 327

Launched myself right off the changing table today. I’d been trying for weeks, but this time I succeeded as Dad was trying to get a diaper out of the drawer. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ve got a Mom who has things a little more together.

Day 334

I can now pull to a full standing position. That’s great except for one thing: I don’t know how to get back down once I’m standing. So I have to stand there crying for help. I suppose this is an inconvenience at 3 a.m., but so is having to take two naps a day. When I start talking, there might be some room for negotiation.

Day 365

Watch out world, I am ONE YEAR OLD. A time to reflect on the year gone by, all of my accomplishments and the many toys I’ve tried to put in my mouth. And, once again, a good time to test my Emergency Broadcast System.

Yep, still works.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Humor Me: It's time for Girl Scout Cookies

2009-01-21T16:35:00.006-06:00

By MATT WIXON

As I reached for the doorbell with my arms full of delicious ways for
my neighbor to support my school, I glanced down at the fund-raising kit's suggested opening line:

"Hello, my name is (your name here) and I am selling delicious cheese-and-sausage products to raise money for (your school here)."

That opening line would work fine, but I knew it wouldn't make me the top cheese-and-sausage salesman at my school. I decided to add in how my school needed new playground equipment and that the top salesman would win a trip to Disneyland, where I had always dreamed of visiting (insert 10-year-old grin here).

Who could resist such a dramatic presentation?

As it turned out, just about everyone. But at least they offered legitimate-sounding excuses. Some couldn't find their wallet or purse. Others had already bought cheese and sausage from another student. A few were allergic to both cheese and sausage -- and talk about bad luck -- they were also allergic to the pecan rolls, candy bars and caramel popcorn I was shilling.

"I also have coupon books," I would add.

"I think I hear the phone ringing," was their response, "and a pot may be boiling over."

I got the point.

At some houses, I didn't even get to make my point. As I approached the front door, the lights in the house would go out, the blinds would close and the television would become silent. I would hear faint whispers of "Be quiet!" and "Is he gone yet?"

It's hard to believe people could do that to an innocent child walking the mean streets of fund-raiser world. What's harder to believe, however, is that I've become one of those people.

How quickly I forgot my childhood dearth as a salesman: the days when neighbors became targets as I parroted my opening line in hopes that someone would buy a raffle ticket, a box of caramel delights or sponsor me in my basketball team's Hoop-a-thon. The days when my relatives had an ample supply of my car-wash coupons and $9 cheese spreads.

These days, I'm the one peering through the blinds for pint-size pitchmen and pretending not to exist when they ring my doorbell. Yes, I know they're raising money for a good cause, and, yes, I feel guilty. Especially when I see them walking dejectedly away from my door wearing their soccer uniforms or T-shirts with their
dance team's name on the front.

How can I be so heartless?

Well, here's one reason:

Apparently 425 Girl Scouts live in my neighborhood, and they are all currently selling cookies. There are only so many boxes of Tagalongs, Do-Si-Dos and Samoas I can eat. And Thin Mints don't make you thin. Maybe minty, but I don't really want to be that either.

Anyway, somewhere in the sales assault of cookies, homemade wrapping paper and Wisconsin cheddar logs, I realized there are just too many good causes -- and even more good "saleskids."

"Hello, my name is Michael, and I am selling candy bars to raise money for my swim team," said one visitor a while back. "Do you like to swim?"

Do I like to swim? This guy was good.

As Michael continued his pitch, I hoped that my phone would ring, a pot would boil over or an excuse better than "I'm sorry, but I'm busy making the world safe for democracy" would pop into my head.

It was too late for excuses, anyway. Michael had rattled off his entire line of products and I was feeling guilty. I bought one, and then Michael was off to his next customer and, with a little luck, a grand prize like Disneyland. I basked in the satisfaction of supporting a cute kid and a good cause.

But only for a moment, because another kid was soon to be at my door. And I expect some more will be coming this week.

Shh ... everybody be quiet. I'm pretending nobody is home.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Kids unable to read, write, add properly

2009-01-14T13:05:00.004-06:00

Schools are not doing the job, kids are not learning, and the country is going to a hell in a handbasket. Fortunately, this time, the news isn't about this country.

This time it's in England, where a headline reads "Half of teenagers leave school unable to read, write or add properly."

Despite a rise on 2007, only 47.6 percent of pupils achieved the desired five A* to C-grade GCSEs including English and maths, leaving ministers struggling to hit a 53 percent Treasury target by 2011.

Got it? If not, maybe you're a "maths" person.

Well, at least there's this bit of good news in the story:

Statistics published today by the Department for Children, Schools and Families show that 440 schools are currently falling short of this benchmark - though that is an improvement on last year's dire figure of 631.

So it seems to be getting more gooder than worser.

Humor Me: New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-06T10:55:00.006-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Welcome to 2009. A new year, a new start, a new opportunity to make your life everything you want it to be.

Starting tomorrow, of course. We’ll just forget about today, considering we're nearly a week into the new year and you’re lying in bed, trying to hit the snooze bar for the 10th time. You're probably still feeling that pain in your back that started when you woke up New Year's Day after a night of sleeping on your keys (while fully-dressed, with a bent-up party hat strapped to your head).

Did you ever find out what that red stain was on your shirt? Lipstick? Salsa? Blood?

OK, it doesn’t really matter. Today is the day to start self-improvement! Or tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, or maybe next week after you finish off the carton of cigarettes. Then it will be time to start your New Year’s Resolution.

Which, if you’re like most Americans, means deciding to get fit. In fact, it’s the No. 2 New Year’s Resolution, second only to resolving to make a resolution at a later date because "I’m really unmotivated this week/month/year/lifetime."

Motivation is key. A good example is the show called "The Biggest Loser," which could refer to a Kevin Federline biography but actually is a show about people competing to lose weight. The top prize is $250,000, which is why most winners need less than a year to go from human marshmallow to triathlete.

I could get in primo shape with that kind of motivation. Even rock-hard abs would be possible with a $250,000 reward -- and several rolls of heavy-duty tape, a pair of handcuffs and one or more of the anti-depression drugs advertised on television.

But that’s a little complicated, and I want it to be easy. So do most people, which is why something like the the Ab Torso Torture Blaster, endorsed by Suzanne Somers, Chuck Norris or some other celebrity who has a personal chef, will be a big seller again this year. It will require three easy payments, equaling one payment for each time the Super Turbo Gladiator Glutinator gets used before 2008.

Sadly, there’s no easy way to get fit. But there is a simple way, as shown in a recent study of people committed to losing weight.

Participants in the study achieved significant weight loss in just days by cutting out snacks between meals, cutting out snacks before bedtime, and cutting out breakfast, lunch and dinner. The research also indicated that after a few days, some of the study’s participants had dropped a dress size, others could tighten their belts an entire notch, and all were willing to fight with knives for a box of Wheat Thins stamped with "Best if eaten by 2005."

Weight control isn’t as simple for those of us who want to eat. And even if you have self-control at home (or tape and handcuffs), sticking to a diet at work isn’t easy. For one thing, vending machines are just steps away.

Fortunately, my employer looks out for employee health by bringing in vending machines that never allow the pack of powdered-sugar donuts to drop from the top row. This results in donut-seekers shaking and banging the machine in an effective low-impact aerobic workout.

But that’s not enough. To get fit, real exercise is required. The kind of exercise that involves sweating, grunting and heavy lifting, and that’s just to get the spandex workout pants over your thighs. If you get that far, you’re on the fit side of America’s bell curve.

If it sounds difficult, remember that we can’t all look like the people in the fitness ads. That’s why we should shoot for realistic goals, like never being one of the anonymous people that are videotaped walking down the street for the special report "Is America Getting Too Fat?"

More importantly, remember this:

You don’t have to start your New Year’s Resolution today. You can start tomorrow. Or the next day. Or in October, right after your Beer of the Month subscription ends.

It is a New Year’s Resolution, after all. You’ve got 12 months to achieve self-improvement.

Feel free to hit the snooze bar again.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Photo by Kristan Hutchison, courtesy of National Science Foundation

Humor Me: Attention frantic shoppers

2008-12-22T11:35:00.007-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Just three days until Christmas, everyone. You know what that means?

You guessed it! We only have 12,000 more chances to hear “Last Christmas” by Wham! on the radio.

But wait a second. This is no time for Wham! bashing. It’s already Dec. 22, the annual day when, even without the aid of my psychic friends network, I can read the thoughts of my father from 1,000 miles away.

“Hmm … December 22,” he’s thinking. “Still a little early for Christmas shopping.”

He’s still got a couple days, after all. Plenty of time to operate his shopping version of football’s hurry-up offense: lots of running around, lots of trying to stop the clock and very, very few touchdowns.

I saw it up close for years. Every Dec. 23 -- sometimes Dec. 24 -- my dad and I would head to the mall in his truck to find gifts for my mom. Dad would puff on a cigar as he formulated a shopping plan.

It was the same plan every year. First, my dad would try to find a book without knowing the title or the author’s full name. Second, he would try to find some perfume with no idea what my mom wanted. Third, he would search through a rack of sweaters, pick one out, and ask me, “Do you know your mom’s size?”

No, I didn’t know my mom’s size. I didn’t know anything. I was a 10-year-old who thought the true meaning of Christmas was spelled A-T-A-R-I.

So how did my dad’s shopping turn out?

Well, one Christmas my mom unwrapped a huge box of food storage containers. It was a 24-piece set, if I remember correctly, that included –- get ready for the exciting part –- MATCHING COLOR-CODED LIDS.

I don’t remember exactly what happened after that, but I’m sure it didn’t share the spirit of It’s a Wonderful Life.

That’s what can happen when you wait until the last minute. Sure, you might have plans for exciting gifts, romantic gifts, maybe even gifts that will be remembered forever. But what happens to good intentions in the heat of the moment?

They melt into gifts like a Chia Pet, The Clapper or “Richard Simmons’ Sweatin’ to the Oldies 3.” Or a product that features an infomercial where people hyperventilate when they discover a breakthrough in carpet-cleaning technology.

Of course, these days we can fall back on the gift card. Ah yes, the gift card! Perhaps the greatest invention since Ron Popeil first scrambled an egg in its shell. The gift card is quick, easy, and lovingly says, “I have no idea what you want.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s better to be ignorantly truthful than to send an inappropriate gift to someone you’ve lost touch with. I wouldn’t want to send my former college roommate and potential alcoholic a subscription to the Beer of the Month Club. I wouldn’t want to send my ol’ buddy Tom Cruise "The Complete Guide to Prescription Painkillers" when he would prefer a gift card redeemable on Mars.

But can you really give a gift card to everyone? For example, my wife and I share a bank account. So if I buy a gift card for her, I’m pretty much sending the message, "Honey, you have my permission to spend 100 bucks at Bed, Bath & Beyond."

That’s right, little woman, I am allowing you to spend money. My wife would love that.

But she might get a gift card anyway. Because with only three days until Christmas, I’ve still got a little shopping to do. That’s right ... I’m one day from becoming my dad, frantically shopping and considering the gift of locked-in freshness.

So I’ll be out there with the other last-minute shoppers, searching for gifts and trying to remember that it’s about the "spirit of giving." You know, that "it’s the thought that counts."

That really is true. But unfortunately, the thought that counts is the one inside the head of the person receiving the gift.

Especially if that gift features color-coded matching lids.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Humor Me: Here come the carolers

2008-12-17T15:20:00.003-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Before we start caroling, I want to thank everyone for coming out on this chilly night. It’s great to know that, even in the holiday rush, we can take time to share the spirit of the season with neighbors who are civilized enough to appreciate our music.

