Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing abracadabra.

This has got to be one of my favorite words. Even more so than tuxedo. Not only does abracadabra look like a palindrome, but it makes the speaker sound worldly and sophisticated. Abracadabra dates back to the 2nd century, but was made popular by modern magicians, mostly cartoon magicians, who would speak the phrase when performing a magic trick.

I’ve tried working it into conversation as often as possible, but not being a magician myself, few opportunities present themselves. Recently, when my neighbor asked if I’d seen her dog, I replied, “abracadabra!” She looked up at me, wiped the tears from her face, smiled slightly, looked around, then behind her, and then finally back at me, confused. There was no dog to be found, but my use of this phrase had misled her. Then she asked if I was implying that I had taken her dog. I had, because that dog needed to be set free, but that wasn’t at all what I meant. Needless to say, this word can easily lead to confusion.

My brother was much more adept with abracadabra. As children, he would take something of mine, and when I would inquire as to the whereabouts of my allergy medicine or my glasses, he would say, “abracadabra” with a big smile on his face. That was his way of explaining he was responsible, and I would never see whatever was missing again. I always told him he’d make a good magician. He always told me to stop telling him what to do.

During my senior prom I left my date, Norma Crutchley, briefly, to get some punch. When I returned she was in a deep embrace, kissing my brother. He opened one eye, looked right at me and said, with his tongue still in her mouth, “abbrrkdbbr.” I could never have enunciated so well under such circumstances.

His clever use of this phrase continued well into adulthood. Before he vanished, my brother emptied my bank account. I suspected him immediately because he’s the only person that looks just like me (we’re twins, lightly conjoined, and separated soon after birth). He pretty much confirmed my suspicions when I called to confront him. “Abracadabra,” he said, before hanging up the phone. That was over thirty years ago now. It was probably the greatest disappearing act by a non-magician ever.

If it weren’t for all the difficult memories associated with this phrase (and my inability to use it effectively), I would probably give it a full five stars.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing Jimmy Fallon’s face.

Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing needlepoint.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, needlepoint is a way of making pictures and signs by weaving thread through cloth! It sounds sort of like sewing, but differs in that it serves no actual function. Needlepoint images can be of literally anything. Anything. Imagine the most beautiful painting you’ve ever seen, then imagine it drawn on a computer circa 1985. That’s needlepoint!

You know that famous phrase “Home, sweet home?” You can thank needlepoint for that. My mother was such a fan of that phrase that she rendered it hundreds of times in needlepoint. As she entered her final days, one can see the degradation of her mind reflected by pieces that became increasingly abstract and frightening. One of them my dad burned because he said it wasn’t meant for this world.

Needlepoint needn’t be restricted to mounted cloth. It can be placed on mobile cloth like pillows, jackets or blankets. It’s that versatile! One of the few things it can’t do is placate a home intruder. The phrase, “Please take my needlepoint, and leave my TV and money” has proven surprisingly ineffective on more than one occasion.

I wish more people valued needlepoint the way they should. Whenever I go to the museum I ask an employee where the needlepoint wing is, but I’m always met with a blank stare. To encourage the museum, I donated a bag of my mother’s needlepoint at their front entrance in the middle of the night. I included a note that read, simply, “You’re welcome.”

One of the most compelling aspects of needlepoint is that it can be done by anyone. Artistic skills or an imagination are not prerequisites! With countless patterns available, one can create the same preimagined scene as dozens of other lonely people. Still, there is room for customization – simply change a thread color or omit a cat. Needlepoint may take hours upon hours, but the results are so worth it.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing Isaac Fitzgerald.

Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing the erection I had last Thursday.

As a senior citizen, my erections appear with less frequency than in the swollen days of my youth. It’s a combination of age, medication, and the fact that I simply put forth less of an effort. So when it happens, I take note.

The erection I had last Thursday could not have come at a worse time. I was taking a stroll through the woods. Alone. To some this may sound like an ideal time for an erection, but the last thing I wanted was for a fellow traveler to encounter me. Happening upon an old man alone in the woods with an erection is suspicious no matter how one looks at it.

I’m not sure what the catalyst was. It might have been the cloud that looked like a young Judy Garland or the plant that looked like a Georgia O’Keeffe painting. Whatever the cause, the erection was there and was making no attempt to leave.

Of course, there was one sure-fire way to rid myself of it, but the risk was too great. Anyone who knows me knows how terrified I am of animal hybrids. If I left my seed behind, and a female coyote were to sit on it, probably nothing would happen. But what if? I could never be party to something so horrific. And if my unintentional offspring were caught and dissected, its DNA could be traced back to me. Everyone would know what I had done.

