Category: Flashbacks: Reader favorites that may cause numbness

Over the course of 10 years, these columns have spawned the biggest response from readers across the United States and parts of Canada, covering topics from germ-fighting underwear to the very real threat of fruitcake proliferation.

Only REAL men can iron clothes at 3,000 feet

To prepare for the 2013 Extreme Ironing Championships, I have begun training at the Eugene Airport. My cardio and resting heart rate have improved dramatically thanks to my running partners at airport security!
I have reached the conclusion that most of the world’s ironing is now being done by men. I say this because it’s the only explanation I have for a sport called “extreme” ironing, which is actually being lobbied as an Olympic event by “ironing enthusiasts” — a phrase referred to in the Bible as a sign of the coming apocalypse.

“And four horsemen will come from the sky. And they will lay waste to the land, but not before having their robes pressed by ironing enthusiasts.”

It’s easy to understand how extreme ironing evolved if you keep in mind this simple truth about the male species:

Given enough time, any man performing a mundane task will find a way to hurt himself.

And if you can hurt yourself doing it, then it’s practically a sport already. Sure, bowling and golf may appear to be exceptions to this rule. But ask anyone who has ever jammed their finger in the ball return, or inadvertently left a tee in their back pocket, and they’ll tell you there is plenty of danger involved. Continue reading Only REAL men can iron clothes at 3,000 feet

Larger-brained humans will only lead to big heads

A gift from a reader helps me demonstrate how, if the journal Science is correct, one of these human head proportions may be accurate by the next generation. The question is, with today’s television programming, which size will it be?
As if we didn’t have enough problems already, according to a report in the journal Science the human brain is getting bigger. In fact, from what I understand (based on my in-depth analysis of a five-word headline in the New York Post), there’s a good chance yours may be outgrowing your skull right now. Signs this may be occurring include: vomiting, nausea, dizziness, frequent headaches and bleeding from the ears. If you suffer from any or all of these symptoms, DO NOT PANIC! They may only be the side effects of your current FDA-approved medication for acid reflux.

Then again, your brain might have actually gotten bigger since you started reading this column. And not just because of the sheer quality of writing — which is always a possibility (keeping in mind the same symptoms may apply.)

Before we go on, I should, as a responsible journalist, take a moment and actually read the article. In the meantime, I’d suggest applying equal amounts of pressure to both sides of your head, just to be safe.

… OK. Sorry — false alarm. Continue reading Larger-brained humans will only lead to big heads

Insurance premium up? You can thank my clumsy dog

This is the face of rising homeowner’s insurance.
Each year, we gather as a family to have our pets blessed on St. Francis Day. We do this because we want to give our pets every advantage, particularly if there’s a chance — through divine intervention — that our Chocolate Labrador’s IQ could be raised above that of a standard carrot. I know this is supposed to be a general blessing situation, but I think God would agree there was a serious oversight during Stanley’s creation process.

I know He is very busy.

I know He sees all.

But maybe He was also trying to catch the season finale of “Hell’s Kitchen.”

Whatever the reason, somewhere in the world there’s a dog with two brains. Continue reading Insurance premium up? You can thank my clumsy dog

If a man is attacked by his tent in the forest, should he make a sound?

Our family loves to go camping. In fact, we make sure to get out and pitch our tent — without fail — once a year.

Traditionally, this takes place during the busy Labor Day Weekend so that as many people as possible can witness a 46-year-old man being attacked by his own tent. In my defense, I have to say our tent is very large; especially when it is laying flat on the ground.

If I hadn’t lost the step-by-step instructions that came with it, I’m sure the assembly process would be a lot easier because, as a man, I could use them to, step-by-step, blame everything on having lousy instructions. What this means is that over the Labor Day Weekend my handiwork will again be mistaken for a hot air balloon that has crash-landed into our family’s camp site.

I bought this tent 20 years ago while living in Texas. As you know, everything is bigger there — including tents — which is why I tried to find the smallest model available. This turned out to be a tent called Quick Camp, which was a handy, two-compartment structure roughly the size of a jet hanger. Despite its size, the salesman assured me that the assembly process was very simple. He said that the entire thing could be erected in less than 20 minutes with a little planning.

And he was right.

As long as the plan includes staying out of the tent.

For some reason, it collapses on me every time I go inside. I’m not talking about an inconvenient buckling of the walls; this is more like an instantaneous implosion of water-resistant nylon that required the assistance of a search and rescue team:

“Listen up! Team ‘A’ will start at the west quadrant near the mosquito netting. Team ‘B’ will take the dogs and follow the perimeter until we can —”
Woof! Woof!
“Quick — over HERE! I think someone’s moving under this giant door flap!”

