Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 139

I tested positive.

It finally happened. I tested positive for COVID-19.

I’m feeling fine. I was actually about to climb aboard the bike for a ride when I decided to check my temperature. I had started experiencing chills in the late afternoon and thought nothing of it, but as I headed upstairs to the stationary bike, I thought I’d just check and see if I was okay.

I was not. A fever of 101 degrees.

So I took a rapid test, and the result was positive. Elysha took a test, and happily, she is thus far negative. She and the kids will test again today.

I’m certainly not happy about this development. In addition to losing the last four days of my much needed vacation to quarantining in the bedroom, I’m aware of the possibility of long haul COVID, so I’m desperately hoping to avoid any complications.

But a few thoughts as I sit on my bed, writing this:

Vaccination is so important. Everyone in my home is fully vaccinated, and Elysha and I are boosted as well. It’s their vaccinations that likely prevented them from also having a breakthrough infection. If you’re waiting to vaccinate your children, you risk them getting sick or making them sick with your own infection. Pediatric hospitalizations are on the rise throughout the world, so waiting to vaccinate your children is a terrible mistake. They’ve already been vaccinated against more than a dozen other diseases, so get the damn vaccine.At-home testing is going to be an important tool at ending this pandemic. Rather than waiting until the next day to get tested at some public testing site (and risk exposing Elysha and the kids to the virus), I was able to test less than three hours upon the onset of symptoms. If and when you can get an at-home test, please do so. I bought my tests long ago when the prices were more reasonable, so when it’s possible, purchase tests. The state of Connecticut is making millions of tests free to residents in the next couple weeks, so try to get your hands on a couple if you live locally.If you can also get yourself a pulse oximeter, do so. For about $20, you can test your blood oxygen in the same way doctors do in their office. I bought mine back in February of 2020, and it’s been sitting in a drawer ever since, waiting to be used. Not only does it give me a good sense of how I’m doing, but it’s peace of mind, which is important when you’re hunkered down, wondering what this disease might bring.COVID is scary. As I lay in bed last night, alone, I wondered what the night might bring. If I began experiencing breathing problems in the wee hours of the morning, would I even know? Did I infect Charlie yesterday while watching The Simpsons and wrestling with him? I’m still recovering from surgery, so does this put me at greater risk? This disease has killed more than 800,000 Americans, and while the vast majority of deaths this year have been unvaccinated Americans, I can’t simply assume I will be okay. I’m afraid. I’m trying my best to stuff those feelings away and assume a positive attitude, but when you’re alone at night, in the dark, you can’t help but wonder if that last breath you took was labored.It’s utterly bizarre to be infected with a virus that a small but annoying loud and pervasively stupid percentage of Americans don’t even believe exists. There are people in this country who would say that my supposed infection is fake. That I’m just another liberal pawn of the deep state’s attempt to control us or the WHO’s attempt to control the world. Or they might claim that I simply have a cold or flu, even though more Americans have died of COVID this year than in Civil War.My students wrote me many wonderful cards and notes before left for vacation, but what I noticed about them was how many kids warned me to avoid getting COVID. “Don’t get COVID!” “Be safe and wear your mask!” “Please stay healthy, you annoying man!” I was surprised by the concern of my students, but it turns out that it was warranted. I think they will be angry with me when they find out.Oh well. It’s not like they haven’t been annoyed with me before.

 

A missing cat and a little hope

Pluto, our beloved cat and friend, disappeared.

We had someone spend the day in our home on Monday, rewiring and reconfiguring our internet for increased speed, and that sent Pluto and his brother, Tobi, into hiding, as it always days.

Both cats are afraid of nearly everyone except immediate family.

When the work was complete and the technician left, Tobi returned from his hiding spot in the basement, but Pluto did not. I waited all night for him to reemerge, worried about why he was taking so long to come out of hiding. Around midnight, I finally found him in the basement, hiding in the back of a cabinet adjacent to a tiny, cat-sized crawl space into the wall. With some coaxing, he returned to the first floor for a bit and sat beside me before I finally went to bed.

