Keep up or fall behind

It’s getting to be that time of year again, isn’t it? You knew you were feeling busier lately than you’d been in, say, mid-July, when everything was kind of in a hazy, summery soft-serve mode. Then September arrived to pick up the pace, and you probably managed to keep in step. But it just so happens that the exact moment when people start thinking about holiday plans usually coincides precisely with an abrupt acceleration of their workloads, stress levels, and internal clock speeds. This week felt like a game of Wild Planet Hyper Dash to me; how about you? The game challenges one’s coordination, math and teamwork skills, overall speed, ability to create mnemonic devices and/or acronyms, knowledge of commercial lyrics/arcane trivia, and patience. It also leaves you a little breathless, with a rapid heartbeat, an adrenaline overload, and a healthy amount of self-doubt. If you’re going to stay on top of things in this, our modern world of today, you’ve got to be able to handle, or better yet, enjoy that sensation of being overburdened on as many levels as possible. Wild Planet Hyper Dash is only trying to help. Ready?

How'd they do that?

Not long ago someone told me about Farm in a Jar, with its compelling combination of facts, trivia, games and activities. It sounded like a great present for some of the younger people in my life, many of whom seem not to know things like where food comes from or how to behave in public, although they’re very helpful to have around when the computer breaks. I decided to order one for an upcoming gift-giving occasion.
















Then came the requisite six to eight weeks of down time, during which my mind was all a-flutter, trying to picture as many farm games and facts as I already knew and hoping for more of the same (because farm fun is enjoyable at all ages). You may well imagine my disappointment, then, when instead I received



















fart in a jar! They must have been right beside each other on the shelf, or someone was in a rush, or something. I thought of returning it—unopened, of course—but as it turned out the gift was quite well received.

Hi-Yo Silver

Saddle up and ride on over to Sunpentown, where exercising’s been elevated into an art form. The Giddyup Core Exerciser comes with a dual motor, allowing it to mimic the motions of a relatively placid horse, which throws you constantly off balance. As you thrash and jerk (both back and forth and up and down), your body’s attempts at self-preservation will be exercising important core muscles, not to mention working on metabolism, circulation, posture and poise.

Best of all, the ad copy states: The most appealing aspect of this Counter-Balance motion is that the user is exercising without really doing anything, as there is no exertion from the user…a 15-minute workout is done effortlessly. Consumer studies repeatedly and consistently prove that where exercise equipment is concerned, effortlessness is a highly coveted quality, and when you climb aboard the Giddyup, you’ll see why. Reins and chaps not included, but enthusiastically and wholeheartedly endorsed/encouraged.

Finally, truth in advertising

Telling the truth is probably what makes this product so wildly popular. Also, many people enjoy products that come in pellet-dispensers. Lycopodium Clavatum = “bloated abdomen improved by passing gas.” If anyone out there knows of a better method of improving bloated abdomen (a method that doesn’t involve taking some kind of pre-meal gas-minimizer, or being in any way responsible or practical about what to ingest), I’m all ears. In fact, everyone's listening once you’ve taken your Lycopodium Clavatum.

Until mine shows up I guess I’ll have to resort to improving my bloated abdomen by passing gas without any homeopathic assistance. Good thing I’ve pretty much got the hang of it by now.

Games of bang and bash/Memory Lane #5

Before there were video games not many toys allowed children to vent their frustrations, unlike now, when they can wage war on an untold number of enemies with a great deal of bloodshed and gore, to their unending satisfaction and glee. But, believe me, kids were just as mean and violent back in the day, and so games like these were especially popular.













Bang Box was great. You put some balloons in the box labeled “danger explosive,” then hammered nails into them until they burst. And if you were a girl, you screamed in that shrill, high-pitched ear-piercing way each time you made contact with a balloon. Usually our mom would take this game away after only a few rounds.

Bash! was also a real knockout, as the package advertises. The commercial really made you want to play it, too. You’d stack disks of plastic between this poor man’s head and feet and take turns hammering at them, trying not to make the entire stack fall.

If you had both games, and at least one sibling, that means you had two plastic hammers; forget the games themselves. And we weren’t little sissies wearing protective gear or helmets, nor did we have any rules about not hitting above the waist. The hammers might not look like much, but they packed a wallop, especially on the still-forming skulls of the youngest players.

Pull yourself together

The Serenity Kit comes with a set of small wind chimes and a book of calming, zen-like quotations. If you already bought the indoor wind chimes, the serenity is potentially limitless, like a Mobius strip of ongoing tranquility. If this brings you serenity, you’re head and shoulders above the crowd in the inner peace department. I know some people (when I say some, I’m referring to the vast majority of my acquaintances) who experience serenity only when they are not conscious. I know others who are driven to near-manic distress levels by the sound of any wind chiming whatsoever. In fact, there’s a significant amount of overlap in these two subsets.