In spite of these experiences, I still feel it’s important for our family to go camping together. That’s because, as a parent, I know our kids really hate it. I mean, sure — it’s pretty exciting while Dad is flopping around under 200 yards of nylon. But once that’s over, and I’ve decided that we’re all going to sleep out under the stars LIKE REAL PIONEERS! they begin to realize that everything they know about civilization has been left behind.

And by “everything,” I mean cell phones and television. In the primitive world of camping there are no Smart Phones. No X-Boxes.

There is only dirt.

And time.

And if they’re lucky, enough fire to cook a marshmallow.

Eventually, as the shock of not having their devices wears off, children enter what I feel is the most important phase of their camping experience: Realizing that we, the parents, are the key to their survival. This epiphany starts the moment I pull out the old camp stove, give it a few pumps, then light the picnic table on fire. In that instant, the only thing that matters is reaching out together as a family and finding the nearest fire extinguisher.

So, during Labor Day Weekend, if you happen to be in the neighborhood, feel free to stop by our tent.

The rescue team could probably use your help.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, Ore., 97439.)

Save water by fixing that leaky light switch

The great thing about shows like Extreme Home Makeover is that they inspire ideas on how to improve your home. The bad news is that people like me then try to implement these ideas without the benefit of a trained professional. The result is our bathroom, which currently has a commode with hot running water and a wall heater that can only be turned on by unscrewing the third bulb in our vanity mirror.

I’d like to point out it wasn’t my idea to take what had been a simple plan to increase the space in our bathroom and turn it into a major remodel. However, after one teeny mistake, my family insisted on a total makeover — which brings us to our first home improvement tip: The Importance of Bearing Walls.

You will discover that there are certain walls in your home — possibly even in the bathroom — which should not be removed because, as it turns out, portions of your home will collapse. As important as “bearing walls” are to your home’s infrastructure, they aren’t marked as such and, as a general rule, look just like other walls in your home. Which is why anyone who accidentally removes one, thereby inadvertently causing the total destruction of an otherwise functional bathroom, should be forgiven for this oversight.

So, let’s assume the worst happens, and you find yourself standing in the middle of the downstairs bathroom while surrounded by the upstairs closet. And let’s assume your family, in a show of support, still hasn’t insisted on hiring a professional. Such as a hit man.

The next step is to rebuild the bathroom — and your family’s trust — as quickly as possible. To do this, you’ll need organization and a basic knowledge of plumbing and electricity. If you don’t possess this knowledge, don’t worry! You will quickly gain it through practical experience, i.e., connecting the wrong wires and practically electrocuting yourself. Through this process of trial and error you will eventually be able to flush the commode without causing the outlets to spark.

The first step, however, is to clear the area of debris. Depending on the extent of damage to your bathroom, you may be able to do this quickly and easily by shoveling the debris directly through the floor and depositing it under the house. If a hole doesn’t exist, feel free to make one. If your spouse catches you, feel free to crawl inside and seal it up behind you.

Once the room has been cleared, it’s time to rebuild. Start with the bearing wall. Aside from its structural significance, it will symbolize the emotional healing process you are trying to foster with your family — and help avoid the need for a physical healing process should the bathroom be out of commission for more than 24 hours.

Next comes plumbing and wiring, which, I’d like to point out, should never been done at the same time. Sure, it may be faster and easier to run new wiring through an existing water line. But take it from me: If your pet occasionally drinks out of the commode, it’s not worth the risk. The same goes for any other shortcuts that could turn your morning bathroom visit into what looks like an episode of So You Think You Can Dance.

That said, I hope this advice has been helpful. Feel free to contact me if you have any questions. I’ll be happy to answer them as soon as I fix this leak in the light switch.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or visit his blog at nedhickson.wordpress.com)

Dignity is easier to swallow with hot sauce

Within our lives there are certain moments that inspire a deeper understanding of ourselves. I experienced such an epiphany yesterday morning during a quiet moment of introspection; crouched in the backyard; sprinkling dog poop with hot sauce.

To clarify, I was not attempting to create the world’s most disgusting Cajun appetizer. According to a book on canine behavior, this would train our dog to avoid eating his “leftovers.” It was in that moment, while clutching a bottle of Tabasco and trying not to be seen by my neighbors, I came to realize that somewhere along the way providing our dog with decent manners had become more important than maintaining my personal dignity.

