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Pay Attention To Me!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a column from 2002.
It takes a special kind of person to want to be the center of attention. I don't mean whiny musicians who work all their lives to be revered by the public, then spend all their time whining about how their fans annoy them and they just want to be left alone before moving to a castle in Scotland.
I mean people who want to be the center of attention, but without all the hassles of being famous. They want all eyes to focus on them, because they want to be noticed, appreciated, and feel special. I happen to be one of those people.
"No, Erik, not you! You always seem so quiet and content to work behind the scenes where the real magic happens."
No, no. I appreciate the thought, but I need to face my demons and admit that I, Erik Deckers, world strongest humor writer, love to be the center of attention.
It was bound to happen. I've always had a burning desire to be the center of attention, but somehow always managed to combine it with an uncanny knack for getting into trouble at the same time. I never thought about what would happen afterward, and didn't really start considering these things until I was 23.
There are several ways to be the center of attention. You want to be recognized as an authority, to be in a leadership role, or to be able to shout "Hey, watch this!" without dying afterward. Or in my case, it's often something completely different, yet equally inappropriate.
My combined third grade/fourth grade class was doing a "Civil War" theme for our school talent show, and would sing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "Dixieland." Then Rusty Heiland, the smartest kid in the fourth grade, was going to recite the Gettysburg Address.
During rehearsals, I would get the idea to mouth the words along with Rusty as he delivered it. But since I was eight and addle- minded, I never remembered to do it until he was nearly finished, so I missed it. Each time, I would try to remember, so I could mouth the entire address along with him. And each time, I would remember to do it sooner, until I did it for nearly half the speech.
To this day, I have no idea why, but I thought this would be extremely cool to do. So I made it my goal to mouth all the words to the Gettysburg Address at least once in my life. I made a vow that I would do the entire address with Rusty, and then my life would be complete. I could then move on to something more important, like creating the biggest tin foil ball in the lunchroom.
The day of the performance finally came. We were going to perform for the entire school that afternoon, and then again for the parents that evening. And the planets were in perfect alignment so that I was supposed to stand next to Rusty for the entire performance.
You remember Rusty. He was the kid who would recite the entire Gettysburg Address. By himself. With no backup singers or unnecessary distractions on the stage. He was supposed to be the only person on stage with anything to do for 90 whole seconds. And everyone would be watching him.
It's at this point that I want to remind you of two very important points. First, I was an addle-minded eight year old who had set a very important goal for himself and I was running out of time. Second, I had a burning desire to be the center of attention, but I gave no thought to what would happen afterward.
And so, right there during the performance in front of the entire school, I mouthed the entire Gettysburg Address along with Rusty Heiland.
"Four score and seven years ago," he boomed.
"Four score and seven years ago," I echoed silently.
To this day, I still have gaps in my memory about what happened that day. I vaguely remember classmates poking me in the back, and hissing at me to stop it, but I couldn't. It's as if I was being controlled by some outside force that was moving my mouth as Rusty recited the 272 most important words in our country's history.
As you can expect, this did not go unnoticed or unpunished by my teacher, Mrs. Wilson. She called my parents, and I was banned from participating in the parents' performance that night. I was grounded for several days, and was prevented from having any kind of fun at all. I was also known throughout the school as "the kid who did that thing."
But none of it mattered. I was special. I had been the center of attention. The spotlight had sliced through the darkness and landed on my stage. And I, for one brief moment, was able to shove another kid out of the way and use up his 15 minutes of fame.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 2nd, 2004)
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Making Technology Easy
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
I used to be a technology whiz when I was younger. I could explain the difference between digital and analog stereo systems. I could explore the inner workings of my Macintosh computer. And I even knew how to program my VCR -- no mean feat 15 years ago.
Even today, I try to stay current with the latest technological trends. After all, technology has become such an integral part of our lives. We can watch TV on our computers. We can listen to the radio on devices the size of a pen. Cell phones, PDAs, and wireless laptops make it possible to communicate across vast distances without being tied down by cables and cords.
Even this column is made possible through email. While most people are reading this online, there are a few thousand people who read it in an honest-to-God real newspaper. But even then, it gets sent to the editor via email.
So technology is inescapable, unless you're a Luddite, in which case I'll make fun of you, since it's not like you're using a computer to read this anyway.
And most people love technology, because it will bring about new ages of exploration and discovery. It will allow us to reach beyond the stars, or explore the ocean floors. Technology can mean the difference between life and death for the sick, and it can help form friendships between people who have never met. But mostly, we use it to play video poker while we're waiting at the airport.
