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Sometimes Life Just Ain't Fair, Eh
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a previous column from 2001.
I recently had the chance to take a business trip up to Guelph, Ontario. I had a great time, and decided that Canada is an excellent place to visit. The people are very friendly, the scenery is beautiful, and the towns are very clean and pretty safe. I also discovered that the town is pronounced "Gwelf," not "Goo-elf." Luckily I found out before I got up there.
If you're one of those much-ballyhooed "one in four" US high school seniors who can't find Canada on a map, it's the big place to the north where it gets really cold, and everyone says "aboot" and apologizes by saying they're "sore-ee," even though they swear they don't talk like that.
As Canadian humorist Will Enns once pointed out to me, Canadians are underdogs who never complain about being Canadian, even though they're penalized for it all the time. For example, Will says that Reader's Digest US pays nearly $5,000 US dollars for a feature article, while Reader's Digest Canada pays only $2,000 in Canadian dollars. That's about $1300 US dollars for the same article. But does Will complain? Actually yes he does, but can you blame him?
The thing about Canadians is that they're so nice about most things, even when American jerks like me come to their country and crack jokes about how -- because of the exchange rate -- Canadian cars only go 65% as fast as US cars, Canadian beer is only 65% as potent as US beer, or Canadian humorists are only 65% as funny as US humorists.
It turns out they actually hate those kinds of jokes.
It also turns out that Canadian border crossing guards only have 65% of the humor as US border crossing guards. I have also found, the hard way, that if you make them the slightest bit annoyed, you'll find yourself explaining at length why you'll be staying in Guelph, but spending your days in Erin, Ontario, and how "product training" does NOT mean you're smuggling alcohol into the country.
During my trip, I read the National Post, Canada's national newspaper (motto: 65% as interesting as USA Today), and saw a little news from home. It seems that Tom Green of Utah is on trial for the state's first bigamy trial in 50 years. And before you ask, no this is not Canadian comedian Tom Green of MTV fame who is only 7.8% as funny as anyone else in the world.
According to the article, even though bigamy is a felony, Utah has nearly 30,000 polygamists who are quietly tolerated by state authorities, as long as they don't publicly promote their lifestyle. Of the 30,000 polygamists, only twelve of them are husbands.
But Green, a devout Mormon and outspoken supporter of polygamy, got himself, his five wives, and 26 children into a little hot water by appearing on shows like Dateline NBC and the Jerry Springer Show. As many people know, polygamy was acceptable, and even expected, when the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the official name for Mormons) began. So in Green's mind, he was doing what was religiously acceptable.
Since Green basically didn't give Utah authorities a chance to look the other way, they charged him with four counts of third-degree felony bigamy, and one count of criminal non-support. Green's five wives are all expected to support their husband, and testify on his behalf.
"We feel that we're good parents," said LeeAnn Beagley, who is 20 percent of Green's harem. She was referring to the fact that between the six adults, there are 26 children, and three of the wives are pregnant. She then added that by "good" she means "astonishingly fertile," and by "parents" she means "baby factories."
Accompanying the article was a picture of four of Green's five wives (the fifth one is supposedly under 18, which is also causing him some other legal troubles). And while "homely" might be a harsh description, "pretty" didn't exactly leap to mind either.
But Tom Green's legal problems weren't the only interesting thing I found in the paper. As I continued reading, I found a photo of Playboy magazine founder Hugh Hefner and his seven girlfriends at the Cannes Film Festival. The photo took up nearly half the page.
You may have heard about Hef's latest escapades. After the breakup of his three year marriage, Hef was "emotionally bruised" and decided that the only way to heal the pain and mend his broken heart was to have frequent sex with seven hot women. He says he has a bed built for eight, which they all share. But recently, Hef has gotten some heat from his neighbors who complained that Hef's parties (22 in the past three months) are creating a lot of noise and traffic congestion in the area.