If you don’t know me, I’m Mrs. Mapleberry, and I’ll be leading the group again this year. That’s why I’m wearing this green sweater, and that's why I asked all of you to wear red sweaters. Some of you didn’t, but that’s fine because you can still spread holiday cheer while standing behind someone who is wearing the correct color.

I know everybody is cold, but I have a few announcements before we get started.

First of all, although I’m a music teacher at the local elementary school, please don’t be intimidated by my musical ability. It’s a combination of natural talent -- Praise God! -- and years of diligent training. My angelic voice might remind you of Celine Dion, or perhaps Whitney Houston before her terrible tragedy of meeting Bobby Brown. But for you musical beginners, be assured that I will not criticize your efforts. Unless, of course, you hit each other with song flutes like the heathens in third grade.

Please give a special welcome to Barb, who has made it out here despite her recent illness. Barb thanks everyone for their prayers and says her recent bout with salmonella showed her the true value of friends and the importance of properly cooking a turkey. Remember to use those food thermometers, everyone!

Also, I would like to pass along that David, one of our most devoted singers of the past few years, won’t be with the group this year. But with your prayers, I believe his unfortunate run-in with the law will be cleared up soon. And in light of his arrest, I remind you that although the lyrics of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” say that we won’t go until we get some figgy pudding, we will go if a restraining order is slapped on us. That’s also why we won’t be sharing holiday harmonies this season with 4704 Oakwood Blvd.

But that’s OK, because there are many more homes that want to hear us croon our happy tunes. They might turn off every light in the house as we approach, but remember, the holiday spirit is in everyone! When a door is closed in our faces, we must open our hearts! When a rude comment could lower our spirits, we must raise our voices!

Before we go, I also need to address some confusion we had with the lyrics last year.

In “Frosty the Snowman,” the correct lyrics are “a corn cob pipe and a button nose, not “a corn cob pipe and a bloody nose.” Why anyone would think that the word “bloody” is part of such a delightful song, well … that’s almost as crazy as the night last year when Fred pretended to ride an illuminated reindeer.

That’s also why we won’t be singing at 4215 Juniper Road. Or at 4221 Pine Lane, where we eventually found Fred passed out in a manger. This year, there’s just coffee in that thermos you’re holding, right Fred?

Let’s also be clear on the lyrics in “Winter Wonderland.” It’s “later on, we’ll conspire as we dream by the fire,” not “later on we’ll perspire as we dream by the fire.” It’s a common mistake, and correcting it should be no sweat. Ha!

No sweat … don’t you get it? I was talking about perspiring and then said, “no sweat.” Well, maybe everyone is too chilly too laugh.

So let’s get moving, and remember to check your song sheets for the selected verses that I will be doing solo. During those verses, please don’t attempt to hum because it could be distracting. You may, however, hold hands and sway.

Finally, remember that we are all God’s children, and everyone’s voice is sweet music to the ears of God. In the ears of humans, however, some voices are the equivalent of fingernails scraping on a chalkboard. If your voice falls into that category -- and I can help determine that for you -- please celebrate the season by simply moving your lips to the words.

That way we can all experience the joy of caroling.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com.

Santa isn't so nice

2008-12-16T11:44:00.003-06:00

My kids watched Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer a few days ago. It always brings back memories because I watched this every year as a kid. There's the Abominable Snowman's crazy eyes, Rudolph's nasally "She thinks I'm cute" and Hermie the elf's swoosh of blond hair, which makes him look like an early-'80s skater/surfer.

There's also that painfully bad/long "There's Always Tomorrow" song. I think that's generally when my brother and I would fight for a few minutes before the show would regain our attention.

But the thing that stands out to me most is this:

Santa does not come off well.

Actually, he appears to be a jerk. He gives Mrs. Claus a hard time, he seems generally rude and he actually condones discrimination based on having a red nose. When he first sees Rudolph, he's aghast.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he tells Rudolph's father, Donner.

Way to go, big guy. Scar Rudolph for life.

But then, on one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say ... Well, he should've said he was sorry. Instead, you know the story. Here's what Rudolph's response should've been:

Really, you need me now because Christmas is in peril? Won't I be an embarrassment to you when people see my genetic difference that you were so quick to point out as a flaw? You should be ashamed of yourself.

And oh yes, I want a contract. Saving Christmas should be worth a pretty penny. Please speak with my agent.

A Christmas Story is still golden

2008-12-11T12:19:00.008-06:00

The movie A Christmas Story has so many memorable lines and characters that I could write all day about them. Some friends and I were talking about the movie the other day and what parts were best.

I can't possibly rank them, but I love watching the Santa visit at the Higbee's store. I love the attitude of the elves.

It's hilarious to see how much the elves -- wearing those ridiculous hats -- enjoy sending the freaked-out kids down the big slide. Perhaps the most bitter elves ever, although I don't know many elves.

But, in my opinion, the greatest line in a movie of great lines is uttered by narrator Jean Shepherd (whose novel the movie is based on). It comes after Ralphie says the f-word and is asked by his mom where he heard that word:

"Now, I had heard that word at least ten times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay. It was his true medium; a master."

Shepherd wasn't a very nice guy, I've heard. But with writing like that, it's no wonder he was so popular. He's one of the reasons I wanted to be a writer.

I'll pull out the Christmas Story DVD again this weekend.

The boys talk about Santa and Christmas

2008-12-09T10:44:00.004-06:00

As the countdown continues toward Christmas, I got some expert opinions on the holiday, and especially Santa, from my kids:

Humor Me: Christmas decorating tips

2008-12-08T15:37:00.004-06:00

By MATT WIXON

I know this might offend some people, but I just have to say it: The Christmas display in your front yard is terrible.

Of course, by “you” I don’t mean YOU, the much-appreciated person who faithfully reads this column or accidentally clicked on it while searching for something else. I’m talking about all those other people, who obviously don’t share our impeccable taste in Christmas displays.

Please pass this column on to them. I’m writing it because I think these tips could be helpful, while also serving as continuing penance for my actions during the Christmas season of 1985.

More on that later. But first, here are some ideas for creating a display that all of your neighbors will be talking about –- hopefully not in court.

First of all, DO NOT skimp on lights. It’s easy to think you’ll have enough when you’re jamming them in your cart at Super Target, but will you really have enough? A simple guideline is that, for every square foot of yard you are decorating, you should have at least twice as many lights as your neighbor.

Once the lights are out of the boxes, or untangled from last year's Christmas Wad O’ Lights, you need to test them. Do not panic if the lights don’t work immediately. Simply check the bulb connections, and if the lights still won’t turn on, shake the string violently for several seconds. If this doesn’t work, and nobody is looking, shake the lights again while screaming obscenities. Many of the older twinkling lights, especially sets of 50 or less, can be intimidated into working. I’ve seen it happen.

Once the lights are working, it’s time to decorate. Use small and large lights, blinking and steady, to make your house look warm, merry and ready for gamblers. If Wayne Newton knocks on your door and asks for directions to the casino's showroom, you’re on the right track.

But please, please, be careful. A friend of mine broke his arm a few years ago when he fell off the roof while putting up lights. So keep in mind that you don’t have to get on a roof to create a festive scene. In fact, you don’t have to get on a ladder. Simply put the lights up as high as you can on the house, and then maybe throw a string of lights toward some high tree branches.

As for the question of clear or colored lights, well, you can forget about that. Use clear lights and colored lights. Create a holiday scene so intense that it’s forever burned into people’s memories –- and retinas. Create a holiday glow so bright that it enhances the dramatic elements of your display, such as the huge Homer Simpson in the inflatable snow globe, the dancing Santa who appears to have the drug-withdrawal shakes, or the six-foot plywood painting of the cowboy saying, “Merry Christmas, y’all!”

That brings me to the topic of Christmas figurines, inflatables and other huge lawn decorations. An important question to ask is, “At what point is it just too much?” The official answer, of course, is “when the homeowners association threatens litigation.”

The unofficial answer is a little less clear. But basically, when you have so many figurines that Rudolph’s red nose appears to light the way for the three wise men to find the baby Jesus, who is in a stable that includes Kermit the Frog wearing a Santa hat and playing guitar, it’s probably time to rein in the festiveness. And perhaps stop drinking so much egg nog.

Anyway, I hope those tips help. And remember that, even if you succeed at making your house look like a gingerbread casino, it’s Jesus who is the reason for the season. And it is He who knows that I was just a dumb, naïve, 14-year-old paperboy in 1985 when I tried to fling that newspaper over a front-yard manger scene.

I know He'll forgive me for the errors of my ways. And for that newspaper not quite making it over the manger scene.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com. Have a great week.

Speaking of Christmas lights ...

2008-12-04T12:32:00.006-06:00

If you live in the Dallas area, there is a pretty amazing display at the home of Jeff Trykoski in Frisco. Jeff is a very nice guy who also does the incredible computer-synchronized display at Frisco Square.

You can find out where to see Jeff’s house at Trykoski Christmas. If you go, you can also bring canned food to donate to the Frisco Food Bank and Frisco Family Services Center. The family collects it in front of the house.

Last year, I visited Jeff and put together a video on the setup of the display and its opening night. Here’s the link to Humor Me video: Amazing Christmas Lights.

Control Christmas lights on the Web

2008-12-04T11:07:00.003-06:00

Christmas lights have come a long way since the days of “one bulb burns out, they all burn out.”

You can see how far displays have come by visiting www.komar.org, a Web site created by Alek Komarnitsky of Lafayette, Colo. Visitors can control the lights on the house and the inflatable decorations in his front yard and watch it on Web cams. The Web site is free, but he’s also raising money for a good cause: research for Celiac Disease. More information is on the Web site.

Humor Me: Holiday brag letter

2008-12-02T08:30:00.001-06:00

By MATT WIXON

Happy holidays, everyone, and welcome to the annual Wixon holiday letter.

The holiday season can be pretty hectic, but it’s nice to get this chance to reconnect with friends and family. I certainly think it’s worth taking a few minutes, especially during this joyous time of year, to pass along warm wishes while weaving in preposterous lies about my family to make you insanely jealous.

Hey, isn’t that what a holiday letter is supposed to be? You know, a brag letter?

That seems to be the goal of many of the letters I receive each year, which are loaded with words in ALL-CAPITALS and more exclamation points than a text message from BFFs. (Like, you know, BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!!!). Here’s the kind of thing you’ll find in brag letters:

Our 5-year-old continues to show UNBELIEVABLE ability in math, science, music and sports! Also, some of his paintings have been called GENIUS, so we’re not sure if he’ll be an INCREDIBLE artist, or a pro athlete, or a WORLD-FAMOUS musician who cures cancer!!!

Well, my letter won’t be like all those letters that are tucked inside Christmas cards and stuffed with lies. I vow to spread holiday cheer by telling the truth about 2008, and I hope the Wixon letter makes you feel better about your year.

It started with the blessed arrival of our third son, Nathan Wixon. He’s now 10 months old. Nathan might be a genius, but for now, he stays busy launching himself off the changing table and spitting up on every one of my shirts. He’s also crawling now, which allows him to zip across the living room and try to chew on the coffee table. Yes, he likes to gnaw on wood. It’s like having a baby and a puppy at the same time, except he won’t chase balls. Also, Nathan has declared his feet a “sock free zone” by pulling them off seconds after we put them on. If you see a tiny white sock blowing through a parking lot at a grocery store or the YMCA, it’s probably Nathan’s.

Cooper is now 3 years old and full of energy and an adventurous spirit that leads to lots of fun and falling backwards off the couch in frightening ways. He also dresses himself and defies the law of averages by putting on his pants backwards 75 percent of the time.