I was not always the most technologically adept in college, but I could have intelligent discussions with engineers and computer programmers about the latest advances in their field. I even maintained my level of interest as I entered the workforce, and used computers on a daily basis.
So I was in for a bit of a shock when I started working for a software company this year.
I've always considered myself fairly accomplished: I can frame a house, I can cook a gourmet meal from memory, and I can even speak in front of large crowds. But compared to the people I work with, I am to technology what a lit match is to a welder's torch.
And while I still respect technology, I'll never fully grasp its intricacies or subtle nuances. Instead, I leave that to the professionals and people who can tell you why they have to carry more than four pens in their pocket.
I know a guy whose idea of fun is to design and build electronic devices, whereas my idea of fun is to point a little box at a big box, and then the magical people who live inside the big box put on a show for me.
Needless to say, I feel like the caveman who discovers fire when some guy pulls up in a Ferrari and hands me a CD.
Working in the software industry has brought me in contact with a lot of technology experts, who I affectionately refer to as Tech Geeks (although not to their faces, since I'm afraid they'll electrify my office chair). And I try desperately to understand what they're saying to me, but I'm afraid the glazed look in my eyes will give me away. Basically, this is all I hear:
Tech Geek: We have to interface the fleeble with the grabnitz, or else we'll spalt the diodium cathodes.
Me: Splunge.
Tech Geek: But here's the exciting part. If we schmurtz the diodes with the fleurium-cooled coprosticulators, we'll actually be able to calculatize the yodat of a quaznot. Isn't that cool?!
Me: Yarp.
The worst part is, that as I look into their eyes, I can feel them mentally pleading with me to comprehend what they're saying. And they'll even adopt the international communication method of speaking louder, as if shouting will somehow make me understand.
Tech Geek: I SAID WE CAN GREBULATE THE SPRITSNARQ WITH THE OPTICULE!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?
Me: I like candy.
Unfortunately, I only partially understand what they're saying, because I'm not even sure they're speaking English. Either that, or I recently suffered a blow to the head, and I haven't understood a single word anyone has said to me for months.
I suppose I could spend more time learning about technology. I could delve into the mysteries of electronics, computer programming, and even computational physics. And I've been asked on several occasions why I don't spend more time doing this. To that, I have one simple answer:
Snurg.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 9th, 2004)
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How About Frequent Reader Points?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
With my job, I find myself traveling quite a bit to different parts of the country. So much so that I no longer clamp down on the airplane armrest in a white-knuckle death grip during takeoff. I am now on a first name basis with most of the rental car staff. And my travel agent has named me Employee of the Month for two months in a row.
On a recent trip, I had a chance to visit one of my favorite cities, Atlanta, Georgia, a city renowned for its wide variety of streets all named Peachtree – approximately 287 of them.
Me: Can you tell me how to get to this address?
Atlanta resident: Sure, just take Peachtree Street to Peachtree Boulevard, and turn right. Then turn left on Northwest Peachtree Trail and follow it to Peachtree Parkway.
Me: And then what?
Atlanta resident: Turn Peachtree. But don't forget to Peachtree on the Peachtree, otherwise you're in for some big Peachtree.
Me: Peachtree!
Admittedly frequent traveling has a downside. I'm away from home for long periods of time. I find myself in different hotels, and have sometimes forgotten what day it is and which city I'm in. And I'm forced to eat in nice restaurants day after day.
I have to pretend that last one is a downside, otherwise my boss will think I enjoy it, and won't let me go as much.
But if there's one fun thing about traveling – and it's certainly not the restaurant thing – it's frequent traveler points. This is where you get reward points for flying with certain airlines or staying in certain hotels. And you can collect these points until you get enough to redeem them for . . . free flights with certain airlines or free nights in certain hotels.
Okay, so maybe that doesn't sound exciting, but keep in mind that this is often an obsession with road warriors – after spending hours cramming your butt into airplane seats that are three inches too narrow, you need to do something to pass the time. So many travelers collect points the way baseball geeks collect statistics. We plan, plot, and scheme to get as many points as possible, as if we're in some long-distance race against every other traveler in the airport.
We glare at each other with bloodshot eyes, wipe the sweat from our furrowed brows, somehow convinced that the other person is stealing our points.
At least I do. I tend to obsess about these things.
