DAVE BARRY IS NOT TAKING THIS SITTING DOWN Page 7

  FIRST FEDERAL EMPLOYEE: OK, I’ll just check behind the cushions of this federal employee’s lounge sofa here and . . . Hey, here’s some! Looks like a total of, let me see, two . . . three . . . four . . . Wow! It’s $17 million!

  SECOND FEDERAL EMPLOYEE: So THAT’S what happened to it!

  So I’m confident that the money is around somewhere. What has me concerned is the auditors’ finding that the federal government has also apparently lost track of some fairly large items, including—and I am not making these missing items up—a $1 million Army missile launcher, two $4 million Navy engines for fighter aircraft, two large Navy tugboats costing $875,000 each, and a $460,000 floating crane.

  Now, in any organization you’re going to have people stealing pens, paper clips, etc. But security has to be pretty darned lax for somebody to walk off with a tugboat.

  GUARD: Hey, what’s that gigantic bulge under your overcoat with a smokestack sticking out?

  THIEF: This? Nothing.

  GUARD: OK, then.

  What concerns me is, what if we have a defense emergency, and we need these missing items? Are we going to scare Saddam Hussein if our fighter pilots have to sit on the runway in engine-less planes and make fighter-plane noises with their mouths? Also, if the government doesn’t know where its crane is, what ELSE doesn’t it know? For example, I was in Washington, D.C., recently, and I walked past a huge building that said “Department of the Interior”; then a short while later I walked past ANOTHER huge building that said “Department of the Interior.” This has to be a mistake. Why would we need TWO Departments of the Interior? We only have one Interior! Unless we’ve lost THAT, too.

  So I think the government should stop whatever else it’s doing until it finds all this missing property. I think a good place to start looking would be my garage. There’s a LOT of stuff in there, and I have no idea what most of it is; it would not surprise me one bit if there was a missile launcher in there somewhere. So I say to the government: Come and get it! And while you’re here, please take these Supreme Court justices, because they’re starting to smell.

  Why Abe Was a Geek

  It’s back-to-school time, parents, and you know what that means! It’s time to get the kids off the TV-room sofa, using logging equipment if necessary, and take them to the mall for back-to-school supplies.

  Getting the right school supplies is crucial to your child’s chances for success in life. We all remember the tragic story of young Abraham Lincoln, whose family could not afford school supplies, so he had to write on a shovel blade with a piece of coal. This meant that if young Abe saw a cute girl and wanted to pass her a note in class, he had to hand her this big gross filthy digging implement, sometimes with worm parts stuck to it, and she’d go, “Ewwww!” and all the other kids would laugh at Abe (it did not help that he was the only boy in the fifth grade who had a beard). As a result, Abe had low self-esteem and was so desperate for popularity that he became president. Unless you want that kind of thing to happen to your child, you had better get the right kind of back-to-school supplies.

  What are the “right kind” of supplies? According to the American Association of School Teachers Who Get The Whole Summer Off and You Don’t Ha Ha Ha, to meet federal educational standards, “every item your child takes to school, including dental braces, must be festooned with a licensed cartoon character such as The Little Mermaid or Leonardo DiCaprio.”

  Your child also needs a backpack or—if you wish to have a truly modern, state-of-the-art schoolchild—an actual airline-style suitcase with a handle and wheels. In my neighborhood I see elementary-school students hauling these things around, and I say to myself, “They’re in SECOND grade! What are they CARRYING in there? Fifty-pound Twinkies?” But that is not the point. The point is, American students may not have the best educational test scores when compared to foreign students, or even certain species of foreign plants, but by gosh our kids lead the world in cubic feet of academic carrying capacity.

  Also it goes without saying that you cannot send your child back to school without a compass and a protractor. A compass is a thing with a sharp metal point and a little mutant pencil that is always falling out. A protractor is a thing that you always get when you get a compass. It is a centuries-old tradition for children to go back to school with these two devices, even though nobody has the faintest idea what their educational purpose is, other than using the metal point to carve bad words into desks. A spokesperson for the American Compass and Protractor Manufacturers Association told us, “We sell 23 million of these things every September, and we lie awake at night asking ourselves, WHY?”

  Another traditional item you should have on your back-to-school list is some kind of notebook. I know there are many kinds of new-fangled “high-tech” notebooks on the market today, but for my money, the old-fashioned three-ring binder that I used as a schoolboy remains, as an educational tool, one of the most useless things ever invented. I spent basically all of my classroom time from 1955 through 1963 trying to repair torn notebook paper with those stupid “reinforcing rings” that were always gumming themselves together into a little defensive clot. It cannot be coincidence that during these same years, the Soviet Union surged way ahead in the Space Race. So whatever you do, do NOT get your child one of these. Your child would be better off with a shovel.

  Finally, while you’re in the school-supplies department, see if they have any of that heavy white paste that we used in first grade to make art projects. Kids don’t need it for school anymore, but you should pick up a pound anyway, because it’s delicious.

