I'll Just Stick with the Haircut, Thanks

It used to be that if you had an undesirable, embarrassing ailment or condition, you had to search high and low for information on a remedy. You might see or hear an advertisement for a pill to cure your overwhelming body odor, but it would only be late at night on some public access channel. Nowadays there’s a product to combat anything you can think of and each one is marketed during all hours of the day.

For a lot of people, this is a good thing. But the FCC needs to create some new technology that regulates how these products are marketed. Here’s my solution: Televisions should be wired so that commercials filtered through personal TVs are different from the ones that are shown on public/business TVs. I don’t know how this would work. The ‘how’ isn’t important, just the fact that it needs to happen.

I appreciate when a business owner is kind enough to provide a TV in his or her waiting room, but it’s almost more of a risk than a perk. Twice in the last couple of months, I have been at a place of business in the middle of the day, surrounded by strangers, when a Viagra commercial has come on. I can’t think of many places where I would like to be when the word ‘erection’ is overheard, but I can immediately think of two places where I don’t want to be and those are the car dealership and the barbershop.

I guess it could have been worse. Overhearing it at the hardware store would be uncomfortable. Standing in line for movie tickets would be odd. Work, church, the deli counter, a parent-teacher conference… all of these seem like highly inappropriate places.

The airport wouldn’t be so bad, simply because of the sheer number of people who are preoccupied with their own lives to really notice. But on an airplane would be awful. Aside from hearing that word through your headset while watching the in-flight movie (which doesn’t count because the headset makes you feel like you’re the only one hearing it), the only way you’d hear it on a plane is if it’s said by the person next to you, a stewardess or the pilot over the intercom.

Still, I stand by my assertion that one of the worst places to be is sitting in a chair while an old man runs his fingers through your hair. The ease of the room seems to disappear when that low, smoky voice tells you to consult your doctor if an erection lasts for more than four hours.

And plenty of other commercials fit this bill. If I visit a relative in a retirement home, I don’t want to worry about ads for funeral homes coming on while I’m there. And when I’m at the gym, I’d prefer that none of the TVs show a woman who’s concerned about her level of freshness. Granted, given the number of times I go to these places, the likelihood of either scenario occurring is slim to none (particularly the one at the gym). But still. It’s possible.

A more likely scenario is one day soon I will cart a busload of kids to Chuck-E-Cheeses (which surely have TVs these days) and one of my own will turn to me and say, “Daddy, this advertisement with women in yellow bathing suits falling into a pool and doing a synchronized dance… is it trying to sell birth control?”

If that happens, I’ll have to be straightforward with my kid and answer honestly and to the best of my ability by saying, “How the hell should I know?”

My point is that you can’t go anywhere these days without commercials creating uncomfortable social moments. Just yesterday I walked into my boss’ office to ask for some paperwork I needed. While she was searching for it, an ad came on her radio for discount vasectomies. There’s only one thing to do in that situation.

“SO… HOW ‘BOUT THOSE METS?” I asked.

Something has to be done. We all need vasectomies, but don’t remind me at work. Send some literature to my home. And wrap it tightly in a brown paper bag.

The News is Making Me Thirsty

With so much political divisiveness going on these days, all sorts of new political parties have formed with ideas of how to change our government. It may be hard to keep track of all the groups and what they stand for, so feel free to consult the list below for some answers.

Tea Party – a loud, unorganized group that uses its title to hearken back to a Revolutionary movement without really understanding what that original movement was about. Many of its members are even unsure of what their current movement is about.

Coffee Party – formed in response to the Tea Party and consisting of similar types of people with similarly vague, unspecific ideas about what they expect from their government. This party’s only distinguishable trait is its pompous refusal to pay reasonable prices for coffee.

Kool-Aid Party – this group’s name strikes fear in those hearing of it for the first time because of the images it conjures up about Jim Jones. Instead, it consists largely of moms who drive mini-vans and get their kids to burn energy by playing soccer, only to fuel them up again by serving them Kool-Aid afterwards. Members fail to realize they can save thousands of dollars a year in sugar and gasoline by having their kids participate in something equally enjoyable, such as playing with fish hooks.

Lemonade Party – a moderate, easy-going party that is typically heard from only in the summer. Their off-shoot ‘pink’ contingent is highly active in raising cancer awareness.

Punch Party – this group has a hard time advancing its ideals unless they align themselves with a stronger group whose members display more confidence and fewer inhibitions. They do very well in the polls when partnering with Russian political advisors (see next party).

Vodka Party – enjoyed its renaissance during Boris Yeltsin’s administration

Soda Party – this group fails to gain any significant foothold due to its many fractured divisions. Members often bicker about which division is superior, with many groups changing their original colors from dark to clear. These members typically contain fewer ingredients and are often viewed as less influential. Other factors contributing to the group’s troubles include a divide over what to be called. Depending on where supporters live, the group may prefer to be called the ‘Pop Party,’ the ‘Cola Party’ or the traditional ‘Soft Drink Party’.

Sweet Tea Party – despite its name, has few viewpoints that are similar to the Tea Party. Sweet Tea advocates stand for everything that is right in the universe. It is a delicious, mouth-watering group that goes well with just about any entrée. Its roots can be traced back to a southern movement, and members can tolerate just about anything, even Jimmy Carter.

