Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 155

Blood on their hands

Dr. Brytney Cobia treats Covid-19 patients at the Grandview Medical Center in Birmingham, Alabama, a state that ranks last in the US in fully vaccinated adults. In a recent Facebook post, she shares how willing people are to get vaccinated after watching an unvaccinated member of their family die from COVID-19.

She wrote:

I’ve made a LOT of progress encouraging people to get vaccinated lately! Do you want to know how? I’m admitting young healthy people to the hospital with very serious COVID infections. One of the last things they do before they’re intubated is beg me for the vaccine. I hold their hand and tell them that I’m sorry, but it’s too late.

A few days later when I call time of death, I hug their family members and I tell them the best way to honor their loved one is to go get vaccinated and encourage everyone they know to do the same.

They cry. And they tell me they didn’t know. They thought it was a hoax. They thought it was political. They thought because they had a certain blood type or a certain skin color they wouldn’t get as sick. They thought it was ‘just the flu’.

But they were wrong. And they wish they could go back. But they can’t. So they thank me and they go get the vaccine. And I go back to my office, write their death note, and say a small prayer that this loss will save more lives.

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Let us be clear-eyed and absolute about this:

The reason that a large number of Americans think COVID-19 is a hoax, a political ploy, or “just the flu” is because far too many Republican politicians, beginning with the former President, along with politically-aligned media outlets like Fox News, have been saying these things again and again and again since the onset of this pandemic.

Every single person in a position of influence and power who has contributed to vaccine hesitancy or COVID-19 denial has blood on their hands.

Nearly every America dying from this disease today is unvaccinated. The 223 Americans on average who are dying from COVID-19 every single day – 1,561 Americans per week – could still be alive if Republican lawmakers and media outlets like Fox News had not sowed the seeds of uncertainty and distrust for so long.

Americans are dying because it was and continues to be politically expedient for Republican lawmakers and their media allies to downplay the virus, dismiss the science, discredit the experts, ignore safety recommendations in order to stop their political opponents from succeeding in their agenda.

All of this at the expense of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and sons and daughters.

Americans are dead because politicians have placed their political desires ahead of Americans lives.

Blood on their hands. It’s that simple.

Lessons from a big, red dog

Norman Bridwell, author of Clifford the Big Red Dog, lived in Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard until his death in 2014.

Since his death, his wife, Norma, has kept his memory alive with this front-door tribute to his two most famous characters, Emily Elizabeth and Clifford.

Lovely. Right?

I’m never going to die – obviously – but still, it made me wonder what tribute Elysha might theoretically leave to me at our front door:

An Egg McMuffin? My 7 iron? Seat #5 from section 336, row 24 in Gillette Stadium? A small shelf of the books I’ve published? A case of Diet Coke? A microphone on a stand? My laptop?

Probably better not to clutter the doorway. There’a already stuff in the entranceway that she needs to move out, and I can’t stand clutter of any kind.

But what a lovely tribute to a man who has brought so much joy to say many children.

A couple interesting facts about Norman Bridwell:

Bridwell attempted to get a job as a children’s book illustrator but was rejected by every publishing house where he applied. While at Harper & Row, an editor offhandedly suggested he turn one of his drawings into a story. The drawing was of a young girl and a horse-sized bloodhound, and the story became Clifford the Big Red Dog. 

That simple, off-handed comment spawned over 40 best-selling Clifford books, three animated television series, merchandise, a live musical, and a live-action film that is in development. More than 126 millions books in total.

A simple comment, heard and accepted, changed Bridwell’s life and the world.

The lesson being:

Keep your ears open. You never know when inspiration might arrive or from whom it may come.

It turns out that Norma Bridwell also played a hand in the creation of Clifford. Bridwell first named his big, red dog Tiny, but Norma told her husband that his idea to call a huge bloodhound Tiny was “stupid.” Instead, they decided the dog should be named Clifford, after an imaginary friend Norma Bridwell had when she was little.