But the next morning, he failed to reappear when I came downstairs to feed him and his brother. Both cats always greet me as I climb out of bed every morning, waiting for their morning meal, meowing for me to hurry up, but Pluto was nowhere to be found. As the day rolled on, he was still missing. We had a furnace technician come into the house for the annual service on our boiler, which probably frightened him again, but after that technician left, Pluto once again failed to emerge.

I conducted a complete search of the basement, including sticking my head into crawl spaces that only the cats can traverse. Charlie and Elysha conducted similar searches throughout the day. A new hole had been made in the drywall by the internet technician, so I tried to follow that new crawl space, worried that he may have somehow become trapped in the walls.

I waited and worried all day long.

The last time Pluto went missing like this, we eventually found him unconscious in the litter box. By the time he and I arrived at the veterinary hospital, he was not breathing and his heart has stopped beating. Miraculously, the doctor performed CPR on Pluto and brought him back to life. She discovered that stones had collected in his urethra, sending his potassium level skyrocketing and stopping his heart.

Gender reassignment surgery guaranteed that this would never happen again, but when cats are ill, they hide, and our home has plenty of crawl spaces in which to hide. My fear was that Pluto was either sick or injured and would eventually die in the walls of our home. Nearly 24 hours had passed since he had been seen, which meant he had already gone a full day without food or water.

I was panicked.

Then Elysha reached out to a Facebook group populated by women who attended Smith College who also love cats.

A little niche, I know, but Elysha loves those ladies. It’s one of those good reasons for Facebook to still exist:

Good people gathering to share and discuss happy things.

Several of the ladies informed Elysha that their especially anxious cats had been known to disappear for 2-3 days after a stressful episode. Since our internet technician spent a long time in the basement, cutting holes in the walls and running wire, perhaps Pluto was still panicked about his encounter.

I doubted it. I was almost certain that he was hurt or sick or already dead, but it at least gave me hope.

Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption once said, “Hope is a good thing, maybe best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

I hoped Andy was right, both about hope and my furry friend.

So I went to bed with a heavy heart, finding sleep almost impossible. These cats… they nestle in the center of your heart, and the thought that one might be suffering or worse destroys me every time. They bring me so much joy on a daily basis, but even a hint of illness or a momentary inability to find one sends me spiraling.

I tossed and turned for a couple hours, unable to sleep, until I could no longer toss and turn. A cat was lying across my legs. I hoped it was Pluto but knew it was Tobi. He sleeps on my legs often. Still, I offered up a little prayer and peaked.

It was Tobi, staring back at me in the dark.

Pluto was on the other side of the bed, lying against Elysha’s legs, also staring back at me.

You don’t realize the amount of fear and anxiety that has built up inside you until the reason for that fear evaporates. Lying in the dark, in my bed, I wept. Eventually Pluto came across to my side of the bed and took up his customary position against my chest. A second later, he was purring.

Thank goodness for those Smithy cat lovers. The smidgen of hope that they offered meant the world to me. The possibility, however unlikely I thought it to be, that Pluto might simply reemerge from the basement in a day or two sustained me. Truly, it allowed me to move forward with a modicum of sanity.

Andy Dufresne was right. “Hope is a good thing, maybe best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”

Pluto is sitting in the chair beside me as I write these words. He’s purring again. The big bad internet man is gone. Once again, he feels happy and safe.

When I awoke Elysha last night to tell her about Pluto’s return, she was just as relieved as me. Then she said, “Remember this the next time he goes missing. Okay?”

A kind thought, but a ridiculous one, too.

These cats, like our cats, Jack and Owen, and our dog, Kaleigh, before them, nestle themselves in the center of my heart, and no logic will get around that worry when one of them goes missing for a day or more.

But next time I’ll have some hope, at least. It’s not a lot, but in times of fear and panic, it’s also everything.

Say it to them, too.

During one of my recent post surgical follow up appointments, the doctor and I got to talking about someone we both know who also works in the school where I teach.  The doctor and I said exceedingly kind things about this person, so as soon as I returned to my car, I called the person and  played back the conversation for them as best as I could remember.

