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A Day at the Luck Research Institute
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
I have always wondered how good luck charms were discovered. Who determined that throwing salt over your shoulder prevented bad luck? Why is a black cat bad luck but a white cat isn't? Why are troll dolls lucky, but my wife thinks my lucky tie-dyed t-shirt should be thrown away?
I decided to investigate the answers to these questions by visiting the Luck Research Institute in Laurel, Delaware.
Dr. Edgar MacCallum, director of the Institute, met me in the lobby. Tall and lanky, he has a habit of running his hand over his balding head while he stares at his clipboard.
"What exactly do you do here, Dr. MacCallum?" I asked. Good journalists ask all sorts of questions, so I figured I should too.
"We investigate the validity of all good luck charms, rituals, and practices. At any one time, we have a couple dozen research projects in the works, testing the efficacy of different luck hypotheses."
He paused. "Efficacy means whether it works or not."
"I'm a journalist, not a moron," I grumbled. "I know what efficacy means."
"Sorry." We walked down a corridor, and stopped in front of a door. "This is Observation Room Alpha. In here, we can watch as many as six different experiments through a series of one-way mirrors."
We stepped up to one dark window, and Dr. MacCallum flicked a switch on the wall. The window became transparent, and we saw three men standing inside, all clutching a small object. The doctor rubbed his head and studied his clipboard.
"This is the rabbit's foot test. Those men are each holding an animal's foot -- a rabbit, a deer, and a frog. We're going to test whether the rabbit's foot is truly lucky, compared to other animal feet."
"It wasn't for the rabbit," I quipped.
"Oh, very clever. We've never heard that one before." He rolled his eyes and turned back toward the window. I made faces at him when he wasn't looking.
A man in a lab coat walked into the lab, pointed a paint ball gun at the men, and shot each one in the groin. The paint balls burst painfully on impact, and the men fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
"It doesn't look like any of the feet were lucky, does it?" I asked.
Dr. MacCallum checked his clipboard again. "That's strange. I don't think that was part of the test. This was supposed to be a game of chance, like roulette or poker. Oh well."
He walked to another window and flicked it on. I saw three more men in a similar lab.
"Here we're testing the efficacy of rubbing a bald man's head." He laughed, "You look like you could be a good specimen if this journalism thing doesn't work out."
The look I gave him said he was treading on dangerous ground, so he renewed his interest in his clipboard and continued.
"Er, Subject A is the test subject. He received the luck treatment by rubbing a bald man's head for five minutes. Subject B, who is actually A's brother, broke a mirror for bad luck. Subject C is the control. He didn't receive either the good or bad luck treatment. They have each purchased 10 scratch-off lottery tickets. Let's see what happens."
I watched as the three men scratched away. Subject C was done first.
"Hey, I won five bucks," he said.
Subject A started jumping up and down in excitement. "Wow, I just won a million dollars!"
Just then a beautiful woman burst into the room and stormed over to Subject B.
"James, I'm leaving you for your brother," she said. "We've been having an affair for three years, and now that he's come into some money, he's better able to keep me in a lifestyle I'm accustomed to." She kissed Subject A full on the mouth, and left.
Dr. MacCallum and I stared at the mirror, mouths agape. He flicked the switch and it went dark again, but it didn't mask the shouts and sounds of fighting.
"Well, I think that's all we have time for today." He shoved me out of the observation room and rushed me back to the lobby. "Thank you for visiting today. I hope you learned something that will be valuable to your readers. With some luck, you'll be able to visit us again someday."
"With a lot more luck, I won't," I said, and vigorously rubbed his head.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 6th, 2006)
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I'm Watching This Game if it Kills Me
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
"Some men will do anything to watch their sports," said Karl, plunking his beer on the table. Karl, my friend and part-time curmudgeon, often plunked his beer as an exclamation to his declarations. We were at my house, watching the Indianapolis Colts play the New York Jets.
Use a coaster, Karl! I said, jamming one under his bottle. My wife will have a fit.
Karl waved his hand dismissively. "Bah! We're talking about serious issues here, Kid, not lace doilies and flower pattern teacups."
Who said anything about teacups?
"You did when you interrupted my revelation about men and sports."
Revelation? Men and sports are hardly earth-shattering news. What can you rant about there?
"Some egghead doc at the University of Maryland says that men will put off visiting an emergency room until a televised sporting event is over." Karl pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it at me. I read it.
According to a Reuters article, Dr. David Jerrard, an emergency room physician, tracked 800 college and professional baseball, basketball, and football games in the Maryland area over a three year period. He found there was a 30 to 50 percent increase in men who visited an ER after the game.
Wow, you're right. That's a cause for concern.
"Cause for concern?!" Karl plunked his beer again. "It's a cause for celebration!"
How do you figure?
"This research shows the true dedication of the real sports fan versus the bandwagon fan. A real fan is willing to endure pain and discomfort to cheer his team to victory."