When Norma Bridwell suggested that her husband follow up by writing another story about Clifford and Emily Elizabeth — and maybe even two or three books — the author answered, “Oh, no. This is just a fluke.”

She pressed him to write another, and the rest is history.

The lesson being:

Listen to your spouse in all creative matters.

Also in matters related to the decluttering of the entranceway.

Reasons to be oppressively optimistic

Elysha has claimed that I can be “oppressively optimistic” at times.

I’ve also been known to make certain people’s eyes roll when energetically asserting that “Everything’s going to be great!”

“I’m fantastic.”

“Fear not! All will be well.”

Elysha isn’t entirely wrong, of course. I most definitely lean toward optimism in most things. But perhaps it’s merely a case of perspective. A choice of what to see and remember.

Case in point:

Elysha and I celebrated 15 years of marriage by spending last weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. It was a fantastic three days, marked by, among many others, these three moments:

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When Elysha and I arrived in Edgartown, one of five towns on Martha’s Vineyard, on Friday afternoon, the power for the entire town was out.

Of course.

After dropping our bags, we made our way to a place to eat called The Seafood Shanty – a restaurant on the water – but because the power was out, the host wasn’t seating guests. We waited a few minutes and were eventually advised to go to the second floor of the restaurant and see about being seated for drinks until the power was restored.

Because they had been turning people away because of the outage, Elysha and I managed to land the very best table in the place, on the railing, center of the patio, overlooking the Edgartown harbor.

The power came back almost immediately, so our dinner arrived on time, but the power outage had fried the restaurant’s computer system, making it impossible to process our check. This allowed us to remain in this prime location for much, much longer as restaurant managers attempted to reboot their computers. It was a perfect storm of problems that allowed us to enjoy the beautiful scenery of the harbor and each other for much longer than would otherwise have been possible.

Eventually we paid for our meal the old fashioned way, with carbon copy on an ancient, sliding credit card machine.

It was our favorite meal of the weekend.

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On Saturday, our concierge recommended the Jaws tour of Martha’s Vineyard. Visit the shooting locations of the famous film and watch the segments of the movie associated with each location on an iPad. It sounded fantastic. I am obsessed with this film. I’ve read Peter Benchley’s book many times, watched the movie many times, and studied the history of making the film via books and DVD commentary.

Elysha was so excited for me.

When we logged onto the website to book a tour, we found that they were sold out.

Of course.

After some hemming and hawing, we decided to look into the three hour personal tours of the island that the company also offered. Eventually we boarded a van driven by a man named Jim who regaled us with incredible stories, incredibly told, as we toured the island. In just over three hours, we had traveled to every corner of Martha’s Vineyard, hopping out at scenic locations, and having a truly grand time.

The Jaws tour would’ve been great. Jim’s tour of the island was probably better.

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Sunday morning, I was sitting outside our room, on the deck, enjoying a beautiful sunrise as I wrote and revised my latest book. I worked from 4:00 AM until about 5:30 AM when the clear skies were suddenly filled with clouds and a thunderstorm erupted almost instantly.

My productive morning was ruined as I fled into our room and out of the rain.

Of course.

Instead of pecking away quietly on my keyboard as Elysha slept, I did something I never do:

I climbed back into bed with Elysha, holding her tight, and falling in and out of sleep for more than an hour.

It was one of the best parts of the entire weekend for me.

Maybe the best part.

By the time we were packed and ready to leave the room, the storm had passed. Skies were clear again. The sun was shining.

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Things don’t always work out. Problems arise and remain unsolved. Disaster can strike at any moment. The world can be a messy place.

But a lot of good things happen in this world, too. And quite often, potential problems – a town-wide power outage, a sold-out tour, or an untimely thunderstorm – can become something unexpectedly wonderful.

I make a point of noting these moments whenever I see them. Remembering them. Sharing them with others.

Perhaps this is the reason for my oppressive optimism:

While so many people seem to take enormous pleasure in lamenting the drama and difficulty of life, filling their life with grousing, complaints, and concerns over small bumps and petty injustices, I like to keep a weather-eye on these turnaround moments, like the ones I experienced in Martha’s Vineyard last weekend.

