Erik Deckers' Laughing Stalk

Dean of American Motorsports Chris Economaki's Presence Still Felt in IMS Media Center

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sat, 25 May 2013 00:46:00 +0000

Chris Economaki, the Dean of American Motorsports, has a special place in the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Media Center. It's the pole position. The place he occupied for decades covering the Indianapolis 500, and later, the Brickyard 400.

He's even so revered here in Indianapolis that they named the press conference room after him, down on the first floor of the Media Center. After every race, all the journalists gather in the Economaki Press Conference Room for the post-race interviews, as well as any interviews after accidents, as well as Qualification Day and special press conferences.

Economaki's career in motorsports journalism started when he sold copies of the National Speed Sport News newspapers at age to 13, becoming a columnist a year later, and finally becoming the editor by the time he was 30. He went on to become the owner and publisher some years later, turning out issues until his daughter, Corinne, took over until its last issue in March 2011. He was even chosen by Microsoft to write the auto racing history portion of Encarta.

But that's only scratching the surface. Here's what else he did during his long and storied career, as told by Wikipedia.

Economaki began as track announcer at a number of major races in the 1940s and 1950s. He began at the July 4, 1961 running of the Firecracker 250 NASCAR race at Daytona International Speedway for ABC Sports. He covered most ABC Wide World of Sports motorsports events, including several Indianapolis 500s, Daytona 500s, Formula One Grand Prix races, the 24 Hours of Le Mans, the East African Safari, and the Bathurst 1000 in Australia. He would also cover Wide World's less glamorous motorsports assignments, such as demolition derbies.

For several years during the 1960s, he contributed "Sport of Speed" segments twice each weekend to the NBC Radio Network program Monitor.

After 23 years he switched to CBS Sports. He covered International Race of Champions (IROC) events, Daytona 500s, and Formula One Grand Prix events.

He contributed to ESPN's SpeedWeek, and TBS' Motorweek Illustrated. Economaki also covered Formula One races on ESPN in 1987 and 1988 alongside British race driver and commentator David Hobbs, before being replaced by the younger Bob Varsha from 1989.

In 1988 he was the expert pit reporter for Australian television station Channel 7 for the first ever NASCAR race run outside of North America, the Goodyear NASCAR 500 at theCalder Park Thunderdome in Melbourne. Economaki had previously worked for Seven during the Bathurst 1000 telecasts of the late 1970s and early 1980's, mainly working as a pit reporter.

He covered several types of auto racing, including sprint cars, Championship Cars, stock cars, drag racers, and CanAm cars.

Economaki was a part of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Radio Network coverage of the Indianapolis 500, contributing essays and analysis.

I'm a bit of a journalism geek, reading past works sports writers and columnists like Roger Angell, the New Yorker's revered baseball writer; Studs Terkel, broadcaster and author; and, Mike Royko, Chicago newspaper columnist, and the reason I became a newspaper columnist myself.

So I've been interested in the history and legacy of Economaki, and what he's done for motorsports. And until I started writing this piece, I was never quite sure of all the things he did. I just knew he was considered the top motorsports journalist ever, but I didn't know exactly how much he had done for the sport.

Economaki, who died in 2012, never bothered to learn how to use a computer. He wrote everything on a typewriter, even when everyone else in the media was tapping away on laptops. Economaki kept it old school at the 500, banging out his column on an old Olympia typewriter. Tim Sullivan, Indianapolis Motor Speedway public relations, kept the Olympia in storage, and put back in Economaki's spot year after year, waiting for the Dean to show up. During my first year at the 500, I spotted the typewriter, asked Sullivan whose it was, and he told me about Economaki. I was hooked.

One of the other things I love doing is being in the places of cultural history, treading the same ground that other notable figures from history have walked on. Just last week, I was in San Francisco, and visited Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights Books bookstore, which not only was the publisher of many Beat writers, but the place served as their unofficial headquarters for several years.

I walked in that store, running my hands over the tops of the books — I love the comforting smell and feel of a good bookstore — and thought about breathing the same air and walking on the same floors where Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs had stood decades before.

I get that same feeling every year I show up in the Media Center, and see Economaki's place in the media center. Economaki's last appearance at the 500 was 2008, the year before I ever started covering the race for this blog, so I never had a chance to meet him.

But, the Speedway is a wellspring of tradition, so no one has taken Economaki's spot, and never will. His desk will continue to sit empty in his honor. And this year, Sullivan put Economaki's manual Olympia typewriter out in his traditional spot, as if he may show up any time and write just one more piece.

Sullivan and I have had a couple email conversations about Economaki's typewriter over the years and what was going to be done with it. I even suggested putting it in an acrylic case and putting it on display in the press conference room, but in the end, he decided to put it back into Chris' seat, in the "pole position" of the media center, and put up a little sign next to it.

Coverage of the Indianapolis 500 and the entire world of auto racing, is what it is because of Chris Economaki. Even though our paths never crossed, I know I'm walking on holy ground every time I walk past his desk, and I try to do my job a little better because of him.

A Solution to Intrusive Advertising

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 24 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

(Many of these blog posts originally appear as newspaper columns, including this one, which is why there are references to you reading this piece in a newspaper.)

I saw an interesting ad by a famous graffiti artist named Banksy. It's a lot of text formatted in the shape of a Coca-Cola bottle on a red background, raging against advertisers who constantly shower us with ads in public, and then complain when someone uses those ads for their own artistic purposes.

"They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen, and they bully you with it," said Banksy's ad. "They are The Advertisers, and they are laughing at you. You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law means advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity. F--- That. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours."

Banksy builds to a soul-stirring crescendo that demands orchestral music to swell in the background, while he rides a horse and roars his battle cry to the army about to storm the gates: "They owe you. They have rearranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked your permission, don't even start asking for theirs."

It's his last point that's most interesting: advertisers have changed our world so they can shout at us.

They shout at us from buses, billboards, and the sides of buildings, cluttering up our scenery.

They shout at us on our TV shows, our radio stations, and even our DVDs.

They charge $30 for a t-shirt with their logo, making you pay for the privilege of advertising to your friends.

They put dealer stickers on the backs of our cars, to tell everyone behind us where to get one just like it.

We've gotten so used to these assaults, we tune them out. We develop new technologies to skip their TV commercials, and they whine about our efforts. So advertisers look for new ways to force themselves on us.

They're parasites who would, if the technology existed, leach their way into our dreams.

Don't get me wrong, I understand advertising is necessary sometimes. For one thing, it supports this newspaper. You wouldn't have a newspaper to read if there weren't ads in it. The same is true for magazines and TV networks.

But you also have the option to not look at them. You could avoid reading a newspaper or magazine. (If anything is going to get me fired from this paper, it's that last sentence. So don't do that to this paper; all others are fair game.) You could change the TV channel during ad breaks, or record shows on your DVR and fast forward through the ads. Or, you could just not watch TV at all.

Rather than accept that we don't like them, advertisers fight our attempts to escape, spending millions to keep shouting at us, because they can't take no for an answer.

It's gotten so bad that many people are cutting their cable and satellite subscriptions, and paying $8 a month for Netflix or Hulu+. They borrow DVDs from the library, and watch videos on YouTube.

On my work blog, I have offered a better solution to advertisers, but I wanted to share it here: I will spend 30 minutes watching your videos and commercials, reading brochures, and considering your promotional material for $100.

I won't promise to buy anything, because that's not what advertising is about. An ad is not a guaranteed sale, it's an attempt at persuasion. I already get to choose to say no, so I still maintain that right.

Think about it: big brands already spend $100 or more a month just to get a single person to see one of their ads somewhere; I'm doing everything I can to avoid it. Each month, they just wasted another $100, and I won. They didn't get what they wanted, but still spent $100 in the off chance that they might snare me for 30 seconds in front of the TV.

But if they give me $100, they will have my undivided attention for 30 minutes, which is 29.5 more minutes than they're getting from me in a total month. I'll watch, listen, and read, and then we'll go our separate ways. I may or may not buy their product, and we can even do this again the following month. They've spent the same amount of money, and will have met their immediate goal of getting me to see all of their marketing material. It's a win-win.

Besides, if I decide to buy the product, I'll use the 100 bucks they just gave me.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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2013 Indianapolis 500 Field is Full, But Not Final

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 19 May 2013 18:12:00 +0000

As of 1:00 at the Indianapolis 500, the 9 remaining spots for the Indianapolis 500 have been filled.

25. (21) Josef Newgarden, 225.731 mph
26. (15) Graham Rahal, 225.007
27. (6) Sebastian Saavedra, 224.929

28. (55) Tristan Vautier, 224.873
29. (18) Ana Beatriz, 224.184
30. (63) Pippa Mann, 224.005

31. (41) Conor Daly, 223.582
32. (91) Buddy Lazier, 223.442
33. (81) Katherine Legge, 223.176

Driver Michel Jourdain Jr. — the Mexican driver with the French name — has not made an attempt yet. He has until 6:00 to take a shot at qualifying, and if he qualifies, Katherine Legge gets bumped, and she gets to try.

And that's the magic of bump day — the last driver gets bumped, gets a chance to qualify, and bumps the new #33, and so on. Once the gun sounds at 6:00, that's it. If a driver is on the track when the gun sounds, he or she gets to finish their attempt, which means it's nail biting time for the current #33.

I've seen bump days where the last driver got bumped, and days where #33 survived and celebrated as if they had just won the entire thing.

It's a little after 2:00 today, and we have less than four hours to hear from Michel Jourdain.

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Day 2 of Qualifying for the Indianapolis 500

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 19 May 2013 15:30:00 +0000

It's been a hard season for IndyCar racing. Dreyer and Reinbold Racing has said they're running in the 500 this year, and shutting down, because of a lack of sponsorship money. IndyCar CEO and fan favorite Randy Bernard was ousted, and Tony George tried to buy out the series. On top of that viewership is still declining for IndyCar racing as a whole, and everyone is trying to figure out how to bring fans back.

All of these difficulties have given us a limited field in the Indianapolis 500 this year. We have a field of 34 drivers and 33 available spots. All drivers, except for Buddy Lazier, have two cars, a race car and a backup; Buddy Lazier has one car.

After 24 drivers qualified yesterday, we have 10 drivers to fill 9 more spots.