Yeah, but one of the teams he studied is the Washington Nationals. Those fans could be waiting a long time.
"Maybe so, but they're still dedicated. They believe in their team so much, even if they're losers."
Now Karl, Nationals fans aren't losers. They're just pulling for the underdog.
"Not the fans, Kid, I'm talking about the -- never mind. Look, haven't you ever wanted to watch a game so bad that nothing, not even a full bladder, would make you leave your seat?"
Sure, every time the Colts play. I never miss a game, even if I'm traveling.
"That's what I'm talking about. You catch every game, in its entirety, and won't let anything keep you from your team."
So you're not disturbed by the fact that a man would risk severe health complications if they don't get immediate medical care?
"Naw, we're men. We're tough. We'll recover."
Not always. The article says the doctor wants to do further research into whether a delay in treatment compounds the harm. Meaning a problem could get worse if you wait too long.
"Of course he wants to do that. More treatment means bigger bucks for him."
Karl, he gets paid regardless of how much treatment people get. He's concerned about saving lives, not doing more procedures. He even says he's concerned about men's health right here: 'Men should not risk their health by putting off going to the emergency room because they want to see the final results of a football game. It could be the last game they ever see.'
"How can he be concerned about men's health? He's not even a sport head. There are no 'results' in a football game. It's a score. I'm surprised he didn't call it a 'meet.'"
What do sports have to do with men's health?
"Everything! Sports define us as men. Our emotional health comes from watching guys beat the crap out of other guys. We get exercise by participating in competitive sports. We even compete by comparing our health to our friends' health. Everything we do is competitive, just like sports."
But don't you think that a man's obsession about sports could end up killing him? Sure, we don't want to miss a second of a game, but I think that a tight chest and numb left arm would scare any man to the hospital.
"They'll blame it on heartburn."
What if they're feeling lightheaded and dizzy?
"Excitement and elation."
Severe headaches?
"Too much shouting."
So what's the answer, Karl? What can doctors like Dr. Jerrard do to get men to listen to their bodies, and go to the hospital when they're really sick?
"I don't know, cheerleaders at the admitting desk? A couple offensive tackles to clear a path to the ER?"
You should suggest that to Dr. Jerrard. You want another beer?
"Naw, I think I got food poisoning from those brats. After all this medical talk, I think I'd better get to the hospital. Can you give me a lift?"
Right now? The Colts just got the ball back.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 13th, 2006)
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Music Appreciation for Guys
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In my constant quest to help Guys transform themselves into Men, I've provided guidance on cooking, dining out, ordering wine at a fancy restaurant, and even relationships. I've taught Men how to become Guys with lessons on home remodeling, designing the perfect garage, and basic tool usage. Now it's time to discuss one of my biggest challenges: How to appreciate classical music.
No, no, listen. This is important. You need to know how to do this stuff. Some day, you'll be "invited" (dragged) by your "wife" or "girlfriend" (hopeless romantic) to a "symphony" (snooze fest) for a "romantic evening" (you figure it out, this is a family newspaper).
The first important rule about Classical music is that this is not rock and roll from the `60s and `70s. There are no screaming guitars, thumping bass lines, 17 minute drum solos, or drunken yells of "Do `Freebird!'" in the middle of the show. The performers don't wear skin tight outfits, stage makeup, or have giant hair. This is the true essence of music. It's soul-stirring, awe-inspiring beauty. Or at least as much beauty as you can get without explosions or a fire-spitting bass player.
But take heart, not all classical music is explosion free. For those Guys who love the sound of live mortar fire with their violins, you'll enjoy Tchaikovsky's "1812 Overture." This famous piece includes live cannons at the end, ending in a deeply satisfying series of explosions designed to bring joy into every Guy's heart.
Unfortunately, not every performance of the "1812 Overture" can end with the lobbing of a few rounds at the art museum. There are those wimpy symphonies who substitute kettle drums for cannons, citing "crowd safety" and "fire codes," and mumbling some nonsense about the "structural integrity" of the concert hall. A true aficionado of musical explosions can't be bothered with these ballistic wannabes.
Since most Guys don't have a musical background, and the only instrument they play is their stereo, it's a common misconception that most classical music will be strange and unfamiliar. But you may know more about classical music than you realize. As you attend performances, sooner or later, you'll recognize old classics like "The Rabbit of Seville," "Kill the Wabbit," and "that song with Mickey Mouse and All Those Brooms." And who can forget those memorable tunes, like "that song from `Breaking Away,'" "The Theme to the Lone Ranger," and "The One From the Movie Where Bo Derek was Running On the Beach."
See, classical music isn't so hard to understand, now is it? You knew a whole lot more about it than you realized.
Of course, there are a few things you need to learn before you finally attend your first performance. Unlike the other concerts you may have attended when you were younger, you can't bring coolers and hibachis into the concert hall. There won't be any beach balls or Frisbees being tossed around the crowd. And the conspicuous haze of smoke floating over the audience is noticeably absent. But you can handle it. After all, there could be explosions!