True serenity is, after all, rather elusive, and rendered even more so by being highly individualized. One man’s serenity is another man’s anxiety attack, if you think about it. A serenity kit for me might include the absence of all other traffic when I’m out on the roads, the guarantee that nothing life-joltingly bad is going to happen for at least 48 hours, and a promise that I will sleep through the night without waking. Being brought some hot chocolate might also help. Oh, right, and I’d like a decent income without having to work for the rest of my life, which I believe would induce a good deal of serenity. Maybe your serenity kit would involve long, hot baths; pigeon-feeding in the park; cloud watching; fishing; afternoon naps; walking hand in hand with a loved one on a secluded beach; or being allowed, at long last, to move to your special happy place and live there forever. But if some light tinkling sounds and a few deep thoughts are all it’s going to take to keep you in check, kudos, serene one.

Make my day

You’re now capable of combining two, count ‘em, two, of life’s most sublime pleasures, namely watching television and shooting guns, with the gun remote control—do we not all wish we’d thought of this? A lot of you are protesting, “I did, a long time ago!” Next time, don’t let the dreamslayers in your life keep you down when you get an idea they find unconventional or unseemly. Then you’ll be the one laughing all the way to the bank with your chunky royalty checks, and they can keep their opinions about what’s stupid to themselves. End of life lesson.

Imagine the joy of aiming at the TV and shooting to get rid of Vince, the strangest spokesperson ever, as he hawks his ShamWows, or that sportscaster who’s talking about your team losing, or the next Kinoki or Ped Egg ad. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, because we all know there’s a whole lot more coming out of your television set that you’d like to shoot. And then some.





















After a while you’ll have that aim thing down to something resembling a science, so we’ll throw in a sheriff’s badge—you’ll have earned it. Have a rootin’ tootin’ TV-shootin’ good time, officer!

Slitherin' succotash

With just 2 AA batteries and this fantastic lifelike plastic you can protect your worldly goods as well as Brinks or ADT, and for a fraction of the price. Your family, friends and enemies will be lulled by its quiet lack of motion and comforting color scheme, but if they get too close, its eyes glow red, it hisses, tries to bite, and rattles its tail. Wait ‘til you hear the screams! Perfect for deterring a pesky younger sibling who won’t stay out of your room, or that snoopy spouse who’s bound and determined to find out why you keep the door locked every once in a while, or that mean teacher who’s clearly had it in for you since day one, even if it does result in a trip to the principal’s office. A little retaliation of the serpentine variety goes a long way and is rarely forgotten by the avenged.

The animated striking snake—it really is striking, no?—communicates without saying a word, and we could all learn a lesson from its example. You’d warm up to it if it would let you.

Deep Pockets

When I said I thought the Mr. T in your Pocket product could use some companions, I had no idea how wrong I was. Turns out the guy has a lot of friends. Your pockets could be emitting different voices every day of the week. Better yet, carry at least two with you at all times and let them converse.




















It’s kind of a tough crowd, though, so don’t expect polite conversation with Scarface in your pocket. “Every dog has its day,” and “Me, I always tell the truth, even when I lie,” are two of its statements. Mr. T responds, “Shut up, fool,” because he can get away with it.




















You know Rocky would be comfortable palling around with Scarface and Mr. T. One of his six phrases is, “I am not as dumb as you think I am,” and that alone is worth the price of several in your pocket toys. He also declares, “All I wanna do is go the distance,” and usually about then Mr. T tells him, “Quit your jibba jabba.”

Notice that Rocky’s phrases eat thunder and crap lightning. None of the other pocket toys makes this claim, but the next time there’s a big storm, I’m going to make sure Rocky’s nearby.





















How did Fred Rogers get caught up in this crowd? This is so not his milieu. He sounds vaguely modern when he tells people, “I think I’ll make a snappy new day.” But he won’t do anything of the sort. Soon it’s back to “Please won’t you be my neighbor?” and “I like you just the way you are.” Mr. T’s response is almost invariably, “Don’t make me mad,” followed by that inimitable Mr. T growling sound.




















Another rather unexpected member of the club is Dirty Dancing in your pocket. Its name probably delivers more fun than the product itself. Phrases include, “Butt out, Baby,” for which you’ll undoubtedly find many uses. Less serviceable is, “Spaghetti arms! Would you gimme some tension, please?” Usually at this point Mr. T breaks out his trademark “I pity the fool” line.

