Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 170

Happy birthday to me.

Yesterday was my birthday, and it was pretty great.

Our living room furniture finally arrived, so after more than a month of not watching a single thing on our brand new television, Elysha and I finally sat down on our brand new couch last night and watched a movie.

Deadpool 2.

It was just as brilliant as the first. My favorite superhero film of all time.

I’ve never seen a film break the third and fourth wall.

Nor did I even know that there was a fourth wall to break.

I also enjoyed dinner with the family at my favorite restaurant, The Corner Pug. I visited the gym, the grocery store, and Goodwill, all before 9:00 AM, which made me feel exceptionally productive. Our windows were measured for next month’s replacement. I wrestled with Charlie and danced with Clara. We ate ice cream cake that Kay, the Carvel employee, gave to me as a gift.

We’re very loyal customers.

And I received some spectacular cards from Elysha and the kids, a Dunder-Mifflin hat that I love more than you could know, and the gift of an overnight stay at the Mystic Aquarium next month with the family.

Perfection.

On the not-so-perfect side, I also managed to knock out the internet while moving the hardware into our new cabinet and never managed to restore it, so I’m writing this using the internet at my favorite McDonald’s restaurant. It cost me about two hours of attempted repairs before I finally threw in the towel and called it quits.

A small hiccup in my birthday perfection.

Birthdays can also be tough given that my mom passed away 13 years ago. Perhaps it’s just me, but there is a real difference between celebrating your birth while your mother is still alive and celebrating it after she has passed away.

Not having a relationship with my father probably makes this even more problematic, I suspect.

More than forty years ago, my mom and I began a journey together. Now she has stepped off the path, leaving me to finish this journey alone.

Not that I plan on finishing. I plan on living forever, of course. My recent cardiac calcium score was a zero, which is remarkable, so unless a bus clobbers me or I fall into a sudden sink hole, I’ll be here until the sun explodes, but still, you know what I mean.

There was something about having my mother here on my birthday that made it feel like a celebration of our day. The day we met for the first time. Something that only the two of us could share.

One of the most important days in both of our lives, started together and shared together.

Now it’s only my day. I can celebrate today with family ands friends, but I have no one left standing to remember and celebrate that specific day in 1971 when I was first born.

No one who remembers that moment when I first appeared in this world.

The mother who gave birth to me more forty years ago is no longer with me, making birthdays feel a little more empty and a little less worthy of celebration.

Happily, I’ve got Elysha, Clara, and Charlie to push away those dark clouds and fill the day with happiness and celebration, which they did with beautiful smiles, lots of laughter, and gobs of love.

I’m so very lucky to be me.

My favorite names (and my thoughts on name changes)

I love good names.

Perhaps this is because my last name is Dicks.

Perhaps it’s because I had an uncle and great-uncle named Harry Dicks.

Perhaps it’s because my father’s name is Leslie Jean Dicks, but he goes by the name Les Dicks.

Surrounded by a series of challenging names, I am drawn to outstanding names.

I’m also violently repelled by names that have been intentionally changed. Folks who abandon their less-than-ideal names for something much better.

Vin Diesel, for example, was once Marc Sinclair.
Whoopi Goldberg was once Karyn Johnson.
Ice Cube was once O’Shea Jackson, which I think is a legitimately great name.

I don’t like any of this. Growing up, I knew a guy who changed his last name simply because he didn’t like his original last name.

I hated that guy.

He also shoved me down a flight of stairs, separating my shoulder (and caught on tape), leading to a lifetime of shoulder issues, but honestly, I hate him more for his name change than the assault.

This hatred, however, does not apply to all names changes. It all depends on the rationale.

Michael Keaton, for example, was once Michael Douglas, but knowing that there was already a Michael Douglas in Hollywood, he changed his name to avoid confusion.

Makes sense.

Tina Fey is really Elizabeth Stamatina Fey, but she uses a shortened version of her middle name, which is close enough to her real name for my standards. Similarly, Antonio Banderas is really José Antonio Banderas, but he uses his middle name as his first name.

Fine in my book.

Natalie Portman was once Natalie Hershlag, but in order to protect her privacy as a child actor, she adopted her grandmother’s maiden name.

This seems reasonable to me.

Jaime Foxx was once Eric Marlon Bishop. Early in his stand up career, he noticed that female comics were regularly getting stage time and he was not (since there were decidedly fewer female comics), so he changed his name to something gender non-specific (and adopted Foxx in honor of Red Fox) in order to hide his gender. Suddenly clubs began booking him, thinking he was a woman. Once onstage, he proved his merit, and the rest is history.