Optimism begins with reasons to be optimistic. It grows when you allow yourself to seek and find these moments – large and small – in your life. Optimism flourishes when you steep yourself in the memories of glorious moments like these.

And yes, optimism can perhaps become slightly oppressive when you constantly tell yourself the stories of these turnaround moments that started out poorly but quickly turned wondrously wonderful.

Without much effort, you can find yourself constantly thinking that if it’s happened before, it can happen again.

“Everything’s going to be great!”

“I’m fantastic.”

“Fear not! All will be well.”

I have to say: It’s not a bad way to be.

Banned from baseball?

On Sunday night, a fan in the stands at Yankee Stadium hit Boston Red Sox left fielder Alex Verdugo in the back with a baseball.

As a Yankees fan, I certainly understand the sentiment, but I don’t support the decision. I think that baseball pitchers who throw at hitters are damn cowards. Throwing a ball from the stands at the back of another human being is the act of a pathetic, low life scumbag.

Despicable and disgusting.

As a result, the fan has been banned for life from attending major league baseball games. This decision was confirmed Sunday by spokesmen for both the New York Yankees and Major League Baseball.

Here’s my question:

How is baseball going to enforce this ban?

Yes, they can probably block the fan from purchasing tickets from official Major League Baseball vendors, but how do they stop this fan from purchasing tickets on the secondary market or simply having a friend purchase tickets on his behalf?

Will his face be posted at the gate of every Major League Baseball ballpark?

Will MLB use facial recognition software to identify him every time he attempts to enter a stadium?

This strikes me as a fairly ridiculous punishment. Unenforceable and silly.

I have a much better idea for punishment:

Arrest him. Charge him with assault.

Instead of arresting or even detaining him, the fan was allowed to leave the ballpark with his nonsense lifetime ban in place.

If I threw a baseball at the back of my mechanic after he presented me with the bill for my brake repair, I would expect to be arrested and charged with assault.

I wouldn’t expect to be banned from all brake shops in America.

If the parent of one of my students entered my classroom and threw a baseball at my back in response to their child’s report card, I would expect the parent to be arrested and charged with assault.

I wouldn’t expect the parent to be banned from school for life.

A coward in the stands of a baseball game hurled a dangerous object at the back of an defenseless player. He should’ve been in jail that night, awaiting arraignment on Monday morning.

Also, is a lifetime ban from baseball even appropriate? Let’s assume this fan is 30 years-old. Half a century from now, when he is 80 years-old and wants to bring his grandson to his first baseball game, do we really think he should still be banned?

Murderers are released from prison after two or three decades. We can’t allow this fan back into any ballpark in America for the rest of his life?

All of this is so stupid. We have a system in place for moments when an American citizen hurls a dangerous object at another American citizen. We arrest and charge that person with a crime. We allow judges and juries to determine the person’s fate.

That is what should’ve happened on Sunday night.

Instead, there is little stopping this fan from attending tonight’s game against the Phillies. Admittedly he should probably wait a while before trying to enter the ballpark again, but I suspect that chances are good he could purchase a ticket from a scalper, enter the ballpark, and find a seat in left field for tonight’s game if he was so daring.

He’s not, of course. He’s already proven himself to be a damn coward.

Cowards are a lot of things, but daring isn’t one of them.

Own your crazy

People are weird. People are crazy. People obsess over things, worry about things, and develop rituals around things that baffle and confuse the people around them.

It’s okay. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, it’s really okay.

But here’s my advice:

Own your crazy.

Don’t deny it. Don’t defend it. Don’t attempt to mitigate it. Simply own it. Admit to it, acknowledge it, and people (I promise) will accept you.

It’s only when you attempt to defend your crazy as normal that people get annoyed, frustrated, and angry.

It’s only when you refuse to own your crazy that you risk being perceived as crazy.

I wear wireless headphones on my head. I wear them almost all the time. I have them on now. I wear them in my house, in the car, on the streets, and while walking the hallways at work. Whenever I am not speaking or listening to someone or writing, there is a book or a podcast or a song playing in my head.