Think you're ready to go? Not so fast. I know you're excited, but there are a few important rules you need to remember when you're finally in the hall.
1. When you're attending the performance, it's important that you look, if not interested, at least awake. Make sure you get plenty of sleep the night before. When the lights go down, the temptation will be able to shut your eyes. After all, the music is "relaxing." But resist the urge to catch a snooze until your wife or girlfriend drops off (trust me, she will). After that, you can nap harder than a sleep-deprived narcoleptic.
2. If you do get the napping nudge and evil look from your date, just say "I wanted to focus on my emotional response to the music, so I closed my eyes to avoid visual distractions." Explain away snores as "deep sighs of fulfillment and contentment."
3. Showing your appreciation for the music through polite applause is appropriate. Having your date sit on your shoulders and take her top off is not.
4. Holding a lighter up will only get you escorted from the performance. Lighters should not be used to get them to play "Stairway to Heaven." They don't know it.
5. That's a French horn, not a "pretzel trumpet."
6. They don't know "Dark Side of the Moon" either.
7. While the "1812 Overture" is known for its loud booming explosions, this does not mean that loud explosions will make every song better. Avoid the urge to set off Roman candles and M-80s in an attempt to liven up "Moonlight Sonata."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 20th, 2006)
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Tag, You're Dumb!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In yet another assault on childhood fun, the game of tag has come under fire from Addle-minded, er, Attleboro, Massachusetts. Willett Elementary School has banned tag from recess.
Principal Gaylene Heppe made the decision because, as she told the Associated Press, recess is "a time when accidents can happen."
Thanks to Principal Heppe's attempt to stop hundreds of years of childhood tradition, Willett becomes the latest school in the United States to take one step closer to making children wear helmets in the lunch room.
Citing concerns over safety and liability, the school has put a lock on all unsupervised chasing games at recess -- no tag backs, no free base -- thus ending yet another form of exercise for children. So, instead of having healthy, well-adjusted kids, Attleboro will soon have a bunch of fat kids whose parents have a litigation attorney on speed dial.
For those of you who think Willett has banned tag completely, take heart. The ban only applies to unsupervised games. This means children will still be allowed to play tag in gym class where a teacher will watch over the festivities.
That's a relief, because as everyone knows, 20 active children are so much more safer when they're being watched by an underpaid, overworked adult. There must be a significant safety difference between gym tag and recess tag, because that one pair of tired eyes is all that stands between the school and financial ruin.
But the similarity between the two forms of tag isn't the only thing that has escaped Principal Heppe's notice. After all, recess is typically played on monkey bars, jungle gyms, slides, and swings. And if my childhood is any indication of their safety, she'd better act fast. I can't count of the number of times I fell onto, collided with, or kicked one of my friends at recess.
But It's not just about the risk, say some experts. Neil Williams, physical education professor at Eastern Connecticut State University, says tag is in his "hall of shame." (Personally, I don't think the guy has a real hall of shame, but that's not important right now.)
He told ABC News that the kids who need the exercise are usually the first ones tagged out because they're the slowest.
"They wind up sitting on the sidelines," Williams said. "They get no benefit except to watch the stronger kids, the better kids excel at the game."
Say, now there's a great life lesson for children: "Hey kids, if something is too hard, just quit. There's no point in trying to get better at it."
I'm surprised more educators haven't picked up on this amazing new philosophy yet. Can't pass that math test? Don't worry, just read a book instead. You'll get no benefit from trying, except to watch the smarter kids excel at math.
When I was a kid, my gym teachers were all former athletes with all the care and sympathy of a drill instructor. Quitting wasn't an option, failure was. Winning wasn't important, trying was. As long as you gave your best effort, they were happy.
Not anymore. Now we've got a teacher of teachers who is one game of dodgeball away from advocating Chairobics for Children.
But that doesn't seem to bother him. "A lot of people talk about survival of the fittest and how we need to toughen up our children. But I don't think that cause them to fail in front of each other is a good way," he said.
Actually, that's the only way. We learn from our mistakes. We grow from our failures. If you protect kids from failure and losing, they won't grow. And then they're going to be in for a big shock when they hit their 30s.
As a father of three, my heart aches whenever one of my kids loses a game or fails a test. But I have never told them they could quit because something was too hard.
"What can you learn from this?" I ask them. "How can you do better next time?"
Sure, it bugs them, but they realize the benefit when the finally do pass their tests and win their games.
If you want to set your own kids up for lifelong mediocrity, that's fine. If you want to mollycoddle them so they never have to do the hard things in life, that's your own business.
Make sure you explain it all to them when they're 35 years old and can't figure out why they were passed over for promotion again at McDonald's. As they lay sobbing on their beds in your basement, just tell them, "That's okay. If it's too hard, you can just quit."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 27th, 2006)
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