The drivers we have remaining to qualify are

Sebastian Saavedra (Dragon Racing)
Graham Rahal (Rahal Letterman Lanigan)
Michel Jourdain Jr. (Rahal Letterman Lanigan)
Ana Beatriz (Dale Coyne Racing
Josef Newgarden (Sarah Fisher Hartman Racing)
Conor Daly (A.J. Foyt Enterprises)
Tristan Vautier (Schmidt Peterson Motorsports)
Pippa Mann (Dale Coyne Racing)
Katherine Legge (Schmidt Peterson Motorsports)
Buddy Lazier (Lazier Partners Racing)

One of these people is going to be horribly disappointed today. While it won't affect race day, ultimately, I think the fans are going to be the ones who are hurt the most, because this could be a sign of a dwindling Indianapolis 500. A few years ago, during the Great Recession, there were difficulties in finding teams to enter for The Big Race. This year, they were able to find exactly one more team to take the plunge (Buddy Lazier? Dreyer and Reinbold?). But what will this portend for next year's 500?

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Day 1 of Qualifying for the Indianapolis 500

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sun, 19 May 2013 13:00:00 +0000

After a hard day of qualifying on Saturday, May 18, Hoosier Ed Carpenter found himself on the pole for the 2013 Indianapolis 500. We're seeing a lot of the same names we've seen in the past — Dario Franchitti, Helio Castroneves, Will Power, and Tony Kanaan — but we're seeing a few new names too, like Carlos Munoz, the rookie from Colombia driving for Andretti Autosport, and James Jakes, who's driving for Rahal Letterman Lanigan.

Here's the first 24 drivers for the 500. Today (Sunday) is Bump Day, where the remaining 10 drivers will compete for 9 spots.

1. (20) Ed Carpenter, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.3689 ( 228.762)
2. (26) Carlos Munoz, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.6581 ( 228.342)
3. (25) Marco Andretti, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.7139 ( 228.261)

4. (5) EJ Viso, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.7907 ( 228.150)
5. (2) AJ Allmendinger, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.8264 ( 228.099)
6. (12) Will Power, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.8342 ( 228.087)

7. (1) Ryan Hunter-Reay, Dallara-Chevy 02:37.9614 ( 227.904)
8. (3) Helio Castroneves, Dallara-Chevy 02:38.0596 ( 227.762)
9. (27) James Hinchcliffe, Dallara-Chevy 02:38.5411 ( 227.070)

10. (4) JR Hildebrand, Dallara-Chevy 02:38.2830 ( 227.441)
11. (98) Alex Tagliani, Dallara-Honda, 02:38.3209 ( 227.386)
12. (11) Tony Kanaan, Dallara-Chevy 02:38.6260 ( 226.949)

13. (22) Oriol Servia, Dallara-Chevy 02:38.7206 ( 226.814)
14. (19) Justin Wilson, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.0318 ( 226.370)
15. (7) Sebastien Bourdais, Dallara-Chevy 02:39.1543 ( 226.196)

16. (9) Scott Dixon, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.1808 ( 226.158)
17. (10) Dario Franchitti, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.2434 ( 226.069)
18. (14) Takuma Sato, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.3681 ( 225.892)

19. (83) Charlie Kimball, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.3768 ( 225.880)
20. (16) James Jakes, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.4268 ( 225.809)
21. (77) Simon Pagenaud, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.5219 ( 225.674)

22. (60) Townsend Bell, Dallara-Chevy 02:39.5438 ( 225.643)
23. (8) Ryan Briscoe, Dallara-Honda, 02:39.8117 ( 225.265)
24. (78) Simona De Silvestro, Dallara-Chevy 02:39.8398 ( 225.226)

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Keeping Up with Language Changes

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 17 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

The English language is an ever-changing, malleable tapestry. It's always changing and growing. Words that never existed even ten years ago are now mainstream words that we use without hesitation. Words that existed three hundred years ago don't mean what they once did, or we stopped using them altogether.

Even the rules and styles we desperately cling to like a life raft, as our language roils and churns beneath us, change on a whim.

As a writer, I'm constantly studying language and its changes that have developed over the last nearly 30 years, since I was in high school. I've learned that we hold on to our favorite rules with a manic fever.

"You can have my Oxford comma when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers."

It's funny to watch people sputter in anger when you tell them a word's meaning has changed, or that a rule we learned in seventh grade English was never right in the first place. You wouldn't believe how mad people get when you tell them "it's okay to end your sentences with a preposition."

I love throwing one of those little language tidbits out there and sitting back to watch people's reaction. Last year, I posted on Facebook that the Associated Press said they were no longer going to prevent their reporters from starting sentences with "hopefully." The level of stubborn anger from people who said they weren't going to allow some dumb international news organization to tell them what to do was hilarious.

I pointed out more than once that "this doesn't mean you have to, it means the AP is not going to admonish their reporters over it," but these people would have none of it.

And I've caused more than one gasp in a room when I'm giving a talk and I say "you can end your sentences with a preposition." The rule was created by a Latin scholar in the 1700s who tried to impose Latin rules on a language that didn't follow those same rules. It has long been accepted by even the most die-hard grammar snobs that saying things like "in what did you step?" is the height of foppish pretension, and they all agree that this never should have been taught in the first place. But that doesn't stop the grammar bullies from reciting their 7th grade English lessons about sentences and prepositions.

Of course, I don't have room to talk. I still get agitated when someone says "she brought the drinks to Steve and I" instead of "Steve and me." But despite my loudest shouts of "Steve and me. It's Steve and ME!" at the TV news (some of the biggest offenders of this rule), some dictionaries and style guides are starting to recognize that the "and I" is Common Usage, and they're no longer loudly correcting people about it.

(Not me. I'm going to keep shouting at the TV as long as I can.)

Common Usage is that Get Out of Jail Free card when you're faced with angry grammar bullies who feel the need to correct any and all grammar "errors" even though they 1) haven't kept up with grammar changes since 7th grade, and 2) often confuse style choices with grammar rules.

This is actually something I deal with on a regular basis. I hear from would-be editors who feel the need to "correct" my work, and tell me when I've made grammar errors.

"You can't start your sentences with 'and,'" they say.

"Actually, you can. It's an acceptable method in certain types of writing. Besides, it's a style choice, not an actual hard and fast grammar rule."

"Nuh-uh," they say. "I remember when my mom gave my sister and I —" GAAAH! "— a book on grammar rules, and it said you can't do that."

I follow novelist Elmore Leonard's admonition to the grammar bullies about how they need to keep their booger-encrusted fingers off his writing. He said, "If proper usage gets in the way, it may have to go. I can’t allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the narrative."

And that has been my excuse for the last 25 years. Language is forever growing and changing, from new words to new rules to new styles. As a writer, I need to keep up with it, and just go with the flow. I can't cling to old myths that should have never become rules in the first place.

Hopefully one day some young writer will respond to a grammar bully one day by saying, "I happen to follow Erik Deckers' rules of writing. . ."

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Ten Social Media Commandments

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 03 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

I've been a social media user and professional for the last several years, have made many observations over the years, and seen many trends come and go. Based on my experiences, plus pulling out my hair over the things that just make me nuts about Facebook and Twitter, I've come up with these social media commandments.

1. Thou shalt not act all "healthier than thou" and post pictures of healthy food you're eating, or try to make us think that it's totally enjoyable. We all know that people who have switched to soy bacon from real bacon die a little with every piece they eat. So a status update that says "Totally loving my soy bacon. Nom nom nom!" is a lie, and an abomination in our eyes. So is the soy bacon. Also, don't say "nom nom nom" unless you're Cookie Monster.

Sub-Commandment 1a. If you have to tell people that your healthier substitute food is "just as good" as the original food, that's code for "I cry myself to sleep at night." I once saw someone post a photo of a watermelon "cake" — a large round piece of watermelon adorned with several kinds of fruit — with the caption, "Who needs cake?" My response: Everyone who isn't tricked into thinking that fruit is just as good as chocolate cake.

2. Thou shalt not post pictures of food in general. Chances are, I'm sitting in my office eating a Lonely Entrepreneurs Frozen Microwave Meal and feeling sorry for myself while you're posting photos of your double cheeseburger with a fried egg.

3. Thou shalt posting things other than motivational tweets to Twitter and Facebook all the time. They are boring and repetitive, and sometimes you contradict yourself from day to day. If they really worked, you would be so successful and busy, you wouldn't have time to post them, let alone use social media.

4. Thou shalt stop posting angry political rants from either side of the political spectrum. Chances are they came from a not-very-accurate source to begin with, but when you post nothing but that, it gets tiresome. Complex political viewpoints cannot and should not be summarized in a seven-word caption on a photo of an angry cat or Willie Wonka. I'd rather see photos of your health food.

5. Thou shalt check Snopes.com before you post anything about the government trying to take things from people, that they stopped putting In God We Trust on money, or that they're trying to sell Alabama to Mexico. (Seriously though, do you think they'd give us a good price for Alabama? I'm just asking for a friend.)

6. Thou shalt stop using photos of your children, or you as a child, or your pet in your avatar. I have no idea what you look like. I am pretty sure you're not a cute kitten, since they don't have thumbs, and cannot work a mobile phone. Also, thou shalt not use a photo of you at the beach at sunset, with the sun at your back, from 200 feet away. For all I know, that's a stick in the sand.

7. Thou shalt refrain from posting your Twitter conversations directly to Facebook. No one wants to see half of a conversation, such as you making lunch plans with your friends.

"Hey @edeckers, do you want to go to lunch today?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"No, I had that yesterday."

"That sounds good. What time do you want to meet?"

"Cool, see you then. #SoExcited!"

8. Thou shalt stop posting "selfies" of you making "duck lips" in the mirror. Selfies are photos of yourself. Duck lips are when you, well, make duck lips. If you do take a photo of yourself, please make eye contact with your reflection, rather than looking at your phone.

9. Thou shalt stop posting your exercise updates every morning at 6 am. I don't post updates of how long I'm sitting at my desk or on my couch. Mostly because they make me feel guilty and like I'm going to die at my desk one day, facedown in a Lonely Entrepreneur Frozen Salisbury Steak.

10. Thou shalt not post vague messages to people you don't address by name, like "I wish people who say they love you would quit stabbing you in the back and talking about you to their friends. Unfriending me and hoping I won't notice is the final straw." Everyone who sees it has no idea who you're talking to, and the person you're addressing won't see it in the first place.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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When Baseball and Love Collide

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

It was a stereotype in movies and TV when I was growing up: new fathers showed up at the hospital with a tiny baseball glove for their day-old sons, secretly hoping they could play catch out in the hall before they all went home.

Even today, dads still want to play catch with their sons and daughters in the backyard before dinner. They sit in front of the TV with their young children and introduce them to baseball. They haul the entire family to the ballpark, to impart their love of the game, and instill the loyalty of their favorite team.