How did this happen?

I’m a 46-year-old man who survived the diaper phases of two children — both of whom were heavy eaters. I’ve had my share of high profile, low-dignity diaper changes, one of which required quick thinking, commando-like precision, and a paper plate. I’ve sat across from my four-year-old son at a busy restaurant in downtown San Francisco, handed him a cheese stick appetizer, and watched him yak up what appeared to be everything he’d consumed since graduating to solid foods. I tried to salvage the situation by waiting for a lull in gastrol activity and then racing him into the men’s room. And let me just say had the rest rooms been clearly marked, we probably would’ve made it.

What got me through those times, of course, was knowing, as a parent, I could look forward to eventually becoming an embarrassment to my children once they entered middle school.

However, as I crouched over Stanley’s latest pile with my Tabasco bottle at the ready, one thought kept running through my mind:

You can’t embarrass a dog. Particularly one with questionable intelligence.

This meant I had either (a) matured to the point of not caring what others thought of me based on their own one-dimensional perception, or (b) succumbed to the realization that the last of my dignity had been wrung out into a mop bucket in San Francisco.

In either case, it meant I had moved on to a new phase in my life. A time that will eventually prepare me for my later years, when I’m secure enough in myself that the opinions of others — or even the basic rules of traffic — no longer matter. However, reaching that level of self assuredness is still years away, which is why, after noticing I’d been crouched over the same pile for several minutes, I quickly sprinkled it and moved on.

As far as I can tell, Stanley is no longer interested in his “leftovers.” I know this because he has stopped coming in from outside and standing with his tongue in the water bowl. At the same time, it’s proven to be a trade-off since I can’t put Tabasco on my eggs without getting queasy.

The important thing is that the experience has allowed me to achieve some personal growth thanks to a few moments of introspection about fodderhood.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR 97439.)

Cosmetic surgery—boldly taking us where no one in their right mind has gone before

Today, we will be talking about an important milestone in the field of cosmetic surgery. Why? Because on my desk this morning was a press release with the following headline:

At long Last! Buttocks Enhancement Surgery available in U.S.!

So, as you can see, I really had no choice.

Especially since, as a professional courtesy, one of my fellow journalists had taken the time to write “Urgent!” across the top. (And, yes—these are the kinds of things that regularly cross my desk.)

As you might expect, buttocks enhancement surgery is just like other cosmetic procedures in that the sole purpose is to improve the physical attributes of a person. This is accomplished by either enlarging or reducing the size of said attribute.

Which can be singular or plural.

And we’ll just leave it at that.

In this case, however, we’re talking about enlarging the buttocks. While many people, such as myself, prefer to achieve this naturally through a program of rigorous eating and lack of exercise, there are others who don’t want to wait for the holidays for a larger rear. For these people there is Dr. Mark Jewell, vice-president of the National Aesthetic Society, which is currently offering this procedure here in the U.S.

According to the press release, buttocks enhancement surgery has actually been popular in South America for many years.

Ah, yes—South America! We may not have indoor plumbing, but just look at our butts.

The enhancement process itself can take place three ways. The first is to inject fat directly into the gluteus muscles, which may SOUND gross, but…

Okay, yeah—it’s actually pretty gross.

The second is to go with plastic implants that are inserted directly behind the gluteus muscles. This technique, according to Dr. Jewell, is supposed to look the most natural.

That is, as long as you don’t plan on going swimming. If you do, the natural buoyancy of the plastic implants will add a whole new meaning to the term “bottoms-up.” It’s because of this that you can expect to see an increase in the number of pool injuries, particularly those caused by large children leaping onto what they thought was a wayward floatation device.

The final option is for the surgeon to make an incision directly in the skin surrounding the buttocks, and then stretch it up much like a face lift. The main difference being, of course, that too many of these, and you’ll permanently suffer from the world’s worst wedgie.

This brings us to our next segment: Face transplants.

This is exactly what it sounds like—surgically replacing someone’s entire face all at one time. This is obviously a vast improvement over replacing someone’s face over the course of many years, which, as you know, was first pioneered by Michael Jackson.

According to a report in Britain’s The Daily News, plastic surgeon Peter Butler says he plans to carry out a full-face transplant as early as next April. Butler says the experiment will be performed at London’s “Royal Free Hospital” — which is the perfect place since, if something goes wrong, his patient will be royally…

Well — you know.