Cooper also knows most of the alphabet, his numbers from 1 to 20 and how to blame inanimate objects for harming him. One time, he was crying on the floor by the kitchen table and when I asked him what happened, he said “the chair pushed me off.” He has also blamed the dirt for getting on him and blamed Maggie, our dog, after he’s fallen down. He also claimed once that Nathan pushed him, which is a pretty amazing feat for a baby reclined in a bouncy chair. (Maybe Cooper was trying to put socks on him. I don’t know).

Cooper also became potty trained this year, which was a big achievement for him. It didn’t start out well, however, when I received this e-mail from my wife early in the year:

For the sake of my sanity and the safety of your child, we are not potty training for a month. I've put everything pertaining to potty training away. There will be no talk of potty training for a month. Hopefully in a month he will be ready to try again. I don't think he is ready and it is turning into a power struggle. So if he tells you how he pooped and peed in his underwear and then 30 minutes later peed while hiding in the shower curtain, just try to change the subject.

OK, now on to Ryan, who is 6 years old. I can’t believe how fast he’s growing up. He really is very, very smart. Too smart, probably, because he’s figuring lots of things out, including how I’m not that smart. Certainly not as smart as Wall-e, the movie character who has become a yearlong obsession. Ryan also started kindergarten this year, and has really enjoyed it since the first day, when he was placed on the wrong bus and didn’t show up at the bus stop where his mom was waiting. Fortunately, the mix-up was corrected and Ryan made it home before an Amber Alert was issued.

Ryan is a very deep thinker, and he likes to try new things. One day, he wanted to try coconut milk. Why? Who knows? But after drinking some, he gave me this assessment: “It tastes like a flagpole.”

“Have you ever tasted a flagpole?” I asked.

Ryan said no. So then how do you know what a flagpole tastes like?

It just tastes like a flagpole, Ryan said.

Good enough.

Ryan also played on his first basketball team this season. Anyone watching him play for just a few minutes would notice two things:

1. He seems to enjoy playing.

2. He seems to be under the influence of cold medicine that includes the warning, “May cause extreme drowsiness, do not take while operating heavy machinery.”

Yes, Ryan’s focus wasn’t so good on the court. He followed behind the action, occasionally glancing at the scoreboard, mesmerized by the big glowing numbers. Then he would look down at the lines on the court and check out the wristband he was wearing. Sometimes it was like Ryan was part of a video trick that made everything around him move in fast motion while he stayed in slow.

But he had fun.

This is getting long, so I can’t really get into the details of other exciting moments including my wife breaking her wrist, Maggie chewing up -- and throwing up -- various plastic objects and how Cooper tells people that “Daddy’s hair is broken and he needs new hair.”

But overall, it was a very good year. I feel very blessed to have a great wife, three great kids, my health, a job and a car that reliably runs with a brake light that won’t turn off.

That’s it for my letter. Now I’ll just wait for the holiday letters to start arriving in my mailbox so I can read about everyone’s exceptional year. If you’d like to send me yours, feel free. I love good fiction.

Please note, however, that my policy is to stop whenever I see any of these phrases:

“He is a genius.”

“Simply phenomenal.”

“My new BMW with the three-spoke leather-wrapped steering wheel.”

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com. Have a great week.

Black Friday Diary

2008-11-27T08:03:00.001-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

I'm taking the day off, but for anyone planning to do some Christmas shopping tomorrow on "Black Friday," I decided to post my diary of the day from a couple years ago. I met lots of interesting people:

BLACK FRIDAY DIARY
By MATT WIXON
Tired, money-saving columnist for The Dallas Morning News

I never thought I would be a Black Friday doorbuster. Getting up before 5 a.m., battling for a parking spot, zipping through department stores for 50 percent off sweaters and a complimentary snow globe …

The early birds can have that. I’ll gladly be the sleeping rooster and pay full price later.

So what the heck am I doing in my car, heading toward the mall on the day after Thanksgiving? Being a dedicated humor columnist, that’s what. I’m determined to give all you sleepyheads, who would never sacrifice four hours of sleep for four bucks off a Chicken Dance Elmo, a feeling of the most frenzied shopping day of the year.

Also, Target has Candyland, Chutes and Ladders and Cootie for the rockin’ price of $3.88. My wife tells me these are on my 3-year-old son’s Christmas list, so maybe I can get a jump on shopping while I put together this diary:

6:05 a.m.
My wake-up call comes earlier than expected when I hear my 5-month old son crying upstairs. I’m awake, and some stores are already open, so I guess I should just get out of bed and get my day started.

7:10
I pull into a parking spot at my first destination, Super Target. In the spot next to me is a car with a back seat filled with two crock pots, a 20-inch pure flat TV/DVD combo and four poinsettias. Looks like an open invitation to a Johnny-No-Good burglar, or perhaps a father who has discovered all of the Candyland games are already gone.

7:17
I found the games in the back of Target, along with several thousand people trying to get down the same aisle. I’ve got Candyland in my hands, but I might have to use it as a weapon to get to a checkout line.

7:40
I’ve made it to my second destination, the Stonebriar Centre megamall in Frisco. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” is playing over the speakers, but the sign says Santa won’t arrive until 9 a.m. The big guy gets to sleep in.

7:45
More than 100 people are lined up at Victoria’s Secret, which opens at 8 a.m. Among them is Tina Riner of McKinney, who lets me in on the secret: free supermodel totebags for the first 200 customers.

According to a sign in the front window, shoppers can also find “sexy gifts inside!” The sign seems unnecessary, considering it’s posted in front of leggy mannequins wearing red-and-black thong underwear and pink Santa hats.

8:02
Restoration Hardware is open, but apparently nobody has noticed. Or maybe bath fixtures are still not a hot Christmas item.

8:10
I see the first person running –- a true sign that the shopping pace is quickening. The man runs for about 100 feet, then slows to a walk to catch his breath, then runs again. It looks like Thanksgiving dinner has taken a toll on his shopping stamina.

8:25
The calm in the storm of shopping is the children’s play area, where I find Judy Dixon sitting next to a stroller and several bags of shopping loot. Dixon, who flew in from Las Vegas to spend the holidays with family in McKinney, is watching her three granddaughters while their parents shop.

“We’ve been up since 4 this morning and it’s been unbelievable, honey,” she tells me. “We went to Wal-Mart first, and there were some fights over plasma TVs.”

Hmm … maybe I need to check out a nearby Wal-Mart. Unfortunately, Dixon doesn’t have any boxing gloves to offer me.

8:35
People are standing in line to get free goodie bags from the Stonebriar Centre information counter. Two teenage boys open their bags and realize they’ve received coupons to Glamour Shots. They are actually excited. I wonder if Glamour Shots will feel the same way.

8:55
Santa has arrived, and immediately the line to see him is halfway to Timbuktu. But there’s good reason why. This Santa is as authentic as I’ve ever seen, from belly to beard. He’s even fanning himself, so maybe he really is from a much colder climate.
After getting the OK from Santa’s manager – yes, Santa has a manager – I get to interview the big guy before the stream of kids begins. It turns out that this Santa is the only one Stonebriar has ever hired, and I’m right about his authenticity. “I can’t go anywhere without kids coming up to hug me,” he says. “At Wal-Mart, going out to dinner, everywhere … I get recognized.”

After interviewing him, I ask for his name so I can quote him. But I add that he doesn’t have to give me his name if he doesn’t want to spoil the mystery. He says he doesn’t mind, then leans over to me, and says very deliberately.

“It’s Santa Claus.”

Hey, I’m a believer.

9:15
I have found the youth of America. They are packed into an American Eagle Outfitters store that is pounding rock music and attracting teenagers like ants to a half-eaten donut. One of the boys has piercings in his eyebrow and lip, putting a thought in my mind that proves I’m getting old: I would rather eat an ant-covered donut than do that to my face.

9:30
Bath & Body Works is filled with people spraying samples on each other, creating a perfumed smell so strong that I might cough up a bag of potpourri. I head for a sign that says “perfect gifts” and find Island Hot Spot warming body scrub with coconut extract and sugar. Sounds delicious.

9:45
I notice that there is a Starbucks on each level of the mall. It’s good to know that, if an acute caffeine deficiency should strike, I won’t pass out on an escalator trying to get a fix.

10:05
I’m walking into the final stop of my shopping day: Wal-Mart Supercenter. There are no fights, no scuffles, not even a shouting match. Everything seems downright civil throughout most of the store.

10:12
As people clear, I can see that Hurricane Consumer has hit Wal-Mart hard. Things have been pulled off the shelves and replaced in the wrong spots. A Desperate Housewives Dirty Laundry Game is next to a Sesame Street 2-in-1 Giggle Guitar. I assume that was not intended.

10:20
Walking to my car, I realize I’m being stalked for my parking spot. I briefly consider taking bids on the primo spot I lucked into, but then I decide that’s not the polite thing to do.

And who needs money? I’ve already saved four bucks on Candyland.

A Thanksgiving disaster story

2008-11-25T12:34:00.002-06:00

A couple of years ago, Yahoo! asked readers to tell Martha Stewart their worst Thanksgiving disaster. Allegedly, Stewart would be reading these -- and probably laughing at our ineptitude. There was one that I thought was particularly funny.

It was posted by Kathleen K. (I cleaned up the grammar a bit):

My worst Thanksgiving disaster just came last year at my daughter’s. I was taking the turkey out of the oven when, unbeknownst to me, some grease had fallen on the floor of the oven. This caused a ball of flames to shoot out and caught my hair on fire.

Wow! That would be a great story as is, but there’s more:

Everyone came running into the kitchen and my son in law, who was standing next to me at the time, starts hitting my head to put the flames out. Well my dear husband decides that a bowl of water would do the trick and proceeds to pour it all over me. I ran upstairs in tears and with the help of my daughters was reassured it would be OK. After 40 minutes later, Thanksgiving dinner was served and all had a great time. Even me with my singed hair smelling horrible.

And finally, mom passes a lesson on to her daughter (and perhaps a guilt trip):

This could have all been prevented if my daughter had used a roasting pan instead of these tin things that you throw away after using. These can be very dangerous when there’s as much grease that a turkey has.

I hope your Thanksgiving goes a little more smoothly.

Jet pack and the Royal Gorge sounds dicey

2008-11-24T08:54:00.000-06:00

A daredevil hopes to propel himself across a southern Colorado canyon using a jet pack powered by hydrogen peroxide. Sounds pretty daring, but here's the really scary part: Eric Scott tells the Rocky Mountain News he's never traveled as far as he wants to Monday - 457 meters.
This seems like a good way to try it. If you run out of power, you're only about 300 meters above the ground.

Texas Stadium auction ... pee like a Cowboy!

2008-11-20T16:09:00.006-06:00

Are you a Dallas Cowboys fan?

Well, then you're in luck. Right now, you can find hundreds of items from the historic Texas Stadium up for bid at Bidspotter. Might any of these interest you?

*THE COMPLETE HOME LOCKER ROOM TOILET AND STALL. THRONE OF CHAMPIONS.

*TEXAS STADIUM HOME LOCKER ROOM URINAL.

*SIGN THAT SAYS "NO COOKING WITHIN 20 FEET OF CORRAL TENT."

*THREE SHOWER HEAD SECTION FROM THE HOME LOCKER ROOM SHOWERS. MEASURES 18.5"X11'.

*FIELD GOAL POSTS USED IN STADIUM.

I think I'm going to bid on a goalpost. But I have to check first with my homeowners association to see if I can put it in my backyard.

Flight attendant lands plane

2008-11-20T12:50:00.000-06:00

Welcome aboard!

This is your captain speaking. I think I'm the captain, anyway. I'm have some trouble focusing right now, but please don't panic. ...