Last week, I was extolling the skills and talent of a storyteller with whom I work. I explained to Elysha what makes this particular storyteller so effective, then I immediately called the storyteller to tell her exactly what I said.

Just before Christmas, a friend and I were speaking in glowing terms about the generosity of a mutual friend. In the midst of that conversation, I texted our friend to tell him what was being said.

Whenever I can, I like tell the person about whom compliments are being spoken about those compliments because I think we all deserve to know when kind things are being said about us.

It’s why funerals infuriate me so much (in addition to the sadness of the loss and the blatant reminder of immortality). People wait until their loved one is gone before speaking in their most glowing terms about the deceased. Sadly, we don’t often hear some of the kindest, most generous things said about us, because so often, those words are being spoken outside our presence.

Nothing makes a person happier than hearing that two people were speaking about them in glowing terms, absent any attempt to make them feel good or ingratiate themselves to the bearer of the compliment in any way.

Just two people, speaking highly of another, outside their presence.

Sort of like Tom Sawyer attending his own funeral, but in smaller, hopefully more frequent doses.

It’s not often in life that you’re greeted in life with such a joyous, perfect surprise. People are thrilled to hear the news. They often thank me profusely. Oftentimes I can hear the stunned happiness in their voice.

It’s something I have been doing for a long time. I highly recommend it.

Maybe make it a one of your New Year’s resolutions.

Three words change a life. Not in a good way.

In case you missed it: On Christmas Eve, President Biden and Dr. Biden were fielding calls from the NORAD Santa tracking service, speaking to children about Santa and the upcoming holiday. Something Presidents have been doing for years. Parents from Oregon called, and the President spoke kindly to their son. At the end of the call, the father shouted “Let’s go, Brandon!”  If you’re not familiar, this is an infantile code used by right wing cowards that means, “F- Joe Biden.” Naturally, Americans possessing intellect and reason were appalled that a father might use his son’s phone call to shout coded obscenities to the President of the United States on Christmas Eve after he spent time speaking to his son.  It might have ended there, but then the man, Jared Schmeck, proudly posted a video of himself making the call and shouting the coded obscenity on social media. His wife later did the same. So rather than choosing to remain anonymous, Schmeck outed himself as the man who used his son’s phone call on Christmas Eve to insult the President.  So the internet went to work. By Christmas day, Schmeck’s name was trending on Twitter as Americans rightly criticized him for his indecency and stupidity. Schmeck then turned to the media, complaining that he was “being attacked for utilizing my freedom of speech” in the aftermath of the event.  “I understand there is a vulgar meaning to ‘Let’s go, Brandon,’ but I’m not that simple minded, no matter how I feel about him,” Schmeck said. “It was merely just an innocent jest to also express my God-given right to express my frustrations in a joking manner.” Failing to realize how people other than himself – specifically those criticizing him – also have a God given and Constitutionally protected right to free speech, the internet went to work again, digging through public records to figure out who this guy is. It turns out that who works for his father’s company after resigning from his job as police officer in 2018. His father’s company, Winema Electric, received $439,923 in PPP loans last year, plus Schmeck himself has received $3,000 per child in child tax credits.  According to the company’s website, Winema Electric is a company “grounded in Christian values.” Later in the day, it was discovered that Schmeck’s father, a former Navy SEAL, was charged by federal prosecutors in 1991 for trafficking in illegal firearms and ammunition, including automatic weapons, assault rifles and grenades. Probably something his father would have preferred remain in the past. Schmeck and his wife have since taken down their social media accounts,. Winema Electric’s Google and Yelp ratings have plummeted as people are now giving the company poor ratings for employing someone who would shout vulgarity at the President on Christmas Eve after talking to his kid. The company’s website, which has also been taken down, lists an employee Code of Conduct, which reads: “Respectful to Others: We have a zero tolerance policy against abusive, intimidating, harmful, harassing, or offensive language and behavior.” One might think that Jared Schmeck’s job might be in danger, but he works for Daddy, who can’t be happy about all of this but probably won’t fire the boy.  Currently the internet is attempting to determine the reason why Schmeck resigned from the police force in 2018. They are also attempting to discern how the company’s PPP loan was spent and if Schmeck qualifies for the child tax credits that he has claimed. This all seems like a lot to endure for a stupid, callous comment made on Christmas Eve, but remember that the comment was followed by Schmeck’s very public, very prideful boasting, then followed by his whining about his First Amendment rights while rejecting the First Amendment rights of those who have criticized him. He also hasn’t apologized or expressed any regret whatsoever.  He’ll probably be running for office in Oregon by the end of the week.  The reaction to Schmeck’s stupid, infantile remark admittedly seems excessive to me, but for the past four years, we’ve watched so many people act indecently, lie, cheat, steal, and attempt to subvert democracy with impunity. Kyle Rittenhouse, killer of two unarmed men in Kenosha, has been a recent star of the right wing media circuit and been proclaimed a hero by pundits like Tucker Carlson. Pardoned felons like Steve Bannon and Michael Flynn continue be revered in certain conservative circles. Actions require consequences.  Recently lawsuits have been brought against those who lied on Trump’s behalf by claiming that the Presidential election was stolen. Election workers and the companies Smartmatic and Dominion Voting have all sued the likes of Fox News, Newsmax, OANN, Rudy Giuliani, Sidney Powell, and many more for their false, defamatory, and damaging claims.  Billions of dollars are at stake, and the media companies in particular are very worried. Rightfully so.  Perhaps Jared Schmeck is a good, decent man who made a stupid mistake and lacks the courage and internal fortitude to acknowledge his mistake and apologize. Maybe his understanding of the Bill of Rights is lacking because he was absent from school on the day that the First Amendment was discussed. Maybe Schmeck resigned from the police force for perfectly good reasons. Those child tax credits were probably perfectly legal. Maybe he and his father actively support the kind of social safety net that made PPP loans (a bill constructed and supported by Democrats) possible. I hope all of that is true.  But actions have consequences, and when you make a stupid, indecent decision in front of an audience of millions, then you double down on that stupid, indecent decision by bragging about it on the internet, bad things are going to happen.  There’a a big difference between posting comments about the President on social media and speaking directly to the President on live television.  Jaded Schmeck is finding that out the hard way.

