|
|
|
Return to the home page
|
|
|
Boycott Pencils!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
I'm morally opposed to pencils, I announced to Karl, plunking my beer down on the table. Karl, my friend and part-time curmudgeon, and I were at my house, watching the Indianapolis Colts pummel the Washington Redskins.
"What are you talking about, Kid?" asked Karl. "And since when did you start plunking down your beer? That's my thing." Karl often plunked his beer on my table whenever he had a point to make.
Never mind that. We're talking about pencils.
"What's wrong with them? Every good writer needs them. I guess you could use them, too."
I shot him a dirty look. Good writers may use pencils, but better writers use pens.
"And I suppose you use a pen."
Absolutely. Pens are for people with literary courage.
"Kid, what are you talking about?" Karl asked, plunking down his beer. I re-plunked mine louder in response.
People who use pencils are literary wafflers. Pencils encourage timidity in writing.
"Is timidity even a word?"
Yes, it means lacking in courage or bravery.
"So what do courage and bravery have to do with pencils?"
The eraser is an easy out, a low-tech cheat code. It means pencil users are afraid to commit to their words, because they know they always get a do-over.
But they're fixing their errors.
That's what rewrites are for. Otherwise people edit as they write, and they don't get their true meaning down. Pen users are locked in the second the paper absorbs the ink.
"And so you, the pen user, are morally superior."
No, just braver.
"How do you figure?" Karl kicked back and put his feet on the coffee table.
Get your feet off the table. My wife will kill us.
"Not so brave now, huh?"
I ignored him and continued my diatribe. People who write with pens are committed to their words. They race across the page, ink barrels blazing. They figure out what they want to write and they write it. None of this tentative scribbling followed by furious erasing and mounds of eraser crumbs.
"So what if you make a mistake?"
You scribble over it.
"But people can see where you made a mistake," Karl countered. "It's a big neon arrow that says 'I screwed up here.'"
Nonsense! It's a badge of honor. It's a pen user's way of saying 'these are my scars, and I bear them with pride.' It says we charged full steam ahead and left a writer-shaped hole in the wall. There is no doubt about our efforts or intent.
On the other hand, erasers are supposed to hide a mistake, but instead they just leave a big smear on the paper. Erasers don't cover up the sin, they spread it out. It's always there, like a grey, faded cloud . You hope no one will notice, but everyone sees it. And if you rub too hard, you'll put a hole in the paper.
Karl stared at me quietly for several seconds. "I think you played too much football without a helmet."
Actually, I was a soccer player.
"That explains a lot."
What's that supposed to mean?
"Nothing. Didn't you ever use pencils when you were a kid, Kid?"
Yeah. So?
"So isn't that a little hypocritical?"
Not at all. I used to wear plaid pants when I was eight. That doesn't mean I don't think they're dorky now. It's like that quote: when I was a child, I thought and acted like a child, and wrote with childish pencils.
"I don't think that's how it goes."
Close enough.
"So what made you switch to pens?"
I always had to use those soft Number 2 pencils in grade school. It was like writing with a dull carrot. I tried to use my dad's Blackfoot Indian pencils, but the teachers always griped that they weren't Number 2's.
The Blackfoots were made out of cedar and had leads that scratched when I wrote. The Number 2's never made that sound. The lead was so soft, it didn't make any sound.
"Actually, pencils don't have a lead anymore. They're made out of graphite."
I also got sick of know-it-alls saying 'it's not really lead. It's graphite.' I finally switched because I got tired of sharpening my pencils all the time.
"What about mechanical pencils?"
Pen wannabes. Besides, the lead breaks too easily.
"Graphite."
Be quiet.
"You got a favorite kind of pen?"
Oh sure! It's a point-five millimeter Pilot G2 that --
"Kid, I'm just yanking your chain. I don't really care."
Pencil neck.
"Penhead."
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of November 3rd, 2006)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
We Need Dress Like a Pirate Day
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
I wish we didn't live in a society that frowned upon what we wear in public. I'm not talking about savagely-ripped jeans and t-shirts with quotes that encourage people to perform anatomically impossible acts on themselves.
Instead, it would be great if we could dress like superheroes or pirates whenever we felt like it, without getting weird stares from everyone else. I wish the Star Trek geeks could dress like Klingons without being quietly laughed at by humor columnists who happened to be eating my lunch at my favorite coffee shop during a sci-fi convention this past August.
Unfortunately, our sense of costumed adventure has been drummed out of us at an early age. It's okay if we dress up as our heroes when we're kids. It's dressing up when we're adults that seems to cause problems.
Admittedly, we do get a dress-up holiday at Halloween. It's the one time of year we can dress as someone we look up to, and people won't think anything about it. Of course, depending on who your heroes are, some people may still look at you weird.
