In a more whimsical vein comes Bob Mathews’ Chicks Dig Fries: A Guide for Clueless Men. This slim volume offers tips on how men can win the affectionate approval of their female friends and lovers. Drawing on some apparently hard-won experience in the lost-love department, TV executive Mathews delivers handy advice accompanied by his own cutesy color cartoons, one tidbit to a page. This stuff hardly qualifies as even pop psychology “Chicks dig . . . a guy who makes a big deal out of her birthday”; or, “Chicks dig . . . a guy who will share the at-home work load.” And yes, chicks dig chocolate and pillows and the gentlemanly touch and cotton balls and potpourri and honesty. And a whole lot of other things. One gets the feeling that this lightweight but mildly amusing primer might have been commissioned by a committee of manipulative women. At any rate, you can be sure that the book should find its way into the Christmas stocking of many a (presumably clueless) guy. Ephemeral fun.

Finally, for those who indulge a bit too much in holiday goodies, there is the hilarious, heartfelt The Sound of One Thigh Clapping, Meredith Clair’s meditation on the eternal fight against fat. After failing at quick-fix diets, Clair enrolled in a weight-loss class led by a woman with a Zen attitude. Inspired, Clair decided to pen her own weight-loss creed. The result is this hilarious book filled with haikus (17-syllable verses) that cut right to the heart of the matter: dieting is no fun, but it can be funny. Clair’s gems pay tribute well, sort of to some of the most beloved diet-busters: “Fond memories of Hidden Valley Ranch, where I last saw my waistline.” “Thank you, Buffalo, for the memories, the wings, and the extra pounds.” “Tasty pink grapefruit significantly less so after the eighth day.” Clair also shares down-to-earth advice on how to avoid caloric temptation, and perhaps more importantly, how to change one’s self-image. With its whimsical illustrations and refreshing point of view, The Sound of One Thigh Clapping is one self-help book that doesn’t take itself too seriously. All Amy Scribner wants from Santa is less traffic on the Washington, D.C., Beltway.

he clock is ticking T. M. Shine is not your average working man; he eats lunch alone, he smarts off to his boss and he excels at cheating the work system. Combining a zest for anal-retentiveness and a sardonic attitude, Shine considers the insane idiosyncrasies of living in his new book, Timeline.

Shine’s book is just what the title suggests: a diary for a month of his life, which he documents by the minute and sometimes even by the second. Instead of cataloguing monumental events, Shine reaches for the most mundane moments (“the bottom of your shoe and everything that has stuck to it all day”) and gives them flare. “8:05 a.m.: Neighbor who only watches PBS and is always full of historical facts rushes over the border of my property, stops short, and yells, ” Did you know Lewis and Clark were gay?’ That explains everything, I say.” For 31 days, the reader is with Shine in his voyage through the purple haze of the 21st century, listening in on his stream-of-conscious commentary. A favorite target is the overbearing media he encounters. In one instance, Shine hears a news flash on the radio about Puff Daddy having sex on the beach. Puffy’s publicist denies the account, claiming that “Puffy hates sand.” Later that day when Shine finally gets to leave the drudgery of the workplace, a neighbor greets him with, “What’s new?” Shine replies: “Puffy hates sand.” In the hands of another writer, this compilation of the daily detritus of life might prove depressing. But Shine, a newspaper humor columnist, manages to make us laugh at the absurdity of it all.

For most of us, the months between high school graduation and our first days of college are filled with excitement, anticipation and, well, a lot of questions. For the soon-to-be college student (and his or her parents), syndicated columnist Harlan Cohen has all the answers in his hilarious guide, The Naked Roommate: And 107 Other Issues You Might Run Into in College. Filled with practical advice, expert opinions and first-hand accounts from collegians, The Naked Roommate guides students through situations such as handling a difficult roommate, succeeding in the classroom, and managing money while exposing the truth about dating, drinking and experimenting on campus. Fun and fact-filled, The Naked Roommate is an excellent resource for the college-bound high school graduate.

Abby Plesser will graduate from Vanderbilt University this month.