This is not normal. It’s kind of crazy.

I think it allows me to consume vast quantities of content. I think it increases my productivity exponentially. I think it allows me to eliminate many of the petty annoyances of the world.

But a man walking through life wearing headphones almost all of the time is not normal. It’s kind of crazy. When I acknowledge that it’s kind of crazy, people nod. They smile. They even laugh. And that’s the end of it.

I own my crazy.

During the school year, I eat the exact same food for breakfast and lunch almost every day without variation. Egg McMuffin for breakfast. Oatmeal for lunch.

Every day.

That is kind of crazy.

It reduces the amount of time I spend eating considerably. It eliminates time spent making food choices or preparing other meals. And I like Egg McMuffins and oatmeal. The Egg McMuffin provides a good breakfast, and the oatmeal is an excellent means of keeping your cholesterol down.

I lowered my cholesterol  by 40 points in one year by just eating oatmeal every day.

But eating the same thing every single day is crazy. I know it. I own it.

I won’t allow my 12 year-old and 9 year-old children to eat grapes unless I am present during the consumption. I am quite sure that the moment I turn my back, a grape will become lodged in each of their throats, simultaneously, and they will choke to death.

So no grapes unless I know I will be in the same room while they are being eaten.

Crazy. Lunacy, even. I acknowledge every little bit of it. Not normal.

See? That wasn’t hard.

My friend tells me that this advice is pointless because people are not self aware. He says that it’s rare for a person to possess actual introspection. He claims that it’s almost impossible for people to turn a critical eye upon themselves.

I hope he’s wrong.

So if you’re the parent of a five year-old daughter, and you’ve never left her with a babysitter because you fear for your child’s safety, that is completely understandable.

Also little crazy.

Rather than attempting to defend this position, simply say, “I really can’t leave my daughter with anyone except my sister at this point. I can’t even leave her with my best friend. I know. It’s a little crazy. It’s just the way I’m doing things right now.”

Crazy, but no problem.

If your children spend more time sleeping in your bed than their own, that’s okay. I know many parents with this unfortunate arrangement.

But it’s crazy. Just say it.

“Yes, my three kids sleep in our bed a lot of the time, and I even have a cot at the end of the bed for one of them. Sometimes my husband has to sleep in the kids’ beds to get some sleep. It’s absolutely crazy, but I’m not ready to change things yet.”

Just own your lunacy.

If the television is on in your house all day long, that’s kind of crazy.

If your preferred leisure activity is shopping, that’s kind of crazy.

If you mow your lawn three times per week, that’s kind of crazy.

If you can’t leave your six cats alone for more than three hours at a time, that’s kind of crazy.

If you wash and wax your car every other day, that’s kind of crazy.

If you don’t ever read a book, that’s kind of crazy.

If you’re afraid of New York City, that’s kind of crazy.

If you refuse to ride in a car unless you’re the driver, that’s kind of crazy.

If you don’t want to just split the check evenly because you had one less drink than your dinner companions, that’s kind of crazy.

All of those examples are actual bits of crazy from people I know or have known over the years. In some cases, the people acknowledged their crazy. In many cases, they did not.

Simply acknowledge that your actions are not normal, and people will be far more accepting and even sympathetic to your needs. They are more likely to accommodate you needs. They will be more understanding.

Deny your crazy and risk being perceived as legitimately crazy.

Own your crazy and you’ll be perceived as normal.

Like the rest of us.

We need adults in charge. Not Ron DeSantis.

America is experiencing a dearth of adults in positions of leadership. In the place of serious-minded grown ups who know a lot, constantly seek to know more, and place the needs of their constituents ahead of their own electoral and financial needs, we have infantile frat boys like Ron DeSantis running a state like Florida.

