Parents Translate The Darnedest Things

Go get a goo goo – it’s intelligible.

That jingle may soon be stuck in your head. That’s because the AFP news service reports that Japanese researchers have developed a translator for baby talk!

(You may recall that three years ago the Japanese marketed Bowlingual, a machine for interpreting dog barks. One of the test dogs allegedly remarked, “I am most pleased to eat the honorable roadkill, but raw fish???? Am I on ‘Candid Camera’ or something????”)

By analyzing an infant’s cries, facial expressions, and body temperature changes, the gadget purportedly deciphers the child’s wants and fears.

I’ll tell you what I fear – the sort of jolting verbiage that might erupt from the supposedly innocent infant mind. You might think the little darling is cooing “I love Grandma,” but his babblings might actually be “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? I’m a good boy! Now hurry up and make out your doggone will!” and “What’s this obsession with the whereabouts of Thumbkin? Are you a stalker or something?”

Things could get even uglier. What if the infant has copped a teenage attitude and just needs the device to unleash his frustrations? Parents would be bombarded with petulant whines of “You guys remember to walk 20 feet behind the stroller” and “Mom, if anybody sees you breastfeeding me, pretend we don’t know each other.”

I’m not even sure I trust the gadget to deliver an accurate representation of the baby’s intentions. It’s too tempting to rig the device to deliver commercial messages. You find your baby pulling the cat’s tail and the cat clawing the baby. You could pretty well surmise the baby’s feeling via low-tech means, but no – you turn it over to the translator. Surprise, surprise -- the little darling is actually remarking, “Homeowners, did you know that electric water heaters are 30 percent more efficient than gas water heaters?”

What’s cute about baby talk with no mystery? I share the sentiments of the song “Let Them Be Little .” When my 14-month old Gideon cuts loose with a stream of nonsense words and wild gestures, I like to imagine that he’s a campfire sing-along director, a senator filibustering a judicial nomination, or a preacher delivering a “poop and brimstone” sermon. (Although, I wish he wouldn’t use unleavened ladybugs for communion wafers.)

It would be hypocritical of me not to treasure Gideon’s ramblings, since I am told that many of them make more sense than these columns.

I appreciate the humanitarian motives of those who would like a tool for pinpointing the causes of a baby’s pain or discomfort. But I don’t think the device is a cure-all. The machine might translate the baby’s mournful cries accurately, but once the parents consulted their insurance handbook and encountered words such as “out-of-network,” “co-pay,” and “elective,” it would be the parents doing the wailing.

I think the more urgent need is to develop a translator for lawyer-speak, or even doctors. “Eat less and exercise regularly.” Who can make heads or tails of mumbo jumbo like that???

Ultimately, I just don’t think it’s in the divine plan for adults to understand children so early. If God had meant for babies to be understood, our first recorded utterance from Moses would have been, “Watch me part the waters as I wee wee in your face!”

Star Wars And Rumors of Star Wars

It’s difficult to write about “Revenge of the Sith,” the final “Star Wars” movie.

That’s because of the way George Lucas chose to tell his 9-part epic. The first three movies were actually chapters 4-6. In recent years Lucas has filmed chapters 1-3. And he won’t be doing chapters 7-9 at all. Hmmpphh! When your Great-Aunt Mabel tells stories that way, they don’t give her directing awards; the family puts her in a home.

I didn’t know how confusing things would eventually become back in 1977, when the first “Star Wars” (chapter 4, “A New Hope”) blew me away. I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, so my late father drove me to the Hi-Way 50 Drive-In and sat through the movie with me. It was a great bonding experience, but I could have sworn I heard a James Earl Jones-ish voice whispering, “Dan …I am your father, Dan. Get a girlfriend for pity’s sake!”

“Star Wars” fans are breathlessly waiting for “Revenge of the Sith” to answer questions about the origin of villainous Darth Vader. Did Anakin Skywalker choose the Dark Side? Did the Dark Side choose him? Or did Paula Abdul have the deciding vote?

An unprecedented number of companies have signed up to use “Star Wars” characters in their ads this time around. With all the fast food being peddled, the phrase shouldn’t be “May the Force be with you,” but “May the coronary care unit be with you.”