Yorker wit and wisdom “Everybody talks of The New Yorker‘s art, that is its illustrations, and it has just been described as the best magazine in the world for a person who can not read,” Harold Ross, the magazine’s founder and editor, wrote in a 1925 letter. Oh, how times have changed. Although it’s now a cultural institution, the magazine made a somewhat lackluster debut in February of 1925 and would have folded a few months later had it not been for Ross. A bluff, determined Westerner sometimes at odds with the Eastern elite, the editor fought hard to find a focus for his weekly. Rallying writers in the ’20s and ’30s many of them from the renowned Algonquin Round Table he created a forum that would publish some of the most memorable journalism of the 20th century. The magazine may be named for New York, but its span exceeds the city’s limits. Its list of contributors is long and illustrious John Cheever, Eudora Welty, James Baldwin and William Trevor, to name a few and the number of books written about it or featuring the work of its writers and artists gets bigger every season. Worthy titles crop up regularly we counted eight in the past six months alone and a few of the most recent releases are highlighted here.

One of America’s greatest humorists, New Yorker cartoonist James Thurber was an artist who could, with a few shapely, articulate lines, produce quibbling siblings, bickering spouses and, of course, canines dogs of all shapes and sizes, dispositions and breeds. His big, bumbling mutts were creatures that didn’t know the difference between man and beast, that dragged their owners whither they would and did things only humans could went snow-skiing, say, or got psychoanalyzed. These and other Thurberesque absurdities are collected in The Dog Department: James Thurber on Hounds, Scotties, and Talking Poodles, an endearing anthology, edited by author Michael Rosen, of the artist’s dog-centered writings and drawings. Comprised of New Yorker shorts and unpublished archival material, along with selections from the book Thurber’s Dogs, this delightful, amply illustrated volume is filled with humor, advice and reflection Thurber-style on man’s best friend.

In the 1930s, as a reporter for The New Yorker, John McNulty frequented Costello’s Irish saloon on Third Avenue, a boisterous gin mill filled with cabbies, horseplayers and bums on the make that he immortalized in the pages of the magazine. The results are collected in This Place on Third Avenue, a group of slice-of-life stories brimming with humor and drama that feature the saloon, its habituŽs and their pungent, city-steeped dialect. This is the low life writ large, no fringe, no frills. McNulty calls ’em as he sees ’em, and the titles tell all: “Atheist hit by truck.” “Man here keeps getting arrested all the time.” Though a skyscraper now stands at the site of Costello’s, thanks to McNulty, the spirit of the place and the era lives on.

The Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town brings together the best of the magazine’s trademark “Talk” essays, those succinct journalistic gems, full of crystalline reportage and plainspoken prose, about the everyday and the remarkable, the little man and the big. Spanning nine decades, The Fun of It opens with selections from the 1920s and features contributions by some of the magazine’s best writers, from E. B. White to Jamaica Kincaid to John McPhee. Edited by long-time staff member Lillian Ross, who chose from thousands of pieces, the volume is studded with standouts. Especially memorable are antic essays on the city from a young John Updike, and Jane Kramer’s visit with Samuel Beckett and Buster Keaton.

Another collection of classic profiles by Joseph Mitchell, McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon was included in his anthology Up In the Old Hotel but has not existed as a separate volume since it was first published in 1943, when it became a bestseller. Offering a gallery of unforgettable characters oystermen, barkeeps and street-walking eccentrics, a gypsy king and a true-blue bearded lady McSorley’s is vintage reporting from the man The New York Times once called “a listener of genius.”

Teachers of composition advise their students to write about what they know. It is best not to speculate just how much this advice applies to the life and, ahem, “work” of Mary K. Witte. According to the press release accompanying her book Redneck Haiku, the author lives in Fresno, where the mayor’s name is Bubba, and she works for a garbage company. However, it is safe to say that Witte herself is not a redneck, because clever self-analysis is not the hallmark of this indigenous American species. Trust me; I know. These are my people. And Witte, it almost pains me to admit, lives up to her surname. In more than 100 haikus yes, textbook haiku, three lines, 17 syllables she wittily describes what an anthropologist might call the socioeconomic signifiers of redneckdom. Pam can’t identify the father of her child. Betty Lou’s was conceived in a church parking lot, thereby flouting one of her pet theories. One man is named for the drive-in where he was born. It’s all here food designed to persevere rather than to nourish, homes that tend to blow away in a high wind, criminally reckless fashion decisions, eat-until-you-die buffets and the deification of race car drivers. Consider this example of Witte’s cartoonish but depressingly accurate portrait of a culture: Wanda’s hip slit skirt allows her to climb into monster pickup truck. It may be that rednecks are the last group considered fair game for mocking. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. After all, “rednecks” as Witte seems to define them are simply a widespread group linked by a chosen lifestyle. And isn’t the very definition of a free country a place where you can make fun of your neighbors?