 

Need an employee? Go to McDonald’s.

Own a company or run a business and having a hard time finding good employees in this tight job market?

Go to McDonald’s.

Some of the finest, most competent, most hard working people who I have ever known have worked for McDonald’s. A person who is able to competently manage a McDonald’s restaurant is a person who can do almost anything. I managed McDonald’s restaurants for about a decade in both Massachusetts and Connecticut, and no job was more challenging and more instructive than those years running restaurants.

The multitude of skills required to operate a profitable McDonald’s restaurant is astonishing, and the ability to work with a truly wide range of people – many of whom are not exactly enthusiastic to be working for you – is a skill few possess.

I learned more about teaching and managing a classroom from my time at McDonald’s than I ever learned in college. It’s not even close.

The education I received, both formal and informal, was invaluable. When I was promoted to manager at the age of 17, I was put through a management training program that consisted of curriculum and instruction designed by McDonald’s as well as college classes on management principles.

It was rigorous, extensive, and continued throughout my career.

As a result, I am better trained for managing large organizations than any school administrator with whom I have ever worked. School principals, for example, are simply teachers who have been elevated to a leadership position. While many do quite well in the position (and I have been blessed in my career to have some supremely effective leaders), they receive little – if any – formal management training, which is oftentimes abundantly evident.

Ask a school administrator about the scaler chain, unity of principle, process approach, The Peter Principle, The Law of Demeter, The Pareto Principle, The Pygmalion Effect, or the 5 (and sometimes 7 or even 10) principles of effective delegation, and it’s likely that they won’t be able to explain any of these things to you, yet they manage organizations and budgets oftentimes larger than a average McDonald’s restaurant.

They manage on instinct or observation of previous managers without any actual training, practice, or mentorship at all.

Education is not the only field where this upside down model operates. In many industries, highly effective employees are often elevated to management positions without receiving any management training at all. It’s simply assumed that because they can do one job, they can do another.

It makes no damn sense.