An Air Canada co-pilot having a mental breakdown had to be forcibly removed from the cockpit, restrained and sedated, and a stewardess with flying experience helped the pilot safely make an emergency landing, an Irish investigation concluded Wednesday.

Having a pilot forcibly removed from the cockpit? Wow, that's even more frightening than seeing passed-put pilots dragged down the aisles during a flight. Even if one of the pilots is Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

The flight attend landed the plane. Surely, you can't be serious.

End of the Yugo, the car that was barely a car

2008-11-20T12:08:00.007-06:00

Remember the Yugo? From the 1987 commercial:

"I bought my Yugo because now I can afford a brand new car."

But could he afford the repairs? Soon after the Yugo hit American markets in 1986 for the price of $3,990, it started getting a bad reputation. From this story:

U.S. owners complained of frequent engine failures and transmission problems — with the manual gear sticks sometimes detaching and ending up in their drivers’ hands.

Wow. Switching gears and the gear shift pulls off into your hand. What a "pride of ownership" moment that would be.

Anyway, the last Yugo just rolled out of the factory. Yes, it was still in production all these years after it stopped selling in America. Apparently, it was much loved by others.

Maybe it's because those people have a very different view of the joy of driving. This is how one person described driving a Yugo:

“This is driving in its most natural form. You feel every bump, squeak and jolt, and one can enjoy the sweet smell of gasoline and exhaust fumes. No car can replace it.”

The sweet smell of gasoline and exhaust fumes. Maybe that scent is available in a Glade Plugin.

The first Thanksgiving had no cupcakes

2008-11-19T13:13:00.005-06:00

Much is disputed about how the first Thanksgiving went down. Did the Pilgrims and Indians feast together? Did the Pilgrims provide food for the Indians? What was actually eaten?

Well, definitely not sliced turkey, cheese cubes, popcorn and juice. But that's what my son's kindergarten class was having today as part of their Thanksgiving feast. Maybe some cupcakes, too.

I know Ryan was really looking forward to dressing up in his costume (not sure if he is a Pilgrim or an Indian). But it would be interesting to see what he learns from his teachers about the history of Thanksgiving. If you want to learn about other not-so-truthful history lessons taught in classrooms, check out this book: Lies My Teacher Told Me.

Maybe it's better that we don't the food lineup of the original Thanksgiving. I don't think venison, wild fowl, nasaump—dried corn pounded and boiled into a thick porridge and mashed pumpkin would go over well with the kindergartners.

Acing your annual job evaluation

2008-11-19T09:20:00.001-06:00

You walk into the boss's office and feel the first beads of sweat
on your forehead. You heart begins to race, your mouth gets dry, and you feel like an 8-year-old facing interrogation over a broken lamp.

It's the annual employee evaluation, a time for paranoia, sweaty palms and painful silences that stretch out longer than the director's cut of Apocalypse Now. But relax. These answers to common evaluation questions will help you get through it.

Q. Where do you see yourself in five years?

A. Taking on bigger challenges, expanding my role with the company and helping the company strengthen its position for the future.

(Strategically vague, it's the perfect answer to an evaluation question because it says nothing.)

Q. How do you feel you benefit the company?

A. I'm a team-oriented person who works hard and wants the company to improve.

(Important note: Never say you are willing to do "whatever it takes" to help the company improve. "Whatever it takes" would include working weekends.)

Q. In what ways do you think the company can improve?

A. By dedicating itself to improvement, nourishing an environment that allows for improvement and taking bold steps toward improvement.

(Exquisitely nonsensical. You might sound like a politician, but at
least you're playing it safe.)

If you're still worried about your evaluation, remember this: the boss isn't listening very closely, anyway. He or she is probably busy scheduling a meeting on how to have effective meetings.

Pregnant Man is big news?

2008-11-18T15:09:00.005-06:00

Did you watch Larry King's interview with the "pregnant man" last night. Or did you see when Barbara Walters interviewed him?

I didn't watch either because I think it's the dumbest story in the world. But I did see this great exchange from the transcript of the Larry King interview:

Larry King: Are you surprised at all of this attention, or did you expect it?

Pregnant man: Honestly, we are quite surprised. We naively thought that we were going to be able to get away with me giving birth without anyone knowing.

Honestly, you are a liar. You've got a book out right now. Of course you knew you would get the attention. You crave it.

I still don't get, however, why we give this "guy" so much attention. He's not a guy. Which is why it's completely unamazing when the headlines say, "Pregnant man expecting a second child."

Beatie was born a woman but underwent hormone therapy before he was legally declared a man. He had a mastectomy but kept his female reproductive organs when he underwent a sex change in the late 1990s.

So he's still has the woman parts, and yet somehow he is having a baby. It's amazing!

What's amazing is how so many TV networks find this story fascinating.

First Life, Second Life ... just get a life

2008-11-14T11:10:00.005-06:00

I love modern technology and the Internet, but virtual worlds do not appeal to me. Maybe it would be fun for a while, but then you realize many of the other people who are playing it are like this:

A British woman is divorcing her husband after discovering his online alter-ego was having an affair with a virtual woman in the fantasy world of Second Life.

Amy Taylor, 28, said her three-year marriage to David Pollard, 40, came to an end when she twice walked in on him watching his online character, Dave Barmy, having sex with other virtual women.

And here's more insight into their relationship:

Taylor always had suspicions about Pollard's online loyalty. At one point she hired a virtual detective to test whether his avatar was cheating on her, after finding him at the computer watching his character having sex with a prostitute.

She hired a virtual detective?

Seriously, get a life. A real one, not a virtual one.

Another dangerous pest control strategy

2008-11-14T08:34:00.000-06:00

First, the frightening logic of using a blow torch to get rid of spider webs near the roof of a house. Now another dangerous way to get rid of pests that resulted in injury:

Setting an ants nest on fire.

If I can find a story on someone trying to shoot cockroaches with a bow and arrow, I'll be sure to post it.

Politics, Uncle Obama and a 3-year-old

2008-11-13T12:04:00.006-06:00

My 3-year-old son Cooper saw a picture of the White House this morning and excitedly told me, "DAD! That's where Uncle Obama and John McCain live!"

I'm not related to Barack Obama as far as I know, but Cooper somehow has heard "Barack" as "uncle." I've told him it's Barack Obama, but he prefers to say "Uncle Obama." I hope the President-Elect doesn't mind.

Cooper certainly likes Obama. He told me that's who he was voting for. That negated the vote of my 6-year-old, Ryan, who got to "vote" in his kindergarten class. Ryan voted for John McCain because, after weighing the issues heavily, he decided that McCain looked a lot like his Sunday School teacher. Sadly, I've heard adults give weaker reasoning for voting for a candidate.

I told Cooper that George Bush still lives in the White House for a couple months until Obama moves in. Cooper then told me McCain will get to live there after "Uncle Obama."

"It will be his turn," Cooper said.

Cooper is all about fairness.

Terrell Owens' tips for kids

2008-11-12T14:26:00.000-06:00

Cowboys receiver Terrell Owens gives his tips for kids. Note that No. 5 would also be good for a guy going to the batting cage.

Pain down below nets one million bucks

2008-11-12T14:06:00.004-06:00

For a guy, how much does it hurt to get hit, um ... down there?

Well, the pain could be worth a million bucks.

A man in Florida went to a batting cage, and when the light went off on the machine and the pitches were supposed to be done, out came another one. And it traveled, at 60 mph, toward THERE.

He was hit and injured. Then came the lawsuit which resulted in $160,000 for medical expenses and $1 million for pain and suffering. Even though he didn't go to the doctor for a couple of days.

Lots of pain, but that's also lots of money. I wonder what the statute of limitations is on a lawsuit such as this. Back in high school, a basketball teammate threw an unbelievably bad pass at an unbelieveably bad time and it resulted in pain I would still describe as "unbelievable."

At least for a few minutes, anyway. Shouldn't that be good enough for a few thousand bucks?

Toyota's Saved by Zero annoying a nation

2008-11-11T12:25:00.005-06:00

You know that "Saved by Zero" ad campaign that Toyota is running right now? If you don't, then you probably don't watch much TV. It's hard to miss the ad because it's in such heavy rotation.

Also, it's very annoying. Even to the lead singer of The Fixx, Cy Curnin, whose song "Saved by Zero" is used in the ad, with new singers adding to the cheese factor. Also, Curnin said that it's strange to hear the song used to sell cars.

From The Las Vegas Sun:

"The song was written from the point of view of the release you get when you have nothing left to lose. It clears your head of all fears and panics and illusions and you get back to the basics, which is a Buddhist mantra, which I practiced back then, and which I still do," he said. "The idea of the song is how great it is to get back to zero."

Well, the car dealers do have very little to lose these days because sales are down. The song would probably be most appropriate for General Motors, which is plunging "Like a Rock," its former ad campaign.

If you haven't seen the "Saved by Zero" ad, it's below. And here's The Fixx's version.

City councilman won't live this down

2008-11-11T08:44:00.001-06:00

A man was allegedly drunk when he was subdued at a nightclub recently after urinating on attendees of a Grateful Dead tribute concert.

Nice. Even better, the man is a city councilman and director of a charter school. Here's an interesting part of the story: A "source" told The Daily News that Lipski was "very drunk," and said it wasn't the first time he acted up at the nightspot.

"We've dealt with this man before," the source is quoted saying. "He's never peed on anybody, but he gets really belligerent and drunk."
I wonder if he ever used that as a campaign slogan. "I've never peed on anybody."

Burning cobwebs is not a good idea

2008-11-07T08:36:00.002-06:00

Any house fire is a sad story. It's even more sad when the homeowner is absolutely, 100 percent not at fault. That is not the case in the following story:

A single-story home in Sargent was damaged by fire Wednesday morning after the homeowner accidentally set the fire while cleaning cobwebs from the eaves around the exterior of the residence with ...

(Drumroll)

A blow torch.

Come on, stop laughing and shaking your head. It might seem strange to aim flames toward your home, but those cobwebs can be very pesky. Sticky, too. So who wouldn't be tempted to incinerate the cobwebs instead of sticking a broom or stick up near the exterior of a house?

I actually feel really bad for these people because their home is going to need a lot of repair. Especially after next week, when someone tries to kill a fly on the wall with a spear gun.

Some people need a better way to celebrate

2008-11-06T10:50:00.005-06:00

I can only imagine the pride Barack Obama felt as he addressed more than 200,000 people in Grant Park in Chicago late Tuesday night. It was a fabulous speech, as was John McCain's earlier in the night.

Yes, a proud moment for Obama and for the country. But since we are a country of both shining lights and complete idiots ... West Sider Narada Thomas, 23, told police he shot a .22-caliber revolver in the air to “celebrate Obama becoming president." And 37-year-old Andre Murph, of Aurora, shot a 9mm into the ground several times in the 700 block of West 60th Place to express his joy.
They might need to express their joy in a jail cell.

Also, there was this:

Peer pressure seemed to get the better of 54-year-old Joseph Morgan, who allegedly was caught holding a .22-caliber gun in the air on his back porch in the 5700 block of South Lowe Avenue.

His excuse, according to prosecutors?

“Everybody else is shooting their guns, I figured, ‘Why not?’”

Why not? Think a little harder. Yes we can.

Humor Me: Dude, I'm getting old

2008-11-05T12:27:00.003-06:00

This is a column I wrote a year ago for The Dallas Morning News when I turned 36. But now that I've turned 37, I still feel about the same.

Humor Me: Dude, I'm getting old

By MATT WIXON

My phone conversations with my dad usually follow the same pattern. There's weather talk, followed by sports, politics, updates on the grandkids and, finally, an awkward silence that ends with, "Hold on, I think your mother wants to talk to you."