It's actually rather pointless, because we don't actually win anything. There's no big prize at the end of the year. There's no gold cup for the most number of points earned. However the smug sense of self-satisfaction more than makes up for the fact that we haven't mowed the lawn for three weeks.
But lately it's gotten so complicated that you need a degree in computational physics to make sense of it all.
Let's say you're a member of a frequent traveler's club like, say, Holiday Inn Priority Club, who I mention strictly at random, and not in the hopes that they will add 30,000 points to my account just for mentioning them (that's Erik Deckers of Indiana, member since 1996).
Just stay at any Holiday Inn and earn points for each night. The more you stay, the more you earn. But then it gets complicated. All the big hotel chains have partnerships with airlines, car rental agencies, and sometimes even restaurants. As you fly, drive and eat, you can earn even more points.
But there's more. Use a credit card that also earns points, and you can get even more points on top of that. You'll plan your flights and hotel stays, not based on convenience, but strictly to maximize the number of points you can earn. Pretty soon, the whole thing becomes one big convoluted game of Travel Bingo.
Eventually, the veteran road warrior becomes a walking encyclopedia of points, snorting derisively at the newbie travelers, who nervously clutch their point guides in their sweaty little hands.
We reach a Zen state where we can name every restaurant, every hotel, and every rental car agency from memory. We know who will give us the best points, and when the best times are to travel. Entire family vacations can be won or lost with one slight miscalculation. Missing one crucial step in a six-leg transcontinental flight can mean the difference between a trip to Disney World, or a brisk walk down to the mailbox. And we can figure this all in our head.
But we still can't find our way around Atlanta.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of July 16th, 2004)
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Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Pennies are one of those nearly useless coins that no one wants, but we still have to carry around. I get rid of them at every opportunity, dumping them in tip jars at my local Starbucks. But my children go nuts for pennies, and will leap for one they've spotted on the ground.
Pennies aren't entirely useless though. If you're patient, and can collect 360 of them, you can get a venti latte (that's coffee snob talk for "large foamy coffee") at Starbucks, not including the tip. Of course, it will take you nearly a year to collect that many pennies, so it may not be worth the effort.
But would you turn someone over to a collection agency for a penny?
The Coney Island Hospital in New York has done just that. They've referred Gloria Benavides-Lal of Brooklyn to the OSI Collection Agency to collect exactly one copper cent for the hospital.
According to a story in the New York Post (official motto: "Like the Weekly World News, only not as classy"), Benavides-Lal received a bill from the hospital for one cent, after paying off her hospital bill. After making four payments of $277.43, Benavides-Lal thought she was finished.
That is, until she received a letter with "Collection Notice" written in blood, a knife through it, and a dead rat taped to the envelope.
Okay, they didn't really send the knife.
"When I got the bill, I couldn't believe it," Benavides-Lal told the New York Post. "I showed it to everyone I knew, and they all said it was ridiculous."
So how much did the OSI Collection Agency spend to get their penny? At least 58 cents for the postage. Plus the cost of the paper and envelopes, plus the labor to stuff it in an envelope, seal it, and then send it out. And they haven't backed down either. According to the Post, OSI is still demanding their penny.
And don't forget most collection agencies actually receive a portion of their recovery, although OSI wouldn't say what their fee was. Most agencies usually receive 30 to 50 percent of whatever they collect. So, 30 percent of a penny is . . . well, worthless. But at least they will have the smug sense of self-satisfaction knowing that they spent over a dollar to get their penny back.
But when Benavides-Lal didn't send in her check for one cent, she received a second notice -- which is another dollar in postage, paper, and labor.
Now it's two bucks to get one penny.
I'll be the first to admit that I don't know a lot about accounting or corporate finance, but it seems to me that spending two dollars to get one penny doesn't make good business sense. I could be wrong though.
A nickel on the other hand, is an entirely different matter.
At least that's what the Washington state Department of Employment Security thinks. They threatened to sue Sandi Bryan for a nickel she supposedly owed for an overpayment of her unemployment benefits, which she paid back.
She apparently overlooked the nickel, so they sent her a notice -- which cost 37 cents -- demanding payment. Bryan then called the toll-free line -- usually at 20 cents a minute -- and spent several minutes speaking with a state employee -- probably worth about $2.00 for the time spent -- and being told that she did have to pay the nickel back.
Rather than seeing the humor in the situation and digging for a nickel out of his or her own pocket, the state employee -- with typical bureaucratic "efficiency" -- said the nickel had to be paid, and done correctly. None of this taping a nickel to a piece of paper like Bryan had originally suggested. They wanted something official, like a check, which they would require banking fees to cash.