I stood waist-deep in brush for a full three hours, unsure of what to do. Although it waned at times, the erection never fully subsided. Being subject to the whim of my body made me feel so powerless. Like how I imagine rape victims feel, only this time I was both the rapist and rapee. I felt so angry and wanted to punch myself, possibly even down there. But soon I was so overwhelmed that I began to cry. It turns out crying is a big turn-off for me. Before I could wipe the tears from my face the erection was gone.

Learning to adapt made me feel empowered, which made my erection come back slightly. Now I carry in my wallet a list of things sure to make me sad.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing The Iceburn Collective.

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Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing Google.

I’ve been singing the praises of Google since I discovered them several years ago. Google is a website (located at Google.com) where you can type in literally anything (no matter how illegal), and they’ll show it to you. Let me explain.

Several weeks ago I had a disconcerting rash all over my torso and nether regions. My mailman didn’t know what it was, so I went to Google and typed in a description of the rash. Within seconds I found pictures of people with the exact same affliction: Ringworm! I asked Google for a cure, and it offered a number of solutions from a $2000 healing workshop to something called Megastop SkinClear, which could be mine for only several installments. But at the bottom of the page I found a more appealing cure: sunlight. When I searched for sunlight, Google showed me pictures of Mexico. It looked like a vacation was in order!

Google also helped me rent a car to drive there, find a motel in Mexico City, meet a nice friend because I was lonely, find an ATM because that friend’s friend wanted me to pay for friendship, and find a new place to rent a car because my new friends seemed to need my car more than I did. Google did everything for me, making doctors, bank tellers and travel agents unnecessary. It’s no wonder everyone is losing their jobs – they’ve been made obsolete by Google.

I’ve been wondering how Google can make any money because I’ve never had to pay them a dime. I keep checking my mail to see if they send me a bill, but so far, nothing. My guess is they are a humanitarian effort, probably funded by donations from the community. But if everyone loses their job to Google, who will donate to them? I think soon Google will have destroyed the very people who help support it, driving our entire nation into poverty.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still use Google. It’s an invaluable service, and I’ve probably only got a few years left anyway, so I won’t be here to witness the collapse of our nation. Not unless Google can find me a cure for death.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing protons.

Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing crying.

Crying is a great way of showing people you’re sad or in pain. It’s more subtle than yelling out, “My feelings are hurt!” or “I’ve wounded myself!” (Such proclamations make one seem needy.) That’s why crying is meant for when there are people around. I’ve never understood people who cry alone – nobody will see that except for Peeping Toms. It’s a waste of perfectly good moisture that could better utilized for sweat or saliva or other secretions. Crying alone is just careless.

Whenever I begin to cry and I’m alone I often run out into the street to show people, unless the tears are caused by an injury that prevents me from running. Then I might hobble or roll outside. If no one is nearby I’ll get in my car and drive around until I see a crowd of people. I’ll pull up and ask for directions, hoping someone will notice the tears running down my face. Then they’ll know.

If I feel like I’m going to stop crying before I can find anyone, I’ll take a photo of myself. Then I’ll mail it to someone I know, and on the back of the photo write, “thinking of you.” I don’t mention the tears in the photo because again, that wouldn’t be very subtle. This usually elicits a phone call from the recipient within a day or two. When he or she asks why I’m crying in the photo I say, “Oh, am I? I hadn’t noticed. I guess I must have been sad because of [insert whatever made me sad].”

That’s what crying does – it offers an opportunity to create a dialogue and discuss one’s feelings. Sometimes I’ll ask, “Why are you crying” to someone who isn’t, just as a means of starting a conversation. I’ve met a number of people that way. None of them have proven to be long-lasting friends, but at least they know I cared.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing a puzzle I can’t solve.

Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing Johnny Tremain’s hand.

Johnny Tremain is the main character of the eponymously titled book set in 1700s Boston. Like most people, he had two hands. Unlike most people, he ruined one in a silversmithing mishap. The hand was burned and disfigured and no one wanted to look at it. That’s how gross it was.