South Park in your pocket tries to fit in, but isn’t sure whose side to be on. “I’m not fat, I’m big boned,” it protests, in Cartman’s voice, and “Drugs are bad, mmkay?”, in Mr. Mackey’s. Let us not forget who captured Mr. Mackey on his drug-laced trip to India: The A Team! Hmm, I sense some Hollywood inter-connectedness going on here. Six degrees of Mr. T, or something. “Don’t gimme no backtalk, sucka,” Mr. T says, clearly in control at all times.

Also available in your pocket: Dr. Who, Reservoir Dogs, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, Stewie from “Family Guy,” and Catherine Tate. As long as they keep hitting all the highlights like this, the concept works for me.

That Funky Monkey

Got a monkey on your back? Don’t like to smoke alone? Maybe you just like to light fires around the house, whatever. Something made you buy this, and you’re glad of it. There’s something curiously endearing about this little guy. He comes with his own pack of incense cigs, so his smoke can diminish the effect of yours. He’s got a pleasant demeanor, he never complains, and his hat is very fetching.

Meanwhile, over on the other side of the room, his mother is going crazy.

She’s the Monkey Groan Ball. When you give her a little squeeze she emits the groaning sound made by an angry mother monkey who’s just caught sight of her only son lighting up. It’s not as if she didn’t warn him about the dangers of smoking. In fact, she set the perfect example and never even tried one. He’s clearly oblivious, though, and her groans only seem to make him smile more. Sometimes he’ll even chain smoke just to listen to her go on.

Stoolin' around town

The motorized bar stool is capable of speeds up to 30 mph, and turns corners on a dime. Now there’s no excuse for bar tardiness, and you can probably even drive yourself to the restroom. These (and, of course, motorized coolers) are doing their best to take drinking and driving to a new level, full of thrills, chills and spills. And since they’re not really street legal, you might even make it home without getting a DUI. Then again, maybe not.

And, hey, wouldn’t you rather have one of these than a wheelchair or a scooter? When I get old and driving seems scary, this is going to be my ticket to sweet freedom.

Who's in your pocket?

Mr. T, that’s who! Not just sitting there quietly, either. He says six things! As you can see, there are individual buttons for each of his clever one-liners. This means that, unlike the old-fashioned talking toys that spoke randomly, forcing you to pull a string repeatedly, hoping your favorite phrase would play, you’ll hear only the clever Mr. T-ism of your choice, such as the ever-popular “I pity the fool,” “Quit your jibba jabba,” and “Shut up, fool.” Plus, as the package says, it’s his real voice, fool! In fact, the package also calls you a sucka, doesn’t it? But this is part of the fun. For those of you too young to remember him, Mr. T was a bit of a surly type, so this just means the manufacturer is keeping it real. You’ll have hours, maybe entire days, of fun working Mr. T’s lines into your dialogue. “Don’t gimme no backtalk, sucka,” goes a lot farther than one would think, and of course “I pity the fool” is truly inexhaustible.

I think this product line should be vastly expanded. Just think of the television characters from days gone by we’d all like to carry around in our pockets! We could choose between things like Gary Coleman saying, “What you talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?”, Joey from “Full House” saying “Cut it out,” or doing some of his endearing Bullwinkle impressions, Jeannie saying, “Yes, master?”, Marcia Brady yelling, “Oh, my nose!”, (or Jan with her “Marcia, Marcia Marcia!” line), Fat Albert’s “Hey, hey, hey!”, the nose-twinkling magic sound made by Samantha on Bewitched, or Redd Foxx yelling, “I’m coming, Elizabeth!” as he fakes yet another heart attack. But for now only Mr. T’s pocket-ready, so try him, sucka. We’re charging only an extra fifteen cents for the keychain feature, which is not removable.

The hitch in your git-along

A no-brainer must-have for any outdoorsman, this trailer hitch cover becomes animated and waves its arms in a frantic manner whenever the driver brakes. (Also available: fish, duck, horse, dog, motorcycle dude and spider.) Keep the people behind you annoyed and/or distracted while also advertising your personal penchant. The motorcyclist pops a wheelie!

Every pick-up truck in your part of the world whose owner hasn't bought one of these is secretly ashamed of its naked and exposed trailer hitch, looking like a bald silver pate and amusing/annoying no one--and what fun is that?

My brother: You mean the trailer hitches not already covered by those plastic balls, right? I like the trailer hitch. Does it really flail about when you brake?

Oh, yeah, it flails like there's no tomorrow.