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Silly String: Menace and Mayhem
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
First nuclear weapons in Arcata, now silly string in Los Angeles. Slowly but surely, California politicians are making sure their state is safe from weapons of mass destruction and aerosol-based party favors. They're also still insuring that humor columnists will never run out of material, but that's just an added bonus.
The Los Angeles City Council will consider an ordinance on Friday, August 6th, that will ban the use of silly string in public places, at least during Halloween. That's because, according to Councilman Tom LaBonge, it can clog city sewers, which can ultimately harm marine life. It can also endanger police, especially those on horseback.
The proposed legislation would only allow stores to sell silly string, not street vendors who sell it from their backpacks. Also, people would still be allowed to use silly string at parties, but not on city streets or in public parks.
There was no word whether there would be special silly string sections in restaurants. However, I'm pretty sure there won't be any television commercials decrying the danger of second-hand silly string.
In other words, the city that's covered by the smog of a gazillion automobiles is worried about silly string getting into the oceans? We're talking about California, right? You mean, the state that banned smoking while their biggest city has the highest smog rate in the country? You mean the state whose Democratic politicians whined when the world's most macho governor called them "girlie men?"
While I applaud Councilman LaBonge's concerns -- before making a few pot jokes about his name -- I'm thinking the second biggest city in the United States probably has a couple other sources of ocean pollution besides bits of plastic string.
But at least the Los Angeles City Council is focusing on something as crucial and important as silly string, rather than a complete time-waster like, oh I don't know, murder, drugs, and prostitution.
Police officer: Hey you drug dealers, that better not be a can of silly string.
Drug dealer: Umm, this? I was just holding it for a friend.
Police officer: That's it, dirtbag, you're under arrest for possession and intent to discharge silly string. Oh, and we're arresting you for the 80 pounds of cocaine in your pockets too.
What sort of penalty would the silly string scofflaws face? A stiff fine? A severe beating? Five year lockup with murderers and drug dealers?
Hardened Prisoner: What are you in for?
You: Silly string.
Hardened Prisoner: I don't want any trouble. I'll just sit over here and mind my own business.
It reminds me of the time many years ago when the city of Boston wanted to ban Super Soakers, after a teenager was shot and killed because he soaked another teenager. So rather than banning handguns or anything sensible like that, they decided to go after Super Soakers instead.
"Hmmm, we can ban the thing that gets people wet, or we can ban the thing that actually kills people. What to do? What to do?"
I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised however. This is happening in the same state as Arcata -- the small city in northern California that banned Nuclear Weapons from the city limits in 1989. They even have signs that read "NUCLEAR WEAPONS FREE ZONE" at the entrance to City Hall and other public places. At least that's what it says in Section 5907 of the Arcata Nuclear Weapons Free Zone Act.
In fact, by an amazing coincidence, the 15 year anniversary of the ban is on Friday, August 6th -- the same day the Los Angeles City Council will decide whether LA is a "SILLY STRING FREE ZONE."
I can only hope they will show the same commitment as Arcata, and put up big signs at the entrance to City Hall and other public places. After all, nothing says "courage of one's convictions" better than a sign at the entrance of City Hall.
Unfortunately, I had no idea the Nuclear Weapons Free Zone Act anniversary was this week when I started this column, so I didn't have time to hit the Arcata City Council up for a couple of plane tickets out to California. I could have helped them celebrate the historic event.
If only I had some sort of foam string in a can I could use to show my appreciation.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 6th, 2004)
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Another Reason Not To Order Pea Soup
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
If I had to give one important piece of advice today, it would be this:
Tip your waitstaff.
These people are your waiters and waitresses, bartenders and baristas (that’s Italian for"person who pours you a fancy $4 cup of coffee and then has the stones to ask for a tip afterward”). They are the people who have devoted this stage of their career path -- and in some cases, their entire careers -- to serving you, providing you with nourishment, and making sure you have a pleasant dining experience.
And yet they do it for less than $2.50 an hour, plus tips. So you would think that diners would remember this, and tip their waitstaff appropriately. Unfortunately, many diners have the keen awareness of a steamed clam, so it’s not very likely.
So here is the basic rule of restaurant tipping: 15% for regular restaurants and 20% for nice restaurants. If you got exceptional service, increase it by 5%. If you got poor service, decrease it by 5%. Do NOT, under any circumstances, ever fail to leave a tip. You wouldn’t want your boss to refuse to pay you because you turned in your weekly report a day late; don’t deprive your waitstaff of a living just because they made a mistake.
I remember my own days as a bartender, working in a small, blue-collar bar that was so smoky, I was a second-hand smoke class action lawsuit unto myself. While most of my customers understood the concept of tipping, and practiced it regularly, it was a complete mystery to one regular named Walter.
Walter was a huge, burly guy who worked as a bouncer at the local strip club. Everyone could easily picture him killing a grizzly bear with his bare hands. He also had this strange idea that tipping me would make other people think he was gay. His solution was to never tip me, although he tipped our female bartender lavishly. My response was to give him minimal service. And to spread rumors that I had seen him wearing women’s undergarments on more than one occasion.
It was during this time that I learned how important it is, not only to tip your waitstaff, but to be kind to them as well. This means no yelling, no insults, no trying to make yourself feel better at their expense.
This is especially important if they have not brought your food out to you yet.
Why? Because every waiter and waitress learns very early how to spit in someone’s food and then hide it before they bring your plate to you. And if it’s one of those restaurants that manage to attract a lot of jerks -- usually tourist restaurants in vacation spots -- then they get a lot of practice.