So if you’re feeling the squeeze of this tight labor market, go to McDonald’s, Find the competent, effective managers who are running these operations, Most are underpaid, and many lack the vision and opportunity to leave the restaurant business for something that pays better, even though they very well could.

Many times, it need not even be managers. Highly effective crew people are just as skilled and valuable.

And don’t limit yourself to McDonald’s restaurants, I know a woman who runs the front counter at a local pizza place who I am certain could do almost any job in the world. She is respected by her fellow employees, works hard and efficiently, treats customers exceptionally well, understands the importance of clear communication, and possesses a relentlessly positive attitude.

If you need someone in your organization, you would be wise to offer her a job tomorrow.

Or sit with me in the lobby of a McDonald’s for 30 minutes and let me point out the employees of offer jobs. When you know what you’re looking for, the good ones aren’t hard to spot.

The world is filled with highly effective people who can’t see a world beyond the limits of their current confines. Open a window for them. Show them the possibility of a different life. Greater opportunities. Perhaps a career better aligned to their hopes and dreams.

Don’t wait for potential employees to walk through your door. Find them in places few would think to look, including under the golden arches.

 

My 2021 Christmas haul

Every Christmas, I take inventory of the holiday gifts that my wife, Elysha, gives me.

Some people wish for cashmere sweaters, the latest gadget, stylish watches, and jewelry. My hope is often for the least pretentious, most unexpected, most nostalgic, quirkiest little gift possible, and Elysha never fails to deliver.

When it comes to gift giving, Elysha is brilliant. More than the gifts themselves, her choices tell me that she knows me.

She sees me more clearly than any other person in my life.

For the past 12 years, I’ve been documenting that inventory of gifts that she has given me on Christmas because they are so damn good. Every year has been just as good as the last, if not better.

The 2009 Christmas haul included a signed edition of a Kurt Vonnegut novel.The 2010 Christmas haul included a key that I still use today.The 2011 Christmas haul included my often-used Mr. T in a Pocket.The 2012 Christmas haul included my fabulous No button.The 2013 Christmas haul included a remote controlled helicopter.The 2014 Christmas haul included an “I Told You So” pad.The 2015 Christmas haul included schadenfreude mints: “As delicious as other people’s misery.”The 2016 haul featured a commissioned painting of the map of my childhood Boy Scout camp.The 2017 haul featured a commissioned painting of my grandparent’s farmhouse.The 2018 haul featured a Viewmaster Viewer with photos of the family.My 2019 haul featured a fantastic cord organizer (it says a lot about me that I loved it so much)My 2020 haul featured An artist’s rendering of all seven of my books, plus the books from which we derived our children’s names, the first gift Elysha ever gave me (a book), and a couple of my favorite books of all time.

This year was pretty fantastic.

A portable 30 second Dance Party button, complete with German emceeThree desktop games: tetherball, scoop & catch, and boxingGolf balls (a new, upstart brand), tees, and a ball retrieverChattering teethSlaughter House-Five, the graphic novelInteresting Stories for Curious PeopleA box of Jesus-themed bandagesA Far Side calendarFart whistleA new brand of shaving creamA 5 in 1 keychain and a telescopic keychainA paddle board, convertible to a kayak, complete with waterproof, bluetooth speaker and waterproof iPhone case

The paddle board and speaker will likely become my favorite gift once summer arrives,. but for now, the 30 second Dance Party is top of the list.

I hope you received gifts just as brilliant as these this holiday season.

Green bean casserole is awful

I know that many people claim to enjoy green bean casserole, but I can’t imagine why this might be true. I suspect that they are probably the same people who enjoy lobster, even though it was considered tasteless, unappetizing trash food 150 years ago when lobsters were plentiful, easily caught, and exceedingly cheap.

As with many foods, the perception of taste is impacted by a hell of a lot more than just tastebuds.

If you were living 150 years ago, you would almost certainly despise lobster, just like everyone else at that time. even though you may love it today. Servants at the time actually had it written into their contracts that they could only be served lobster twice per week. It was considered insulting to serve lobsters to guests, and it was never served in restaurants.

