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That's Not a Bat, This is a Bat
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Teaching is a noble profession, one that should attract the best and brightest to a rewarding career. Schools are filled with people who became teachers with the dream of shaping young minds and encouraging lifelong learning.
Unfortunately, some of these teachers become administrators, which crushes the lofty ideals they had when they first entered the profession (that, and the fact that after 32 weeks of school, most of them can't stand the little monsters anymore).
But occasionally I read news stories about these same administrators, and the phrase "couldn't find his rear end with both hands and a flashlight" immediately springs to mind.
According to a story in the Fort Worth (Texas) Star-Telegram this past May, administrators at Diamond Hill-Jarvis High School were peering into students' cars in the school parking lot, when one of them spotted an eight inch wooden bat inside a car. They tracked down the driver, sophomore Cory Henson, and pulled him out of class, thus disrupting his educational process. They then ordered him to unlock the car and searched it thoroughly, as more students ignored their education and watched from the windows.
Upon discovering that the bat had fallen off a baseball trophy -- Cory is a junior varsity baseball player, mind you -- they dropped their flashlights, declared the mini-bat to be a weapon, and immediately suspended him. He was suspended for four days, under Texas' Zero Tolerance scheme, which was hatched in 1995.
Zero Tolerance is the mantra of school administrators who insure their schools are safe from plastic butter knives, anti-PMS medicine, and students who say "hell" or "gay," as I have mentioned in previous columns.
Since Cory is a baseball player, he was also carrying a regulation-sized aluminum bat in his trunk with other baseball equipment. However, school administrators ignored this, because they had focused on the mini-bat with laser-like precision.
That's why Ignacio Torres, the school's assistant principal, said the mini-bat, and NOT the full-sized bat, was considered a weapon.
I can only imagine the scene, as young Cory Henson was yanked out of class, and told to unlock his car -- a machine that generally weighs over a ton and kills thousands of people each year. They then confiscated the little wooden bat, and ignored the big aluminum bat, forgetting that bats are a favorite weapon of seedy bar owners and guys who "wanna know what you said about my sister."
The administrators then escorted Cory into school, which is filled with pens and pencils, any one of which could be used for stabbing. Cory may have listened to the band practice as he walked, and heard the drummers beating on their drums with sticks almost the same size as the one clutched in an administrator's sweaty hand.
Cory's head may have hung as he walked past the cafeteria, filled with metal forks and knives, and into the assistant principal's office, which contained more pens, pencils, and several pairs of scissors. I imagine he then had to call his mother, who drove her own one-ton vehicle to the school.
But apparently none of this concerned LoEster Posey, the director of student affairs for Fort Worth schools. He told the Star-Telegram that if an item is only "prohibited," such as a pocketknife, pepper spray, or firecrackers, the student will be given a warning. But if the item is "illegal," like an eight-inch mini-bat, then the student is suspended.
In other words, if you can whack someone with it, you'll be suspended. If you can only stab them, blind them, or blow their fingers off, you're just given a slap on the wrist. But if you can actually kill someone with an item like, say, a full-size aluminum baseball bat, you're allowed to keep it.
I realize that a small wooden bat can be used as a club, but so can any other item you find in a school. A large reference book from the library, a tray in the cafeteria, and even a well-thrown baseball can all become weapons in the right hands. Suspending a student for having a small bat while ignoring a full-size bat borders on inept. But labeling knives, pepper spray, and fire crackers as only prohibited, while a stick is actually illegal, only reinforces my thoughts about school administrators.
It's often said that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. But when you combine it with a little power and very little common sense, then you're faced with something much deadlier than any miniature baseball bat.
Maybe we should ban school administrators instead.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of June 4th, 2004)
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Stay Out of the Attic!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Erik is out of the office this week, so to expose his fears, we are reprinting a column from 2001.
Ever since I was a small boy, I've always had strong feelings when it comes to scary movies.
I hate them.
They scare the bejeezus out of me. Whenever I make the stupid mistake of watching one, I have nightmares, I jump at strange sounds, and all the monsters -- including the shark from "Jaws" -- are waiting for me under my bed. It doesn't matter whether I'm at home (the monsters are in my closet), at a friend's house (they're in his closet), or at the movie theater (they're hiding in the popcorn).
And yet no one takes me seriously. Just a few weeks ago, my wife, my sister-in-law, and her husband badgered me into seeing "The Others," the Nicole Kidman-Tom Cruise pre-divorce production, and they promised me "it wasn't so bad."
"The Others" is a "supernatural suspense thriller" about a young mother (Nicole Kidman) and her children (two pasty-faced English kids) who live in a house on the Channel Islands. The kids believe there are ghosts in the house, and Kidman gradually realizes they may just be right. So one reviewer called it "the scariest thriller of the year."
"The scariest thriller of the year!" I griped to my wife, the following week. "You made me see the scariest thriller of the year."
At the time, I begged and pleaded not to go. I swore up and down I didn't like scary movies. "'Supernatural thrillers' is just a polite way of saying 'horror flicks!' " I sobbed. But I was outvoted and scared out of my wits.