Some fans may go into withdrawal pains now that the film series is wrapping up, but at least “Star Wars” won’t wear out its welcome to the extent of the “Rocky” or “Nightmare On Elm Street” franchises. If Lucas kept going, Luke Skywalker would become Luke Needs-A-Walker, and we would witness Chewbacca using a full-body comb-over to hide the ravages of Wookiee Pattern Baldness. The nation’s theaters would be showing “Star Wars XXVII: The Return of the Toaster Oven Without A Valid Receipt.”

The outlook for diehard “Star Wars” addicts isn’t totally bleak. Lucas has revealed big plans for developing two television series, one animated and the other live-action. Of course smaller TV budgets will mean cost-cutting measures, such as replacing Imperial Stormtroopers with even more menacing plagues – guys in business suits playing legislative lobbyists. I’m sure we’ll soon be seeing a blooper special with Obi-Wan Kenobi suffocating under gnats and moths during a Jedi Knight“light saber” battle. Can commercials with Han Solo’s Millennium Falcon ruggedly climbing muddy hills be far behind?


Whether or not the TV projects come to fruition, Star Wars has had a profound effect on American culture. Pres. Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative was dubbed “Star Wars” by the press. And Pres. Bush thinks FDR’s promise to Social Security recipients was made “long ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”

I truly feel the Star Wars mythos has legendary qualities, and the characters will still be known a thousand years from now. Unfortunately, as with Robin Hood and King Arthur, myth and fact will become hopelessly intertwined.

For instance, history books will have a rather strange take on Rosa Parks’ struggle for civil rights.

“Why did I sit in the front of the bus? Go ahead! You try sitting in the back of the bus with the fumes from Princess Leia’s hairdo!”

Show And Tell, 2005 Style

“Teacher, teacher, I declare – I sent Suzie to the electric chair!”

That schoolyard chant is not so farfetched. According to the Associated Press, approximately 2000 schools and colleges have adopted Student Crime Stoppers programs in which students are given rewards for being tattletales. The program is so pervasive that NBC is considering a series called “Law and Order: WVU” (Wedgie Victims Unit).

Rewards may include cash, pizza, premium parking spaces, and other incentives. Amounts vary depending on the nature of the offense. Schools might pay $100 for information about an act of vandalism, $500 for information about a crime involving a gun, $1,000 for catching some thug humming “Jesus Loves Me”…

Vandalism, bullying, and cheating have always been a part of the academic experience, but the recent spate of school shootings has given a sense of urgency to stopping problems before they happen. One administrator explains the need to subordinate privacy to security. “Guns can cut short a student’s potential for a lucrative career in running laps or knowing the 1985 per capita income of Luxembourg. Guns can snuff out young lives in an instant. We would prefer to snuff out young lives the slow way, with all the junk food in school vending machines.”

In these security-conscious times, the whole atmosphere at school is different than most of us remember. Old-fashioned hall monitors can’t compare to the anonymous spies of today. Instead of wrist corsages, guys give their prom date a tracking anklet. Teachers can be heard saying, “All right, children – line up for your x-rays…er, class picture.” Cheers include “Two, four, six, eight – give up your right to litigate!” The old “Dick and Jane” primers now include stories such as “See Spot sniff drugs. Sniff drugs, Spot, sniff drugs.”

Of course the programs are geared to maintain the self-esteem of even the most heinous young criminals. Snitch reports must be carefully worded, such as “I saw Bruce smoking in the boys’ room, but the puffs of smoke were reminiscent of the work of a young Picasso.”

Some psychologists worry that the Crime Stoppers programs could destroy the sense of community among students. Yes, there is such an abundance of camaraderie and trust in schools. (“Trust me…you smile at my ex-boyfriend one more time and I’ll snatch you baldheaded, you marching band geek!”)

Civil libertarians worry that because of greed or vendettas, students will abuse the system and try to frame innocent classmates. (“Okay, maybe Brad didn’t start that there French Revolution, but I know he thought about it.”)

It’s a noble sentiment to nip violence in the bud, but the Crime Stoppers program may backfire. In the era of The Sopranos, students who are even suspected of being informants may find that nap time has become “sleeping with the fishes time.” (“Mrs. Othelmeyer, there’s a finger in my finger paint!”)

Much to the consternation of school officials, many students opt not to play whistleblower. For some it’s a matter of friendship. For some it’s a matter of staving off an Orwellian future. For most, they know they can’t claim their prize without enduring another lecture about the miracle of compound interest.

For good or bad, the Crime Stoppers program is here to stay. Unless the snitches decide to branch out.

“My biology experiment today is about what I learned in the teachers’ lounge…”

“Class dismissed!”