Even the indigenous people of North America rejected lobster.

Besides, if you need to submerge a food in butter before eating it, how good can it really be?

Which leads me back to green bean casserole, a monstrosity of a dish. Of all the things to feature in a casserole, why choose a barely tolerated side dish? Of all the options of the world, why opt for an utterly benign vegetable?

No one has ever said, “Boy, I really hope they’re serving green beans tonight!”

Green beans are fine. They are one of the few green vegetables that I can tolerate. Depending on how they are cooked, they might even be tasty. But no one has every gotten excited over green beans.

So why green bean casserole?

One reason:

World War II, or more specifically, the elimination of post-war rationing and the sudden availability of of canned goods.

Green bean casserole was invented by Dorcas Reilly. In 1955, Reilly was working in the home economics department of a Campbell’s test kitchen. She was asked to create a recipe for a feature in the Associated Press, but it needed to be based on newly accessible ingredients like Campbell’s mushroom soup. Reilly and her team created a recipe consisting of just six ingredients:

A can of Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup, milk, soy sauce, black pepper, green beans, and crunchy fried onions.

The dish wasn’t received with any particular acclaim, but when Campbell’s began printing the recipe on its cans of cream of mushroom soup, green bean casserole took off.

Green bean casserole wasn’t an old family recipe passed down from generation to generation. It’s not some culturally or religiously significant dish. It wasn’t invented by a classically trained chef in the kitchen of some restaurant. It’s simply the result of a sudden abundance of canned goods and a behemoth of a corporation sneaking the recipe into households on packaging.

Honestly, of all the things that could be featured in a casserole… green beans?

Why not chicken? Sausage? Macaroni and cheese? Dumplings? Potatoes? Beef? Eggs and bacon? The list of genuinely delicious, universally beloved foods to include in a casserole is endless.

But green beans?

So the next time you’re thinking of making green bean casserole, why not try one of the New York Times “Best Casserole” recipes instead? Dishes like buttery breakfast casserole, baked ziti casserole, macaroni and beef casserole, meat and potato gratin,  turkey tetrazzini, shepherds pie, chicken parmesan casserole, meatball and sausage casserole, and even tater tot casserole.

Green bean casserole?

I say no.

 

Shop Blind

Until the end of today – December 23 –  you can partake in the Shop Blind Challenge. Two Blind Brothers, a clothing company, was founded by brothers Bradford and Bryan Manning. At an early age, Bradford and Bryan were both diagnosed with an eye disease that causes blindness over time. Their goal is to make the softest clothing and gifts in the world in order to help the blind community by donating 100% of the profits back to research for eye disease through Foundation Fighting Blindness. They also hire blind workers through organizations like Industries for the Blind to make their  items.   Good guys doing great work.  The Shop Blind challenge, which ends today, asks you to purchase a gift that you can’t see. A gift that is entirely unknowable to you. A box containing a mystery item or items that will remain a mystery until the package arrives in your home. For $38, $68, $98, $128, and $298, you can purchase the gift of the unknown and help fund blindness research in the process. Frankly, I don’t know how you could possibly resist this unique opportunity. How often do you get to spend money to receive a gift that you can’t see beforehand? The experience alone is worth the cost.  My favorite moment of Christmas day is the time just before presents are opened. Beautifully wrapped gifts, nestled under the tree, filled with excitement and promise and wonder. Vibrating children perched on the staircase, peering through the rungs of the staircase railing, desperate to tear them open and see what is inside.  I am blessed with a wife who gives the best gifts. They are always joyous and clever and spectacular. But there is something about the promise and mystery of an unopened present that I might love even more. For me, the moments just before a gift is unwrapped are at least as fun as discovering what’s inside.  Maybe more.   The Shop Blind challenge offers that same promise, wonder, and mystery. It presents you with something we so rarely get in this world: A real, honest-to-goodness surprise.   My Shop Blind gift arrived yesterday. Not surprising, I have yet to open it. I’m honestly not sure when I will. For all of my desire to discover what’s inside, I also love staring at the box, filled with mystery and intrigue, knowing something special awaits me. Eventually.  Get yours today before it’s too late.