  OK! Now that you’ve got the educational supplies, it’s time to shop for back-to-school clothes. What kinds of outfits do today’s kids want? That’s easy! They want outfits that you really hate. For example, if you have a daughter, you would prefer for her to go to school dressed, basically, as a nun; whereas she wants to look as if she has been rejected for employment by a house of prostitution on the grounds of looking too slutty. How do you, as a parent, resolve this dispute? According to the American Association of Child Psychologists, the secret is to “discuss your differences with your daughter, openly and non-judgmentally, until the two of you are screaming at each other and she stomps away shouting at the top of her lungs that she hates you and is going to join a motorcycle gang.” Don’t worry about attracting attention: There will be at least 50 other sets of parents and daughters in the Junior Department doing the same thing. It’s a back-to-school tradition!

  Buying clothes for boys is much easier. What boys want to wear is—write this down—big pants. A good rule of thumb is, if the pants do not contain enough material to make all the sails needed to equip a full-sized 19th-century whaling vessel, then those pants are too small for your modern American boy.

  OK! You’re all done with your back-to-school shopping! Now it’s time to send the kids off to school. Even if school doesn’t technically start for several more days, shove the little rascals out the door and lock it. Because you’ve had a long, noisy summer, and you deserve a chance to just lie quietly on the sofa and relax. Maybe fix yourself a bowl of paste.

  Rock of Ages

  I got a call from a guy I know named Carl. It was a cry for help. Carl is a successful man in his 40s, but sometimes even successful people, when they are in need, have to reach out to their friends, and I am proud to consider Carl a friend, even though for my 50th birthday he gave me some kind of reptile egg, which thank God never hatched.

  It took some effort for Carl to overcome his masculine pride and tell me what was on his mind. It was something that I believe is on the mind of a lot of guys, although they cannot always admit it.

  “I think I want to buy an electric guitar,” he said.

  At some point or another, almost every guy wants an electric guitar. It would not surprise me to learn that, late at night, in the Vatican, the Pope picks one up and plays “Hang On, Sloopy.” Electric guitars exert a strong appeal for guys, because they combine two critical elements: />
  A guitar.

  Electricity.

  Taken separately, these elements have little intrinsic value. But combined, they have an almost magical effect: They enable a mediocre guitar player, or even a bad guitar player, to play WAY louder.

  I got seriously into electric guitars in the ’60s when, as a college student, I helped start a band called “The Guides,” which later became “The Federal Duck,” which later became “A Bunch of Guys Who Got Older and Developed Prostate Concerns.” We were a “psychedelic” band, which means that we sounded a lot better if you were on drugs, not that I am for one second suggesting that anybody was.

  As a member of that band, my artistic dream was essentially the same dream that inspired legendary musicians such as Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and The Dave Clark Five: The dream of getting a bigger amplifier. This was important because of the musical dynamics of a rock band, which are very similar to the political dynamics of the Asian subcontinent. Let’s say that India is the drummer, and Pakistan is the lead guitar player. There is always tension between these two instruments, because they both want to be the loudest. Let’s say that, in this band, they start out roughly equal, but then, one day, India goes out and gets larger drumsticks. Pakistan is naturally threatened and responds by buying a more powerful amplifier. Then India, seeking to regain superiority, buys even larger drumsticks, and maybe a cowbell. At this point the bass player (China) feels it has no choice but to escalate, and pretty soon the band is so loud that merely by tuning up it can kill whales swimming thousands of miles away. (In a selfless effort to avoid this kind of tragedy, The Federal Duck almost never tuned up.)

  My point is that I have a strong musical background, which is why Carl called on me in his hour of need. We met at a warehouse-sized musical superstore containing hundreds of electric guitars, not to mention amplifiers the size of public housing. If you live near one of these stores, you’d better hope there never comes a time when all the amplifiers get cranked up simultaneously, because the resulting crater would measure several miles across.

  Carl and I spent a while looking at guitars, with me offering knowledgeable insights such as “Here’s a guitar,” and “Here’s another guitar over here.” Then a salesman helped us out, explaining various technical aspects of guitars such as wood type, body style, pickups, tuning pegs, necks, frets, etc. Carl listened carefully, then, after considering all the factors, made his decision.

  “I want a red one,” he said.

  So he got a guitar. It came as part of a complete rock-star set in a cardboard box, which also included a strap, picks, and an amplifier. I was concerned about the amplifier, because it was small and probably not powerful enough to cause permanent ear damage. But we agreed that Carl could get a bigger one if he ever learns how to actually play.

  I called Carl a week later to see how he was doing. He told me he’d run into a problem.

  “I opened the box,” he said, “and the guitar was blue.”

  Despite this setback, he was plugging away. He’s learning how to play chords from a videotape instructor. (“He’s about 18 years old,” says Carl. “He has acne.”) Once he’s done with the tape, he’ll be able to play “House of the Rising Sun.” Then he can start a band and play at weddings (“As the bride and groom cut the cake, we’d like to play ‘House of the Rising Sun’ ”) as well as bar mitzvahs (“As you all dance the hora, we’d like to play ‘House of the Rising Sun’ ”).