"I told you, I'm Thonius Philips van Leeuwenhoek, the inventor of the microscope and the first person to observe single cell organisms! Come on, the 17th century Dutch clothes and the squinted eye should be a dead giveaway."
We should be able to dress up without fear of reprisal and recrimination by those less. . . adventurous than the rest of us. People should be able to dress like a pirate -- complete with puffy shirts, knee-high leather boots, and a saber hanging jauntily at their sides -- without people laughing or cracking jokes. I suppose with the saber, no one is going to laugh anyway. But the police might take a couple pot shots at you if you started waving it around at people.
When I was eight years old, I was a big fan of Marvel Comics' The Avengers, especially Giant Man. His power was that he could turn, well, giant.
I didn't like him because he was cool, like The Hulk or Thor. It was that he had a nice costume that I could easily color onto a white t-shirt with yellow and blue crayons. I knew a colored t-shirt wouldn't give me super powers, but there was a small part of me that hoped wearing it would somehow help me become Giant Man, even just a little bit.
I tried everything I could, including yelling "Shazam!" at the top of my lungs, but I never increased to Giant Man's massive size and strength. In fact, one of the neighborhood kids beat me up to show me that my t-shirt didn't do diddly in the super powers department.
After that, I briefly considered changing my name to Target Man, but decided I had earned that name without a special costume. So instead, my Giant Man t-shirt went into the closet and never saw the light of day again. My dreams of being a superhero would have to wait for another day.
My son just turned four years old recently. For his birthday, he got a new Superman outfit and some kids' spy gear, complete with utility belt. We put the Superman outfit on him, and put the utility belt around his chest like a bandolier. He was so proud, because he knew he looked cool. My wife helped him fly, my daughters pretended to be in danger, and we called him Superman for the rest of the night.
I could tell by watching him that he really believed he was Superman. He was just waiting for a super villain to burst in and try to wreck his birthday party, so he could save the day, while we mere mortals just stared in awe.
After the party, we had to run an errand at an office supply store. On the way there, my little superhero fell asleep and was down for the count.
"Looks like somebody slipped Superman some kryptonite," my wife said.
We got to the store, and I carried him the entire time. He slept with his head on my shoulder and didn't wake up, no matter what happened around him.
When we got to the cash register, the cashier smiled. "Aww, Superman is all worn out," she said.
"Saving the world is hard work," I said softly, and carried the Man of Steel out to the car.
I'll let him figure out the truth about his costume when he's older. In the meantime, he and Giant Man should join forces. Some Klingons are moving into a house down the street.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of November 10th, 2006)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
'Twas the Month Before Christmas
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In the true Laughing Stalk Thanksgiving tradition, we offer Erik’s 'Twas the Month Before Christmas column, so he can grouse about the fact that a lot of stores have had their Christmas decorations out before Halloween was over.
'Twas six weeks before Christmas, and all through the town
Halloween decorations were just coming down.
I went to the mall, for a weekend reprieve
And saw such a sight that I could not believe.
The place had gone crazy, the mall was just packed.
With new clothes and new toys and cheap plastic sacks
The store owners were praying and pulling their hair,
Desperately hoping we'd spend money there.
When in one of the stores there arose such a clatter
I thought to myself "Now what's the matter?"
Away toward the noise the crowd flew like a flash
And knocked an old woman right onto her butt.
The cheesy green lights and the canned Christmas music
Made me realize not a darn thing rhymes with "music"
What I saw next made me scream and turn pale
A red and green sign said "We’re having a sale!"
With a perky sales clerk, so cheerful and quick
I knew in a moment I was going to be sick!
She herded us in like sheep to the slaughter,
"Come in and buy things for your sons and your daughters!
We take Visa and Mastercard and Discover!" she chimed.
"American Express, credit cards of all kind!
From the back of the store, all the way to the front
Everything is on sale, there is no need to hunt!"
With the power and fury of an 8 point earthquake
The people were drawn in like a fat guy to cake
And into the store, the crowd they just flew
But what they were after, I hadn't a clue.
And then with a shudder, I heard behind me.
The ear-piercing scream of a child, age three
He gave a shrill shriek that would curl your hair
He yelled at his parents, "Hey let's go in there!"
"I see lots of games and toys," yelled the runt
"Why can't we go in there and get what I want?!"
I looked at the parents, all haggard and worn.
Their faces were bruised, their clothes, they were torn.
Their eyes, how they drooped. Their coats were all muddy.
She was missing her shoes, his nose -- it was bloody.
He clung to his wallet, she clutched at her purse.
They tried not to explode as they held back a curse.
"You've got enough stuff already," the two parents said.
But the child just screamed and cried and turned red.