Support an artist, including Jeni Bonaldo

Film director and prolific podcaster Kevin Smith says a lot of smart things.

Here’s one that I like a lot:

“Remember: It costs nothing to encourage an artist, and the potential benefits are staggering. A pat on the back to an artist now could one day result in your favorite film, or the cartoon you love to get stoned watching, or the song that saves your life. Discourage an artist, you get absolutely nothing in return, ever.”

Kevin Smith is right.

Supporting an artist when you have the platform to do so is not only the decent and right thing to do, but failure to do so is inexcusable. This is why I write forewords to books whenever asked, blurb books whenever possible, make our Speak Up stage accessible to anyone willing to work hard to make their story great, promote new artists via my channels whenever I discover them, and encourage the hell out of folks just getting started in their endeavors.

Organizations and artists who can’t find the time nor the inclination to boost an artist of lesser stature, or one simply in need of a boost or some old fashioned promotion, should be ashamed of themselves. I’ve watched authors and organizations turn their backs on artists who they know and respect simply because they don’t want to clog their feed, confuse their brand, or risk promoting something that might not be universally admired.

This has happened to me personally more than once. In a moment when someone could’ve offered me a leg up and a real boost to my career, they refused, choosing instead to remain silent and still. It’s always disappointing, disheartening, and truly rotten to the core.

Real insight into what they really feel about the art and artists they make and claim to support.

Sometimes, the effort required to make a real difference in an artist’s life is almost infinitesimal.

Last week, my friend, Jeni, and I went to The Moth’s StorySLAM at Housing Works in Manhattan, my favorite place in the world to tell a story. It was my first return to Housing Works since the pandemic, and I was thrilled to be back. Jeni and I both told stories, and I had the good fortune to win.

Jeni placed third but could just as easily have won, too.

At the end of the show, the producers asked the storytellers who had performed that night to gather for a photo. As we were arranging ourselves. one of the storytellers congratulated me on my victory. I told her how much I loved her story and looked forward to hearing from her again.

I meant it.

It was a simple, heartfelt comment to a fellow artist about her work.

The next day I received an email from the woman. She had known who I was that night, had read some of my books (including Storyworthy), had heard me tell stories many times before, and had gone to The Moth for the first time that night with the hopes of telling a story. Her scores had placed her in the middle of the pack, but she felt like she has performed poorly. She had already vowed to never tell another story onstage when I told her how much I liked her story.

Those simple words, she wrote, already have her working on her next story.

Kevin Smith is right. It doesn’t take much to help an artist pursue a dream, especially if you have power, audience, acclaim, or expertise. Sometimes it’s a simple word of encouragement. Sometimes it’s a well timed plug for an artist’s latest endeavor. Sometimes it’s a little bit of heavy lifting, but if you or your organization has ascended to some significant height, your job is to reach down and pull others up.

Even if it costs you a little.

When you fail to support an artist, particularly in your field of expertise, you suck. If you can’t offer a kind word or won’t tell others about an artist’s work or refuse to promote a project despite your ability to do so without any real cost to yourself, you suck.

You’re letting down the universe in exchange for reputation, brand, or ego. When you do so, you don’t deserve the platform you enjoy.

Remember what Kevin Smith said:

It costs nothing to encourage an artist, and the potential benefits are staggering.

If you know an artist in need of support this holiday season, make that your gift to them. Offer words of encouragement, in person, via email, or best of all, an old fashioned letter. Post something about their work on social media. Shout about their talent from the rooftops of the world (or your podcast). If their work is commercially available, buy something if it’s within your means. Keep it for yourself or gift it to a loved one.

It doesn’t take much to change the life of artist, even a little bit. When you fail to do your part, you disrespect and dishonor your place in this world. You fail to payback the favors you most certainly received in order to climb to the heights you enjoy. You suck. It’s really that simple.

In this spirit, I shall shout from the rooftops of the world about Jeni Bonaldo, a high school teacher who I met several years ago when I visited her school to speak about one of my novels. This turned into a yearly visit to her school to teach and discuss storytelling, which quickly led to Jeni becoming a storyteller herself. Today she is a prolific storyteller who has performed many times for Speak Up and competed in many Moth StorySLAMs. Her stories are always supremely well crafted, incredibly vulnerable, and funny.