I’m not in love with this name change, but I can live with it. Woman, of course, have been doing this for centuries. George Elliot was really Mary Ann Evans. The Brontë sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne, first published their works under the male pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. Joanne Rowling used the initials JK even though she had no middle name.

The K is invented.

All of this was done because sexist readers disregard the work of female writers.

I’m fine with all of these changes.

Children’s author Avi used this pen name because his parents castigated his decision to pursue a writing career, telling him he’d never make a dime in publishing.

When his first book was published, he didn’t want his parent’s surname to appear on the book, so he changed his name to the singular Avi.

Spite. The best reason to change your name.

One of my favorite examples of a name change is the Sheen- Estevez family. Martin and Charlie Sheen changed their name to something that they assumed was more palatable, but their son and brother Emilio dd not, and Emilio’s career was not harmed by the lack of a name change.

All three have enjoyed successful acting careers.

One point for Emilio.
Negative ten thousand points for Martin and Charlie.

I realize that this rejection of name changes is terribly judgmental on my part. People should be able to do whatever they would like with their names, but by the same token, I should be able to think poorly of whoever I want, too.

So I do. It’s likely born from my lifetime struggle and subsequent embrace of my name. It wasn’t easy growing up with the last name Dicks, but it taught me to punch hard and make fun of myself before someone else could.

I’m a lot tougher today because of my struggle.

Charlie Sheen? Vin Diesel?

Probably a couple of thin-skinned wimps.

For the record, my current favorite names for a man and woman are:

Armie Hammer, an actor whose full name is Armand Hammer but has been called Armie ever since he was a little boy.

Armie Hammer is a killer name.

On the woman’s side, it’s Picabo Street, the alpine skier.

Her name has a fascinating story. Picabo was born to hippie parents who decided to allow Picabo to choose her own name when she was old enough, so she spent the first two years of her life being called “Baby Girl” But when the family decided to travel to Central America, a passport and name was required, so her parents named her Picabo, which was the Native American name for the region in which they lived and the neighboring town.

When Picabo was four years-old, she was given the option to change her name, but she declined.

Thus Picabo Street, my favorite female name, was born.

Winners Take All

It’ll take you all of four minutes to watch this.

It will be time very well spent.

Storyteller, yes, but teacher first

Congratulations to Devan Sandiford, Speak Up storyteller who just won his first Moth StorySLAM last week. Devan is my 20th storytelling student to win a Moth StorySLAM or GrandSLAM.

As a teacher, I couldn’t be more excited for him or the 19 other students who came before him to win a slam:

Teachers, retirees, a real estate agent, a dairy farmer, two college professors, at least two attorneys, a fast food worker, a handful of college students, one high school student, and many others.

As Devan so kindly pointed out to me, this number does not include the many people who have written to me about their success on various stages around the world (including The Moth) after reading my book, Storyworthy, and listening to our podcast, Speak Up Storytelling, to help them find and craft their stories.

If I was to include all of those winners from around the country, the number would be much higher.

I’ve also helped many friends and at least of my former elementary school students find the courage to take the stage and tell stories for The Moth. They haven’t all won a slam yet, but all have found enormous satisfaction in sharing their story with a Moth audience.

The number of folks who I’ve convinced to take a Speak Up stage is even larger. Just last week, a colleague finally took the stage and told her incredible story of immigrating to the United States and becoming a school teacher.

It took me four years to convince her, but I didn’t give up. I play the long game, and eventually, I broke through.

She was magnificent.

There have also been at least five storytelling shows launched around the world as a result of Speak Up, including one in Australia. New stages for new folks to tell their stories.

I’m a writer and a storyteller and many other things, but I am first and foremost a teacher, so seeing my students succeed is one of the most gratifying things in my life.

It’s admittedly slightly less gratifying when one of my students beats me in a StorySLAM or GrandSLAM, which has now happened six times in my life.

It’s even less gratifying when one of my students beats me with a story that I have helped them to craft, which has happened twice, but even in those instances, I’m still happy for the storyteller.

Eventually.

I know full well the excitement of performing well and being acknowledged as one of the best.

The ability to tell a great story is a super power, but unlike Superman or Wonder Woman, this is a super power than can be acquired through hard work and practice. You need not be born on a distant planet or some secret island Amazonian island in order to gain your power.

But the results are the same:

You will be able to to do something that most people cannot, and it will change your life in so many ways.

The world is a better place when people are empowered to find and tell their best stories. I am honored to have played a tiny role in helping this happen.

All of this is a long-winded way of suggesting that you should tell a story, on a Moth or Speak Up stage, or maybe get your start in the lunchroom at work or at the dinner table with your spouse and children.