As I read the accompanying article, I was struck by the unfairness of it all: One one hand, Tom Green could go to jail for 20 years for MARRYING five women. On the other Hugh Hefner gets to have loud parties and lots of sex with seven gorgeous women.
I've always tried to live and let live, so I won't condemn either Green or Hefner for their lifestyle choice. However, I'll make fun of both of them, since it's my job. And I have to wonder what kind of society we live in where one man will go to jail for doing something he believes was commanded by God, and another man is regarded as a hero for doing something that is biblically forbidden.
Is this a sign that society's morals are decaying? Are our nation's priorities so screwed up that marriage is becoming illegal while premarital sex with many women is applauded? Or is it just another sign that there are only so many jokes I can make about Canada before I'm banned from ever entering the country again?
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Erik Deckers
(published week of March 3rd, 2005)
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The Thrill of Curling, The Agony of Obscurity
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In the past few weeks, I made an astonishing personal discovery, one that I never thought would ever happen in a million years: I think curling is an exciting sport.
That's right, curling.
For those of you who missed the Winter Olympics, curling is that sport where they slide smooth round rocks down a rectangular ice court (called a "rink"). The sport is noted for the precision and skill at which it can make millions of Canadians scream in delirious ecstasy.
Each rock is aimed at a ring of circles (also called the "house"), similar to an archery target. As each player slides ("delivers") a stone, two other players sweep the ice with brooms in front of the moving ("running") stone to help it travel with more speed and momentum ("curl").
The object is to bump out as many of your opponent's rocks while leaving your own rocks in place. Whoever has the most rocks closest to the center of the house (called the "tee") at the end of a round (known as an "end") wins that number of points. The team with the most points at the end of ten "ends" is the winner ("winner, eh.")
My own fascination is, unfortunately, not something that I can talk about very easily. There's still a stigma in the United States that curling is not a sport, and is something to be scoffed ("laughed") at. Oh sure, there are fans ("weirdos") of curling in the US, but they all live within 10 miles of the US-Canadian border, which means they're often viewed with suspicion ("dirty Commies").
I was at a business function ("beer write-off") a few days ago where I was talking to another Guy about curling. We both agreed that it was a cool sport to watch, and was actually pretty exciting at times.
"Curling?" asked a woman ("non-Guy") standing nearby. "How is curling exciting?"
We stammered out an embarrassed explanation ("we watch it for the articles") that completely failed to explain the attraction of the sport. The fact that the US Men's Curling Team won a bronze medal in the Winter Olympics meant nothing to her. Even the news that team captain ("skip") Pete Fenson also owns a pizzeria ("my hero") also failed to impress her.
Then I stumbled on an explanation that seemed to satisfy her: "It's like chess on ice."
"Oh, chess! That makes sense then. I guess that is pretty cool," she said, as if chess is somehow more intense and exciting than people heaving 44 pound rocks down a slab of ice while sweeping madly in front of it. I could tell that she not only thought curling was still stupid, but that chess was actually more exciting.
"How many chess players own pizzerias?" I challenged her.
"Chess isn't even in the Olympics," said the other Guy, who was now my new best friend.
The woman admitted defeat ("gave up in exasperation") and quietly departed ("went to find people less weird").
The problem curling faces in the United States as that it's not as dramatic ("violent") as other sports and it doesn't lend itself to the same kind of human interest stories about overcoming adversity ("my broom broke").
Now don't get me wrong, I still love my football. I'll watch a bad football game ("Browns vs. Raiders") before I watch any other so-called sport ("golf"), no matter who's playing. However, I've found that even after the Olympics are over ("shut up, Scott Hamilton"), I still crave curling. I read about it, I visit curling websites, and I've even tried to find a curling club in Indiana (official motto: "If it ain't basketball, we don't play it."). But until I actually have a chance to experience curling, I'll have to content myself with the occasional curling tournament on ESPN 2 ("tennis reruns").