They buy tiny baby baseball hats and tiny baby baseball jerseys, and the kid grows up loving their dad's team, before they ever really have a chance to exercise their own decision making skills.

As Roger Angell said in his essay, "Three for the Tigers," everything dads do in their lives, they do so their sons will go to ball games with them.

So what do you do if it's mom who loves baseball?

And mom and dad love different teams?

From the same city?

Parents of mixed baseball loyalty in cities like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles — assuming The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are really from Los Angeles, and not, you know, Anaheim.

Parents of mixed-team marriages face a lot of uphill battles when their loyalties are divided. Either the couples become loud and obnoxious every summer, or an awkward silence settles over the dinner table at game time, especially when both teams are playing at night.

It's worse during interleague games, when the two teams face off against each other. Oftentimes, bragging rights for the household are on the line.

My brother and his wife face this struggle in Chicago as they raise their 1-year-old daughter. He grew up a rabid White Sox fan, while his wife and her family are lifelong Cubs supporters. I can tell you, there were some loud and serious discussions when she first informed her family of who she intended to marry.

(Not really, but I like to imagine there were.)

"How can you do this to us?" they hissed. "He's a. . . White Sox? White Sock? White Sox? What's the singular of Sox? Forget it. He's a damn Southsider! How could you bring that guy into our house?! He's a Veeck-head! Freaking Bill Veeck and his damn rent-a-players!"

"But I love him? We can get past that. We'll make it because we love each other more than baseball!"

"Love? You don't just marry a man for love. You have to know he's dependable. You have to know he'll be a good father to your kids. How are you going to raise the kids, when one follows the true Chicago team, and the other one is a. . . damn Sox? (Sock? Sox? Still doesn't sound right.)"

"We'll let them cheer for both teams, and when they're old enough, they can decide for themselves."

"Let them decide? Oh, that's rich! You can't let them decide. Raise a child up in the way of Ryno Sandberg; even when he is old, he will not depart from it."

"I don't see why we can't teach our children to respect both teams, and love both teams."

"Because there is only one true baseball team! All the others are fakes. As my father used to say, as for me and my family, we will watch the Cubs."

"I can't believe you're being so close-minded about this. I'm going to marry him, and if you keep pushing me like this, I may even become a White Sox fan myself!"

"You wouldn't!"

"I'm an adult! I can cheer for whoever I want!"

"I'm only glad your grandfather's not alive to hear you talk like that."

Meanwhile, on my brother's side, everything was pretty cool. The family was more liberal and open-minded, and even though his father had tried to teach him in the way of the Cincinnati Reds, my brother chose his own path to the White Sox when they all moved to Illinois.

And now their daughter is being taught to respect and love both teams. She has tiny baby caps from both teams, tiny baby jerseys from both teams, although my brother watches more White Sox games on TV with her.

Of course, she also has an uncle whose undying love for the Cincinnati Reds may cause some complications as she grows older.

"Johnny Bench, defend us in the playoffs; be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the St. Louis Cardinals."

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Hit Any Key to Flush

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting an article from 2003. While Microsoft USA originally denied the story, it was later revealed to be completely true. Coincidentally, this column helped him discover a plagiarist at a newspaper in Ontario, Canada.

Bringing new meaning to the slogan "Where would you like to go today?" Microsoft announced their plans to make toilets with web access.

I swear I am not making this up.

The new web-enabled toilet — called the iLoo — is being developed by the MSN division of Microsoft in Britain, where a toilet is called a "loo." The iLoo would be stationed in public toilets at British summer festivals, making its first appearance at the Glastonbury Festival in June.

And while some people may appreciate the seamless integration between technology and basic bodily functions, others aren't so wild about it.

"iPoo on iLoo" said one computer weblog.

The iLoo will have a wireless keyboard and height-adjustable plasma screen in front of the seat so iLoo users can sit and surf at the same time.

Will iLoo users be called iLosers?

There will also be a Hotmail (MSN's email service) station, complete with waterproof keyboard and plasma screen on the outside for those waiting in line.

There was no word whether the keyboard inside the iLoo would be waterproof.

MSN UK spokesman Matthew Whittingham called it the first "WWWC" referring to the European term for toilet: WC, or water closet.

MSN UK's marketing manager Tracy Blacher said, "People used to reach for a book or mag when they were on the loo, but now they'll be logging on."

Aside from Blacher's gaffe in mentioning "logging on" when referring to an Internet-based toilet, Microsoft may be taking the whole Internet thing a little too far.

"The Internet's so much a part of everyday life now that surfing on the loo was the next natural step," Blacher told reporters.

No, the next natural step is to surf the Internet in the car, in a phone booth, or through a cerebral implant lodged firmly in my brain, NOT in the toilet.

I can only imagine the planning meetings. Several sleep-deprived MSN executives were sitting around a conference table, trying desperately to come up with a new idea, and discarding the outrageous or impossible ones, like creating an operating system that doesn't freeze up or crash every 30 minutes.

Finally, one young executive, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, leaps to his feet and shouts "I know! Let's take a computer and stick it in — are you ready for this? — a PORT-A-POTTY!!"

Sounds great on paper, but I don't think Microsoft has considered all the drawbacks.

For instance, I'm one of those people who absolutely must wash their hands before leaving a bathroom, and I cringe whenever I see someone leave a public restroom without washing first. So I absolutely refuse to open the door without using a paper towel.

Problem #1 with the iLoo? Hygiene and cleanliness. Unless the iLoo keyboard comes with those disposable plastic covers, I'm not touching a keyboard that hundreds of other users touched after they. . . you know. Call me crazy, but I don't want to use the same computer other iLosers with poor personal hygiene and poor aim have had their germ-infested hands on.

MSN officials say they're also trying to get toilet paper imprinted with web addresses for users to visit. This is Problem #2, and it's a two-ply.

First, no self-respecting company should pay to advertise on toilet paper. They should be worried that iLosers will instead use their ads to make their feelings known about the company. So, if Microsoft is hoping to generate revenue from the iWipe (my term), they'd better not hold their breath. Although since the iLoo will be in a public Port-A-Potty, maybe they should.

Second, if they do get advertisers, it will probably be companies who pay to put their competitor's logos on the toilet paper, relying on the implied message of using that company for bathroom hygiene. If I were a politician, I'd gladly pay to put my opponent's face on a few thousand rolls of toilet paper.

While I applaud MSN UK's innovation and attempts to integrate the Internet more fully into our lives, they may be going too far. I'd rather see computer screens on a refrigerator, useful for finding recipes, or maintaining shopping lists. Web-enabled televisions, with the computer processor built right in would be a big seller. Even installing the Internet and a GPS finder in a car is a great idea, as it would make getting lost nearly impossible. But putting the Internet in a bathroom is crossing the line.

After all, it's the one place where we should all be unplugged.

(Note: I would like to take a minute and recognize the complete luck at my prediction in that next-to-last paragraph — the Internet and GPS finder in a car. You can do this to some degree with GPS and Internet radio, but the new Google driverless car is a few years from being commercially available.)

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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27 Things Every Dad Should Know or Have

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Fellow humor writer Jenny Isenman recently offered her list of 40 things every mom needs to know by the time she's 40.

That got me to thinking about all the things that dads need to know, do, or have by the time they're 40. So here's my list, gleaned on my last 16 years of being a dad, and 45 years of being a son. But there are only 27 items, because Guys are simple and don't require as much stuff. Plus, I tend to ramble, and didn't have the space to get 40 items.

By 40-ish, dads should know, do, or have:

1. Three hammers. If you build stuff, you know that one hammer is not enough. If you live in a condo or apartment, then two hammers is acceptable.

2. A socket wrench set. You should also have a spark plug socket, even if you can't find the spark plugs in your car.

3. You should know how to find the spark plugs in your car.

4. Build something, whether it's a spice rack, a workbench, or an entire house.

5. Teach your kids to build something.

6. Teach your kids basic first aid, because you've never actually built anything before.

7.. Play catch with your kids, sons or daughters.

8. Take your kids to a baseball game.

9. Take your kids to another sporting event. It can be any sport you want, but every dad should still take his kids to a baseball game.

10. Instill in your child at a very early age the love of your favorite sports team. There is nothing wrong with making your child think you will love them less if they cheer for a division rival. (Note: Actually, that is very wrong. Please don't do that.)

11. Don't cringe when people call you "sir." They've been calling you that since you were 30.

12. Build a bookshelf. Bonus points if they're evenly spaced and level.

13. Fire a gun. You don't have to be a hunter, but you have to have pointed a firearm at something and pulled the trigger. Even if you're opposed to guns, go to a firing rang and squeeze off a few rounds, so you at least know what you're opposed to.

14. Go fishing. Bonus points if you actually catch something. More bonus points if you filet it and cook it.

15. Go camping. In a tent. Not an RV. Despite what the commercials say, sleeping in a hotel room on wheels is not camping.

16. An autographed piece of sporting paraphernalia. Whether it's a baseball, football, basketball, or any other piece of sporting gear, it needs to have a celebrity's autograph. And encased in one of those plastic boxes.

17. You should have a miter saw. (You don't actually need one, I do. My birthday is coming up, and I'm hoping my family will read this and get the hint.)

18. Driven at least one 1,000 mile car trip.

19. Threatened to turn the car around if the kids did not behave, or promised that there will be trouble if you have to stop the car.

20. Stood next to your child's room and hollered for him or her to come shut off their bedroom light.

21. Grilled steak or hamburgers on your grill. Chicken doesn't count. Veggie burgers definitely don't count.

22. Fretted about the thermostat setting. Declared that no one but you was allowed to touch it.

23. Told your kids or wife to "shut the door, we're not heating/cooling the outside."

24. Sat through interminable Disney movie after interminable Disney movie.

25. Cried at every Disney movie. Throw your back out trying to turn away so no one sees you.

26. Gotten a sports injury playing a sport you had no business playing at an age you had no business playing.

27. Have a tattoo. (Note: this is not actually necessary for every dad to have. I just want to get one, but my wife won't let me.)

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Want to Quit Something? Quit Complaining

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Pittsburgh high school senior, Suzy Weiss, is bitter — BITTER! — at America's Ivy League schools because she didn't get admitted to her dream college. So she ranted at all colleges in the country in a Wall Street Journal op-ed piece.

"For years," she wrote, "we were lied to. Colleges tell you, 'Just be yourself.' That is great advice, as long as yourself has nine extracurriculars, six leadership positions, three varsity sports, killer SAT scores and two moms."