At the moment, Florida accounts for 20% of all new COVID-19 infections in the country. Positivity rates have doubled over the last week. More than 3,200 COVID patients are currently hospitalized in the state, a jump of 73% in the past month. Meanwhile, the number of vaccinations administered weekly has fallen by almost 80% statewide even though less than 60% of the population 12 and older is fully vaccinated.

Florida now has the fourth-highest per-capita hospitalization rate in the country, only behind Nevada, Missouri and Arkansas.

While all this is happening, Governor Ron DeSantis is selling merchandise on his website attacking director of the U.S. National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases and the chief medical advisor to the president Anthony Fauci.

“Don’t Fauci My Florida” read drink koozies and T-shirts on his website, a slogan which is not only scientifically stupid but not clever or funny in any way.

“Don’t Fauci my Florida?”

Because both words start with the same letter, someone thought it would sound amusing?

DeSantis also has a beer koozie that asks how one might drink a beer while wearing a mask, because DeSantis is a man of the people.

Also a graduate of both Yale and Harvard, but when you’re a Republican these days, those credentials will hurt you more than they’ll help. Better to imply that you’re just a regular guy, drinking beer and ignoring all the death in your state rather than appeal to scientists, doctors, and public policy experts for advice and counsel.

He’s also so thin-skinned and needy that he’s offering a “Love my Gov” tee shirt.

Can you imagine how desperate a person must be to sell shirts proclaiming love for yourself?

While infection rates rise and Floridians die in greater numbers, DeSantis has also spent time passing laws that are just as stupid as his beer koozies.

In June 2021, DeSantis led an effort to ban the teaching of critical race theory in Florida public schools, even though it has never been part of the curriculum.

In February 2021, DeSantis threatened to withhold COVID-19 vaccines from counties that criticized the manner in which vaccines were distributed, because criticism of any kind is apparently too much for this Floridian snowflake to handle. 

In May 2021, DeSantis signed a bill into law that prohibited businesses, schools, and government entities from requiring proof of vaccination for use of services.

In the past two weeks, I attended a Springsteen performance on Broadway and a Moth StorySLAM in Brooklyn that both required proof of vaccination to enter. Made sense. Keep everyone safe and mitigate the possibility of spreading the disease in congregant spaces by ensuring that everyone in attendance is vaccinated.

That sensible, reasonable policy is forbidden in Florida. Business owners are not allowed to operate their establishments in a way they deem safe to their employees and customers because DeSantis doesn’t want to Fauci Florida.

In the words of a fictional US President, “We have serious problems to solve, and we need serious people to solve them.”

Selling merchandise labeled in opposition to science as infection rates spike in your state and people die is not the work of a grown-ass adult.

Fork vs. butter knife?

Sitting at dinner, waiting for our meal to arrive, Charlie raises his fork and knife and says, “In a battle, which one do you choose?”

Do you know how many times I’ve wondered this very thing myself?

Thousands.

At last I have someone to talk to about it.

This is one of the many things I love so much about my son:

He thinks like I do.

I expect this debate to continue for decades. Meal after meal, this choice will be discussed and debated. It will be joyous.

For the record, the knife was a serrated butter knife, and the fork was a standard, three-pronged affair.

Charlie chose fork. I chose butter knife. After much debate, we each held our ground.

For now.

Still celebrating

Yesterday, during our sailing lesson, Elysha and I watched as an empty sailboat passed by. The pilot was in the water behind the boat, cooling off and hidden from us by the hull.

“It’s like the Mary Celeste,” I joked, then quickly added, “Only Clara would get that joke.”

But Elysha, who was piloting our boat, said, “No, I get it.”

Of course she did. How could I doubt her?

It led me to think of all the things that Elysha and I have enjoyed together over the years. Elysha is a sophisticated and artsy woman. She can walk through a museum and identify artists simply by examining the work. She’s well read. She remains exceptionally current on the state of politics and pop culture. She’s a culinary wizard. She’s attended a great deal of theater over the years, knows more about music than anyone I have ever met, and has traveled far more extensively in her life than I have.

But in addition to all of this, Elysha also adored Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Battlestar Galactica. Game of Thrones. During the pandemic, we watched every Marvel movie in order, and we’ve been watching Marvel’s television shows as they are released.

