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I Knew That
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
As a self-proclaimed Know-It-All, I am in the enviable position of being able to demonstrate my vast knowledge on a wide array of topics, like how Benjamin Frankton invented the kite, or how Ora and Wilfred Right were the first to fly an airplane across the Pacific Ocean to France.
And people enjoy hearing about these important facts. Oh sure, they may pretend to not be interested. But their eye rolling and shouts of "Would you just shut up?!" are really just good-natured jokes. I think they really appreciate it when I continue to lecture on about important fact that pops into my mind, like how Sir Isaac Newton invented the Apple computer.
But I hate it when other people do it to me. They do it in that smug way that just grates on my nerves, and correct me by asking a question in response to a statement I made.
"You mean Ben Franklin?" or "Haven't kites been around for centuries?"
Even those smarmy baristas do it at Starbucks, whenever I order a "large" latte.
"Venti latte?" they ask in a condescending way that both confirms my order and gently reminds me that they don't serve something as gauche and bourgeois as a "large."
"Yes," I respond. I refuse to say "venti." However, I have to salute their attempts at being Know-It-Alls, but it's obvious they aren't, otherwise they would recognize me as their king.
The benefit of being a Know-It-All is that I know the other people don't, in fact, know all; unfortunately, they don't. If they knew as much as they thought, they would realize that I did. As a result, they're unaware that Lewis and Clark were searching for the Fountain of Youth in Bend, Oregon, or that the United States fought Liechtenstein in World War II.
So it's my obligation to enlighten people about the gaps in their knowledge with interesting bits of trivia, like Alexander Graham Bell invented the graham cracker, or that "Inherit the Wind" is the sequel to "Gone With the Wind."
Unfortunately, some people don't take my pearls of knowledge to heart. They argue with me and say that I don't know what I'm talking about. If that's the case, then how did I get to be a self-proclaimed Know-It-All? These naysayers usually mumble something about how "self-proclaimed should be obvious" before stalking away in an envious huff.
It can be a lonely life at times. There aren't a lot of us Know-It-Alls around. In fact, in addition to myself, I only know two others: a kid from high school I used to play Dungeons and Dragons with, and a former psychology professor from Ball State University I met when I was a kid. However, that guy is not there anymore, so I guess he didn't know as much as he thought he did.
I first realized I was a Know-It-All when I was 12 or 13 years old and discovered I knew way more than my parents did. Most teenagers go through that phase, but they grow out of it when they reach high school and have it pounded out of them by their teachers. I, on the other hand, spent the next 15 years slowly educating my parents on things, until we were nearly on par. Of course, once I had children, it was like they had an educational growth spurt, and were much wiser and smarter than I had ever given them credit for.
Being a Know-It-All parent is a huge responsibility though. I only have a few short years to teach my children all the important facts of life, before the public educational system tries to drum it out of them. Important things like how George Washington crossed the state of Delaware to defeat the Confederate Army.
Sure, the teachers will tell me I'm ruining my children's education, but they're part of the problem, spouting off such nonsense as Canada is a country to the north of the United States, or fluoridated drinking water is not a government mind control plot. But I stand firm in my beliefs.
It's like Albert Einstein once said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." I figure if anyone knows what they're talking about, it's Albert. After all, he invented black holes and co-founded the Einstein Brothers Bagels shops.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 7th, 2005)
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What About Cootchie Cootchie Coo?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
While most new parents are eager to show off their new baby, and positively beam when people coo at and marvel over their newest family member, one hospital in Halifax, Scotland is putting a stop to all that.
According to a recent story in The (Edinburgh) Scotsman, the Calderale Royal Hospital has instituted a ban on looking at, asking about, or even cooing to newborn babies in the maternity wards, to prevent visitors from ". . . gawping at newborns or questioning the mother."
Debbie Lawson, a neonatal manager, said that even babies have a right to privacy. "We need to respect the child," she told the Scotsman, presumably with a straight face. "Cooing should be a thing of the past, because these are little people with the same rights as you or me."
Lawson and her fellow anti-cooing activists have even hammered the point home with a doll carrying the message, "What makes you think I want to be looked at?" (To which critics responded with their own doll and message, "Don't flatter yourself.")
Of course, this prompted an outcry from Dolls Have A Right to Privacy (DoHARP), who were upset that a doll was used to reinforce the hospital's Draconian new rules.
Needless to say, the new ban has taken everyone by surprise, including the new mothers.
"Who says the babies don't want to be looked at?" asked one critic. "When an infant can tell me he doesn't want to be stared at, I'll respect his choice. But I'm beginning to wonder if the wee bairns even care about this."
"Right!" hollered another critic. "I mean, what if the baby's an aspiring model or actress, and she's trying to get an early start on her career? A ban like this could hurt her future chances for fame."
"But what if the baby wants to be a spy or an assassin or cat burglar? Aren't we depriving that child of the anonymity required to pursue their chosen profession?" asked a coo ban supporter, obviously failing to grasp the point.
