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Then I've got your solution. TopGolf, which now has two locations, one in Dallas and the newest one in Allen.

I beat the heat Saturday afternoon at TopGolf in Allen, just down the street from In-N-Out burger. It's a three-tiered, covered driving range, only with instant, precise feedback on your shot. Computer chips in your range balls update scoring on your personal TV screens, allowing you to compete against other players in your group. Bulls-eye shots are rewarded with more points, etc, like the old arcade game Skee ball. (Hint: Off the back fence straightaway is worth 20 points.)

TopGolf has a couple of full bars. Extensive food menu. Complimentary clubs. Club repair. Lessons. Party rooms. It's a golf experience, without all the hassles of golf.

And, it has magic ...

Next time you're bored try some Slackwire. And, please, send me the video of you wiping out.

9. Let's get this out of the way up front because I know it's a prerequisite to even considering it: Yes, they sell alcohol. And, yes, there is a halftime.

8. Don't let the sequined leotards and the vulva-driven flyer fool you -- "An immersion into the teeming and energetic world of insects" -- at the root of the show is athletic entertainment. Promise.

7. I'm known in some vicious circles as the P90x Douche, and after a 90-day workout program last summer I got to where I could do 25 chin-ups without stopping or puffing. But at this show a guy -- dressed in a dragonfly suit and called "Orvalho" -- does stuff even Jack LaLanne and Criss Angel can't fathom. He climbs atop a 10-foot pole with a hand-sized knob atop. He then does one-arm handstands, alternating between arms while getting airborne in the exchange. Then, swear, the guy lays his body out almost parallel to the ground. If I didn't know better I'd say it was one of those smoke-n-mirror YouTube videos. But it ain't.

6. The acts are fantastic, but the fluff of the show is annoying. The whole thing last two hours, with probably 45 minutes of actual wowiness. The rest is intermission or these dorky, silly hosts who buzz around trying to be funny and prompt crowd interaction while camouflaging set changes. It's kinda like watching the gymnastics floor exercise in the Olympics. The actual tumbling is entertaining, but it's the time-wasting, breath-catching prancing that turns us off to the sport.

Fine, then you try to explain it.

In my years as a sportswriter I've come to appreciate lots of athletes. For the most part, I could comprehend and sorta explain their greatness. Troy Aikman's mechanically flawless accuracy. Jason Kidd's uncanny peripheral vision. Josh Hamilton's forearm-powered bat speed.

But for David Magee, I got nothing. No fathomable explanation to accept what he does, much less how he does it.

Simply put, Magee knows what you're thinking. Swear.

Says Mavs' GM Donnie Nelson: "He's a modern-day Jesus. We should have him at the (NBA) draft telling us who's going to pick who."

A slamming door and vibrating wall that wakes me from a sleep? Maybe. But a noticable, audible swaying of a kitchen pot rack when I'm awake and alert?

I dunno. You tell me.

Perhaps Craig T. Nelson was right. Maybe they moved the headstones, but they didn't move the bodies!

Last Thursday night I put the kid to bed, kissed the dogs goodnight and headed upstairs to write. It was 9 p.m. As I was just powering up the computer and the TV wasn't on, the house was dead silent.

Until ...

Poltergeist? No? Fine, then you tell me.

But we live in McKinney, so there's no logical reason why our house mysteriously shook this morning at 6 a.m.

I was yanked from my sleep by what sounded like the loud, violent slamming of a door, followed by the rattling of the large piece of iron art on the wall above our bed. Simultaneously, my wife shot up off her pillow and one of our dogs - from the far, opposite corner of the house - began barking as if startled.

Something happened. But what?

I was a wide-eyed beat writer at Valley Ranch in the early ‘90s when a street magician came a calling, wanting to film some stuff with Dallas Cowboys’ players for an upcoming TV special. And ever since I’ve had a love/hate curiosity in David Blaine.

(Come for Emmitt Smith's MC Hammer look and a young Daryl Johnston, stay for a really cool card trick.)

But last night’s stunt by Blaine was l-a-m-e.