One of my dreams as a humor columnist is to start enjoying the same perks as Dave Barry ("boogers are funny"), who would write about certain people or activities, like opera, fighter planes, and synchronized broom drill teams. He would then be invited ("all expenses paid") to participate in that particular activity, so he could write about it some more ("sell out for cheap laughs").
My ultimate goal is that Pete Fenson will be so impressed by my new found interest ("obsession") with curling that he'll invite me up to Minnesota for a chance to watch him and his team practice for an upcoming tournament. Maybe he'll even let me slide a few rocks with them so I can see what it's like.
I like pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese, Pete ("shameless pandering").
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Erik Deckers
(published week of March 10th, 2005)
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Jumping the Shark
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
Erik is out of the office this week, teaching his last class at Ivy Tech Community College (go, you Fighting . . . err, Ivies). While he's out, we're reprinting a column from five years ago.
Does anyone remember the three-part episode of "Happy Days" where the gang went to California, had all kinds of kooky adventures, sappy love scenes, and finally the big breath-taking, daredevil, Dear-God-I-Can't-Look! scene where Fonzie water ski jumped over a shark after a bet with a smug California beach jerk?
(And did anyone notice that the entire opening paragraph was just one long run-on sentence?)
According to Jon Hein, that shark jumping episode was the pivotal moment where "Happy Days" officially began their death spiral into overacting campiness, suckiness, and utter stupidity (my description, not his). Some may argue this actually happened when the very first episode aired, but that's like saying we're all closer to dying from the moment we're born. It's true, but you don't want to think about it
Hein, owner of the JumpTheShark.comwebsite, uses the phrase to describe the moment a TV show has reached its full creative potential and is on its way to becoming a punchline on The Tonight Show.
The phrase, started by Hein's college roommate at the University of Michigan, can be used to describe TV shows, movies, music, jobs, or just life in general, as in "Did you hear about Jill's new job? Man, she sure jumped the shark with that one!"
In other words, even if you do make it over the underwater cage, shark jumping is a bad thing.
Jumping the shark can happen to a show when a character hits puberty, like Gary Coleman in "Diff'rent Strokes" or Fred Savage in "The Wonder Years." Or when a new actor plays the same character ("Bewitched" or "Roseanne"), Or when a new character shows up like Oliver in "The Brady Bunch" or Ted McGinley in "Welcome Back Kotter," "Happy Days," "Married With Children," and "The Love Boat."
According to the website "Ted is the patron saint of shark jumping. Chances are that if Ted is anywhere near your cast, consider the show on the downward spiral." And apparently, Ted does know he's the patron saint of shark jumping, although Hein says ". . . we hope Ted has a sense of humor about it. . . Remember, it's business, never personal."
The astute reader will have realized that McGinley is actually a shark jumping moment on the show where shark jumping originated. But how can he be a shark jumping moment on the show that defined shark jumping? Wouldn't that mean that the by now famous shark jumping episode was not actually a Jump the Shark moment? And are you sick of the words "jump" and "shark" yet?
In actuality, McGinley's appearance on "Happy Days" was not the shark jumping moment. Rather, it was a kick to the kidneys when the show was already curled in the fetal position.
Jumptheshark.com lists over 2,000 shows that fall into other categories like Birth (Mabel the new baby in "Mad About You"), A Very Special. . . (any episode of "Blossom," "Dawson's Creek," or any show involving horny teenagers), or They Did It (David and Maddie in "Moonlighting," or Ross and Rachel in "Friends"). Even Singing is an option.
(And for those of you who remembered my guilty pleasure of "Xena Warrior Princess," no I did not thing their singing episode was a Jump the Shark moment. That showed failed the jump miserably and was shark poop from day one. But I still can't explain why I liked it.)
Happily, there are shows that have never jumped, like "The Simpsons," "Law & Order," "Newhart," "Magnum PI," or my personal favorite, "Police Squad," the only show to receive a 100% rating on "Never Jumped" votes.