Linda Riordan, Halifax's Labour MP, said this was "bureaucracy gone mad. . . (I)n a case where a mother did not want to answer questions, it should be up to that individual to say so."
I suppose this is the real question: are new mothers complaining about people cooing at their infants? Do we have a ward full of Dennis Hopper-esque babies shrieking "stop looking at me!" a la "Blue Velvet?" Or John Cusack who asks for the most visible table in a restaurant and then gets upset when people approach him? Or are the neonatal folks hopping on the Politically Correct bandwagon and putting words into their young charges' mouths?
And what sort of message is being sent to these impressionable youngsters? Will they grow up to be sullen teenagers who shout "Hey, I didn't ask to be born!" at their parents? (To which the parents should respond, "We didn't ask for you either, but we're stuck with you just the same!") Or is it something completely different?
A spokeswoman for Calderdale said she believed it was as much to do with reducing infection risks as it was upholding the rights of these newborns.
"Staff held an advice session to highlight the need for respect and dignity for all patients and the potential risk of infection in vulnerable infants, to new moms and their families," she said in a statement. However, she didn't clarify why a steady stream of infectious people are hanging around the maternity ward in the first place.
Potential risk of infection aside, exactly how much dignity does an infant have? They don't have a station in life or privileges thereof; they sleep constantly, waking only to eat; they poop, pee, and spit up more than is necessary. So how is that dignified?
Let's face it, if you're a child of God, you have a place in the world. And if you occupy that place, people are going to look at you. They'll coo, touch, point and laugh, and yes, even gawp at you. And while I understand the sentiments behind Calderdale's rules of privacy, they should leave it up to the parents to decide whether people can look at their babies, or the child will earn the reputation of being socially dysfunctional before his first birthday.
If a child wants to become a hermit and refuse to interact with other human beings, let them make their own choices. It's not up to hospitals and their overzealous staff to police whether people become social misfits or not. We have computer science degrees and Star Trek conventions for that.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 14th, 2005)
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Will You... Uhh... Do You Want To...
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Believe it or not, I wasn't always the suave, sophisticated, debonair guy I am now. So it's not too surprising that I never dated much in high school. It wasn't for lack of interest or even lack of trying. Believe me, I was very interested. And I tried as much, if not more, than any normal teenage boy did at that age.
I just didn't know the appropriate way to go about it. That, and I was a bit of a geek back then. I know, I know, a lot of people are surprised at that. But it's true.
Apparently -- and I wish I had known this back then -- playing in sports nobody has heard of and being in the marching band can pretty much blow any chances of dating for the next 20 years. It wasn't until I quit the band and assumed a new identity that things turned around for me.
But knowing what I know now, I would like to offer some rules of dating success to the other quasi-geeky young men out there who find themselves alone on a Friday night. I do this partly because I want to spare them the same difficulties I had, but mostly because my wife won't let me date, and I want to see if this stuff really works.
These rules also apply to the complete geeks, although I can assure you I wasn't one. Because it's important to. . . no really, I wasn't. It's important to remember. . . seriously, I wasn't. I was just ahead of my time, that's all.
Rule 1. This is the biggie: lose the Star Trek gear. And Star Wars. And Babylon Five. And Battlestar Galactica. And anything else that combines the words "fiction," "science," and "I like" in a single sentence. Your friends may be impressed that you worked out a battle plan that shows how the Millennium Falcon could beat the USS Enterprise in a dogfight, but girls don't care. Trust me, this is the epitome of geekiness, and should be avoided at all costs.
Rule 2. Ditto for Dungeons and Dragons. For some reason, girls aren't wild about guys who play make believe about fighting dragons and orcs, and finding magical treasures. I remember this one time, I was playing an Elven archer and. . . never mind.
In high school, I only knew one girl who played Dungeons and Dragons, and she was geekier than me. (Despite this, she still intimidated most of the guys in our D&D group by virtue of her being a girl.) In other words, the odds in my school of finding a female D&D player were literally one in 1200, so don't hold your breath on finding one of your own.
3. Adopt an air of mystery. In other words, don't share things about yourself that make people roll their eyes and say "too much information" in that sing-songy voice that makes you want to smack them. Topics like "guess how many things I'm allergic to" or "the results of my latest stool analysis" are strictly off limits. You're better off showing her the three-hour PowerPoint presentation of your Enterprise-Millennium Falcon battle complete with animated explosions.
4. Avoid people who suddenly like you when they previously didn't. They're setting you up for something. I had the fortunate experience of watching this happen to a friend of mine when I was a junior. I say fortunate, because it happened to him and not me. Still, as a friend, it was my duty to support him and help him get over it.
We did this by showing the girl in question there were no hard feelings and delivered three dozen eggs to her house one night. We also left soap on the windows and toilet paper scattered throughout the yard to help with cleanup the next morning.