Yep, it's a pretty strict routine. But there is one wild card that my dad can play at any time:

"I'll tell you what Matt ... it's hell to get old."

I never know when that's coming. But I can generally count on it, because my dad's been telling me that since the days when I thought third-graders were the big kids.

Fortunately, my dad left the hell of getting old out of our conversation last week. Either out of courtesy, or quite possibly, forgetfulness, he didn't mention it on my birthday.

And, you know, I thought that was really nice. Because the pain of aging isn't something you want to hear when you're turning 30.

Which, uh was six years ago for me. I'm now 36.

But does that bother me?

Not at all. You know how a kid will say "I'm 5-and-three-quarters" because he doesn't want to be lumped in with the 5-and-one-quarters who still like Elmo and don't know how to tie their shoes?

Well that's me. I'm 36 years and one week. I'm proud of all of my age -- proud enough that I want to shout it from a rooftop. It's just that I can't get on the rooftop because my back is kind of sore, and my knees are getting creaky, and that charley horse in my leg is acting up, and my corns are killing me. Also, at my age, I shouldn't take the risk of falling down and breaking my hip.

See, I'm still young enough to kid around. And I really don't feel like I'm getting older. Make me 15 years younger for a day and I would feel a difference, but right now, I feel as though I can do all the things I did when I was 21. Other than date, because my wife forbids that.

I'm sure I'm naive about aging. I've probably gained weight in the last 15 years, and I've definitely lost hair. I might be a step slower, and not just when I have my two kids clinging to my leg. [Author note: I now have three kids. Nathan, I you have not been forgotten].

But the thing with aging is that it doesn't have the formal rites of passage that come with growing up.

As an adult, you don't take a first step, start kindergarten, hit puberty or hit a Taco Bell drive-thru speaker with the car you get on your Sweet 16. You just start seeing gray hairs, begin reading labels for fiber content and become a little obsessed with the price of gasoline.

Suddenly, just a few years after you were the world's hope for the future, you're part of the past. You're a sir or ma'am instead of a dude, bud or miss, and your demographic slides from Mountain Dew to Country Time Lemonade.

And then you get something like the "Healthy Lifestyles" packet of offers in your mailbox. I'm hoping it was a mistake, because here are some of the products selected especially for me:

-Walk-in bathtub to help "maintain my safety and independence."

-The Jitterbug cellphone, featuring large "simple yes and no buttons" and "no confusing icons."

-The Exerstrider: The World's #1 Fitness Walking Poles.

I also got a brochure that asked me, "Are You Dreaming of Retiring to Florida Soon?"

Actually, I am dreaming of retiring. But not to Florida, and not soon. My financial adviser tells me that outside of a lottery win or a financial strategy that involves a possible prison sentence, I need to keep working for some time.

And that's my plan. Because I'm hoping to live to a ripe old age, or at least old enough to attract stares by mowing my lawn while wearing Bermuda shorts, black dress socks and sandals.

Maybe then I'll start telling my kids how it's hell to get old. But for now, at age 36 and one week?

It's still OK, dude.

////
[Cake photo courtesy of Joey Gannon]

Early election projections

2008-11-04T10:41:00.005-06:00

From very unofficial polls and observations, our news team is able to make these early projections on the day of this historic election:

** At least one potential voter will see the line to vote and ditch it to save 25 percent on selected merchandise at Dillard's.

** Somewhere in America, a person will trot out a joke from 2000 that ends with the punchline, "It was a hanging chad!"

** A person will ask their employer for time off to vote and then take a long lunch.

** One potential voter will show up at a voting location without any identification or a voter registration card and then storm out when told he cannot vote. It will be the most entertaining part of the wait in line for the other voters.

** A PTA at an elementary school where voting takes place will raise more than $500 by selling baked goods beyond the election lines.

** Late in the evening, or perhaps tomorrow morning, Barack Obama or John McCain will concede victory to his opponent and then congratulate him before going home and cursing him repeatedly.

** Campaign signs will still clutter the sides of roads a week from now.

** Millions of Americans will breathe a sigh of relief that the election is over, allowing us to go back to our lives and focus on more important things, such as the continuing feud between Heidi and Lauren on MTV's "The Hills."

The healthier Twinkie

2008-11-04T08:56:00.001-06:00

One of America's most iconic snack cakes, the Twinkie, is now available in a healthier version.

Well, not really healthier. Just smaller. But that won't stop its maker, Hostess, from trumpeting the 100-calorie Twinkie as an amazing breakthrough in snack-food technology. From the release:

Hostess is introducing a great tasting, portion controlled option of the snack cake that has been a part of our popular culture for generations -- the Twinkie. The brand that makes America's most iconic snack cakes is now offering 100 Calorie Pack "Twinkie Bites". Available nationwide, each Hostess 100 Calorie Pack of Twinkie Bites contains three moist and delicious mini Twinkie cakes filled with the brand's signature creme filling.

Given that a Twinkie is pretty much nothing but sugar, and perhaps some cut up Nerf balls, these new Twinkies must be seriously mini. But hey, it's still a Twinkie.

On a side note, nothing screams fun like "portion controlled option."

For more info: http://www.hostesscakes.com/100

Watch out Joaquin, Joe the Plumber sings, too

2008-10-30T19:38:00.004-05:00

A lot of people were surprised when Joaquin Phoenix announced he is retiring from acting to pursue a music career. But can Phoenix, who was nominated for an Oscar in 2006 for his portrayal of singer Johnny Cash in "Walk the Line," really have a successful music career?

Why not? It appears that just about anyone has potential for the music biz. The latest example is Samuel Wurzelbacher -- better known as the everyman "Joe the Plumber" from the last Presidential debate -- is planning to record a country music album. According to this:

On Tuesday, Wurzelbacher joined country music artist and producer Aaron Tippin to form a new partnership that includes booking-management firm Bobby Roberts and publicity-management concern The Press Office to field the multiple media offers he’s received over the past few weeks.

Among the requests: a possible record deal with a major label, personal appearances and corporate sponsorships. A longtime country music fan, Wurzelbacher can sing and “knocks around on guitar” but is not an accomplished musician or songwriter, according to The Press Office’s Jim Della Croce.

I'm sure it will be fantastic.

Vanilla Ice is freezing my brain

2008-10-29T13:03:00.003-05:00

A couple of days ago, I turned to a radio station and "Ice, Ice Baby" came on. My first thought was, "Wow, somebody would actually play that?"

But I admit that I didn't change the station until, as Vanilla "Robert Van Winkle" Ice suggested, I checked out the hook while the DJ revolved it. And then I remembered just how catchy that song was back in the early '90s. And if it comes back on the radio again, I might actually listen again. It's great nostalgia, even with lyrics as lame as "light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle."

Now the song is stuck in my head. Will it ever stop? Yo ... I don't know. But turn off the lights and I'll glow. Hearing the song also reminded me of the Vanilla Ice parody featuring Jim Carrey.

Too cold, too cold.

Humor Me: A life of trick-or-treating

2008-10-27T06:00:00.000-05:00

By MATT WIXON

A reader in Texas, picking out a set of vampire fangs while suffering from low-blood sugar, sends in this question:

“When is a person too old to trick or treat?”

For some reason, I get asked this every Halloween. Several times, actually, as I stand in front of people’s houses with my hand out, telling them I’d like something with chocolate AND peanuts.

OK, I’m kidding about that. But seriously, are you ever too old to trick or treat?

What’s important is that you’re young at heart -- and that you don’t mind if a wolfman mask highlights your receding hairline. You shouldn’t have to give up trick-or-treating simply because you’re taller than the people handing out the candy, or because you’re supposed to be “mature,” or because you need to get to sleep because your annual prostate exam is the next morning.

No, you shouldn’t have to give it up. But at some point, we all stop touring the neighborhood for freebies. At least legally.

When does that happen?

Well, it’s different for every person. But it usually comes after the four life stages of trick-or-treating:

1. Toddler to age 4

Everyone says you’re adorable, but you don’t know what that means. You have no idea why you’re dressed as a pumpkin, or a ghost, or -- if you’re my mother and want to scar a child for life -- as a ballerina boy. Getting candy from the neighbors is great, but it disappears from your treat bucket even when you don’t eat it. Daddy seems to eat a lot of candy as he guides you around the neighborhood.

2. Age 5 to 8

You realize your candy fantasy has come true. Every other night, you have to eat all of your spaghetti, and at least six green peas, to get a measly dish of Jell-O for dessert. On this night, you just say “trick or treat” and adults hand over enough candy to fill your pumpkin bucket. You spill the bucket at least once, cry for a moment, and then realize you are wasting precious time. When you get home, your parents say, “you can eat five candies before bed, and we’ll save the rest for later.” You put on your costume again the next day and ask, “How many days is it until Halloween?”

3. Age 9-13

You’re interested in your costume, but more interested in how much candy you can jam in your plastic bag, which has replaced the bulky, less-aerodynamic plastic pumpkin. You run from house to house, trip over a sprinkler head and break it, and nearly knock over a 3-year-old dressed as Dora the Explorer. Knowing your parents will limit your candy intake when you return home, you eat while collecting. You start to cross the street while unwrapping a candy bar, and a car screeches to a halt when the driver sees a chocolate-smeared Harry Potter in the headlights.

4. Age 14+

You don’t have time to find a costume because you have to call a friend who is pretty sure another friend said something bad about you – “for reals” -- and also because nobody understands you and your life is more dramatic than “Days of Our Lives.” So you just wear something black and put some stage blood on your face. You ditch the plastic bag for a pillow case, which allows for more storage, and try not to look up when saying “trick or treat.”

And then, with much reluctance, you give up trick-or-treating. I can’t remember when I gave it up, but I remember it was hard. For one thing, it meant admitting that it was time to grow up. But just as important, the candy pipeline ran dry.

Sure, now I can buy all the candy I want. (And instead of the small “fun size” versions, I can get regular candy bars, which I suggest calling “mind-blowing euphoria size”). But when I was a teenager, money was tight. Sometimes I had to choose between sugary goodness and Extra Strength Clearasil.

And for a kid, the sweet stuff is extremely addictive. I ate chocolate until my stomach hurt and tossed back Sweet Tarts even when I was sick of them. That’s why I don’t do drugs. If I could eat Pixy Stix until the dust came out of my nose, imagine what would happen if I tried anything stronger than NyQuil.

Yes, candy is hard to give up. And giving up childhood is even harder. So this Halloween, please make sure Stage 4 trick-or-treaters feel welcome. I’ll try to do the same, although I won’t be home for part of the night.

That’s because I have a Stage 1 and Stage 2 treater at home. I’ll need to follow them around, keep them on the sidewalk and tell them to say “trick or treat” when the door opens. And, of course, remind them to say “thank you” when they get the candy.

Especially if the candy has chocolate AND peanuts. That’s just as delicious when you’re a Stage 5 treater like me.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com. Have a great week.

Congratulations, but not on your spelling

2008-10-23T13:00:00.004-05:00

A beautifully decorated cake can be a great way to say "congratulations."

Unless, of course, you spell it "cangrtalation."

This is truly amazing.

Source: Cake Wrecks.

Incredible pumpkin carvings

2008-10-23T12:49:00.004-05:00

Next week I will perform a very basic pumpkin carving that my kids will think is great because they have very low expectations. If I can even get the eyes centered right and the facial features to be balanced, it will be a small miracle.

To make sure my kids aren't disappointed, I'll make sure they don't see these carvings from Villafane Studios.