But what if his hand had managed to transform into the shape of a bunny rabbit or a race car instead of a melted blob? Johnny’s life could have been so much more. His hand would have intrigued people. Passersby would comment, “Your hand looks so futuristic!” (If it were the race car shape.) He could use clever euphemisms for masturbation such as “I’m going to feed the bunny a carrot.” (If it were the bunny shape.) But instead of making the most of a bad situation, Johnny became a paperboy – an obvious cry for help. Everyone knows paperboys are depressed loners. (Every time I see my paperboy he’s got ink all over his hands and is begging for money.)

I can’t know exactly how Johnny was feeling – in part because he was fictional – but I know how I felt after one of the worst haircuts of my life. I was only twelve and it was the day before my first day of middle school. I think my barber had been drinking and the result made me regret turning away that wig salesman only hours earlier. I had to wear a shower cap (we couldn’t afford a hat) for several weeks until my hair grew out. I figure Johnny Tremain felt the same mix of despair and embarrassment, but multiplied several times over because his hand was never going to grow out of its grossness.

It’s a shame he couldn’t use the circumstances to his advantage. For instance, a hand-puppet version of the Elephant Man would have been a brilliant career move. It may sound tasteless, but it’s all in the portrayal. And Johnny would have occupied a very niche corner of theater. One obstacle is that Joseph Merrick didn’t exist yet, but that’s what imagination is for.

By the end of the book some doctor “fixes” Johnny’s hand, but the psychological damage can’t be undone so easily. Even though his hand may look and function like a regular person’s hand, in Johnny’s mind he probably still hates it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t put a glove on it in the winter, or purposely shakes hands with people he knows have really strong, almost painful handshakes just to get back at it.

There was a lot of missed opportunity with that hand. Reading Johnny Tremain I kept turning the page, expecting Johnny to come to his senses. But his hand was just too much for him.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing Johnny Tremain’s other hand.

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Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing Oculto Pantalones Nudist Colony.

While getting lost on my way to Caldor (it turns out they’re out of business, so don’t bother looking for the store yourself) to pick up a new toaster, I ended up in the woods. I parked my car and began hiking through thick brush to the top of a mountain thinking that would be a great vantage point from which to locate the Caldor. I never made it to the top because I discovered a secret nudist colony.

It was populated exclusively by three grown men in their mid fifties, Paul, Nigel and Derrick. All they had was a tent, a few belongings, and the fruits of the land. I asked what they wear in the winter and Derrick told me they cuddle for warmth near the fire. I asked if they get lonely and Nigel told me to shut up.

They said they’d been there for six years and were loving it. No one bothered them or told them to wear clothes. Fashion trends didn’t concern them and they laughed at the notion of pockets. In keeping with their culture I disrobed as well. It was amazing. If I were a younger man I would consider joining them. The thrill of playing a game of Scrabble naked was exhilarating.

Although they get along now, there was a time of discord. Nigel and Derrick are brothers and this often made Paul feel out of place. So Paul abandoned the camp and formed his own nudist colony about 300 feet away. But when Nigel and Derrick ran out of food, and Paul managed to tackle a wounded deer, they worked things out. (The sign, ‘Paul’s Better Nudist Colony’ still remains, perhaps as a threatening reminder.)

Oculto Pantalones is actively seeking new members, enough so that they hid my car keys and pants to try and make me stay. But it’s not only old men who are allowed to join. In particular, Paul said, “We really need some women. Any women as long as they’re naked. Actually, fuck that, I’d settle for a woman with clothes.” “Sometimes I’ll send up smoke signals in Morse code,” Nigel added. “They say ‘we are here and we are naked.’” So far no one has responded.

They are three passionate men, communing with nature and unafraid of being true to themselves. It’s an inspiring site and one worth your time. If you’d like to join them, I recommend it. Unfortunately it was the middle of the night when I left, and I could barely see anything. So other than saying they’re in Western Massachusetts, I can’t offer any more details. Maybe try driving to Caldor and you might stumble upon their little utopia like I did.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing Mercurochrome.

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Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing nonprofits.

If you ever decide to start your own nonprofit – don’t. They may sound like fun, but the truth is they’re very difficult to run. For starters, if you want to be taken seriously, you’ll need an office. Even if you don’t know what to do with it and even if you can’t afford it. Then, because that office will feel so empty and lonely and also because whenever the mailman walks in you feel suspicious for being in an empty office all alone just watching TV, you’ll need to hire some employees.

Lots of people want jobs these days, so finding prospective employees is easy and a great way to meet new people. (New people who act like they like you even if they don’t.) It’s lots of fun until the interviewee asks you a question like, “What does this job entail?” And when you don’t know how to answer because you don’t even want to hire he or she in the first place, you’re likely to stumble over your words and accidentally blurt out, “none of your business.” That’s when you thank he or she for coming in and cross your fingers the next one won’t be so inquisitive. Because the position is undefined you just hire the ones who smile a lot and seem friendly.