Did you yell at your waitress and nearly bring her to tears when she brought your drinks? Then why was she smiling so much when she delivered your plate? A warm sense of forgiveness and love?
Not hardly. It’s more likely that she hawked a big one into the garlic mashed potatoes you were yelling about earlier.
It was also during my bartender days that I came up with the idea for the PITA charge. PITA -- which stands for Pain In The. . . uhh, Rear -- is a fee that the waitstaff can charge diners based on how much of a PITA they are, and then tag it onto your check.
Ask your waiter for six separate checks for your group and then insist on paying them all yourself? 5% PITA charge.
Ask for something not on the menu? 10% PITA charge.
Order something and then insist you never ordered it? 15% PITA charge and a dope slap from the bartender. Or Walter.
Yell at your waiter or waitress? 25% PITA charge and a big loogey in your Fettuccine Alfredo. From Walter.
While the PITA charge would primarily be a way for waiters and waitresses to be compensated for some of their more trying customers, it would also serve as an educational tool to those people whose parents never taught them proper restaurant manners.
Some restaurants have already implemented this charge, and they tell you so right on their menu. Do you see that line that says "18% gratuity automatically added for parties of 6 or more?" That’s the manager’s polite way of saying, "We already know you’re going to be jerky, so we’re just gonna add the PITA charge now."
Look, I know I said it once before, but this piece of advice is so important, it’s worth repeating: Always, always, ALWAYS tip your waitstaff.
You never know exactly what they’re spitting into your food back there.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 13th, 2004)
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Swish-Whack, Take That!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2004
Although NBC's Olympic coverage has greatly improved (only one "Up Close and Personal" per night, less blathering by Al Trautwig, Elfi Schlegel, and Tim Daggett during gymnastics), I wish they would have shown more fencing.
Fencing is such a cool sport. It's one of the few Olympic sports that's actually based on real fighting and killing skills people used centuries ago (archery, shooting, and the javelin are a few others). All the rest of the sports are based on transportation (rowing, running, swimming), recreation (volleyball and badminton) or torture and masochism (gymnastics and race walking).
But fencing is such a satisfying sport, especially the saber. It's different from the foil and epee, where the fencers only try to poke each other. Saber fences fight like they're fending off pirates.
However, in saber fencing, the buzzer sounds when you've been hit, rather than your arm being whacked off.
With the saber, you duel with your opponent, swords clang, and then -- Swish-Whack, Take That! -- a point is scored. The fencer raises his or her fist in celebration, and is warmed by the sense of smug self-satisfaction from knowing that if it were a real duel, their opponent would be dead.
It happened in the women's saber event when -- Swish-Whack, Take That! -- 19-year-old Mariel Zagunis beat China's Xue Tan to take America's first fencing gold medal in 100 years.
In honor of Zagunis' great, but largely unnoticed, accomplishment, I have created the Swish-Whack awards, and give a few during the first week of the Olympic games.
The first Swish-Whack award goes to Gianna Angelopoulos-Daskalaki, the president of the Athens Organizing Committee. She is largely responsible for bringing the games to Athens, but was shoved aside after the bid was completed. After the Greeks fell way behind schedule in building the venues, they were warned that they might lose the games, and that the International Olympic Committee would send them back to Sydney. So the Greek politicians groveled and asked Angelopoulos-Daskalaki to please please PLEASE come back and make sure everything got finished on time.
She did just that. The venues were finished with just moments to spare, the transportation issues had been largely solved, and the games would stay in Athens. And now, after a marvelous opening ceremony and six days of competition -- Swish-Whack, Take That! -- it looks like Angelopoulos-Daskalaki is the queen once again. Maybe next time Greek politicians will think twice before firing the woman who made them winners in the first place.
The next award goes to American male gymnast Paul Hamm, gold medalist of the male all-around gymnastic competition. During the vault, Hamm managed to make a perfect landing. . . right on his butt. This immediately dropped him to 12th place, and everyone -- including me -- was convinced it was all over.
"No one can ever come back from 12th," I said to my wife, since I'm a men's gymnastics expert. "He's too far back, and the judges aren't being very generous tonight." I knew I was right, because the NBC commentators were saying the same thing.
Swish-Whack, Take That! After two great performances on the parallel bars and high bar, and a few falls by the leaders, Hamm came from behind, and became the second American gymnast, male or female, to ever win the all-around. Maybe next time I'll quit listening to the Three Stooges of Olympic gymnastics.
The final Swish-Whack award goes to American gymnast Carly Patterson, the 16-year-old Texan who, as I write this column, just gave Russian diva Svetlana Khorkina a good old-fashioned American spanking in the women's all-around gymnastics competition.
Khorkina, the self-titled "Queen of Gymnastics," was bound and determined to win in her final Olympics, having failed twice before in 1996 and 2000. In the weeks leading up to the Olympics, she told everyone she was a champion and that she would prevail on this night.
Patterson, the last performer of the evening, completed her floor exercise and everyone eagerly waited for the final score. While they waited, Khorkina grabbed a Russian flag and waved it around as if she had won the gold. She draped it over the uneven bars and waved to the crowd, fully expecting the elusive medal to be hers.
Swish-Whack, Take That!
The scoreboard lit up, and Carly Patterson won the gold. She became the second American woman to win the women's all-around competition. The Queen had been dethroned.
If nothing else, the Olympics will teach us some very important lessons. Never give up on the underdog. Never count someone out just because they're down. And never ever, under any circumstances, call yourself the queen because -- Swish-Whack, Take That! -- you may just get beat by a little princess.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of August 20th, 2004)
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