5. Stories about hobbies and extra-curricular activities are also off-limits. You may think the story about how you nearly came to blows with that jerk Hanson at the Chess Club banquet are interesting, but you're the only one. Save the stories for your grandkids.
However, for some reason, she will not feel the same compunction and will tell you all about what she heard from Sarah who heard it from Alissa who heard from Mandy that Melody and Stuart were caught in the Industrial Arts stairwell and blah blah blah. Just smile and nod and be happy that you're actually on a date with a girl, let alone in the same room with her.
Unfortunately, this is only the tip of the iceberg. Let's face it, being a quasi-geek is a pretty big iceberg, and your dating life is the Titanic. But there's hope. Just practice these five simple rules and you'll start to see small improvements which will lead to bigger and bigger successes. And if you're lucky, you'll have an honest-to-God real girlfriend who thinks your sci-fi obsession is "kind of cute."
It's like the Star Trek episode, "Trouble With Tribbles" where Captain Kirk. . . never mind.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 21st, 2005)
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Now Isn't THAT Ironic?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Irony is one of those problem words that everyone thinks they know what it means, but don't. I'm not even totally clear on the concept myself, even though it's a writing tool I use all the time.
According to Dictionary.com, irony can be language "used to convey insults or scorn." It is also an "incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs."
So basically, when you tell your brother-in-law, "You're so smart. New Car Smell in a Can is a brilliant idea!" in a very sarcastic and belittling tone of voice, that's irony. When he becomes fabulously wealthy and says it's because you were the only person who believed in him, that's irony too. It's also a viable murder defense in some states.
It is not, as Alanis Morrissette would have us believe, rain on your wedding day, a free ride when you already paid, or good advice that you did not take. Alanis Morrissette knows as much about irony as a Luddite knows about computer repair.
As the Usage Panel from the American Heritage Dictionary says, it is not ironic that "Susie moved to Ithaca, New York to California, where she met her husband-to-be who also came from upstate New York." That's just a happy coincidence, or just plain weird, since Susie actually moved to a nun's convent.
What the Usage Panel does accept as ironic is if Susie moved to California in order to find a husband, but met a guy from her home town. But I'm still not really clear, so let's try another example.
There's an old newspaper adage that says " 'Dog bites man' is not news, but 'man bites dog' is." Meaning commonplace everyday occurrences are not newsworthy, but strange uncommon things are.
But occasionally, a dog biting a man IS news. Especially when it's a new state felony. Especially when the guy who wrote the law is the one who was bitten. Especially when he was bitten by his own dog.
Bob Schwartz is the crime adviser to Bill Richardson, the Governor of New Mexico. It seems Schwartz helped write a controversial state law that allows felony charges to be filed against owners of dangerous or potentially dangerous dogs, if those dogs attack or injure someone.
Possibly ironically, Schwartz was attacked by one of his dogs a couple of weeks ago, causing injury to both of his arms, and sending him to the hospital.
New Mexico's legislature passed the bill, Governor Richardson signed it, and bada bing, bada boom! Schwartz is a political tour de force. But his dogs just picture him as a giant steak. Schwartz owns two English bulldogs and a boxer, but none of the news reports specified which of the dogs attacked him. So it's a toss-up as to which dog made Schwartz his chewtoy.
I can almost imagine how it happened: "Hey Herbie, what a good dog. Yes you are, my Herbie-Werbie. Who had a bill passed this year, huh? Guess who got a new felony pass -- AAAGH, my arm, let go of my arm!! Get off me, you #^%$*&@ dog!!"
So is that irony? Or is it just plain funny? Okay, maybe it's not funny, considering Schwartz had to go to the hospital and the dog may have to be destroyed. But you do have to appreciate fate's fickle sense of comedy. But is it really irony? Some could argue that it is, especially if Schwartz ends up going to jail on a felony charge.
New Mexico state senator Sue Wilson Beffort, who worked with Schwartz on the dog bite bill, said, "(W)hen it happens in your own family, that's another story. That's tragic."
Maybe it's tragic irony. You know, when the unintended consequence leads to someone's death or injury. Kind of like those stunts that usually involve alcohol, some kind of explosive, and the phrase "Hey y'all, watch this!"
However, in Schwartz's case, it's not irony. It's just one of those unfortunate coincidences that make me glad I own beagles.
Real irony is more like when animal-rights activists, allegedly the Animal Liberation Front, released thousands of minks from fur farms in Britain in 1998. These minks, who were saved from becoming fur coats, instead wreaked certain death on farm animals, domestic pets, and even each other. Hundreds more minks were killed on British roadways or by people with guns and clubs.
This is probably a textbook example of irony. In an attempt to save a few thousand animals, animal-rights activists instead caused the death of several thousand more, including many of the ones they originally intended to save. The only thing more ironic would have been if the very mink they were trying to save actually turned on the activists and killed them.
But what would be truly ironic is if Alanis Morrissette wrote a protest song about those minks. And then they ate her.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of October 28th, 2005)
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