They even went so far as to say that if she did not pay it, she would be served with a warrant from the Superior Court, which probably cost a couple hundred dollars in processing. And don't forget the costs of serving it to her, which would be another $100 or so in time and effort.
But if it means they get their nickel, more power to them.
At least the Department of Employment Security has a shred of common sense, however. They later waived the nickel payment requirement, and Employment Security spokeswoman Kristin Alexander even said she would have paid for it herself if it would have saved Bryan all the aggravation.
Now if only I could get the federal government to be as flexible with my own taxes. I mean, is it really worth sending an entire platoon of treasury agents after me for just a few thousand bucks?!
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Erik Deckers
(published week of July 23rd, 2004)
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Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
It takes a lot to get politicians in an uproar. They're generally pretty easy going, level-headed, and not prone to immature outbursts about silly issues.
Oh wait, sorry. I was thinking of my children.
Politicians, on the other hand, have an overdeveloped sense of righteous indignation that flares up when they think it will serve a purpose.
It's happened twice in the past month, and people on both ends of the political spectrum have gotten their panties in a bunch over public comments made by someone on the other side.
A few weeks ago, California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger called some California Democrats "girlie men," recalling the Hans and Franz skits from "Saturday Night Live."
He blamed state Democrats for delaying the budget, claiming they were catering to special interests.
"If they don't have the guts to come up here in front of you and say, 'I don't want to represent you, I want to represent those special interests, the unions, the trial lawyers' -- if they don't have the guts, I call them girlie men," Schwarzenegger said, according to a CNN.com story.
You would have thought Schwarzenegger had kicked a puppy and told a dirty joke to a bunch of nuns. Women's groups were apoplectic, and the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Caucus were livid. Charges of homophobia and misogyny flew like bullets in a Schwarzenegger flick. But following in the tradition of the leaders of his party, the Republican governor didn't apologize for his remarks.
"If they complain too much about this, I guess they're making the governor's point," spokesman Rob Stutzman said to CNN.
The remark also offended actual girlie men around the country, who stamped their little feet and flung their Williams-Sonoma catalogs to the ground.
So with two simple words, Arnold was able to offend two different groups of Californians.
Teresa Heinz Kerry, wife of Senator John Kerry, managed a similar feat, although she only offended right-wing journalists.
Earlier this week, after being badgered by Colin McNickle, editorial page editor of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review -- a conservative newspaper -- she pointed her finger at him and told him to "shove it."
I presume she didn't mean her finger.
Many news analysts and pundits wondered whether she would be a liability to her husband's presidential campaign.
Of course, these are the same pundits who started using the term "red meat" during the Democratic convention this week, so I wouldn't put too much stock into what they say.
Mary Beth Cahill, Kerry's campaign manager, was asked by David Broder of The Washington Post, "Who's in charge of keeping her on message?"
"She just says what she thinks. She's her own person," Cahill replied. "So get bent!"
Okay, she really didn't say that last part, although I'm sure she wanted to.
"That's going to be wild if she gets to be first lady," said Rep. Ray LaHood (R-IL.), in a story on HillNews.com.
Republicans were actually pretty quiet about the whole incident, which is not that surprising, given the party's gaffes in the last four years.
In 2000, on the campaign trail, then-Governor Bush leaned over to Dick Cheney and pointed out a reporter from the New York Times. "That's Adam Clymer," said Bush. "He's a major league a**hole." "Oh yeah, big time," Cheney added, his rapier wit working overtime.
The problem was, the dissing duo wasn't aware a microphone was picking up their little exchange. The "a**hole" heard 'round the world haunted them for a couple of weeks afterward.
And who can forget last month when, while on the Senate floor, Vice President Cheney invited Senator Patrick Leahy (D-VT) to have sex with himself.
"Go f*** yourself," was actually what he said.
Needless to say, the Republicans can't really complain about Heinz Kerry's "shove it" statement when the Vice President of the United States goes around encouraging US Senators to commit unnatural -- and impossible -- sexual acts.
But it makes me wonder, if I ever decide to run for public office, will my own unpredictability and off-the-cuff remarks prove to be a liability? Will I be lambasted by my opponents and the media because of my potty mouth? Would a remark like that eventually prove to be my undoing?
Who knows? But if anyone wants to make an issue of it, they can bite me!
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Erik Deckers
(published week of July 30th, 2004)
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