It's Good To Have A Goal

One day, I'll be able to do this ...

Don't Mess This Up

Want to give the State of Texas a permanent place in New York City?

"Don't Mess with Texas" has been nominated as one of the best slogans of all time. The slogan is nominated alongside Nike's "Just Do It" and Wheaties' "The Breakfast of Champions."

(For those of you who are thinking, "Actually, 'Just Do It' is a much better slogan" -- you just don't get it. It's not about that. It's about state pride. And, on top of that, you are wrong.)

Winners are selected American Idol-style with online voting. If it wins, a plaque will be placed on Madison Avenue's "Walk of Fame" and it will get a permanent place at the Advertising Icon Museum in Kansas City.

With 22 million Texans, how can we lose? Here's how you can help.

1. Most important, go to www.votedmwt.com and vote for "Don't Mess with Texas." One vote per computer, so you can vote at work and at home.

2. Forward this email or the above link today to friends, family and coworkers and ask them to vote for "Don't Mess with Texas."

3. Post this on your blog.

I am not an ant

Watch enough Discovery Channel and you'll soon learn that ants can lift twice their body weight. (Or was that Starr Jones?)

Anyway, I learned last week that I am not an ant.

Like all good Texas tourists in Colorado, we went horseback riding on the annual Murray Family Vacation. It was a perfectly clear day and the Mr. Ed references were flowing freely. Among the horses were Elmer, San Juan, Caracas, Rick, Too Tall, and Lanny. I rode Chuck. (Sorry Seinfeld fans. No Snoopy or Prickly Pete.)

I was not the last of us city slickers to be assigned a horse, but if it had been a race to get in the saddle, I would have been in last place. Dead last.

Yes, my friends, I could not pull myself up. While my family was watching from their saddled mounts, I was aided by Rufus (yes, our trail guide's name was Rufus) as I tried (twice) to pull myself up onto Chuck. I just couldn't do it. I knew the procedure, but I just couldn't execute.

With my Texan citizenship on the line, Rufus walked over and retrieved the most dreaded of trail ride implements -- the steps. I had to use a homemade plywood set of steps to climb up into the saddle. Pathetic.

There's a saying about dusting yourself off and getting back in the saddle if you fall off. But what happens if you aren't in the saddle in the first place?


(Photo courtesy of Russian Horse Rides. It's NOT me!)

Blahg? Blah, Blah, Blah!

OK, OK. I get the point: My blog has become a blahg.

Thanks for the e-mails and words of encouragement over the past few weeks -- or should I say thanks for the "scolding" instead? One person assumed that the last picture and prediction I posted came to fruition and that I was serving time in prison for offing Dave. Not so.

So, stop yawning, my friends. I'm back.