Butler, however, isn’t the only surgeon vying to perform the first successful face transplant. According to a recent article in the journal Medicine, there are at least three other teams of surgeons around the world working on techniques that will allow facial skin, muscles, blood vessels and nerves to be removed from a corpse and attached to someone other than Ted Koppel.

As you can see, we have a lot to look forward to when it comes to the future of cosmetic surgery. Yet, I’d suggest against going in for buttocks enhancement surgery and a face transplant all at once.

Unless your willing to risk finding out that hindsight really is 20/20.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, Or. 97439)

The bigger your lips, the sexier you’ll be when it comes to dating a sucker fish

Nothing says “sexy” faster than someone with a pair of giant lips, even if that person’s collagen injections have made their lips so enormously seductive that they can’t actually pronounce the word “sexy,” and must instead settle for calling themselves “shek-shee.” The point is, big lips are no longer just a cosmetic enhancement for people less fortunate than Mick Jagger and Angelina Jolie, whose lips are so large and incredibly sexy that they are prohibited by international law from bearing children together because, quote: “Said children could potentially upset the delicate balance between populations of humans and sucker fish.”

Though we all know that true beauty stems from inside, as any cosmetics surgeon will tell you, no one will notice unless your lips are the size of tractor tires. Which is why a new product called City Lips is being heralded as the newest, easiest and safest way to give you the lips you always wanted, but never dreamed you could have, at least not without surgically implanting tire stems in them and inflating your lips to 350 psi.

Until now, those of us unable to afford expensive collagen injections were forced to live with the embarrassment of having normal, everyday lips. But thanks to City Lips, you can avoid the hassle and expense of collagen injections by using their patented do-it-yourself lip enlargement process!

That’s right! Say goodbye to snobby surgeons telling you how much better you’d look with Julia Roberts lips when their own lips look like Phyllis Diller’s. With each purchase of City Lips you’ll receive one bottle of specially formulated “lip transformer” solution and a patented dual-action applicator. This applicator is a crucial part of City Lips’ groundbreaking, two-step process — which starts by applying the “lip transformer” with one side of the patented applicator and then, after turning the applicator over, whacking your lips with it as many times as possible for 10 minutes.

Okay, I made that last part up. But according to City Lips, their new product has been named “Best Over-the-Counter Lip Plumper” by Good Housekeeping, which, as you know, recently debunked the common misconception that you could increase the size of your lips by spraying them with Pledge (although it will keep them shiny and smelling lemony fresh).

I’d also like to point out that after three large margaritas, trying to say “Best Over-the-Counter Lip Plumper” will at least make your feel like your lips are really huge.

I bring this up because I’m concerned about the mixed message this sends to young women. On one hand, they’re seeing supermodels getting thinner and thinner. On the other hand, they’re seeing those same models trip over their own lips on the runway, with nothing to break their fall except for other stumbling models, who then land in a flailing heap of inflated lips and silicone.

No more. It’s time to quit pouting, pucker up, and accept each other’s lips just the way they are.

Unless pouting makes your lips look fuller, of course.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR. 97439)

Being Canadian for a day could lead to a strained Molson muscle

Today we will be talking about Canada.

Why?

Because aside from the many similarities we share with Canadians, such as celebrating our independence day the very same weekend, and our historic bi-lateral agreement banning any future above-ground testing of Michael Jackson’s reproductive system, I have been offered an official Canadian citizenship starting at 12:00 a.m. on July 1.

OK, so my citizenship will only last 24 hours.

Possibly less, depending on how I pronounce the word “Poutine” (which, from what I understand, is a French word meaning “clogged artery”). However, if all goes well, I will get to spend an entire day as a real Canadian, eating nothing but Tim Horton’s Donuts, chewing purple gum that tastes like soap, and stretching my Molson muscle (which I swear only sounds inappropriate for a family newspaper.)

Undoubtedly there are readers in the U.S. who are surprised, possibly even outraged, by my willingness to become a Canadian citizen. Rest assured this decision came after many hours of soul searching, and the realization that with my free Canadian health coverage — and access to a high performance vehicle — I could potentially see more medical specialists in 24 hours than I’ve seen in the past 15 years on my HMO. I could use a different dermatologist for each mole on my body! This is a vast improvement over my current health plan, which only covers moles large enough to be claimed as a dependent.

And even then, only until it reaches age 18.