  I think there are a lot of older guys like Carl and me and the Pope, older guys still fantasizing that we’re Jimi Hendrix (who had the good sense to die before he was 30). As we get even older, we’re going to need specialized equipment; somebody’s going to make a killing selling amplifiers that have large, easy-to-read numbers on the knobs, so we can make sure they’re turned all the way up. Also, somebody’s going to get REALLY rich selling earplugs to nursing homes.

  Mr. Language Person on Nitches, Yores, and Defective Sea Lions

  It is with great verisimilitude that we present another installation of “Ask Mister Language Person,” the column that answers your common questions about grammar, punctuation, and unwanted body hair. This is the ONLY language column to receive the coveted Lifetime Bathroom Pass from The American Society of University Professors Who Are Never in Their Offices.

  We will commence the onset of today’s column by beginning with our first question, which concerns a basic rule of business grammar:

  Q.

  What is the proper way to begin a formal letter?

  A.

  The proper beginning, or “salutatorian,” for a formal business letter is: “Dear Mr. or Ms. Bob Johnson as the Case May Be.” This should be followed by a small dab of imported mustard.

  Q.

  What if the person’s name is not “Bob Johnson”?

  A.

  Then he or she will just have to change it.

  Q.

  What is the correct way to conclude a formal business letter to a cable-television company?

  A.

  “I Spit on Your Billing Department.”

  Q.

  Like millions of Americans, I cannot grasp the extremely subtle difference between the words “your” and “you’re.”

  A.

  Top grammar scientists are often confused by these two words, which are technically known as “bivalves,” or words that appear to be identical and have hinged shells. The best way to tell them apart is to remember that “you’re” is a contraction, which is a type of word used during childbirth, as in: “Hang on, Marlene, here comes you’re baby!” Whereas “your” is, grammatically, a prosthetic infarction, which means a word that is used to score a debating point in an Internet chat room, as in: “Your a looser, you morron!”

  Q.

  What about “yore”?

  A.

  That refers to “the days of yore,” when there was a lot of yore lying around, as a result of pigs. Also in those days, men would augment their personal regions by wearing “codpieces,” which were pieces of actual cod.

  Q.

  Yuck.

  A.

  Yore telling us.

  Q.

  What is the correct usage of the word “compunction”?

  A.

  It may be used as a medical term (“a compunction of the left exterior vestibule”) or in the name of a rock band (“DeWayne Hurlmont and the Compunctions of Soul”).

  Q.

  Speaking of music, does it make you suspicious that “Barry Manilow” and “Busta Rhymes,” in addition to sounding EXACTLY alike, have “conveniently” never once appeared on stage together?

  A.

  It is time to end the charade.

  Q.

  While viewing ESPN’s September 18 broadcast of the Indiana-Kentucky football game, did you hear an example of language usage so excellent that it caused you to spew beer from your nose?

  A.

  Yes. The color commentator referred to a former coach as “a living legend when he was still alive.”

  Q.

  Can you give some other examples of powerful language, sent in by alert readers?

  A.

  Certainly:

  Trudy McDaniel sent in the instructions for putting together an Ikea desk, which state: “It is advisory to be two people during assembly.”

  Doug Gordon sent in the instructions for a set of Tama brand drums, containing this warning: “Stay away from the drum set if an earthquake occurs.”

  Dave Zarrow reports that he saw a sign making this appealing offer: “I Lost 40 Lbs. in Two Months! Call for Free Samples!”

  Joe Bays sent in a glossy color brochure for the American Standard “Cadet II” model commode, featuring the slogan: “Get more out of your toilet.”

  Sandra Bowers sent in a story from The Akron Beacon Journal headlined “Police Find Man Dead to Death in Motel.”

  Paul Morrill sent in a story from The Santa Cruz County Sentinel, concerning a man who was arrested when he attacked some sea lio
ns “because they constantly defected on his boat.”

  Jeanne Reed sent in a bulletin from Weatherby Health Care, a physician-placement firm, with this headline: “Born and Raised in the Midwest, This Very Talented Surgeon Is Looking for His Nitch Back Home.”

  Q.

  You hate it when a surgeon loses his nitch.

  A.

  Let’s hope he didn’t leave it inside a patient.

  TODAY’S “TIP” FOR FICTION WRITER’S: To make your writing more vivid, insert a literary device.

  WEAK: “Detective Jake Turmoil slowly opened the door to the killer’s room.”

  STRONG: “Detective Jake Turmoil slowly opened the door to the killer’s room and a metaphor sliced off his head.”

  GOT A QUESTION FOR MISTER LANGUAGE PERSON? He truly does not care.

  Caught Between a Czech and a Slovakia

  Most Americans are pitifully ignorant of geography. This was clearly demonstrated recently when the Gallup Organization sent its pollsters to Chicago to ask randomly selected residents if they could name at least three of the six major continents. The results were shocking: Most of the pollsters never found Chicago at all; of those who did, all but one fell into the Chicago River.

  Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident of American geographical ignorance. Just last month, the major U.S. airlines, investigating an increase in the number of delayed flights, discovered that many of their pilots cannot read maps and are finding their destination cities by, in the words of an airline spokesperson, “flying real low and following buses.”