At this point you’ve got an actual office full of real people, and keeping them busy is so hard. There’s a limit to the number of times you can tell someone to file away something which you promptly pull back out and ask to be filed away again. Especially when it’s the only file you have. Definitely get extra files if you start a nonprofit.

Another hurdle is that you’re a nonprofit. This means you don’t make money, so paying salaries is basically impossible. Fortunately, that problem kind of works itself out when everyone quits because you never paid them.

Not paying your other bills is where the real difficulties arise. You’ll get evicted and Rent-2-Own will show up to take back all your furniture. The next thing you know your dreams of having a nonprofit have been crushed.

I say, if you’re going to start anything, make it something profit oriented. Popular things that sell very well include: gasoline, jewels, iPhone apps, and sexual entertainment. Open a place that sells one or all of those.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing the back of David Byrne’s head.

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Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I understand contemporary children’s entertainment won’t be the Lassie or Family Circus I enjoyed in my youth and I’m completely open to the disturbing trends of today, like that little Caillou child who has progeria. If heart-wrenching cartoons of sickly children are what the kids like, okay. But there’s one cartoon I find particularly disturbing: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I discovered them last week when they appeared on the toothpaste I bought at the dollar store. They’re apparently quite popular and can be found on a number of products. Generally speaking, I find popularity to be a good measure of quality. Take, for instance, the career of Faith Hill. She’s famous because of her inimitable talent. But in the case of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the popularity disturbs me.

According to their movie (also available at the dollar store), these turtles began as regular turtles who were exposed to some type of transformative material which made them teenagers and ninjas all at once. This is completely impossible and terribly misleading.

One of my favorite childhood shows was the Howdy Doody Show, a show in which the star was a small puppet. But as a child I couldn’t understand the concept of a puppet and believed Howdy Doody to be a new, slightly terrifying species of man. It caused a lot of complications for me. Children simply don’t have the capacity to differentiate reality from fiction, and it’s utterly wreckless to suggest the possibility of talking turtle-men.

At the very least we’re setting our children up for embarrassment with the dollar store clerk who makes fun of them for believing the movie is a documentary. At most we’re raising a generation of children who will be microwaving themselves and pouring chemicals on their friends with the expectation of super powers. Most of them will survive, but they will be horribly disfigured and this will greatly impede their chances for reproducing. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are a direct threat to mankind’s survival.

To combat this threat, I’ve started a non-profit called Future Procreations Against Turtles. Spread the word and donate if you can. The unborn children of the future are counting on you. (I do give the Teenage Mutuant Ninja Turtles one star, because they like pizza and so do I!)

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing flop sweat.

Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing Public Service Announcements.

There are a lot of things I don’t always know I should be doing, and public service announcements (or PSAs) help to inform me. While listening to the radio the other day, I heard a PSA from a man, Patrick Dempsey (fortunately, because I’m always more attentive to the words of celebrities than I am ordinary people), warning me of the dangers of plastic bags. He informed me not to place them over the heads of small children, thus preventing suffocation. This is good to know because I don’t like it when children die. I only wish I had heard this PSA before my nephew’s birthday party last April. He lived a short 27 years.

Sometimes, when I’m watching TV, I find myself annoyed by the show and wish it would hurry up so I can learn something new from a PSA. On occasion a PSA will be about something I already know, but that makes it no less enjoyable. It reminds me that other people may be unaware, so I’ll make an extra effort to work the subject into conversation. I’ll tell my barber, “Please give me a trim and if you’re suffering from an eating disorder you should seek help.” Or I’ll pull up next to a motorist at a traffic light and ask, “Where are you off to today? I’m going exactly where my turn signal indicates.” Then I’ll point to the turn signal which is blinking in the direction I’m traveling.

There’s nothing I can think of that’s more helpful than a PSA. Nothing. It’s a fantastic use of time and resources from which everyone can benefit. Some might argue the thousands of dollars it takes to create one could be better used if donated to any number of charities. And when I think of an argument for that I’ll update this post. For now I have to go with my gut on this.

There is one PSA I’ve never seen and I hope somebody makes it. It would indicate to people the importance of not swallowing unmarked pills one finds in an abandoned car. I’ve seen too many people get stomach aches from that.

Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing the year 2008.