So now Weiss, who was "herself" by not participating in any extracurricular activities, not organizing any charitable events, and not doing any sports, is blaming everyone else but herself for not being the kind of person an Ivy League school wants in their student body.

"I've never sat down at a piano, never plucked a violin. Karate lasted about a week and the swim team didn't last past the first lap," she wrote. "I should have done what I knew was best — go to Africa, scoop up some suffering child, take a few pictures, and write my essays about how spending that afternoon with Kinto changed my life."

That's quitter talk: I should've. I never. I didn't. I quit after a week. I quit during the first lap.

If that's "being yourself," it's no wonder the schools didn't want her. Herself is a quitter. If you can't manage karate class for a year, and can't even swim one lap on the swim team, just how quickly are you going to fold on the first day of classes? Why go to all the trouble of bringing you into a situation that's actually important, when you can't even stick around for the little things?

It's the way you act toward the little things, in the little situations, that tell people how you're going to react when it's important.

If Weiss wants to know why her schools didn't want her, she only has to look as far as her newspaper editorial: I never, I quit, I should've.

How about "I never should've quit?"

No one likes a quitter. I'm fine with losers, I just can't stand quitters. They're sad, depressing, and never have the ability to stay with anything long enough to see if they like it. And you can't count on them to be there when you need them.

I don't mean people who quit something after trying something for years and years, and finally give up because all the fight's gone out of them. I mean the people who try something for five minutes, whine "this is too hard," and then go home.

At least with a loser, they're out there trying. I can respect a loser. I can get behind their efforts. Even the people who lose and lose and lose, year after year after year — looking at YOU, Chicago Cubs! — get respect from those of us who appreciate their determination. When the Indianapolis Colts were 3–13 in 1998, Peyton Manning's first year, they didn't quit. They fought and played in every game.

"Well, at least we were ourselves," was not their rallying cry. They didn't blame the coaches for not making them lift weights. They didn't whine that "wind sprints didn't last past the first 10 yards." They worked hard at their jobs, even when they weren't very good. And the following year, they were 13–3.

In the 2012 Olympics, U.S. BMX racer Alise Post flew over her handlebars during a race, and planted her face into one of the small hills. Dazed, she tried to stagger across the finish line, fighting off the two Olympic officials who tried to help her off the track, until one of them put his arm around her waist, and walked her across the finish line. That's not quitting. That's gutting it out to the bitter end.

When someone like Suzy Weiss is given all the opportunities in the world — well-to-do parents, a good high school, plenty of extracurricular activities — and squanders it all to "be herself," she doesn't have a right to be bitter at the universities who rejected her. She needs to look in the mirror at the one person who is responsible for her complete and utter failure, the one person who kept her from pursuing her dream, the one person who couldn't even stick out karate classes for a single week.

Instead, Weiss topped off her rant with this little gem, "To those of you disgusted by this, shocked that I take for granted the wonderful gifts I have been afforded, I say shhhh—'The Real Housewives' is on."

A TV show where a bunch of whiny do-nothings who have opportunities handed to them by someone else and then complain about how hard life is?

Sounds about right.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Taking Easter Out of Easter Egg Hunts

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 12:00:00 +0000

"I just don't get it, Kid," said Karl. "How the hell do you take Easter out of an Easter egg hunt?"

Are we still talking about that thing in Seattle? I said.

"Yeah, $#@&! Seattle," growled Karl. "The blasted parks and rec department wants to be inclusive of everyone and so they take out the word Easter from their Easter egg hunt, and think that magically makes everything all better."

We were sitting in First Editions, our favorite literary-themed bar, watching a friend read from her novel-in-progress about Dizzy Gillespie's wife, Lorraine Willis Gillespie.

Well, you have to admit, having a Christian-only holiday celebration does leave out other people who might want to participate, I said.

"So let 'em participate. No one's stopping them." Karl plonked his beer mug on the bar. Our friend looked up, startled at the noise, but continued reading. She had gotten to the part where Dizzy had tried to cut Cab Calloway with a switchblade during a fight, and the audience was riveted.

We had actually been drifting in and out of this conversation for the past 30 minutes, and this was our third time around. The city of Edmonds, Washington, which is near Seattle, had removed the word "Easter" from their Easter egg hunt, and now just had an "egg hunt." In fact, they had been doing it for the past 13 years, but it was only this month that a bunch of people had gotten their robes in a twist about it.

Wouldn't you feel funny if you wanted to go to an event for Ramadan or Chanukah, and weren't of that faith? I asked. Wouldn't you feel out of place at a pancake breakfast fundraiser at a Jewish temple?

"Ah, but you forget, Kid. My first wife was Jewish, and so I've been to Chanukah and Yom Kippur and Passover," said Karl. "And I've fasted with friends on Ramadan. Did I feel funny? Maybe a little, but I still did it, because I wanted to support my friends and family, and understand their cultures a little better."

Yeah, yeah, nobody's as open-minded as you. But given that Easter is a Christian holiday, don't you think people from other faiths will assume that Easter isn't for them?

"Possibly. So why can't they just explain it in the title? Call it the 'Easter Egg Hunt for Everyone of All Faiths.'"

Or just call it 'Egg Hunt.'

"But who the hell hunts eggs for fun?"

Foxes?

"Be serious, Kid. We're talking about the dismantling of tradition and history. What's next, taking the 'thanks' out of Thanksgiving so we can appease the chronically ungrateful?" Karl waved down Kurt the bartender. "Kurt, a couple more Cole's porters, please."

What the hell do you care anyway? I said. You're agnostic.

"Well. . ." Karl paused and took a drink. I could hear the gears grinding as he thought about his answer. He finally sighed and set his beer down.

"If I had to be honest with myself, I'm being nostalgic. I remember when I was a little kid, about five or six, in Lansing, Michigan, and the city had an Easter egg hunt. I always got a little wicker basket stuffed with fake grass and lots of candy. And I loved hunting for eggs. My parents watched from the sides and I got to have a little adventure in the park."

So your resistance is really less about religion and more about you just miss being a little boy?

"Shut up, Kid." Karl turned away and tried not to be obvious about swiping at the corner of his eye. He turned back.

"Look, Easter is Easter, Christmas is Christmas. It's a fun, magical time for little kids, and I think we're sucking the magic out of it when a bunch of wooly-headed bureaucrats start telling everyone how to feel and what to believe.

"No one makes Muslims stop fasting on Ramadan, and no one makes the Jews call the Menorah 'holiday candles.' These are traditional religious practices that other people continue to follow without worrying about being forced to change to be inclusive. I think we should just show the same respect to all religions."

Yes, but the Easter egg originated in pagan times. It was a symbol of fertility and rebirth, and the Easter bunny was adopted as an additional symbol because of how quickly rabbits reproduce. It's not like Jesus had anything to do with the eggs. In fact, the Christians co-opted the symbolism of the eggs into the celebration just so they could convert the pagans.

"So they weren't originally part of the Easter celebration?"

Not in the least, Karl.

"Well. . ." he thought for a minute. "I guess that's okay. At least jelly beans are still an official part of Easter."

Yeah, about that. . .?

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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U.S. Teens Need Better History Education

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Erik has been sick this week, so we are reprinting a column from 2001, which only seems like a few years ago.

Parents, educators, and humor writers across the country were shocked and amazed several years ago when we discovered that American high school students were seriously deficient in simple geography. That's when the now-famous statistic "one in four high school students can't identify Canada on a map" was bandied about like a ping-pong ball in a wind tunnel.

Now we're pretending to be shocked — but we're not really that surprised — by news out of Norfolk, Virginia that American teenagers are equally as bad at simple American history.

Colonial Williamsburg, a living history community dedicated to educating people about life in America in the 1700s, polled 1,020 US teenagers between the ages of 12 and 17 on basic fourth-grade level history questions.

What they found may shock you. But then again, if you have a teenager between the ages of 12 and 17, it probably won't

Answer this simple question: Who was the first president of the United States?

If you said George Washington, you were right, as were 90% of the teenagers surveyed. Sure, 90% is pretty good, but that also means that one out of 10 teenagers didn't know that George W. (no, the other George W.) was the father of our country.

How about this one? What country did America win its independence from?

Twenty-two percent didn't know it was England, fourteen percent of them thought it was France, and one percent thought it was Canada.

"When you look at these numbers, it means that more than five million U.S. teenagers don't understand the true meaning of Independence Day," Colin Campbell, president and chairman of the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation said in an online press release. "In fact, one in eight teens thought Independence Day involves a large rabbit who hides colored eggs."

Okay, he really didn't say that. But you believed me for a second.

If you didn't know we won our independence from England either, don't feel too bad. To decorate for Independence Day, a church in my community has hung a picture of Abraham Lincoln, our 16th president. He was elected 84 years after we declared our independence.

Here's an easy one for you. Who fought in the Civil War? The North and South, the East and West, the US and Canada, or the US and Great Britain?

Believe it or not, 13 percent of the respondents thought it was the US and Great Britain, five percent thought it was the East and West, and two percent thought it was the US and Canada. (Hey, we had to win our independence from them somehow.)

So were you one of the nearly one in seven who guessed the US and Great Britain? Don't feel too bad. When I took the quiz on the Colonial Williamsburg website, I discovered they had inadvertently highlighted that answer as the correct one.

When I called and pointed the error out to Tim Andrews, the Director of Public Relations at Colonial Williamsburg, he said he appreciated the irony, but that the mistake was quickly caught and corrected. And since he's not around to disagree with me, I'm taking full credit for pointing it out.

Andrews, who works in the back office, doesn't get to wear any of the traditional costumes the rest of the CWF staff wears. Which I suppose is for the best, since Public Relations Directors were usually burned at the stake as witches in this country until 1987. When I, secretly posing as a serious journalist, asked him if the CWF had any recommendations to President George W. Bush for teaching history, he said the CWF encourages ". . . more hands-on history educating and continue strong funding for teachers and educators."

Speaking of President Bush, he actually fared pretty well in the quiz. 96% of the teens knew that he was president. Two percent thought it was Al Gore, two thought it was Bill Clinton.

So how did you do on the quiz? If you have more than a passing awareness of American history, you scored at least 90 percent. So hold your head high this holiday weekend, place your hand on your heart, and sing our national anthem, the "Star Spangled Banner," with pride because you know that Francis Scott Key wrote it, while 31 percent of the teenagers didn't.