Another reason to end Disney on Ice

2008-10-22T12:03:00.004-05:00

Tough luck for hockey fans in Huntsville, Ala. Last night's hockey game between the Hunstsville Havoc and the Columbus Cottonmouths was canceled because of ice conditions.

Who is to blame?

Disney on Ice.

After this weekend's Disney on Ice show, the Von Braun Center staff was not able to prepare the ice for hockey and ensure the safety of the players, Havoc officials said.

Just too much fast-paced skating by Goofy, Mickey and the other Disney skaters. Maybe Pluto attempted too many triple toe loops.

Reached for comment about the situation, Mickey said, in an annoyingly high voice, "Heh, heh, Sorry," while placing his huge mouse hands in front of his face to create the international mascot sign for "Oh no!"

Fans were able to receive refunds for the tickets, which I'm sure were quite expensive for a game featuring a team named the "Cottonmouths."

Backyard cremation, and it gets weirder

2008-10-21T12:35:00.000-05:00

The daughter and grandson of an 84-year-old Tehama County woman who apparently died in December have been arrested on suspicion of cashing her retirement and Social Security checks after they allegedly cremated her body on a makeshift barbecue behind their Edith Avenue home.

Yes, that qualifies as bizarre. But if you read more here, you'll discover other details such as how the daughter had made a necklace out of her mother's remains and this:

The culvert had been used by the family as a makeshift barbecue, he said, noting that the family had used it to cook their Thanksgiving turkey several weeks before Allmond's death.

It's not known if they used it after the alleged cremation.

"I hope not," Hosler said.

The Snuggie is a real product

2008-10-21T12:22:00.001-05:00

This is not a Saturday Night Live commercial parody, it just looks like one. The Snuggie is a real product, and it gives you the freedom to stay warm while using your hands!

Also makes a great costume for anyone who wants to dress up as a monk for Halloween. I think my favorite part is when it says "similar products sell for up to sixty dollars."

So I guess there are similar products out there.

Humor Me: Where's the actual cat?

2008-10-20T06:00:00.001-05:00

By MATT WIXON

While walking my dogs around the neighborhood a while back, I saw a flyer for a lost cat. It looked like a typical flyer, looking for a typical cat with a typical name. I’ve changed the name to protect the innocent, but I’ll call the cat “Fluffy.”

I thought that Fluffy was part of a typical flyer. But as I looked closer, I noticed that under a huge photo of a cat, which I presumed to be Fluffy, were these words:

NOT ACTUAL CAT

The disturbing flyer brought up a couple of questions:

1. How dumb does Fluffy’s owner think we are? OK, so there wasn’t a photo of Fluffy available when he/she/it skedaddled out the door. But did Fluffy’s pursuer need to include a generic photo of such an exotic animal? (I would think none, but just in case, I included a photo of a cat. But it's not the actual cat that is "not actual cat" in the flyer.)

Anyway, how many people in the cat-fancied Dallas area, let alone planet Earth, are not familiar with a cat?

Cat? What’s a cat? If you were talking about a Northern Hairy-nosed Wombat or maybe a Golden-rumped Lion Tamarin, well then maybe I would have an idea what to look for. But what is this “cat” you speak of?

On to the second question. But before I do that, I should point out that I do have a warm heart for people who lose their pets and for animals in general. I felt really bad a few years ago when I saw a flyer for "Lost Bird." What are the chances that pet was ever found?

On to question No. 2:

What if Fluffy is not really lost? What if Fluffy, lured by dreams beyond his/her/its owner’s front door, is intentionally avoiding capture?

Obviously a solo career is no more advisable for a cat than it was for Van Halen’s David Lee Roth. The odds are really against you out there, whether you’re a domesticated cat or a temperamental vocalist with teased hair and a spandex-heavy wardrobe. (OK, so Diamond Dave did have some success as a solo artist. Maybe a domesticated cat's chances of survival should be compared to Roth's national radio show, which I believe lasted about three minutes.)

I guess Fluffy’s owners do deserve a little credit. They did go through the trouble of posting a flyer on the streetlight in front of my house, so that says something. But the lack of an actual photo of Fluffy says something, too. Most important, maybe it said something to Fluffy about his/her/its place in the world.

So thinking from a cat’s perspective, which is one of the myriad skills I learned during my years of journalism training, I can see at least one reason why Fluffy might have made a break for it:

OK, so I’m not the most photogenic cat in the world. And the time I spend cleaning myself, rubbing against legs and coughing up hairballs – well, those aren’t exactly Kodak moments. But after all of these years of chasing away mice, properly using the litter box and fighting my feline impulses to shred the drapes, couldn’t they have taken one dang photo of me? I mean, what if someone steals me? What if I get lost? Not one photo of me ever … I guess that means they won’t miss me when I’m gone.

That’s why I believe it’s possible that Fluffy is trying his/her/its paw at the single life. Just packed up the mouse toy, took a little catnip, and hit the streets.

But I hope that’s not the case. I hope someone found Fluffy or he/she/it decided to meander back home. I hope that there was a tremendous homecoming in which Fluffy was welcomed with open arms, cat toys and a new scratching post.

And I really hope someone took an ACTUAL picture of the celebration.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mattwixon@gmail.com. Have a great week.

New Kids on the Block comeback

2008-10-16T14:52:00.005-05:00

New Kids on the Block is/are making a comeback. How could this happen? Do people actually want to see this group nearly two decades after the NKOTB heyday?

Yes, apparently. Here is the first comment from a Dallas Morning News blog asking for New Kids' fans to share their memories of the boy band that either induced screams of excitement or terror years ago:

I understand now why people pay megabucks for concert ticks. I was too young at the time to see NKOTB, but I cried at the time when they came bcse my mom wouldn't take me and I had every poster, tee, cassette, and any thing else I could get. JOEY was always my fav and I thought we were meant to be together because we had the same b-day and year Dec 31 so I will definitely be any where in the arena just for a chance to gaze into his eyes and sing all of their songs back to them. I love you JOEY!! HANGIN TOUGH.

Watch out NKOTB. Could be a stalker. OMG!!!

Beware the football stadium handshake

2008-10-16T08:52:00.000-05:00

During the fall, I usually write a column from a high school football game every Friday night. It's interesting to see how big football is here in Texas compared with my Arizona roots. Some of the high school stadiums seat close to 20,000 people, and when a stadium is full, it's a great atmosphere.

It's also an absolute germ-fest. One of the things I've noticed at most stadiums is that there is no soap in the bathrooms. I don't think it makes me a clean freak to be a little grossed out by this. Maybe providing soap is just too expensive for the school budgets, I don't know. Some stadiums have soap, but many, many do not.

I think it's a little gross, but it might not concern many people in the north of Britain.

My dog eats her vegetables

2008-10-15T10:43:00.005-05:00

Our family dog Maggie, a combination of Welsh Corgi and several other breeds, is truly one of the most special dogs I've ever met. And by "special" I mean emotionally unstable.

Her idea of giving affection is to jam her head into your neck. Seriously. For a while, I thought maybe she was trying to crawl inside my mouth. Now I just think she's a little wacko. Lovable, but wacko. She's probably scarred from the time she spent in the pound before we adopted her almost 10 years ago.

Anyway, this blog post isn't about Maggie, it's about the dog bones we give her as a treat. The other night I was looking at the bag of Ol' Roy treats -- from Wal-Mart, nothing but the best for our dog! -- and noticed the five flavors it listed.

The flavors dogs love:

Beef (Yes)
Chicken (Yes)
Bacon (Yes)
Peanut Butter (Uh maybe ... Maggie does like a bite of PB&J once in a while)

And this:

Vegetable

What dog craves the flavor of vegetables?

Well, maybe Maggie does. She has never turned down any flavor of the treats.

Humor Me: The best gift for a kid is not this

2008-10-12T22:23:00.010-05:00

I bought a gift for my 6-year-old son to take to a birthday party last week, and it reminded me of the worst birthday gift I ever presented to a friend. It was a gift my mother insisted would be a good one. Here's the story:

Humor Me: The best gift for a kid is not this
By MATT WIXON

Standing on the patio waiting for my turn to pin the tail on the
donkey, my 8-year-old mind counted down to disaster. Each second
ticked louder as I waited for the humiliation bomb to explode and
doom me to a life inside my bedroom.

They would all laugh, that I knew. But would the events of the
birthday party get back to my school? I cringed at the thought of
such delicate information making its way into the hands of the
third grade's Powers That Be. The powers that had the ability to
turn molehills into mountains, cooties into a devastating social
disease and one kid's upset stomach into a nickname he would never
escape: Barfy.

It all happened so fast, the birthday-party reversal of fortune.
One moment I was looking forward to my friend Lance's party; the
next I was longing for an abandoned refrigerator I could climb
into. I became more nervous as the moment of my demise grew near.

As we started birthday games, I wondered whether the other
kids knew something was wrong. Sure, I looked cool. In fact, I felt
like the height of late '70s fashion. I had Op corduroy shorts on
and tube socks, probably the ones with the green stripes, pulled
up to my knees. But the ticking in my head grew louder.

"I hope you get some good stuff for your birthday," I said to
Lance. (Or at least something close to that.)

"And I hope you get something good from me, too. I really
don't know what I got you. My mom got it."

Playing dumb was my only hope. I had to lay the groundwork for more excuses to come. She got the gift when I was at school, I told Lance. I couldn't emphasize enough that I was not involved in the selection.

Anything electronic that made beeping noises would've been a great gift. Or how about a Star Wars action figure? Lance and I were a little beyond that age, but it still could pass without notice, without the uproarious laughter that was sure to come when Lance opened my gift.

For a moment, I thought that even something from the Barbie collection would be better than my offering. Then Lance's mother announced that it was time to open gifts.

Lance got a video game for his Atari 2600. He also got several electronic games that made lots of beeping noises. And then ... "This one is from Matt," Lance's mother said.

Ticktock. Boom.

"What is it?" Lance asked, pulling off the last bits of wrapping
paper. I shrugged my shoulders, playing the naive strategy into
overtime.

"It's a pair of moccasin slippers," Lance's mom said, serving as the
opening bell to a four-alarm blaze of laughter.

The laughter started in the front of the room and quickly spread to
the back. It raged all around me. Where was an abandoned refrigerator when you needed it?

Seriously, moccasins as a birthday gift. But it wasn't just a pair of moccasins, it was a craft kit to make a pair of them. Isn't that what every 9-year-old boy wants for his birthday?

I guess my mom thought so, even though I pleaded with her for days to let me pick out a different gift. She insisted that it would make a great gift. Yeah, maybe for Lance's grandmother.

Fortunately, I survived with minimal scars. I also learned a good lesson that I remember each time one of my sons needs to get a birthday gift for a friend. It's very simple, really:

Any kind of toy, yes. Make-your-own-slippers kit, no.

And Lance, if you're reading this, I'm sorry about the lame gift of moccasins. And I'm even more sorry that your mother made you wear them.

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mwixon@dallasnews.com. Have a great week.

NBC's lineup 30 years ago ... yeesh

2008-10-11T15:22:00.003-05:00

NBC has been struggling to find hit shows the last few years. "30 Rock" and "The Office" get a lot of hype and are are actually very good, but they don't get great ratings.

But things had to be worse 30 years ago, when NBC was launching its fall season. The promo for it is below, and check out the new shows it was hyping:

Waverly Wonders
Lifeline
Grandpa Goes to Washington
W.E.B.
Sword of Justice
Dick Clark's Live Wednesday
Who's Watching the Kids
Capra

Wow ... those turned out to be classics!

Incorrect hair dye, correct verdict

2008-10-09T13:32:00.004-05:00

The economy is in the tank, your 401(k) is looking like a 401(KO'd) and more businesses are expected to layoff employees in the coming months.