When we got home, I turned on every light in the house, and made sure I was the first one in bed, so my wife had to turn all the lights off herself. I hoped the monsters would mistake her for me and get her instead, but their sense of smell is uncanny. That, and she was carrying her shotgun.
The last time I watched a scary movie was August 1989, 24 hours before I was supposed to start graduate school. I hadn't seen a horror movie for several years, and thought I was old enough to handle "The Shining." I told myself, "I'm 21 years old, I'm a college graduate, so I should be smart enough and mature enough to watch 'The Shining.' "
If horror movies scared you as a kid, they'll scare you when you're an adult.
As one would expect, I had nightmares that night, and woke up in a sweat, covers pulled up to my chin. I slowly pulled the covers back with my feet, convinced the monsters were under my bed, and did the unthinkable: I opened my eyes.
As I opened my eyes, I saw something hovering several feet above me. It was a small white blob, about 12 inches across. Of course, my eyesight is so bad without my glasses, it could have been the Queen Mum, and she still would have looked like a blob. However, since it was 4:00 in the morning, I knew there shouldn't be anything hovering several feet above me, Queen Mum or not.
I was convinced I was either seeing a disembodied head or a small ghost, and I couldn't look away. I had made eye contact, which is a major no-no in dealing with monsters.
The thing just hovered there, waiting for me to try to escape, so it could pounce, and drain away my life's energy. I laid there for several minutes, aware that my heart was beating faster, I was sweating profusely, and if I didn't get to the bathroom fast, I was going to have a bigger problem than just having my lifeforce sucked out by the Queen Mum.
As time passed, I began to remember the setting of the room, the various items my sister had left there from years past, and it suddenly hit me: I wasn't looking at the Queen Mum at all! It was just a stupid Winnie the Pooh mobile my sister had when as a baby. I had been lying there for 30 minutes, trying not to wet myself, waiting to be pounced on by Winnie the Pooh and his friends!
I stormed out of the bed, stomping on several monster hands, and went to the bathroom. Afterward, I was still too scared to go back to sleep, so I watched infomercials until it was time to leave. And until I was dragged to The Others, it was the last time I ever watched a horror movie.
But as soon as I get my own shotgun, I'll watch as many as I want.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of June 11th, 2004)
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Travel Tips for the New Traveler
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Dear fellow traveler,
You may not remember me from this morning. I'm the guy you cut off both in the parking lot and again at the airport. You took my parking space, and then ran to get in front of me at the ticket line. You also rolled your suitcase over my foot and didn't even apologize.
At first I thought this was very rude behavior, since we were both on the same flight, and we were two hours early. However I realized this was your first trip since your suitcase was brand new. I also heard you tell the woman at the counter that not only was this your very first plane trip, it was even your first time leaving the state.
As a result, you probably weren't aware of traveling etiquette or what is considered unacceptable or rude behavior to your fellow travelers. I overheard you say that you were going to Boston. I've traveled extensively over the years, and have even been to Boston.
Taking your first trip can be an exciting and nerve wracking experience. And since I'm the forgiving type who never holds a grudge, I want to give you a few tips that can help you on your vacation. These little hints will help you avoid the. . . incidents we had this morning, and will make your week in Boston relaxing and stress-free.
1) Airport security personnel have hard jobs, because they're keeping our skies safe, but people do nothing but complain and whine. Help ease their mood. Crack a few jokes while you're standing in line. They especially like jokes about the fake bomb you've hidden in your suitcase, or how you were asked to hold a package by a foreign stranger with a funny accent.
2) Even though your ticket says you have an assigned seat, you can actually pick any seat you want. Pick one of those big ones up front. Or if they're all full, pick one in the exit row. Someone may complain and try to tell you it's their assigned seat. Stand firm! Tell them they should have showed up earlier if they wanted the good seats.
3) You will no doubt be renting a car during your stay. The people who work at the car rental place also enjoy a good joke. So squeal your tires as you leave the rental place. This will get a big laugh from the people who work there.
4) Something else about rental cars: As you leave the lot, look on the ground for the pointy-looking comb at the exit gate. If the person at the gate doesn't help you immediately, drive over that pointy-looking comb. That's the mechanism that registers customer complaints. It calculates how fast you drive over the points and then translates your speed into your Dissatisfaction Quotient, so be sure to drive very quickly.
5) Boston drivers are very friendly and forgiving. They understand the stress of big city driving, and so will allow minor flubs and driving errors. Find yourself in the wrong lane? Don't worry, just put on your turn signal, and some kind Bostonian motorist will slow down to let you in. This is true whether you are cruising down the highway, or stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
6) Hopefully your rental car came with New York plates. Boston drivers can sympathize with drivers from New York City, so they will afford you even more courtesies than someone from, say, New Hampshire.