This leads me to wonder, what are some other events that have jumped the shark? Can you point to a shark jumping moment in your own life? How about politics, sports, or society in general? Did mankind jump the shark when the Roman Empire fell, when we learned the secrets of air travel? Personally, I think it was when Britney Spears and 'N Sync appeared in the Super Bowl XXXV halftime show with Aerosmith?
But it could be worse. I hear next year's Super Bowl will feature a special guest appearance by Ted McGinley.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of March 17th, 2005)
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Please Excuse Erik From His Column This Week
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
I wrote my first note to a teacher last week.
This may not seem like such a big deal to most of you, but to me, it was the end of a 33 year wait. Ever since I walked into kindergarten with a note from my mother, I dreamed of writing a note to my children's teachers.
My mother used to write my notes whenever I was sick or needed to be excused:
"Dear Mr. Jenkins, Please excuse Erik from gym class today. He is still suffering blurred vision and a ringing in his ears from the last time they played dodgeball. I have spoken with little Melody's parents, and they apologized for her cheap shot. Imagine, hitting your own teammate in the back of the head! Please explain to the entire class how displeased I am, and ask them to remember that Erik is a sensitive boy whose feelings should be respected."
Needless to say, I tried forging my own notes after that.
"Deer Teechur, Please excyuse Erik from jim class today. He has newmo -- pnumo -- noomonya -- a cold. Also, that mean kid Craig should be paddled because he's a jerk! From, Erik's mom."
After that little stunt, my parents and teachers kept a suspicious eye on me, which created its own problems. High school was hard enough without also being a suspected forger.
So I had to put my note writing dreams on hold, until the day I would become a parent and craft a letter for my own child. Some kids dream of having children who star in the school play. Others hope their kids have the sports career they never had. I wanted to have a child who needed the occasional note written on his or her behalf.
The problem is we've spent the last four years homeschooling our oldest daughter. We've enjoyed the time spent with her, and don't regret a second of it. But my only disappointment was that I would never be able to write a note to the teacher. I would never give permission to go on a field trip. I could never ask her to be excused from some dangerous activity like diagraming a sentence.
"You could write me a note," offered my wife.
"It's not the same as writing one to a real teacher," I whined.
"It could be a love note," hinted my wife, ignoring the 'real teacher' comment.
"But it's just not the same as writing a love note to a real teacher," I moaned, slumping on the couch, not realizing that's where I would spend the next three nights.
No matter how fun homeschooling was, there was a small emptiness in my soul. I was missing out on the sense of fulfillment public school parents enjoyed.
"Dear Mrs. Johnson, Susie was home sick yesterday with vomiting and explosive diarrhea. Please be on the lookout for any sudden recurrences."
But that all changed this past week. We had recently enrolled my daughter in the local elementary school, when my prayers were finally answered: she had to stay home one day because she was sick!
Someone had to write a note explaining her absence. Someone had to inform the authorities about why our child was potentially violating Indiana's strict educational laws. Someone had to step up to the plate and fulfill his lifelong dream.
"Do you want to write a note to her teacher, or should I?" asked my wife.
I nearly knocked over my three-year-old son as I raced to the notepad. I had been waiting for this moment my entire life, and no mere mother of my children was going to steal it from me.
I clutched my pen in my hand, determined that my first note was going to raise the bar for all future parents' efforts.
"Dear Facilitator of Knowledge and Torchbearer of Truth, My eldest female child was recently stricken with a rather frightful malady that most grievously affected her sinuses and bodily temperature. She has been bedridden for the last two days, and as such, was unable to attend your fine institution of elementary learning. Could you perchance convey any unconsummated academic assignments to our attention? I look forward to a favorable reply. Most sincerely, Erik Deckers."
I may have to rethink the whole letter writing thing though, because I received this reply.
"Dear Mr. Deckers, What the heck are you talking about? And where was your daughter? If I get another pervy note like this, I'm calling the police. The school board and my attorney have already been alerted, and you are banned from school property for three months."
I wonder if a singing telegram would work better.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of March 24th, 2005)
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