All That Disneyland Jazz

On May 5 Disneyland begins the official celebration of its 50th anniversary.

A mere half-century ago, skeptics were laughing at Walt Disney’s crazy dream. Okay, they were laughing at the crazy dream about Walt skipping school all year but still delivering the valedictory speech, wearing only mouse ears, not the crazy dream about turning his movie empire into a theme park empire, but that’s beside the point.

The original section of the world-famous theme park cost $17 million and was built on 160 acres of orange grove near Anaheim, California. In other words, the region went from squeezing citrus fruit to squeezing tourists.

Come on, let’s cut the company some slack. The song “It’s A Small World After All” has resonated at the park since 1966. Indeed, Disneyland has done much to further the brotherhood of man. After you lay out the money for a 3-day visit, you know just how a Third World peasant feels.

You’ve gotta admit they have a great setup for a business. If you find mouse droppings in the food, you don’t get to sue; they charge you for souvenirs.

Disney executives feel justified in charging what the market will allow, after their failure with a scaled-back “value menu” of attractions. People just didn’t go for Pinocchio (the wooden boy whose nose grows when he tells a lie) becoming Pinocchio the wooden boy with the deviated septum. Likewise, they avoided Sleeping Beauty’s Castle when wicked Queen Maleficent was replaced with that cranky old lady from the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Other failed attractions:

* Jaywalkers of the Caribbean

* Snow White and the 7 Laid-Off Keebler Elves

* Roadkill Country Bear Jamboree

Disneyland has maintained its reputation as “the happiest place on earth,” even though there has been competition in the geopolitical realm (“North Korea: the happiest place on earth – or else!!”) and even though nowadays when you wish upon a star, some poor sucker has already paid $39.95 to have it named after him.

Disneyland has stirred our imaginations and warmed our hearts even while fighting distractions such as the persistent urban legend about Walt Disney being frozen after his 1966 death. The rumor was given new life when a visitor overheard a security alert at the supposedly “animatronic” exhibit “Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln.” (“Code blue! Abe is demanding more money! Someone thaw out John Wilkes Booth!”)

The California park carries on, even though it has lost its uniqueness because of Disney’s expansion into Florida, Japan, and France. I think next up is Disneyland Tennessee. (“Officer, there’s a perfectly good reason my pickup truck rear-ended the Monorail car.”)

Disneyland has managed to stay up to date. In Frontierland, visitors used to find out more about their forefathers. Now youngsters employ modern DNA testing to sort out their four fathers. Main Street U.S.A. is now This Building For Rent, U.S.A. Religious fundamentalists have Are-You-Sure-There’s-A-Tomorrow? Land. For those interested in global warming, there’s the Matterhorn Water Skiing ride. The Haunted Mansion is now known as “Scott Peterson: The Adventure Continues.”

I feel confident that Disneyland will still be going strong in another 50 years. But maybe the ad campaign will go a step beyond the one that launched in 1987. (“Joe Blow, you just took your family to Disneyland. What are you going to do next?” “I’m going to the poor house!”)

45 And Still Alive

I turned 45 on April 18, and, as is my birthday custom, I’m taking stock of my life.

I’m now nearer to retirement than to the beginning of my work career, unless the Social Security Administration does some more “tweaking.” (“Dear Abby: My government insists it’s committed to my retiring someday, but keeps changing the date --supposedly for the sake of the kids. Should I pack up and leave?”)

As far as forced retirement, why are age policies so different between the secular world and the Catholic Church? A guy in a regular job is handed a gold watch and hits the door. Hand one of the cardinals a watch and he gushes, “Oh, yeah – I remember when they invented watches!”

The older I get, the more responsibilities and stress I feel from juggling family, work, and church. Some days I feel as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders. No, wait – that’s just my falling hair.

Father Time’s relentless march only makes me appreciate oldies radio stations more. But some songs get more depressing every day. When I hear the Beach Boys sing “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older…,” I want to give somebody some “good vibrations” upside the head.

Even Jim Croce’s beautiful “Time In A Bottle” hasn’t aged well. I tend to modernize it as “If I could save time in a bottle, somebody would put a @#$% child-proof safety cap on it!”