7) Boston sports fan are good-natured, and enjoy their rivalry with other sports fans. To start a friendly conversation and meet new people, put on a New York Yankees baseball cap or Los Angeles Lakers t-shirt and walk into a Boston sports bar. This is especially fun to do during the playoffs when your team of choice is in the big game, and the Boston team is not.
8) If you have the time, be sure to visit Cape Cod. It's actually not that busy, especially during the summer weekends. Just leave town around 4:00 on a Friday afternoon, and you'll have clear roads and smooth sailing the entire way. But be sure to leave on Sunday at 4:00 pm, because it will start to fill up with all the weekday tourists.
9) Things tend to be pretty cheap in Cape Cod as well, so don't worry about taking a lot of cash or credit cards with you. Twenty bucks should do. You can last for three days on just $20 and no other means of payment.
Well, fellow traveler, I hope these tips help you out. As I said earlier, all is forgiven. I've completely forgotten how you cut me off twice, and the throbbing in my foot has nearly subsided. So I hope my hints will help your stay in Boston be a memorable one.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of June 18th, 2004)
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Successful Writing Secrets
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
Despite my complaints that I don't have many readers or get enough feedback from them, I actually have some great readers who write to me on a regular basis.
Some of the more persistent readers ask me if I would like to refinance my home, buy male enhancement pills, or tell me that they know of another reader -- usually a hot Russian woman -- who want to meet me.
It's feedback like this that makes my life of writing worthwhile. Of course, getting paid would make it more worthwhile, but that's a topic for another column.
But occasionally, some people say they are breaking into writing, and would like to know if I could offer any tips. "How far out do you write your columns?" they ask.
Way far out, man. It's, like, groovy, you know.
"No, no," they write back. "How far in advance do you write your columns?"
I'd like to say I write my columns weeks in advance, and that I am well prepared for any emergency. But I'd also like to say that I'm fabulously wealthy with abdominal muscles you could grate cheese on.
Obviously neither are true. In fact, in true writer's fashion, I wait until the last possible minute to write my columns. At least, this is what my editors tell everyone.
So to answer the burning question, here is my weekly schedule for successful humor column writing:
Friday morning (the day after my deadline): Hmmm, I need a topic.
Tuesday afternoon (two days before new deadline): Hmmm, I still need a topic.
Thursday, 5:00 pm (7 hours before deadline): OH CRAP, I NEED A TOPIC!!
5:01: Cruise the Internet before I go home. Maybe I can find a news story to think about during the ride home.
5:10: Nothing interesting happening today. Aren't stupid people filing lawsuits anymore? Maybe I can think of something on the way home.
5:11: Ooh, I haven't heard that song in a long time.
5:14: Or that one.
5:55: Oh good, I'm almost home. Now I can relax and -- OH CRAP, I STILL NEED A TOPIC!!
6:00: There are my kids. Maybe I could write about that time that -- no, every baby does that. How about the time when -- no, she'll already have enough therapy when she's older. Don't you hate it when -- nope, too Andy Rooney-ish.
6:01: Kiss my wife hello. Maybe I could -- not if I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.
6:20: Visit the dogs. Don't bother. Every humorist does at least 12 columns on dogs, and I'm getting close to my limit. Besides, how many new jokes can I do on eating, sleeping, and peeing?
6:25: Dinner time already? Man, I'm tired. Better stop at the bathroom first.
6:30: I'm too stressed to eat, I have to think of a topic.
6:31: So what's the deal with broccoli? No, too Jerry Seinfeld.
7:30: Maybe watching some TV will give me some ideas. But just for a few minutes.
8:30: Oh boy, "Scrubs" is on. That's a great show. I wish I could write as funny as that. Hmm, if only I was a. . . uh-oh, I'd better think of something fast.
8:31: I haven't seen this one. Maybe this will inspire me.
9:00: Okay, show's over. Now it's time to get serious. I need to buckle down and find a topic.
9:05: Hmm, my desk is a little messy. Maybe if I cleaned it off, I would get inspired.
9:10: Nope, nothing there. Let's try organizing my CDs.
9:25: Nothing there either. How about picking up some clothes.
10:00: I really need to clean my office more often. Let's see, I had something else to do -- OH CRAP, MY DEADLINE IS IN TWO HOURS!
10:30: Wait a minute, I keep a file on my computer of different topic ideas.
10:31: Hmmm. Fishing? No. House maintenance? No.
10:40: Think, doggone it, think!
10:50: Ah-ha, I've got it. I'll do one about beer drinkers vs. wine drinkers.
11:00: Actually, a beer sounds pretty good right now.
11:30: (BURP) I need to buy more beer tomorrow. Now, let's see. . . what was I doing?
11:35: OH CRAP, I NEED TO START WRITING. MY DEADLINE IS IN 25 MINUTES!!!
11:55: Hurry up, you stupid spell checker.
11:56: What do you mean, "Deckers" isn't in the spell checker dictionary?
11:58: Paste it into the email, hit Send.
11:59: Whew, made it just in time. I really need to start writing these things in advance so I don't have to go through this each week.
Friday morning: Hmmm, I need a topic.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of June 25th, 2004)
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