"What's the matter?" I asked, though I wished I had not.
They said "You can guess at the problem we've got."
"We're shopping for Christmas, for family and friends,
But it seems like this madness goes on without end."
"We've been here since morning, looking for sales.
But we've spent too much money. We feel like we've failed.
Credit cards, debit cards, checkbooks and cash
It's only November, and our budget has crashed."
Then the child came running up, shouting with glee
"Hey, I found something! Please, come with me."
And I heard them exclaim, as they left with a grunt,
"Merry Christmas to you all, though it's not ‘til next month."
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of November 17th, 2006)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
Holiday Fruitcakes. . . of DOOM!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
I don't like fruitcake.
Okay, that's not earth-shattering news. But 'tis the season to be griping about fruitcakes, and I'd better do my part.
I do like stollen though. The German bread with bits of fruit inside and white icing on top. I even have a Christmas tradition for it. I buy a loaf or two and bring it to a Christmas party. Then my friends ask, "Is this stollen?" And I say, "Nope, I bought it." Then I laugh and laugh, while my friends stare at me like I've sprouted antlers and a red nose.
Good times, good times.
But fruitcake is different. Fruitcake is heavy, alcohol-soaked bread with pieces of fruit, nuts, and red and green things that look like mutated Jujubes. Fruitcake is often used as a gift, but can also be used as a threat, as in "Don't move! I've got a fruitcake, and I'm not afraid to use it."
Fruitcake is dangerous. It's so dangerous that even joking about it can cause serious injury. At least that's what happened to Lucille Greene, 88, of Magnolia, Delaware.
According to an article in the Wilmington (Delaware) News-Journal, Lucille bakes about 30 fruitcakes each year and gives them away to friends during the holidays. Surprisingly, these are all people she likes, which makes her behavior even more strange.
But in December 2002, fate threw a monkey wrench into her gift-giving plans. She took her packages to her local post office, and handed them to the postal clerk, James Maurer.
"What kind of explosives do you have in here?" asked Maurer, who wasn't hired for his comedic genius. Maurer's alleged "cleverness" caused the other customers to laugh, which shows many Delawareans lack a basic understanding of what's actually funny. Maurer then accepted the packages, Lucille paid her bill, and left.
Situation over, right? Wrong.
Apparently, Lucille was so distraught at being called a terrorist, that she left in tears. She tripped over a concrete parking barrier in the parking lot, injured her knee, and broke a tooth and her glasses.
So what did she do next? Look around in embarrassment? Rush to the dentist? Jump up and shout "Ta-daaaaa!"
Of course not! She sued the U.S. Postal Service (USPS) for intentional and negligent infliction of emotional distress, because they accused her of being a terrorist.
In other words, she said to a lawyer, "I want to sue the post office because one guy thought my fruitcakes were weapons of mass destruction. He hurt my feelings and made me fall down."
Her attorney filed the case in Federal court -- because it involved the USPS -- and demanded $250,000 to make up for Lucille's clumsiness -- er, emotional distress. And because the USPS was the defendant, the U.S. Attorney was their lawyer.
The case made it to trial in November 2005, where it was heard by Chief District Judge Sue Robinson, who issued her ruling this past September. I guess Judge Robinson won't be receiving a fruitcake from Lucille this year, because she dismissed the case with no payoff.
"I'm sorry that the plaintiff injured herself," said U.S. Attorney Colm Connolly. "But I don't believe it is appropriate to spend taxpayer money, let alone $250,000 to pay for an accident the government didn't cause."
So Lucille beaned him with a fruitcake. (Okay, not really.)
But Judge Robinson didn't let the Postal Service off so easily. She said even though the postal clerk was following standard postal procedures, she agreed Maurer "was likely being less than courteous."
She also scolded the post office for not settling the case out of court. She said they let the case go to trial, "thus adding to its lamentable reputation."
Sorry, your honor, but I've got to side with the post office on this one. Settling out of court is an admission of guilt. I don't care if you say "this isn't an admission of guilt." Everyone knows it is. "Out of court settlement" is just lawyer talk for "we just want to cut our losses and make this thing go away." The USPS did nothing wrong. Lucille might have tripped over that parking barrier, regardless of whether someone thought her fruitcakes could cause bodily harm. But the post office shouldn't have to give Lucille one dime.
Robinson even said that no one from the USPS has ever apologized to Lucille.
"We mailed an apology to her months ago," said a postal representative. "I don't understand what could have happened to it."
But even though Lucille lost, she soldiers on, undeterred, still inflicting -- er, sending out -- fruitcakes to her friends and family. She even sent a couple to her attorney this year.
His civil suit against her goes to trial this Spring.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of November 24th, 2006)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