You may be wondering how the offer of a 24-hour citizenship came aboot (That’s not a typo; it’s Canadian phonetics). As much as I’d like to tell you it’s a direct result of the impact my column has had on the Canadian people, the truth is it has more to do with Rob Gilgan, editor and publisher of the Rimbey Review in Alberta, who offered me this one-day citizenship. This is in exchange for a monthly shipment of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese from the U.S. which, by not being subject to Canada’s “Goods and Services Tax,” will save Rob an estimated $3,000 a year.

At least in U.S. dollars.

I’m not sure what that equals in Canadian currency because it’s measured in millimeters.

Or kilograms.

Or some type of denomination meant to confuse U.S. tourists — thousands of whom are arrested each year for driving 120 mph through downtown Edmonton. These are the same people who arrive in Alberta in late July dressed in polar fleece because they think there’s a 50-degree temperature drop between the U.S. and Canadian border.

To be honest, free medical coverage wasn’t my only motivation for becoming a Canadian citizen. I’m more interested in seeing attractions like the giant Ukrainian Easter egg in Vegreville, Alberta, which stands an amazing nine meters tall! According to my calculations, if this were an actual egg, it would have to be laid by a chicken roughly the size of Rita McNeil.

Or, in standard U.S. measurements, 1-in-5 people leaving McDonald’s.

As you can tell, I’m excited about my 24-hour Canadian citizenship. To make the most of it I plan to see as much of Alberta as possible, beginning with a quick trip through Edmonton, and continuing on to Rimbey and Vegreville.

Of course, that’s assuming I don’t get arrested for speeding, or worse — get hospitalized by a non-French-speaking woman after striking up a conversation about her “Poutine.”

Hey, at least I’ll have health coverage.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR. 97439.)

Okay, maybe fruitcake doesn’t threaten humanity

Journalism can be a dangerous profession, even for those of us who never actually leave our desk unless a “situation” develops, such as the sudden and unprovoked arrival of free donuts. On several occasions, I have found myself in harm’s way as a dozen employees stampeded into the break room (which, according to the Fire Marshal, has a “maximum occupancy level of two, as long as no one is using the commode.”) It is at those times, while being crushed between fellow employees grappling for the last maple bar, that I am reminded of just how dangerous my job can be.

But it doesn’t end there.

No.

Not for those of us with the courage to SPEAK OUT against what is wrong with the world. Or, in my case, what is wrong with fruitcake.

As you may remember (and judging by the number of fruitcakes that have been appearing on my desk, at my home, or through the window of my car, many of you do), it was last year around this time that I drew the wrath of fruitcake lovers everywhere after suggesting that untold numbers of people (source: Dan Rather) suffer from Fruitcake Disposal Anxiety Disorder.

To refresh your memory, FDAD occurs when the recipient of said fruitcake has feelings of anxiety over how to dispose of their gift in a way that is (a) respectful, without (b) inadvertently raising the terrorist threat level. I say this because, unlike its English counterpart, which is said to be moist and delicious, American fruitcake is known — like many U.S. food products — for its durability. This is especially true of commercially produced fruitcakes, which are primarily used to keep decorative tins from getting bent during shipping.

My flagrant disregard for fruitcake rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Particularly those who were already on edge after waking up from the holidays in a rum-induced fog. I was besieged with e-mails and letters from readers like Lesley Hatcher of Panama City, Fla., and Dale and Yvonne Pretzer of Florence, Ore., who promised to change my mind about fruitcake by sending me homemade samples this year.

I had no reason to suspect this would actually happen, and that I would receive enough fruitcake to finish the retaining wall in my back yard. If I had, I would’ve also flagrantly disregarded beef tenderloin, and any Scotch over 30 years old.

But a promise is a promise. I said I would sample everything with an open mind and, in the event of a sudden fruitcake epiphany, seek immediate medical attention. After which, I would issue a formal apology to the fruitcake lovers of the world.

Just as soon as doctors had me stabilized.

Due to the volume of fruitcake I have been consuming, this process has taken longer than expected since I’ve spent most of the last few weeks hung over and picking candied fruit from my teeth. However, I’m willing to admit I may have overstated things when I called fruitcake a “threat to humanity.” The same goes for what I said about launching fruitcakes into space as a defense against alien invaders.

The truth is, I may have to renounce my title as “Ned Hickson: The Fruitcake Grinch,” as given to me by the Pretzers. I’m not saying I’ll be joining the Society for the Preservation of Fruitcake any time soon. Only that I’d be willing to put myself in harm’s way should we experience an unprovoked fruitcake attack again next year.

Which brings us to our next topic: My flagrant disregard for live-shipped Maine lobster…

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR 97439.)