She’s seen every Star Wars film. Lord of the Rings.

During our first date, we were sitting on my awful futon, deep in conversation, when Elysha said, “It’s 6:00. The Simpsons are coming on. Do you mind if we watch?”

I should’ve proposed marriage at that very moment.

We’re currently re-watching The Simpsons with Charlie.

Of course Elysha understood my Mary Celeste reference. In an odd but beautiful way, this intelligent, sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman also has a 16 year-old boy inside her, allowing her to find great pleasure in content that often seems diametrically opposed to the woman who can identify two dozen types of cheeses by taste, lecture you on the biography of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, identify a song by Bjork after four notes, and dissect the work of David Hockney.

It’s a glorious combination. Also a little intimidating. I honestly don’t know what she sees in me sometimes.

Today Elysha and I celebrate 15 years and one day of marriage.

It’s unrealistic to celebrate every single day of marriage, but sometimes an extra day or two makes a lot of sense.

Like today.

15 years of marriage today!

Elysha and I celebrate 15 years of marriage today.

When I think about our marriage, I often find myself hoping that Clara and Charlie someday experience the same happiness and love that I have enjoyed over the last 15 years.

Specifically:

Marrying someone who you still can’t quite believe chose to marry you

Enjoying 15 years of marriage that somehow still feel like 15 minutes of marriage

Partnering with someone who knows you better than you know yourself

Finding someone who will fight for you to the ends of the earth

Mostly, I hope they someday find themselves trapped in a vicious, never-ending circle of happiness, as each person in the marriage struggles like hell to promote and preserve the happiness of the other at all costs.

There isn’t a day when I don’t think about what I can do to bring ease and joy into Elysha’s life, and I think she does the same.

It’s hard to imagine a more perfect partnership, but that is what I hope for my kids someday.

Back in New York at last

Elysha and I returned to New York City on Saturday night to see Springsteen on Broadway.

Before the pandemic, I was in the city a couple times per month, but it’s been more than 16 months since I set foot in The Big Apple. Elysha and I saw Jagged Little Pill on Broadway in mid February of 2020, and then on February 29, 2020, I produced and performed in a storytelling and comedy show featuring Yale alumni.

That was it.

497 days later, we finally returned.

A lot has changed since I was last in the city. Many of the stores and restaurants around Times Square have been shuttered. Finding a restaurant that was still open was a bit of a challenge.

It was sad. It felt like the city was wounded.

I guess it was.

Prior to entering the St. James Theater, Elysha and I were required to present ID and vaccination cards, which was great. Half a dozen states – Arizona, Florida, Idaho, Montana, Texas and South Dakota – are run by mind-numbingly stupid Governors who have made it illegal to engage in this simple, protective practice.

Thankfully not New York.

Thus we were allowed to watch the show mask-free and feel safe.

Springsteen was incredible, of course. When Elysha was quarantined back in 2020 with COVID-19 after being exposed to the virus at school, I watched the Netflix version of his show more than once to buoy my spirits as I slept on the couch and tried to keep the house running. Saturday’s show was similar, with a dozen tent pole stories making up the spine of the show but with lots of room for improv and drift in between.

A man washing his hands in the restroom beside me said he’s seen the show four timers, and it’s never quite the same.

Brilliant. Just what I tell storytellers and public speakers all the time:

Don’t memorize. Remember. Allow yourself room for flexibility and adaptation. Be authentic. Don’t recite words. Tell stories. Speak from the heart.

Watching my favorite musician perform in such an intimate setting was unforgettable. Listening to him tell stories – the same thing that I do onstage – was insightful and illuminating and inspiring. Spending the day with Elysha – walking the streets hand in hand, sitting together in a Broadway theater, eating a subpar dinner in a New York City restaurant, and listening to music and talking in the car to and from the city – was exactly what I needed.

Exactly what I’ve been missing for the last 497 days.

Honestly, I was thrilled with simply being back in New York City again after being away so long.