It’s hard to imagine laughing out loud while reading a book called The Cancer Monologue Project (MacAdam/Cage, $22, ISBN 1931561222). But, the fact is, I laughed many times. Of course, humor isn’t the only emotion expressed in this remarkable volume. Lust, fear, stoicism, doubt, disappointment and exaltation are all here and expressed so remarkably well, it’s hard to believe that almost all the writers are amateurs.

The project represents a compilation of writings by men and women whose sole common thread was a diagnosis of cancer. With the assistance of acting/writing coaches Tanya Taylor and Pamela Thompson, each participant developed a piece of autobiographical writing based on their experience with cancer and then read the work in a public appearance. Taylor and Thompson compiled the 30 pieces in the book, which includes passages like these:

Haven’t you always wanted to form your own country? Why not take all the gold from Fort Knox or borrow” the Mona Lisa to pay for your personal sovereign nation? All these unlikely activities and more are detailed in Hunter S. Fulghum’s new book, Don’t Try This At Home: How to Win a Sumo Match, Catch a Great White Shark, Start an Independent Nation and Other Extraordinary Feats (For Ordinary People). Drawing on the success of the Worst-Case Scenario series, Fulghum goes one step further and provides instructions on how to perform the kinds of death-defying action hero stunts that look impossible even on the big screen. While readers are, of course, cautioned not to actually attempt any of these stunts, the instructions provided are surprisingly thorough. Each activity, from smuggling top secret documents to rescuing POWs, is accompanied by a detailed list of what you’ll need, approximately how long the mission will take and step-by-step instructions that guide you through the process.

While impractical, the outlines make for fascinating reading and will most likely increase your respect for anyone who could actually pull off these stunts. For most of us, the opportunity to be a real-life action hero will never come, but at least we can rest assured that, should the day arise, we’ll be prepared.

<B>A cowboy’s wry poke at the West</B> Many are familiar with Baxter Black’s homespun humor from his frequent commentary on National Public Radio, where he’s billed as a cowboy poet and former large animal veterinarian." Now Black’s funny, folksy anecdotes can be enjoyed in his new book, <B>Horseshoes, Cowsocks ∧ Duckfeet.</B> This collection of columns from NPR and print sources lampoons and celebrates rural life with dry, understated humor. Among the many yarns Black spins are comical accounts of rodeo mishaps, amusing efforts to wake a tranquilized bull before an auction and the bemused reaction of cowboys to Western catalogs aimed at urban dwellers. In fact, the culture clash between urban folk and rugged range riders is a subject Black visits more than once. He also celebrates good dogs, good dances and good doctors, and wonders if the West is vanishing.

In the tradition of great American humorists like Mark Twain and Will Rogers, Black writes with great intelligence and warm wit, choosing his words tenderly, yet efficiently. He may poke fun at economists and impulsive cowhands, but his satire is gentle, not at all harsh. Still, all is not laughter like many essayists, Black turns sober attention to the aftermath of the September 11 terrorist attacks, finding comfort in the fact that American farmers were feeding Afghanistan even as our troops were missing Christmas due to the fighting.

If some of the stories ring a bell, the reader can consult a handy reference of NPR air dates in the back. Black also thoughtfully includes a glossary of cowhand terms. The text is sprinkled with illustrations that complement his descriptions of unruly horses and dignified farmers.

<B>Horseshoes, Cowsocks ∧ Duckfeet</B> is a book that all readers will enjoy, whether city dweller or ranch hand. Black’s collection of wry anecdotes, essays and verse is thought-provoking, heartwarming and thoroughly entertaining. <I>Gregory Harris is a writer, editor and technology consultant in Indianapolis.</I>