But let's look at the bright side. At least your social life hasn't been ruined like that of one Connecticut woman, who suffered through the devastation of having her blonde hair dyed brunette.

She was so traumatized that she needed anti-depressants. Also, she says she suffered "headaches and anxiety, missed the attention that blondes receive and had to stay home and wear hats most of the time."

And because we are in America, this leads to the obvious question:

How much is she suing for?

Actually, I don't know the amount. But a judge nixed her coif complaint.

10-year old drives, but at least he was sober

2008-10-08T09:51:00.006-05:00

When a 10-year-old gets behind the wheel, you've got to expect that the car will be driven a little erratically. So when a 10-year-old was clocked doing 90 mph in Tennessee, that made it more frightening.

But hey, his parents were in the car with him. Maybe they were just trying to get a jump on his driving training. You know, so he'll be really ready to go when he gets his learner's permit in about five years.

Or maybe not. According to the story, the 10-year-old crashed the van after his dad had drank about 15 beers. Also, when police in Tennessee arrived, "a woman was trying to swallow as many pills as she could."

Cap it all off with this:

The dad was wearing a T-shirt that said "Buy this dad a beer." Looking at the mug shot, yeah ... I can see him wearing that shirt.

Man saves dog from shark

2008-10-01T11:07:00.005-05:00

This is one of the most amazing stories you'll read about: A dog is recovering after its owner dove in to save his pet from a shark.

Greg LeNoir said he took his 14-pound rat terrier Jake for a daily swim at a marina last Friday. The five-foot shark suddenly surfaced and grabbed nearly the entire dog in its mouth.

LeNoir said he yelled, then balled up his fists and dove headfirst into the water off a pier. He hit the shark in the back and the creature finally let go of the dog.

The result: Man and dog are safe and recovering. The owner said Jake (here's a photo of him) doesn't like swimming pools, but they'll have to find another place for him to swim.

After getting attacked by a shark, I think Jake might reconsider the charm of swimming in a pool.

Maybe these women need a federal bailout

2008-10-01T10:52:00.004-05:00

This just in for about the fifth straight day: The bailout is about to pass or fail.

That's still the top story in the nation, overshadowing stories such as this:

A Florida teenager claims he was attacked and robbed by four topless blonde women on his way to work.

Olmer Morales, 18, told police the attack happened as he rode his bike to work. They stole $100, according to the police report. Maybe the women actually considered it a tip for a very unusual exotic dance.

Bizarre spa treatments

2008-09-30T11:08:00.003-05:00

The economy is struggling and people are trying to save money. That could mean that your planned trip to the fancy resort is off this year. You're probably a little bummed about that, but hey, at least you won't be wasting your money on these spa services:

Nightingale Excrement Facial
Bird droppings on your head might be a tragedy, but nightingale droppings on your face are a luxury. At least that’s how the Diamond Hawaii Resort and Spa in Maui feels. A cream with nightingale droppings is part of every facial there.

The Snake Massage
At a spa in Israel, you can have snakes placed on your back to slither away the aches in your muscles. Don’t worry, the spa says, the snakes are non-venomous. So it’s not creepy or anything.

Ear Candling
You might be surprised how many spas offer this service, in which a hollow candle is placed in a person’s ear and the top is lit. Why? Well, according to one of the spas, it improves mental clarity. Yeah, sure. And celebrities go to rehab centers to be treated for “exhaustion.”

The Buns Facial
Many spas now offer facials for all four of your cheeks. The exfoliation, cleansing, and microcurrent therapy promise to really get your rear in gear.

Apache music video

2008-09-26T12:49:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine sent me the link to this video.

All I can say is wow. These guys were so very cool. Or they thought so. If you thought the first MTV videos were pretty low-budget, you'll be amazed by this:

The bravest squirrel ever

2008-09-25T11:00:00.006-05:00

The bravest squirrel ever has made my front yard his home.

A couple of days ago while I was doing some yard work, I saw him climbing up and down our Oak tree and running around the front lawn, burying acorns in the yard. "Squirreling" them away I guess would be the best description.

At one point, he came within five feet of me, chewed on the outside of an acorn and then buried it in the grass. I needed to walk in his direction, but I didn't want to scare him, so I said, "Hello there." (Yes, I was talking to a squirrel, and no, I don't do drugs. If I did do drugs, he probably would've talked back.)

When the squirrel heard my voice, he got up on his hind legs into an alert position and swooshed his tail. But, although he was only a few feet away and was facing me, he actually looked off to the side a little. That's when I wondered if maybe he's a squirrel with impaired vision.

Whatever his situation, it was fun to watch the squirrel scurry around the grass with a bunch of nuts, bouncing from spot to spot to bury them. Each time he would dig down a little, push the nut down with his nose and then use his front paws to adjust the grass over it. As he did this, he looked around the lawn to check to see if anyone was spying on his hiding spot.

I won't tell, Mr. (or Ms.) Squirrel. And please, stay out of the street.

Duck duck goose touchdown celebration

2008-09-24T13:04:00.003-05:00

Next time, maybe the football players can get some kids out of the stands to help after the touchdown:

Assault with a smelly weapon

2008-09-24T10:53:00.004-05:00

If someone passes gas next to you, it's not just an annoyance. According to the police in South Charleston, West Virginia, it's battery.

When police were trying to get fingerprints, police say Cruz moved closer to the officer and passed gas on him. The investigating officer remarked in the criminal complaint that the odor was very strong.

But not strong enough to be considered assault with a deadly weapon. The officer is expected to fully recover.

Skimpy outfits get cheerleaders in trouble

2008-09-23T11:33:00.001-05:00

We've got trouble in Moscow. Well, Moscow, Idaho, anyway. It seems that some people have deemed the cheerleading outfits too skimpy.

Less than a month into the football season, the Idaho Vandals are undergoing another makeover after spectators complained that cheerleaders' uniforms were flashing a little more than school spirit.

Sorry, no photos available. But the Idaho football team has been outscored 163-45 this season, so the fans need something to look at.

Also, the story says that the football team's uniforms have been changed because the school logo didn't look right on the seat of the pants. Who would've thought that would happen?

Here's the quote from another story:

Rob Spears, the school's athletic director, says nobody realized just how the logo placed in the center of the players' behinds would look before they tried their pants on.

Latawnya the horse says say no to drugs

2008-09-23T11:01:00.003-05:00

There are many ways to warn kids about the dangers of drugs. One way that I don't recommend is to have them read this book:

Latawnya, the Naughty Horse, Learns to Say "No" to Drugs

I'm not sure why she's a naughty horse, but the book includes illustrations of horses drinking and smoking. It also spurred this funny user review on Amazon.com:

On the surface, Sylvia S. Gibson's stirring account of equine tranche de vie is an eye-opening page-turner. When picked up for the fourth and fifth time, however, the story is far deeper than initially expected. These horses represent humanity, and they are smoking drugs. WE are smoking drugs. Gibson is a wordsmith, subconsciously compelling the reader to put oneself in Latawnya's hooves.

This brillant work is rated with 4 stars because the story is deceptively written for children, but it deals with heavy issues: horses smoking drugs, horses drinking alcohol, horses overdosing, and horses dying. Some of the illustrations are quite graphic as well, depicting most of the previously mentioned situations, as well as horse-to-horse kissing. It was wise for the artist to avoid images of horses hugging. Be warned if you have children under 18.

This should be required reading for mankind. Dig deep into this story.

Humor Me: Welcome to autumn in Texas

2008-09-22T06:00:00.002-05:00

By MATT WIXON

It's the first day of fall, the season of crisp mornings, nippy evenings and colorful leaves crunching beneath your feet. The long, hot summer is over, and the change of seasons can be felt in every chilly breeze in North Texas.

But close the refrigerator door, would you? Even the excitement of autumn's arrival isn't worth the chilling reality of a whopping energy bill. It's better to wait for Mother Nature's frosty breeze, which should arrive in Texas any minute now.

Or in a day or two. Or a week. Or perhaps by early October, a month in which the Dallas temperature once reached 106.

It's hard to complain about this year's September temperatures, but autumn's
arrival here is much different than in Minneapolis, Chicago or Denver, which had more than an inch of snowfall on this day back in 2000. That same day in North Texas, the temperature hit 96.

That's 10 degrees warmer than normal, but 86 won't send anyone
scurrying for the long johns. It's nothing like the 16-degree welcome to fall in Bondurant, Wyo.. a few years ago. Residents there are bracing for the hard freeze as North Texans welcome -- and on some days, plead for -- a soft breeze.

Residents of cold-weather capitals are pulling out rakes to clean up falling leaves, while in Texas, the crunching beneath our feet isn't from the colorful signs of autumn. It's just burnt grass, crispy from the sun.

In Massachusetts today, dogs, perhaps wearing sweaters, will chase squirrels
gathering acorns for the frigid months ahead. In North Texas, dogs will give up the chase when they trip over their panting tongues. Later in the day, a New Hampshire resident will begin thinking of her wardrobe in layers - the "wicking," "insulating" and "protection" layers that cold-weather warriors know well. Around here, insulating still refers to keeping the heat out of your home. Protection means sunblock and mosquito repellent.

Wicking? Well, it sounds a lot like wicker, as in a wicker chair on a patio. And today, the official first step in the march toward sad winter skies and happy holidays, some Texan will be lounging on a wicker chair, sipping iced tea while wearing Bermuda shorts, sandals and a Hawaiian shirt.

That's the start of fall in Texas. On autumn's inauguration, we're more likely to see sand volleyball games than sand trucks dealing with a wintry storm. We'll see barbecues smoking in back yards rather than chimneys puffing smoke. And while frost warnings are a possibility in colder parts of the country, the first-day-of-fall frost warning for North Texans goes something like this:

If you can't feel your fingers anymore, stop digging in the ice chest for the last beer.

Texas' most traditional sign of fall is football season, and that's obviously here. But it's not like in Chicago, where Bears fans -- hopefully, only the men -- are preparing to show their pride by ignoring frigid temperatures and painting their chests to cheer at the Bears' home field. Cowboys fans might also go shirtless, partly to show their spirit, partly because Texas Stadium has no air conditioning.

But while Texas doesn't have many of the traditional signs of fall, we can sense the season's arrival. We hear the home's AC unit click off occasionally. The lawn takes more than two weeks to go from manicured to knee-tickling. And the sun takes 10 minutes longer to bond melted lip balm to pennies on a car dashboard.

Texans also begin adapting to the changing conditions. For example, the 80-degree wind chills remind locals to bring a T-shirt or light coverup to throw on after getting out of the pool. You'll also see many North Texans sipping their frozen margaritas outside these days, taking advantage of the improving weather and escaping
the chilly temperatures found in many restaurants.

It's far less traditional than leaves changing colors and geese flying south, but it's not so bad to be nontraditional. The traditional winter, the one feared by those who cackled when the temperature hit 106 here this year, brings snow and ice in a seemingly endless cycle. A cycle that is just around the corner.

As for us, the long, hot summer is over. Autumn is here, and it's the season to celebrate, because the ice will soon be here.

Would you prefer cubed or crushed in your lemonade?

***
To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mwixon@dallasnews.com. Have a great week.

Football player inspires teammates, fans

2008-09-19T13:35:00.005-05:00

I usually don't post my sports stories on this blog, but the one I wrote today for the DMN really isn't much about sports, and it has received a lot of response.

It's about a high school football player named Shawn Baldwin who had his best game ever about five hours after his mother's funeral. I traveled to Eustace, TX, to talk to him and his teammates on Wednesday and wrote up this column.