They think it was Britney Spears.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Students Suspended for Disarming Gunman

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 12:00:00 +0000

In all my years of writing about school administrators who suspend students for the dumbest reasons known to man — a teenager holding an ibuprofen; making a gun with a finger and thumb; or, having a replica baseball bat in a car — this case may actually take the cake.

Last month, an unnamed 16-year-old Cypress Lake High student in Fort Myers, Florida was involved in an altercation on the bus when student Quadryle Davis pointed a loaded revolver at another student and threatened to shoot him. Our 16-year-old wrestled Davis to the floor and took the gun away from him. The kid believed Davis was going to shoot the other student, so he jumped on Davis, saving the other boy's life.

And got suspended for it.

In fact, there were three students who tackled Davis and they were all suspended.

According to a story on TheBlaze.com, the student's referral slip said he received an "emergency suspension" because he was involved with an "incident with a weapon." That's because, according to a statement by Lee County School District spokesman Alberto Rodriguez, "If there is a potentially dangerous situation, Florida law allows the principal to suspend a student immediately pending a hearing."

Allows, Alberto. Allows.

That means a principal may choose to suspend a student. He or she is not required to suspend them. This isn't Olympic figure skating.

Rather than err on the side of common sense, the school administration, led by principal Tracy Perkins, chose to make what may be the most boneheaded decision of the school year.

Zero Tolerance is a fungal growth on the brains of many school administrators, causing them to refuse to exercise any discretion or consider any mitigating circumstances, like "he saved someone's life." In this case, they suspended the unnamed student because he didn't sit idly by to see what might happen. According to some people, he may have saved several lives with his actions.

But that's not how Cypress Lake High administrators see it. He stepped in, that made him "involved," and so now he was punished. Like the scene in The Incredibles where Bob "Mr. Incredible" Parr's boss refused to let him leave the office to stop a mugging.

By this logic, the victim should have also been suspended, since he was "involved" as well.

It gets worse. According to a story on WTFX Fox 4, the teenage hero was interrogated for four hours against his will by school officials and the Lee County Sheriff's office.

"He was consistently denied access to his mother or to an attorney," said Jeffrey Nadel, president of the National Youth Rights Association.

Based on my own in-depth understanding of the law, gleaned from hours and hours of watching Law and Order, the police are not allowed to question minors without a parent present, and they definitely aren't allowed to question anyone once a lawyer has been requested.

Nadel is fighting to have the suspension expunged from the kid's record, and he's considering a lawsuit against the school district to get it done.

"He should not have a suspension on his record for his heroism," Nadel told WTFX. "If the district signals to us clearly that they are unwilling to do the right thing, then a lawsuit is definitely in the cards."

Nadel says if they file a lawsuit on the student's behalf, it would only be to cover attorney fees and force the district to remove the suspension from his permanent record.

Personally, I think they need to go one step further, sue the bejeezus out of the Lee County School District, and get his college education paid for. Hopefully he can go somewhere far away from — and smarter than — Lee County.

Meanwhile, according to TheBlaze.com, the alleged gunman was only charged with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon "without intent to kill." They reported that the sheriff's office said the gunman's charges are "based on our findings at this time."

In other words, he told us he wasn't really going to do it, so we're going to lighten the charges. But the kid who didn't feel like waiting around to see was subjected to four hours of illegal questioning.

If Cypress Lake wants to suspend someone, they need to suspend or even fire the administrator who said, "You know, we need to take a strong stand against being involved in incidents involving a weapon. Let's suspend the kids who saved the other boy's life."

That may end up being the smartest decision they'll make all year.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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How Bananas Turn Brown

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

My family doesn't like brown bananas. They prefer the bright yellow ones with a slight greenish tinge. The kind where they're still bitter because they're not yet ripe.

I'm the only one who likes brown bananas. Not icky brown, when they're completely mushy, but when they start getting their spots. Like a leopard.

"Bananas are not like leopards," said my son. At age ten, he usually believes everything I tell him, but he wasn't buying this one.

"Sure they are," I said. "Bananas are like leopards. When they're born, they don't have any spots. They're smooth and brown, kind of orange. But as they get older — and this all happens within a few hours after they're first exposed to sunlight — their spots begin to emerge."

"Daddy, I don't think that's how leopards work."

"Sure it is. They kind of work like fawns, only in reverse. When a fawn is born, they have spots."

"What's a fawn?"

"A baby deer."

"You mean like Bambi?"

"Yes, like Bambi. And leopards are like that, but only in reverse. When a deer is first born, it has spots. But because their fur is so short, you can see the spots on their skin, and it gets on their fur. As the fawn grows bigger, their fur grows longer, their mothers get shot by hunters, and they finally grow out of their their spots. But leopards work the opposite way — as they grow, they reach their spots, and those appear on their fur."

"But that's not what they said on the Discovery Channel," said my son.

"What does the Discovery Channel know?"

"A lot. They're a TV channel. You have to know a lot to have a TV channel."

"That's not true. To have a TV channel, a group of greedy investors come up with a way to get advertisers to give them a lot of money. Since no one will just pay to put commercials on a station that shows nothing but commercials, they need to put something interesting on. So, someone made a TV station for sports, and someone made a TV station for food, and then someone else made a TV station for cultural and artistic programs. And then those people decided there was more money to be made in programs where people wallow in their own filth and misery, and they took the culture and art away."

"What are you talking about?"

"Bananas. Now pay attention."

"What do TV stations have to do with bananas?"

"A lot. You know that food channel I mentioned?"

"Yeah."

"Well, bananas are food. Now let me finish. The station owners come up with some terrible programming they think a lot of people will watch. If a lot of people watch, they can sell air time for a lot of money so advertisers can reach people who like terrible TV shows. And the dumber the shows, the more people will watch, which means they can charge more for ads. And that's what it takes to have a TV station."

"But what does all that mean?"

"It means you can't believe everything you've seen on TV. Which means all that BS you heard about bananas from the Discovery Channel—"

"Leopards."

"What?"

"Leopards. I learned about leopards on the Discovery Channel."

"Well, I'm talking about the Food Network and bananas. You see, bananas turn brown, because they're reaching full maturity. When a banana starts getting brown and spotty, that's when it reaches its peak, because it tastes more like a banana than any other time in its life."

"But why?"

"Because all the true essence of the banana flavor is in the skin. And when it has a chance to sit, it soaks into the banana, filling it with flavor, sort of like how you let a wine age. When a wine ages, it pulls all of its flavor from the oak barrel and all the different fruits they put in the wine barrels."

"Fruit like bananas?"

"Absolutely. A lot of wine is made with bananas. Anyway, as the flavor runs out of the skin, it gets empty in that spot, and the skin turns brown."

"Really?"

"You bet. So when the banana turns a really spotty brown, like freckles—"

"Or a leopard?" asked my son.

"Yes, like a leopard — then that means the flavor has run out and it's ready to eat."

"Are you serious?"

"Hand to God, son. Hand to God."

My wife, who had been reading on the couch, finally spoke up.

"If you don't know how something works, just say so," she said. "This is why I don't let you do home school with the kids."

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Indiana Is NOT 2nd Most Depressing State

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 13:00:00 +0000

"Kid, I don't think I can take it any more," said Karl, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.

But we were having a good time, and now you're tired of it?

"No, not you, this," he said, waving an arm at the room.

What, you mean First Edition? Was Kurt watering down the rum again? We were sitting in the literary themed bar for Manly Mojito Night, celebrating Papa Hemingway's favorite drink, and lying to each other about our current book projects.

Karl shot me a look that somehow incorporated a middle finger without him ever raising a hand. "No, Indiana. I'm just so damn. . . tired. This place is depressing."

But you're one of Indiana's biggest supporters. You talk constantly about state trivia, you sent your kids to IU, and you've named your last three dogs 'Hoosier.'

"I know, Kid, I know. But I've been here for 64 years, and I'm getting tired of the cold, gray winters."

What brought all this on? I asked. Karl pulled a newspaper out of his coat pocket and whacked it on the bar.

"Here."

I read the headline out loud: 'Indiana Second Most Depressing State.' I yelled a word that rhymed with bull spit. Kurt the bartender cast a worried glance at me, and I signaled for two more mojitos. I skimmed through the article, while Karl continued.

"It says we're the second most depressing state in the country. Health Magazine compiled different health and mental health statistics, as well as economic factors, and found that we were second only to Arkansas."

What could be depressing about Indiana? I love this place. We've got great summers, gorgeous falls, and character-building winters. We've got every sport you could ever want, including the biggest auto race in the world. And we've got a literary and arts tradition that dates back to our earliest days. We're even going to turn 200 in three years. What more could you possibly want?

Karl stared at me for a few seconds, not saying a word. "I don't know, Kid. That's how depressed I am. I can't even think of a witty retort to that."

You must have been depressed for decades because I have yet to hear you make a witty retort.

He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and raised his palms up. "See?" he said.

This was bad. Even at his drunkest and most maudlin, I had never seen Karl like this.

"I think I have SAD," he said.

You mean, you are sad.

"No, not sad," he said, catching the lower case tone in my voice. "SAD. Seasonal Affective Disorder. It means I'm not getting enough vitamin D from sunlight, and so my energy levels and mood are very low."

That's easily fixed. Go to a tanning salon once a week, and get a bed with UV-B rays. Ten minutes, and you'll feel great. I know a lot of people who do it for the vitamin D.

"But what about the rest of the report? It says that we've got a sluggish economy, high unemployment, and massive budget shortfalls, which are having an impact on our mental health centers, and we've got a shortage of psychiatrists." He buried his head in his hands and sighed deeply. "No wonder we so depressed."

Karl, have you forgotten how to read a newspaper? Check this out. First, the article says the states are ranked in alphabetical order. We fall second behind Arkansas and ahead of Kentucky because of the alphabet. The odds of these ten states being depressing in alphabetical order are astronomical. That means we don't know our number. We could be the 41st state, and not the 49th.

Karl raised his head and looked at me. I continued.

Second, this headline, plus all the other headlines about the subject, keep talking about Indiana being a 'depressing' state. The correct term is 'depressed.' It means we're unhappy, morose, and just plain sad. To be 'depressing' means we cause sadness, which we do not do. We're not Rhode Island.

And lastly, our economic conditions aren't that bad. Our unemployment is on par with the national rate, we have a budget surplus of $2.15 billion, and we just increased education funding without raising taxes. So the 'economic outlook' of these reporters is incorrect. As far as I'm concerned, Indiana shouldn't even be on the list. We're doing fine, and those Health Magazine hacks can suck it.