Life is rushing by so fast, I’m trying to be more observant. While driving, I pay more attention to the roadside. I’ve seen things I’ve never noticed before: a gazebo in a back yard, a misspelled word on a “No Trespassing” sign, blue lights in the rearview mirror…

I haven’t really had that many milestones in the past year. I did overcome my cotton allergy. (“Cotton: the look, the feel, the fabric of your sleep disorders.”) And we boldly leapt into the 1950s by purchasing a dishwasher, to keep Crocodile Hunter from capturing my dishpan hands for his trophy room.

Okay, I did start a blog (a web log, for those not Internet-savvy), mostly for archiving favorite columns and posting family pictures. Like many a project, I’ve shamefully neglected it. It’s an old Tyree motto: “Don’t do anything halfway, when you can get away with doing it quarter-way.” (View the blog at http://dannytyree.blogspot.com.)

My birthday wasn’t all bad. Melissa and I celebrated by attending the two-person play “Love Letters.” I enjoyed it immensely, although I was holding out for “Large Print Love Letters.”

Melissa gave me a set of “Red Skelton Show” DVDs. They provide wholesome entertainment, although they also magnify the irony of aging. How is it I can remember Clem Kadiddlehopper or seagulls Gertrude and Heathcliff from 40 years ago but can’t remember why I just entered a room? And don’t try to bluff your way out of a memory lapse. Guessing wrong about why you entered the bathroom can be disastrous.

Check with me next year to see if I’m any less obsessed with the calendar. Maybe those sunshine boys at the College of Cardinals will take on a more youthful attitude as well. . (“Kiss my ring? I’ll tell you what you can kiss if you don’t turn down that music, you little punk!”)

More Motivated Than Thou

My boss is not sending me to the big “Get Motivated” seminar at Gaylord Entertainment Center on April 25.

So you might dismiss this essay as sour grapes. I just like to think of it as random skeptical thoughts about the world of inspirational speakers.

Let’s face it: some speakers tend to milk a catch phrase for all it’s worth. (“There is no ‘I’ in team. There is no ‘f” in phantasm. There is no ‘u’ in color – unless you’re from England and…”)

Granted, businessmen sometimes find themselves unable to see the forest for the trees and need help increasing productivity. Professional motivational speakers bring a fresh perspective, unique insights, a bowl of fortune cookies with sage inspirational sayings…

Apparently these glorified pep rallies bring results. One salesman issued a testimonial that his sales tripled directly as a result of last year’s seminar. Tripled? How could he be missing his potential by that wide a margin? I guess the seminar had to teach him, “Do not open a sales call by asking, ‘Do you have Prince Albert in a can?’”

I don’t know about the Gaylord seminar in particular, but motivational speakers tend to oversimplify and gloss over a few steps. They dish out dynamic tips, such as “Taking the lessons you learned from losing your first million…” and “Develop the right attitude, and you can be anything you want – even the boss’s idiot brother.”

Sports figures will offer practical advice for the masses, such as “While you’re getting the cop to tear up your speeding ticket, sell him a house that matches the color of his eyes.”

I understand that comedian Jerry Lewis (one of the Gaylord speakers) will probably get in tune with the common man by advising, “Okay, first you get the French to love you. Then…”

Do you get the impression that some of the speakers are slumming? Former New York City Mayor Rudolph Giuliani kept essential services (fire, police, hospitals) functioning in the aftermath of September 11. Now he’ll teach you to sell people junk they don’t really need, in the aftermath of the prime rate going up a quarter of a point.

General Tommy Franks will be trying to shoehorn his wisdom into the civilian world. I can just imagine “When life hands you chipped beef on toast, make lemonade,” “If a prospect hangs up on you, court-martial the bum,” and other pearls dreamed up while sitting on an $800 Pentagon toilet seat.

I like level playing fields as much as the next guy, but isn’t there something surrealistic about the way the seminar is giving the same secrets to all comers, including companies that are in direct competition with each other? And what happens when you’re trying to sell to a customer who already knows all your tricks? (“Okay, this is a standoff. Let’s lay our order pads on the floor and back away slowly so no one gets hurt.”)

Admission at the door is $225, but an entire office can attend for the unbelievably low price of $49. I hear that the promoters fear some cut-rate speakers bureau will produce a competing seminar, at which local retail clerks tell audience members to “Have a good’un.”

Ultimately, I guess motivational speakers are okay, up there in their ivory towers. But I wonder how they would perform down in the trenches facing the demoralizing daily grind with the individuals they preach to?

Offices would be buzzing with “Wassamatter? Never saw a photocopy of Zig Ziglar’s buttocks?” and “Forget a Super Bowl ring. I’ve got free office supplies!”