Bourbon, Rum, Scotch, Wine and Tequila Parties – Highly powerful, highly controversial groups that benefit from a lot of support, but ultimately fail on election day due to their struggles to sober up and make it out to the voting booths. Many also face scrutiny over questions of their citizenship.

I Want My Picture Back

A few weeks ago I submitted a writing entry to a regular monthly contest offered by Writer's Digest. As part of the contest, titled 'Your Story,' the editors provide a fictional prompt for those who would like to enter an article. I check out the prompts from time to time to see if any of them sound fun or spark my imagination. The one in the February issue did, so I gave it a shot.

Unfortunately my piece wasn't picked as a finalist. I guess the naked picture of myself that I attached to my article didn't impress the judges. Next time I'll make sure the picture includes my torso.

I decided, however, that I'd post it to my blog (the article, not the picture. Sorry ladies). If you want to read the five entries that were picked as finalists, you can visit the Writer's Digest Forum page. You'll have to register a new account, and then you'll receive a password from them to use when you sign in. After signing in with your password, just scroll down the page and click the 'Your Story' link.

Or you can just trust me when I say that mine was the best and clearly should have won. That's much easier. Hope you enjoy it.

Prompt: Parents look on in horror as a magician's trick goes terribly awry at a child's birthday party - 750 word maximum.

The sunny, 70-degree Saturday morning was making it hard to reconcile the fact that I was driving to a six year old’s birthday party. Weather like this hadn’t come along since… well, last year. And for the first time in almost two months, I didn’t have to spend the weekend working. By the time we pulled into Devin’s neighborhood, the number of other things I dreamed of doing was staggering.

As I helped Robbie out of the car, the expression on my face spoke volumes.

“Remember what mom said,” Robbie practically begged. “No swearing.”

I smirked at my son and told him not to worry. Attending a young person’s birthday party is a vacation compared to hosting one, and coupled with the comedy of errors that occurred at his celebration, anyone could understand my recent slip up. But I assured him that Devin’s party wouldn’t rattle me, so long as it ended quickly.

Despite my angst, I wanted Robbie to have a good time and I like seeing him interact with his classmates. I even like Devin. It’s his dad, Kurt, I can do without. His last name might as well be Jones because there is no keeping up with him. And he revels in making you know that. As we walked past his perfectly-manicured lawn and luxury car in the driveway, I told myself to smile and be polite. Today was about the kids.

Kurt greeted us at the door.

“Hey guys! Come on in,” he said. “Where’s Beth, she couldn’t make it?”

“No, she came down with a stomach bug last night,” I told him.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he said with genuine disappointment.

My wife was all the rage during Robbie’s party, but not by design. Just as she was leaning down to hand out birthday cupcakes to all the neighborhood kids, she accidentally, and quite unfortunately, popped out of her dress. As a result, Beth’s current stomach bug didn’t actually hit her last night, but was carefully planned weeks ago when our invitation arrived in the mail. Not having her at Devin’s party meant I had to bear Kurt on my own.

“Well, you guys are gonna have a great time,” Kurt said. “Devin and the other kids are playing out back before the entertainment starts.”

The invitation didn’t mention anything about entertainment, but Beth and I spent the last three days wondering what was in store.

“We got this magician who is unbelievable,” Kurt said, as it was just the two of us now standing in his foyer. “This guy puts David Copperfield to shame. I was talking to him and he told me that with birthdays, little league parties and bar mitzvahs, he made over 150 grand last year.”

“Wow, he sounds good,” I politely smiled.

“Ah well,” he said, then paused before adding, “We can’t do anything to top what happened at Robbie’s party, huh?”

Kurt laughed as if I had no problem with him joking about the way he and his wife and eight other couples, not to mention their kids, saw my wife in a partial state of undress. I longed to break my “no swearing” promise.

For the next 30 minutes, however, I chatted with the other parents and remembered that free punch and cake wasn’t a terrible way to spend an afternoon. I then settled into the back of the room as the kids grabbed chairs in front of the magician.

“Behold!” He shouted. “I am the Great Wiz-ardo. Prepare to look on in wand-erment.”

Certainly his act was better than his puns, I hoped. Then Kurt sidled up next to me.

“You won’t believe some of the stuff he does,” he whispered.

“For my first trick, I will make Mr. Sprinkles disappear!”

Mr. Sprinkles was Devin’s hamster, who sat contently in his glass-enclosed cage on Wiz-ardo’s prop table. Wiz-ardo then pulled the cape from around his neck and draped it over the cage. After waving his hand and muttering some magician’s gibberish, he yanked the cape away, only Mr. Sprinkles didn’t disappear. Instead, the cape caught onto the back of his cage, pulled it forward and toppled it over the side of the table, spilling Mr. Sprinkles to the floor. The cage quickly followed, and ended its descent by landing on Mr. Sprinkles.

Screams rang out from parents and kids alike as the hamster’s head rolled to a stop at the magician’s feet.

Barely stifling a chuckle, I leaned toward Kurt and said, “You’re such a topper.”