Karl rubbed his eyes hard, and took a big drink of his mojito. "Kid, believe it or not, that actually helped. Thank you. I needed that."

You're welcome. You need to cheer up anyway. I just read a study that says pessimistic people live up to six years longer than their optimistic counterparts.

"Oh God, you mean this could go on longer?" he groaned.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Men Have Discuss-Your-Feeling Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 22 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Several weeks ago, fellow humor columnist Jenny Isenman wrote about women's "move-a-body-friends," those friends who would help you move a body with no questions asked — or at least only a few, with "why?" not being among them.

It's often been said, especially on Facebook, that while a friend will bail you out of jail, a true friend will be sitting next to you, saying "Man, didn't we have fun?" But the move-a-body-friend (MABF) will hide you out at her place until the heat is off.

But Isenman says you only get one or two MABFs in your lifetime. These are the friends who will tell you "'That skirt/dress/jumpsuit makes your butt look fat,'" when that skirt/dress/jumpsuit actually makes your butt look fat" or "pretend I need you to fix my bra strap to save you from a tedious conversation with a boring mom at the playground or that annoying guy at Starbucks."

Isenman has come up with a list of 20 expectations she has for her MABF, so it's a high standard to live up to.

Men have a similar type of friend, but there's only one super strict requirement that we have of this person, which makes this type of friend extremely rare. While most men will help their friends move a body, no questions asked — except maybe, "can I have his cordless drill?" — there are very few friends who fit into this higher, much stricter category:

The Discuss Your Feelings Friend.

For many men, discussing their feelings with another man is one of the most intimate, vulnerable parts of a relationship we have with anyone, let alone another dude.

Discuss Your Feelings Friends will often share things they men won't mention to their other friends, let alone their wives or girlfriends. We'll discuss our. . . you know. . . "personal" health; when we're feeling sad and it doesn't involve our favorite sports team losing; and, the strong emotional feelings (love or otherwise) we have for our spouse or significant other.

But unlike Isenman's 20 things the MABF will do, there are just three things the Discuss Your Feelings Friends (DYFF) have to do for each other.

Loan tools: Yes, neighbors borrow tools from each other, but that's different. Neighbors ask to borrow tools, and they're always loaned with a sense of reluctance and dread, because the owner assumes the tool will come back broken three years later.

But the DYFF is happy to lend tools because he knows his friend will take extra good care of them. Besides the friend has a new miter saw he's been wanting to try out. Plus, every Guy likes to play I Have The Best Tools, and the best way to win is to swipe your neighbor's tools and tell everyone else they're his.

Lifting: My wife told me most women will not offer to help each other lift heavy objects. They'll usually stand and marvel, "wow, you can lift that?" but won't move a muscle to help, even when the answer is a barely grunted "no-o-o!"

On the other hand, men usually offer to help each other carry heavy objects. And unlike asking for directions, most men will even ask for help when they need it. However they don't want to appear too weak, so they usually won't ask until they've nearly pooped themselves trying to lift twice their body weight, which they haven't done since 1997.

The DYFF already knows what his friend's limit is, and grabs the other end of the heavy object without being asked, or before the first fart squeaks out from the effort. While the lifter may protest to any other Guy so he won't appear weak, when it's his DYFF, he'll gladly accept the help, and will even slack off a bit and hope the friend won't notice.

Laugh at Your Misfortune: Remember, the Discuss Your Feelings Friend is, first and foremost, a Guy. And while he wants the absolute best for you, and feels sad when things go wrong, you can guarantee he'll laugh at your misfortunes when he can get away with it. That's how Guys cope. We laugh at each other's misery.

Lose your job? Your DYFF is going to crack jokes about you having extra free time to help him clean out his garage. Are gray hairs sprouting in your beard or on your head? He's going to repeat the grandpa jokes you told him when he started going gray. Your girlfriend dump you? He's been storing up jokes about her ever since she invited her annoying friends to Sunday afternoon football.

Discuss Your Feeling Friends may have 70% fewer requirements than Jenny Isenman's move-a-body-friends, but that's because we don't put as many conditions on a friendship as women seem to. We never worry about whether something makes us look fat (we just don't care) or whether we're talking to someone annoying (we just make up an excuse and leave). We're happy to accept our friendships unconditionally and without expectation, and we take what we can get.

Besides, Guys know they look dreadful in jumpsuits, so we never have to be told they look bad.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Can You Copyright a Toilet Flush?

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Erik is out of the office this week, and is actually driving through the night at deadline time, so we are reprinting this column from 2002.

I thought I had heard it all. Or, it's what I DIDN'T hear that's the problem. Some news from the British music industry may have copyright lawyers wringing their hands and cackling with glee.

Apparently, silence can be copyrighted.

You're probably gaping, open-mouthed, in stunned silence at this. Yes, silence can be copyrighted. And by gaping silently at these words, you're violating that copyright right now.

Okay, maybe not. But creating a silent track on your own CD can actually land you in some legal hot water, as Mike Batt, former member of the UK band The Wombles, is finding out. He's facing a potential lawsuit for copying silence from avant-garde composer John Cage ("avant-garde," from the French meaning "No one cares except a bunch of black turtleneck wearing beatniks.")

According to the London Independent (official motto: "You're Not the Boss of Me!"), Batt received a letter from the Mechanical-Copyright Protection Society, the British organization charged with collecting royalties for composers and publishers.

The MCPS sent him a standard license form for his Postmodern composition, "A One Minute Silence," because he listed Cage as a composer, and demanded royalty payments for his own 60 seconds of non-sound.

"Postmodern" is German for "avant-garde."

The MCPS claims Batt used a quotation from Cage's piece "4 minutes, 33 seconds," a composition composed entirely of four minutes and 33 seconds of dead silence. Cage, being the clever avant-garde artist, named the piece to match its length. It should have been titled "Truly Pointless and Stupid" so it could match the concept instead.

But Batt says this isn't true. "My silence is original silence," he told the Independent, "not a quotation from his silence." And as he said in a National Public Radio interview this week, the composition is also original, because it's digital.

Digital? That's completely different.

The problem started when Batt gave credit to "Batt/Cage" on the composition (he said he did it "for a laugh"). But according to Andante Magazine, Gene Caprioglio, a representative of Cage's American publisher, says that Batt listed Cage on the credits for "obvious reasons. . . to evoke Cage's provocative 1952 composition."

Provocative? There's nothing provocative about four and a half minutes of dead silence. It would be provocative if it were a cover version of "Inna Gadda Davida" played on a xylophone made of herring tins.

But Caprioglio was steadfast. "If Mr. Batt wants to produce a minute of silence under his own name, we would obviously have no right to the royalties."

Cage, obviously having some sort of genius' foresight that his "masterpiece" would possibly be copied by musical ne'er-do-wells, left strict instructions that allowed "4:33" to actually be any length. However, there was no word as to whether the title of the song would change as well, to say, "2:18," "17:00," or "Dear Lord, Will This Thing Never End?!"

Cage's publishers, in an allegedly greedy attempt to get the dozens of pennies earned from Batt's composition, are arguing that Batt actually copied "4:33," but since his song was 3:33 shorter, he only copied part of it.

"As my mother said, 'which part of the silence are they claiming you nicked?'" Batt told the Independent.

What about those little 4 second gaps between songs on CDs? Who owns the copyrights to those? Does Cage, since he wrote the original recorded silence? But would Batt have a shot at them, since he was the first one to record silence digitally, and CDs are a digital medium? And since they're only 12% as long as Cage's original "masterpiece," will the royalties be prorated?

One could conceivably argue that silence existed long before there was life on this planet, and therefore silence is actually in the public domain, which means it can't be copyrighted. It would be like if I tried to copyright the tune of "Good King Wenceslas," which was originally written in the 13th century.

If this is the case, John Cage could never have produced his "4:33," since that was just copying the deathly silence in an empty cave, before all the cavemen came home.

And if all that is true, then not only can Cage's copyright lawyers not collect on Mike Batt's song, but it sounds like Cage's estate needs to repay anyone and everyone he ever collected royalties from.

I have compiled the list in a new piece of literary fiction called "Blank 8.5 x 11."

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Society Has Gotten Ruder. Jerks.

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 13:00:00 +0000

We're getting ruder and more inconsiderate as a society. We're not only less formal — we used to call each other Mister, Missus, and Miss — but people are forgetting even simple manners we were all supposed to learn when we were kids.

When I was a kid, manners were easy. You opened the door for other people. You said "please," "thank you," and "you're welcome. You gave up your bus seat to seniors. And children sat still and behaved in restaurants.

Over the last few years, I've witnessed some abhorrent behavior from people who are close enough to my age that they should know better. They won't open the door for anyone. They rarely say "please," while "you're welcome" has become "no prob!" Seniors are on their own on the bus or anywhere else. And children are allowed to run amok and shriek loudly in restaurants.

What has happened that we no longer care about basic civilities? Since when did it become too burdensome to hold a door open? When did it become acceptable to race ahead of someone, open the door slightly, and slip through, leaving the other person to fend for themselves?

This is behavior normally only seen while driving, especially in the more affluent parts of my city, where rudeness reigns.

Since when did parents decide that children should publicly experience their emotions to the fullest, and will let the screaming brats "cry it out," as the parents go "shh shh shh" in the caterwauling child's ear, whether in a restaurant, movie, or church?

These last few days, I've been at Disney World, the most magical place on Earth. The place where peoples from all nations come together in a massive gathering of peace, harmony, and $12 hamburgers. And I have witnessed some of the most impolite, unkind, and rude behavior.

I have seen people take flash photography in a completely darkened room, where a couple hundred people had gathered. Even though the Disney cast member has asked us to please not take flash photos, someone decides those rules don't apply to her, and snaps her flash, blinding everyone else nearby.

(On one ride, someone snapped a picture directly across from me, "zombie eyes flash" and all. When the first flash went off, I photobombed their shot, wagging a stern finger of warning in their direction. That's one for the album.)

Even the basic rules of "let shorter people in front" have fallen by the wayside. While watching a fireworks display one night, two tall men made sure they had prime spots at a fence railing, standing in front of a little old lady in a wheelchair, her grandson, and several other children so they could have the best view.

Even 20 years ago, these men would have stepped aside to let the shorter people have the better view. It's not like they didn't know any better. These were men in their 60s. Men, one would hope, who were of the age to be taught to be respectful.

They grew up in the days when you held the door open for women, said "yes sir" and "yes ma'am," and children did not go to restaurants. And yet, one 6-foot guy stood at a fence railing and saved a spot for his 6'5" friend, making sure they were the only ones who could enjoy the view.