It's Captain America! Wait, no it's not

2008-09-19T08:38:00.000-05:00

"Man in American flag cape scales library, descends to crowd of waiting police"

Not surprisingly, it happened at a college. This photo kind of makes me miss my days in college, although I don't remember anyone scaling the library while draped in a flag.

I guess we just weren't that patriotic at the University of Arizona. Here's some more details from an observer:

Collin Czarnecki, a junior journalism major, witnessed the scene from his Eddy classroom. He said that the caped man rappelled with a rope off the back side of the library and tried to flee by bike from a motorcycle policeman, but had his cape caught in the spokes and failed to escape on foot.

Texting and driving under the influence

2008-09-18T15:05:00.000-05:00

I guess this is mildly surprising to me, but it makes sense. Researchers have determined that texting behind the wheel is more dangerous than driving while under the influence of alcohol.

When you're under the influence of alcohol, your steering might be affected. But when your texting, you don't even have hands to steer. You probably should be charged with a DWI (Driving While Idiotic).

What you really want to watch out for is the person texting while drinking and driving.

'80s reminder: Eat a balanced breakfast

2008-09-18T08:46:00.001-05:00

Back in the '80s, as some of you probably remember, there was a terrible problem sweeping the nation:

Children not having a balanced breakfast.

I, too, was affected. Many, many times I would simply have a bowl of Cheerios and forget to have toast, some assorted fruit and juice. It just didn't fit into my schedule of waking up 20 minutes before school and making it there before the bell rang.

However, I do remember a public-service announcement reminding me of the importance of breakfast. It features some kind of -- well, I don't what it is, but it's wearing a hat -- talking to us about the grumbling in our tummies.

Here it is:

AIG has the strength to take an $85 billion donation

2008-09-17T16:16:00.004-05:00

So now the government is bailing out American International Group:

In the most far-reaching intervention into the private sector ever for the Federal Reserve, the government stepped in Tuesday to rescue American International Group Inc. with an $85 billion injection of taxpayer money.

Hey, it's just $85 billion, and with that money, AIG will have the strength to be there!

Well, this time, anyway. But the commercial below was just a little misleading, huh? AIG wasn't going to prevent any nightmares.

Unemployment and cattle prods

2008-09-17T09:55:00.004-05:00

During this political season, maybe it's time for new ideas. I wonder if this one from Australia would be popular over here:

An Australian politician has used his first speech to parliament to call for unemployed idlers to be stung with a cattle prod to get them to work.

That will get some people moving.

(Note: I thought about writing that will get people "moooooving," but then thought it was just stupid. So please forget that I even mentioned it.)

This is no way to travel

2008-09-16T11:55:00.006-05:00

Here's a frightening image:

A man riding in the back of a pickup and holding a mattress was seriously injured when the truck hit a bump and sent the man and mattress airborne, Grand Prairie police said.

According to the story, there was a similar incident last year.

Two men who were sitting on a piece of plywood in the back of a pickup were injured when the plywood flew out of the truck with them on it.

Amazingly, neither misadventure involved Johnny Knoxville.

Do the dishes or else

2008-09-16T09:06:00.000-05:00

So you don't want to do the dishes tonight? Want your significant other to do all the work?

Well, make sure you know your special someone well. Otherwise, you could get bitten and have a picture frame broken across your face.

Oh yes, and you could be attacked with a sword.

Here comes three-ply T.P.

2008-09-15T16:23:00.006-05:00

With the economy showing more signs of being in the toilet, it's probably the perfect time for this:

The unveiling of three-ply toilet tissue.

According to this story, "a team at Georgia Pacific's Innovation Institute in Neenah has come up with a three-ply version of its Quilted Northern product."

It took a TEAM to come up with that?

Also from the story:

"The company touts the toilet tissue as "ultra-soft" and says it plans to market the product to women 45 and older who view their bathroom as a "sanctuary for quality time."

Humor Me: This might not be a drill

2008-09-15T06:00:00.001-05:00

By MATT WIXON

When I was in elementary school, Sparky the fire dog would visit occasionally. He was 6 feet tall, bumped into desks, and, in a strange coincidence, wore the same shoes as our P.E. teacher.

But the kids at Horizon Elementary, home of the fightin' Panthers and the occasional lice outbreak, took Sparky seriously. After all, he and his fellow firefighters brought along a message about fire. How quickly it could spread, how destructive it could be, and how a fire could happen at our house, even when we were sleeping.

Yes, Sparky and company pretty much scared the bejesus out of us.

Take, for example, the "stop, drop and roll" thing. It was fun to practice, because rolling on the ground would turn into rolling into each other, which would turn into somebody knocking over a desk. That would turn into a teacher screaming at us and Sparky raising his paws to his cheeks -- creating the international mute-mascot hand signal for "Oh my!"

But then we would realize why we were stopping, dropping and rolling. We could be on fire. It was a traumatic moment, even before we endured the fire-danger filmstrip that included a charred teddy bear.

Thankfully, Sparky and the firefighters did give us ways to protect ourselves from fire. Most important, they said:

"If you ever hear an alarm, get out of the building right away."

It was a message we were sure to follow. At least until we became adults. Cynical, jaded adults who don't believe in Santa Claus, visible underwear or that fire alarms mean impending doom. That's certainly the case when alarms sound in office buildings.

If we're at work, perhaps in the middle of drafting an important memo on corporate use of highlighters, we need more than a fire alarm to set off our alarm bells. We need to see fire engines. And smoke. And employees fleeing with their favorite office supplies and incriminating photos of the boss.

Last year, I heard alarms go off in several office buildings, including the one where I work. The response was always the same. No fear. No panic. Just a few irritated people asking, "How am I supposed to get any work done with these stupid alarms blaring?"

Which is a good point. It is hard to get work done with the alarms screaming in your ear. And the work environment really deteriorates when the sprinklers go off and your computer begins to melt.

That's more reason to leave the building, but everyone just keeps working. We figure the alarm is being worked on, or that somebody accidentally triggered it, or that cellphone ringtones are getting louder and more annoying. Few of us seem to worry that the alarm may suggest, you know, A FIRE. That's why, if there ever really is a fire, the only survivors might be the people taking cigarette breaks outside.

Before that happens, I hope office buildings will replace their alarms with something more alarming than a shrieking siren. Something that will really get people moving, like this announcement over the loudspeaker:

"Attention all employees: Leftover bagels from an executive meeting are available in the parking lot across the street."

That will get people to the exits quickly. In fact, there might be injuries if cream cheese is mentioned. And if the fire is spreading rapidly, the announcement could include bagels and donuts -- and perhaps a promise that the first 10 people in the parking lot won't have personnel evaluations this year.

Empty promises, yes. But even if employees are bitter, they will be safe. And if Sparky were here today, he would tell you that being safe is the most important thing. Or at least he would point to a chalkboard that said it, and then bump into a few desks while leaving the classroom.

Sparky was right, so let's not disappoint him. We all want to be safe, and nobody wants to run extra laps during P.E.

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To be on the list that is sent out when a new column in posted, e-mail mwixon@dallasnews.com. Have a great week.

Paycheck to paycheck on $100,000 a year

2008-09-12T09:20:00.001-05:00

Some 21 percent of those with salaries of $100,000 or more say they are living paycheck to paycheck, according to a recent survey conducted by CareerBuilder.com.

They certainly are spending a lot between paychecks. But the article offers advice:

Eliminating one night of dining out a month can free up $50 to $100 that can be saved or invested.

That's true, but if you're making six figures and still living paycheck to paycheck, you might want to look at some of your bigger expenses.

Hurricane Ike warning is very, very serious

2008-09-12T07:53:00.000-05:00

The National Hurricane Center isn't pulling any punches as Hurricane Ike approaches the Texas shoreline. From last night's Hurricane Ike statement:

ALL NEIGHBORHOODS...AND POSSIBLY ENTIRE COASTAL COMMUNITIES...
WILL BE INUNDATED DURING THE PERIOD OF PEAK STORM TIDE. PERSONS
NOT HEEDING EVACUATION ORDERS IN SINGLE FAMILY ONE OR TWO STORY
HOMES WILL FACE CERTAIN DEATH.

Yeesh. I hope this hurricane somehow loses strength before making landfall.

Large Hadron Collider topped by lipstick on a pig

2008-09-11T12:14:00.005-05:00

By now, you've probably all heard about the Large Hadron Collider. If that name doesn't ring a bell, think of this ... the big machine that some people believe will unleash microscopic black holes that would eventually destroy Earth.

Well, yesterday it passed its first test by firing beams of protons around a 17-mile underground ring. What is the goal of this $3.8 billion project, which is described as the biggest physics experiment ever?

According to this story:

Scientists hope to eventually send two beams of protons through two tubes about the width of fire hoses, speeding through a vacuum that is colder and emptier than outer space. The paths of these beams will cross, and a few protons will collide. The collider's two largest detectors -- essentially huge digital cameras weighing thousands of tons -- are capable of taking millions of snapshots a second.

The CERN experiments could reveal more about "dark matter," antimatter and possibly hidden dimensions of space and time. It could also find evidence of the hypothetical particle -- the Higgs boson -- which is sometimes called the "God particle" because it is believed to give mass to all other particles, and thus to matter that makes up the universe.

Wow ... that's way over my head. It's no wonder we have heard less about the collider than Barack Obama's "lipstick on a pig" reference that seems to have created a big bang.

High heels for babies

2008-09-10T16:47:00.008-05:00

I thought most moms didn't want their babies to grow up fast:

Two Washington state moms have launched a business that sells high heels for babies.

Yes, you read right.

You can read more about it here. Apparently, more than 1,500 pairs have been bought off the Web site www.heelarious.com.

These should be great for this baby with the natural look, which I believe is defined as "having no pores."

Now entering new city, population unknown

2008-09-10T12:17:00.006-05:00

On the TV news last night, there was a report about how the Fort Worth area is growing so fast that Fort Worth and the surrounding suburbs can't keep up with the population numbers on the signs that say, "Now entering ..."

Which brings up the question of why population figures are on the signs at all. If a city needs to replace a sign simply to update its population total, isn't that just a waste of money?

Or is there someone out there who sees a sign that says, "Now Entering Cityville, population 182,000" and decides not to stop because the population isn't quite 200,000?

Maybe Sundance above is a huge metropolis by now.

City council president: "You are all evil!"

2008-09-10T08:49:00.001-05:00

If you start reading this story about the incoming Detroit city council president, you might think the unprofessional behavior ends with shouts to the media of "You are all evil!"

But don't stop there. Read on and find out how she was involved in a bar fight (and then exonerated), called her $81,000 a year (plus car use) job part time and taunted another councilman by calling him "Shrek."

Apparently, there is also a federal probe into contracting payoffs that led to this great paragraph in a different story:

Asked if she could promise voters she has done nothing that could lead to her indictment, Conyers responded by asking if a person could promise he or she would be alive from one day to the next.

Condoms, an energy drink, and that will be all

2008-09-09T14:34:00.006-05:00

In Dallas, we have some frightening robberies. And some very strange ones:

Dallas police today are searching for a man who robbed a 7-Eleven convenience store in his wheelchair, stealing 10 boxes of condoms and an energy drink before rolling himself out the door, authorities said.

Yes, if you're going to take 10 boxes of condoms, you better also get an energy drink. Actually, it's pretty sad. Police do not have any suspects, but they believe the man may be homeless.

Or going to a party. Or both.

An astronaut's concerns about experiments

2008-09-09T11:04:00.002-05:00

An Onion video on one astronaut's concerns about his space experiments:

Astronaut Suspects NASA Using Him To Test Spaceâ??s Effects On Fat People