When I need a storyteller for a show, or Elysha and I need to replace a storyteller last minute, our first call is always to Jeni. She is the storyteller I trust most to nail it every time.

Jeni has also worked as my assistant during weekend and week-long storytelling bootcamps, where she fills in all of my glaring, unfortunate instructional gaps and brings great insight and expertise to the craft. She has read the first drafts of much of my work, offering valuable feedback and advice.

All of that is prelude to the fact that Jeni has also finished her first novel this year, and I had the good fortune to read it. If you’re an agent or editor dealing in YA fiction, you should reach out to me for Jeni’s contact information. She’s in the midst of revising the book right now, but it’s already in good shape for a sale.

Nearly as impressive to me is Jeni’s willingness to finish a long day of teaching insufferable teenagers, drive into Manhattan with me to perform at The Moth, then drive back home with me, often arriving well after midnight for a few hours of sleep before getting her own kids ready for school and returning to teach another day.

Art requires sacrifice. Jeni understands and embraces that. She’s tough, talented, and relentless.

She’s also annoying, argumentative, and mean to me, but no one is perfect.

Even so, I can’t wait for you to buy and read her first novel, someday soon, I hope. You’re going to love it.

Social media is hurting your children in ways you may not know

MUST READ from the newsletter NumLock News:

A Wall Street Journal investigation set up a dozen automated accounts registered as 13-year-olds on TikTok, and found that after programming the bots to briefly pause on content related to weight loss, the app’s algorithm began to serve up an onslaught of fasting, crash dieting, and eating disorder content.

Out of 255,000 videos served up, the algorithm threw 32,700 weight loss videos at the bots from October to early December. A third of the weight loss videos — 11,615 videos — offered up by TikTok to the bots were about eating disorders, and 40 percent of those — 4,402 videos — made disordered eating appear normal.

As you probably know, similar activity has been identified on Instagram as well.

This is an important reminder:

For all of the lessons we offer to our children in terms of the online predators, internet trolls, and other nefarious online entities, the platforms themselves are just as dangerous.

Think of it this way:

If the internet is the African savannah, the lions and the hyenas are the internet predators and trolls, looking to do your children real harm, but the savannah itself is also trying to swallow them up whole.

Worst of all, you can’t see it happening. You don’t even know it’s happening. You’re walking along, scanning the landscape, thinking it’s clear of predators, then you’re suddenly devoured by the very land you’re walking upon.

As I explained to one student who referenced the hazards of violent video games, “When you purchase a violent video game, at least you know what you’re getting. I’m not saying I approve, but at least you knew the game was going to be filled with guns and explosions. Forewarned is forearmed.”

With platforms like TikTok and Instagram, children are being seriously harmed without anyone even knowing it. These companies are profiting off children by sending them content designed to hold their attention.

Unfortunately, that content is also seriously damaging to our kids.

In many ways, these social media platforms are the lead paint of the twenty-first century:

Permanently damaging our children right under our noises, yet most of us are entirely unaware of any of it.

Clara and Charlie don’t yet own phones, but Elysha and I are already talking to them about the dangers of social media. We want them to know how companies will attempt to profit at their expense. We want them to understand how these platforms are exceedingly effective at making people – and especially children – feel terrible about themselves. We want them to understand the meaningless, ephemeral nature of these services long before they ever experience them firsthand.

Forewarned really is forearmed.

If your child has a phone of their own or regular access to platforms like TikTok or Instagram, I urge you to have those same conversations. Tell them about the Wall Street Journal’s findings. Be honest and upfront about the dangers they face.

Also, try like hell to limit your children’s exposure to this content.

Your children may complain that they are the only kids at school without phones or access to these services. When they do, pop open a bottle of champagne and congratulate yourself.

You deserve it.

Your kids will be fine. In fact, they will likely be better than fine given the decisions you’ve made to keep this dangerous, nefarious, disastrous world away from them as long as humanely possible.