We already over-exercise our right to feel indignant at the slightest offense. People complain about the tiniest things and expect royal treatment as a groveling apology. They're outraged — OUTRAGED! — at a song lyric, a minor difference of political or theological opinion, or that someone else prefers meat to soy.

They'll rant and rave, bully the offender on Facebook, and and compare them to Hitler, all in the same breath.

Because, apparently there are no more injustices in the world to rail against, so they have to find a place to channel their God-given sense of righteous indignation about the stupidest things.

(And yes, I recognize the irony about writing an entire humor column to rant about other people's sense of indignation.)

But these same people will turn around and commit ruder, larger offenses against others, simply because they don't want to be a little inconvenienced, or because Yoga Teacher Sven said little Ashlynn and Reese need to purge their sadness energies.

Apparently, it's only offensive and rude when someone else does it to them. But they're free to inflict their own brand of rudeness on others in the name of individuality and personal freedom, and they'll get in your face if you don't let them exercise it.

What can we do about it all? We can complain. We can loudly denounce people in public for their boorish behavior. But we'll become one of those righteously indignant jerks everyone else roll their eyes at.

Just don't take flash photography in a darkened room, because you never know who might be photobombing your picture. And it may not be their pointer finger they're waving at you.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, and for the Kindle or Nook.

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Want to Avoid "The Traffic?" Leave Later

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

Leaving early is the worst thing you could ever do at a football game.

My friend, Mark, had invited me to an Indianapolis Colts football game with him, his wife, and their friend, Steve. We rode to the game together, knowing that parking was always a hassle.

This was in 1995, when Jim "Captain Comeback" Harbaugh was the quarterback, and the Colts were having a potential playoff season, their first in years. They were playing the San Diego Chargers, and a win would guarantee a spot in the playoffs. A loss meant they needed to win the following week.

Two minutes to go, fourth down, the score was 24 – 24, and San Diego had the ball. A field goal would get the Chargers into the playoffs. Kicker John Carney was warming up for a 45 yarder.

"Come on, we have to go," said Mark.

"GO?! Are you kidding me?!" I said.

"Yeah, Steve has to go to his family reunion."

"But there's two minutes left in the game, and we need Carney to miss this field goal."

"I can't be late to the family reunion," said Steve's stupid face. "We have to beat The Traffic."

There it was. The two dreaded words that had dogged me since childhood. The reason I missed the end of so many special events.

We had to beat The Traffic.

You know the drill. There's an event that brings in tens of thousands of people. The event ends, everyone leaves at once, and they spend 30 minutes fighting The Traffic.

"You're a grown man. I don't think they'll ground you," I said, but Steve's stupid face was already making his way toward the exit. Mark shrugged an apology.

I lagged behind and tried to catch the last few plays. I managed to hear the groans of 55,000 people as Carney made the field goal, forcing the Colts into a must-win game the following week. (They beat the Chargers in the first round of the playoffs two weeks later, and lost to the Steelers two weeks after that.)

As we walked back to the car, just 60 seconds ahead of The Traffic, I thought about all the other times this had happened.

My parents, and apparently most other parents, had a thing about beating The Traffic. I remember when I was a kid, and my folks would take us to a Cincinnati Reds game at Riverfront Stadium. There we were, basking in my childhood's Graceland, watching the Big Red Machine do their Big Red thing, and my dad would make us leave with one inning to go.

"But the game's not over!" I protested.

"I want to beat The Traffic," said my dad. Sometimes we would leave early enough that I could catch the bottom of the 9th on the radio as we rolled out of the parking lot a few minutes ahead of The Traffic, and I sulked in the back seat.

These days, I have my own issues with The Traffic, and always try to avoid it. But I also remember the frustration of being dragged away from the places that made me happy, so I don't do it to my own kids. Instead, whenever we go somewhere, we always make sure we're one of the last to leave. We wait for an extra 20 minutes, and it saves us so much time and aggravation.

We'll stand, stretch, talk about the game, and chat with new friends. When we finally walk out, there's only a small stream of cars leaving the parking lot, and we cruise right out. We miss The Traffic completely, and still get to see everything we wanted.

A few days ago, I asked on Facebook whether this had ever happened to anyone else. One woman said her boyfriend made her leave a Tom Petty concert early, which is why he's now her ex-boyfriend. Another guy told how he was at a Paul Simon concert, and an older guy in front of him kept yelling "THE BOXER!" at the top of his lungs.

(Because if there's one thing an international music star does at his concerts, it's take crowd requests.)

The old guy finally either got disgusted or wanted to beat The Traffic, and left right after the second encore. And so he missed the third encore, when Paul Simon played "The Boxer."

I'm not a fan of traffic, and try to avoid it whenever possible. But I also refuse to leave anything early, and deprive me or my family the chance to enjoy every second of the experience we were there to see.

Because you never know when John Carney might be lurking in the wings, ready to sing "The Boxer" with Tom Petty.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Karl the Curmudgeon Worries About Writers

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

"I despair for our profession, Kid," said my friend, Karl. He was in a rather maudlin mood tonight, which was unusual for him. He was usually more cantankerous, wanting to debate some point of literature or grammar. Instead, he had spent the last 20 minutes staring off into space, occasionally grunting in agreement with whatever I said to him.

I believe the dangling participle was left behind by an alien race, I said. I think Twilight is the Great Gatsby of our time.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled. "He was on Charlie Rose last night."

He finished his beer, and waved at Jean the bartender for two more. We were sitting at a small table in The Burns Unit, a literary bar dedicated to Scottish poet and serial philanderer, Robert Burns. It was Tuesday night, open-mic night, and we were there to make fun of the hipster poets.

What? I said.

"Our profession. I despair for it," he repeated like I was stupid.

I heard you, Yoda. I meant, what are you yammering on about?

"There aren't any professional writers any more," he sighed. "What happened to us?"

Oh man, I groaned. You're not going all golden yesteryear on me, are you? The last time you did this, I had to listen to your drunken ramblings about the time you and Hunter S. Thompson went snipe hunting with an elephant gun and you shot your own car.

"No, I mean there's no money in writing anymore. Back when I was your age, you could be a successful novelist and make enough money to support a family."

Back when you were my age, you built a log cabin on the Indiana frontier and wrote penny dreadfuls.

Karl shot me the finger. "It's not like it used to be," he continued. "These days, a novelist can barely scratch out a couple month's mortgage with what they make from a single book."

That's the state of literature today. There are more authors writing more books, but book sales are declining. The demand has decreased while the supply has increased. So there's less money to be spread among more authors.

"That doesn't make it right. Back in the 60s, when I first started writing, a lot of writers made a full-time salary off their books, and would teach a little on the side. We spent our days writing and our nights going to parties and bars, and hanging out with other writers."

Are you sure that was you? That sounds an awful lot like Hemingway's "A Moveable Feast."

"Shut up, Kid. I remember what the 60s were like. Well, most of them anyway. But those days are long gone. Nowadays, creative writing teachers fight to write books in their spare time. The one skill they were hired for, and they can't even work at it because of their day job."

Well, I suppose they could go into copywriting, I said. Karl drank some beer and belched his response. He was going from maudlin to bitter, which always made him a pain in the ass. The last time he got like this, I had to lead him out of the bar by a fistful of his beard.

"What, and prostitute themselves for filthy lucre?" he bellowed. An emo poet was onstage, reading a poem comparing someone named Rachel to a fried egg. He looked nervously at Karl, worried he was being heckled.

Filthy lucre? You were just grousing about writers not making a living, but when they make it in the private sector, it's filthy lucre?

"Kid, you don't understand. Writing used to be a noble art. Writers were celebrities in Hemingway's day. Now, they're reduced to being teachers or copywriters who tell themselves they still have their artistic integrity."

Hey, there's nothing wrong with being a copywriter. Some highly accomplished writers worked as copywriters and still produced some outstanding work.

"Oh yeah? Name one."

You mean besides me? Karl rolled his eyes.

"You're not a novelist."

Why do we have to be novelists? Why do you assume the only 'real' writers are novelists? What about nonfiction writers? Or marketing writers? Or even journalists? They put just as much time and effort into mastering the language as novelists. Except we make money at it.

"What about poets?" Karl asked, gesturing at the roomful of hipsters reading their Midwest slam poetry.

They make their money serving coffee.

"Hey!" whined a nearby pimply-faced poet.

Karl, the only thing that has changed is the marketplace. The market for novelists may be shrinking, but there's still plenty of work to be had writing. In fact, thanks to today's educational system, more writers are being left behind, so the demand for good writers of any type is going to grow.

He scratched his chin for a minute. "Well, I read your last white paper, so I guess marketing copy could be fiction."

Yeah, and your last book was a great sleeping aid.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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Ode to Jason Falls on his 40th Birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 18:32:00 +0000

It finally happened, it finally came.
Some were amazed, some were ashamed.
The world cried out, and screamed "Oh Lordy!
"Jason Falls is turning forty."

He's working out more, he's eating fine,
He's even drinking healthy red wine.
He'll buy a new car, bright red and sporty,
'Cause that's what you do when you turn forty.

His hair's turning gray, but it's not falling out
That would only make him whimper and pout.
It once was longer, but now it's short, he
Looks respectable at age forty.

A guy from the sticks, now he's all urban
With a house and a yard, and his fancy bourbon.
But he's still earthy, he's still bawdy,
It'll only get worse now that he's forty.

It's downhill from here, things can only get worse
You're one day closer to the ride in the hearse.
Spend the next thirty years turning wrinkled and warty
Because that's what happens when Jason turns forty.

Dedicated to my good friend, Jason Falls, my co-author on No Bullshit Social Media.

Has Anyone Ever Died from the Willies?

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 16:41:00 +0000

I originally published this as a blog post-only on January 9, but re-ran it as a newspaper column, so I'm republishing it in the regularly scheduled column slot.

In a past job, I worked with people who are blind or visually impaired. I traveled extensively to different conferences, and met all sorts of people and saw all sorts of products related to technology, mobility, and independent living.

One thing I learned is that a lot of blind people — and they prefer to be called blind (read the article. It's a real dope slap to people who use PC euphemisms like "hard of seeing," which blind people think are ridiculous.) — have a strong independent streak. Organizations like the National Federation of the Blind and the American Council of the Blind use "of the intentionally, because they don't want you to do things for them. They'll do it themselves, thank you very much!

In fact, the NFB members are so independent, they even choose to forego using guide dogs; the ACB, on the other hand, love their guide dogs, but still value their independence.

I got to experience this first hand, because I would attend the NFB and ACB conferences every year, and talk to attendees about how they found their way around the world.

One summer, I was attending the NFB conference in Louisville, Kentucky, and was standing outside the conference hotel with my friend, Brian. We had just been to a Louisville Bats baseball game that night, and were chatting and winding down the night.

As we talked, a school bus pulled up to let off several conference attendees who had been on a field trip to the Louisville Slugger museum and factory. The first woman off the bus tripped as she was coming down the steps, and fell three feet, landing squarely on her knees.

When she fell, she dropped her purse, her cane, and a few other objects. The woman began frantically scrambling around trying to find the objects she had dropped. The bus driver was trying to help her up, but she wouldn't get up, still insisting on finding everything herself.

"Man, that's hardcore independence," I remember thinking. But I also have a caretaker personality, and can't keep my nose out of any situation if I think I can help.

So I picked up a large squarish button that had apparently fallen off the woman's purse. I was going to hold onto it until the woman got up.

Which she was still not doing.

I stood there waiting, and decided to get a closer look at that button. I flipped it over in my hand. I was more than a little shocked to discover that I wasn’t holding a button.

It was her artificial eye. And it was staring at me.

I’m a city boy, born and raised. I never grew up on a farm. I never got to witness the Circle of Life up close. And I’m only on a nodding acquaintance with Mother Nature. So when I see dead things, gory things, or when people talk about their own bodily functions, I get more than a little icked out.

So when I realized what I was holding in my hand, there was a roaring in my ears and the blood rushed out of my head so fast, I thought I was going to pass out. As I stood there, holding this artificial eye in my hand, all I could think was "this was in her head, now it’s in my hand. This was in her head, now it’s in my hand."

(In the woman’s defense, none of this was her fault, and I don’t want to get a laugh at her expense. It’s not her fault she fell in front of a big wuss.)

As I stared at the eye — and it stared back at me — there was an electric tingling creeping slowly up my arm, like when you touch a snake on a dare.

"What do I do?!" I whispered to Brian.

"I don’t know. I’ve never seen that happen before."

It seemed like hours, but was only a few seconds, when I finally realized why the woman wasn’t getting up. She wasn’t looking for her purse or her cane. She only wanted one thing. So I got to say that sentence that only one person in the entire world will ever get to say in all of history:

"Ma'am, I've got your eye."

She popped right up, relieved, and said, "Oh, thank you, honey. I was looking for that." She held out her hand, I gave her back her eye (there's another sentence no one will ever say), gathered up her other things, and went on her way.

I just stood there, staring at Brian, hand still outstretched. I finally said, "I really can’t think of anything to say now, so I’ll just say good-bye. I just need to— I mean, I should— that is, I’m gonna just, well, go."

I went back to my room with a severe case of the willies that didn’t subside until I finally fell asleep, several hours later. But as I drifted off, I comforted myself with one thought.

At least this wasn’t a morticians’ conference.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is available.

My other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is also out.

You can get both of them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million.

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What's Your Name Again?

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

I'm not just one in a million, I'm one in 1.75 billion.

Turns out there are four Erik Deckers in the entire world. There are three in Belgium, and I'm the only one in the United States. And I totally own those guys on Google.

In fact, if you Google my name, you won't find any of them for the first several hundred results, which I'm sure bugs them to no end. But if you keep digging, you'll find a few entries for the Erik Deckers who is a real estate agent in Brussels.

I've thought about getting business cards that say "Just Google me," but that seems a little arrogant, even for the only Erik Deckers in the entire western hemisphere.

But even though I can claim this unique title all to myself, people still have trouble remembering my name. Sometimes they don't even bother learning it.

I am often called Buddy, Dude, Partner — partner? What are we, cowboys? — or the occasional Bro, especially by bartenders and baristas.

"What can I get you, Bro."

"Dude, I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Erik."

"Okay thanks, Buddy."

But while I'm not really into being greeted like a long lost frat brother, I'm not a big fan of the word "sir" either. I may have earned the honorific because I've managed to survive this long, but that doesn't mean I like it. There needs to be a middle term, one that denotes respect but doesn't make the recipient feel like he's tottering along on a cane.

Once, when some fresh-faced restaurant hostess barely out of high school asked, "what's your name, sir?" I said "Deckers."

"No, what's your first name?" she asked

"Mister."

"Thwack!" went my wife's hand on my shoulder.

"Erik," I corrected.

For the most part, I make sure people know who I am through business networking, using social media, and anything else to help them remember my name.

But it doesn't always work.

Several years ago, when I worked for my father-in-law, I visited a number of trade shows in different parts of the world every year. We always saw the same people, show after show, country after country. For some of us, this was the only time to reconnect with our friends.

We were even friends with one guy who lived six miles away in our tiny town of 10,000 people, and went to our church. We could go for months without seeing him, but always saw him every January at our big trade show in Atlanta, twelve hours from home.

Even seven years later, as I've reached out to some people from those days, they still remember my name, remember the company, and even remember my family.

But there was one guy who, no matter how many times I met him, always reintroduced himself to me, time and again. Two or three times a year for five years.

"Hi, I'm Jim."

"Yes, I know. We met in Germany last November."

Now, to be fair, this was a guy who ran a large company that employed 100 or so people, and he met dozens more at every trade show. But I saw him two and three times a year at the same trade shows.

After the third or fourth time meeting me, most people remember my name and where we met. Not this guy. It didn't matter how many times we met and talked, he never remembered me. We once spent two hours smoking cigars and talking about scotch at his company's party. We bonded. We found common ground. We spoke as men do. If nothing else, I would at least be "that guy who smoked cigars with me."

Several months later, I bumped into him at another trade show, where he reintroduced himself to me again.

"Jim, I know. We've met before. Many times. We smoked cigars at your party in January, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I remember that," he said, clearly not remembering it.

There was nothing actually wrong with his memory. He didn't have Alzheimer's or anything. I know, because he remembered meeting my wife and mother-in-law. Two years before.

One year, my wife, her mother, and I chatted with Jim for 10 minutes at one of his parties. Two years later, the three of us bumped into Jim at the same trade show. Where he hailed my mother-in-law and wife by name.

And then re-introduced himself to me.

"Hey, it's good to meet you. . . Buddy."

I said, "Thanks, Jim. You look familiar to me. Have we met before?"

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), and my other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing are both available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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LSSU's Banned Words for 2013

noreply@blogger.com (Erik Deckers) — Fri, 04 Jan 2013 13:00:00 +0000

It's a brand new year, and you know what that means — Lake Superior State University (LSSU) releases its annual list of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse, Overuse and General Uselessness. This is their 38th year, and the 7th year I've covered their linguistic eliminations.

As a word nerd, I'm always interested in learning what parts of the language are changing, evolving, or should be smashed with a hammer, so I enjoy seeing what words LSSU wants everyone to stop using.

This year, LSSU received tens of thousands of nominations, totaling more than 800 entries, and 12 finalists. And I liked 11 of them. Normally, I support every banned word, but this year, I passionately disagree with one of their entries and think the people who submitted them are just whiny little gits.

As you probably guessed, "Fiscal Cliff" topped the list, but we've hopefully heard the last of it. I don't think it was that the word was overused all year, but rather, we were drenched by it in December as the media found a new buzzword they could start abusing for their different headlines — driving over the Fiscal Cliff, falling off the Fiscal Cliff, being thrown off the Fiscal Cliff. You know, the kind of headline every reporter writes, cackling at its cleverness, not realizing it's the same as 10,000 other identical headlines around the world.

Not that it bothers me or anything.

What does bother me is "YOLO," which stands for "You Only Live Once," as some sort of a hipster battle cry.

It was 2012's drunken "hey y'all, watch this!" which is hollered seconds before someone injures themselves in a hilariously spectacular fashion. These days, a bunch of jegging-wearing 20-somethings will scream "YOLOOOOOOO!" at the top of their lungs as they launch themselves down a steep hill on a mechanic's dolly.

It may be because I'm in my 40s, but I prefer the phrase YOLFARLT — You Only Live For A Really Long Time — which, as I write it, I realize sounds a lot like "Ya old fart," which I may be. But I also still have all my teeth and no visible scars, so I like my odds so far.

Spoiler Alert: we're all going to die in the end anyway, but some of us — *ahem* looking at you, YOLOers — are just going to go sooner than the rest of us.

Except LSSU is banning "Spoiler Alert." "Used as an obnoxious way to show one has trivial information and is about to use it," wrote submitter Joseph Joly. It originally started out as an alert on websites that detailed movie plots to tell people that if they hadn't seen the movie, they shouldn't read any further. Now it's just used willy-nilly, neither spoiling anything nor alerting anyone.

The entry I hated with a white hot passion was, well, "Passion/Passionate." Apparently a lot of people don't like the word as a way to describe people being overly enthusiastic about a particular hobby or topic, calling it a "phony-baloney word." One person even said "passion is the stuff of Ahab, Hitler, chauvinists of every stripe, and terrorists."

I vehemently oppose the inclusion of the word, because it refers to something deeply felt. According to Dictionary.com, it's "any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate." And I question the emotional depth of people who think passion is phony-baloney, or equate it with Hitler, terrorists, and chauvinists. Passion is wild love, the feeling that you can't live without someone or something. It's not something to be dismissed puritanically out of hand, with the emotionlessness a cold fish.

Not that it bothers me or anything.

I was also introduced to a new word, even though it's now banned before I get to use it: "Superfood." These are foods that are so jam packed with nutrition and health benefits — blueberries, salmon, green tea, that sort of thing — that we should eat them as much as possible.

Yeah, right. The only super food I recognize is a cheeseburger with a fried egg on it, although I don't think that's what the superfoodies had in mind. Still, the people who have bought into the superfood mindset are the same people who will wrinkle their emaciated noses at beef and poultry products being eaten at all, and try to convince you that a soy burger with an egg substitute is just as good.

Spoiler alert: anyone who tells you a substitute food is "just as good as" the real thing is lying to you. It's like saying your dinner has a "nice personality." After all, as any egg-on-a-cheeseburger passionista can tell you, YOLO, baby! YOLO.

The second edition of Branding Yourself: How to Use Social Media to Invent or Reinvent Yourself (affiliate link), is now available. I wrote it with my good friend, Kyle Lacy.

My other book, No Bullshit Social Media: The All-Business, No-Hype Guide to Social Media Marketing is also out.

You can get both of them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Books-A-Million in October, or for the Kindle or Nook.

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