The location doesn’t matter all that much. Just start telling stories.

Also, since I started writing this post a few days ago, another student has won a Moth StorySLAM in Boston.

Twenty-one and counting.

You could be next.

Speak Up Storytelling: Lael Lloyd

On episode #85 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha and I talk storytelling!

In our follow up segment, we discuss some Homework for Life feedback from listeners and clients, talk about our new Patreon account, and share about upcoming events in the Speak Up realm. 

In our Homework for Life segment, I talk about a moment on my spreadsheet that did not require human interaction, and then I outline the story for the audience. 

Next we listen to a story by Lael Lloyd.  

Amongst the many things we discuss include:

Pacing

Holding back information to propel a story forward

Painting a clear picture in the audience's mind by using fewer words.

Transition that cut into scenes

Specificity and clarity at the end of stories

Next we answer questions about Elysha's favorite story and how to record anecdotes for future use.  

Lastly, we each offer a recommendation. 

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Octopus Dreaming: http://bit.ly/2UIuWJ1

Matt:

TED: How to Tell a Story: http://bit.ly/2UFgFNo

LINKS

Purchase Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling: https://amzn.to/2H3YNn3

Purchase Twenty-one Truths About Love: https://amzn.to/35Mz1xS 

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicksblog

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's blog:
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-grin-and-bare-it

More sexy rumpus

The Oatmeal by Matthew Inman is one of the best online comics that you will ever read.

His comic pertaining to Valentines Day is incredibly funny. Go and read the whole thing. It will take two minutes, but it will be 120 seconds well spent.

But I found his advice regarding the a common Valentines Day refrain to be especially prescient and worth considering as the holiday approaches.

He writes:

If Valentines Day really means so little to you, then I politely ask you to shut the hell up and treat it like any other day.

Or go have a sexy adventure rumpus with someone who smells nice.

Less complaining.

More sexy rumpus.

It could not have been said any better.

Sometimes it's better not to ask questions

I found this on the art table.

Charlie’s handwriting.

I just moved on.

The truth about hunting elephants

Botswana, home to 130,000 elephants, is auctioning off the rights to hunt and kill 70 of these animals. A ban on hunting elephants was lifted last May, and every year, Botswana issues 272 hunting licenses.

Neighboring Zimbabwe allows 500 elephants to be hunted each year.

I am not opposed to hunting. Though it’s not something I would ever do, I don’t think that hunters are doing anything wrong. I eat my share of cheeseburgers, so it would be hypocritical of me to criticize anyone for killing an animal in the wild in order to eat it.

I can even understand why people enjoy the sport of hunting. The challenge of tracking game in the wild and the skill required to hit a live target with a weapon is not appealing to me, but I can understand its appeal.

I also understand the value of hunting in terms of protecting the species. In some cases, reducing the population of certain animals like deer can actually improve the overall health of the species. Also, the money earned from selling these hunting licenses can be used to preserve endangered species overall.

Kill a few to save the many.

I get all of that.

But hunting elephants?

Even if the money spent on your hunting license ultimately saves the species, you have to be an enormous douchebag to want to hunt an elephant.

A desperate, attention-seeking man-child with an enormously fragile ego and a sense of entitlement that is wholly undeserved.

Anxiety vs. nervousness

This is one of the most interesting things I’ve heard recently:

Nervousness is a normal, natural, healthy response to situations that are new, frightening, difficult, exciting, and potentially dangerous.

Anxiety is the unnatural, unhealthy response to situations that would not typically produce a similar response in others.

The problem is that so many people equate nervousness to anxiety, thus assigning a pathology to a reaction that is completely healthy and normal.

For example, public speaking makes most people nervous. In surveys about fears, public speaking often ranks above death as the most frightening possibility that a person can imagine. Yet I have heard many, many people tell me that even the thought of speaking in front of others causes them great anxiety.

My response has always been this:

You’re not special. Public speaking makes almost everyone nervous. Just thinking about standing on a stage in front of other human beings makes most people nervous. Some people simply choose to exit their comfort zone and do something exceptionally difficult and legitimately terrifying.

It’s not anxiety. It’s just nervousness. An ordinary, expected reaction to something that frightens almost everyone.

And since I’ve managed to convince hundreds of people who absolutely refused to take the stage to ultimately stand before others and share their truth, this message seems to work.

You’re not anxious. You’re normal.

A friend tells me that she can’t drive into New York City because of her anxiety. The complexity of the route, the traffic, and the distance make her too anxious to manage the drive alone.

Maybe my friend suffers from anxiety, but more than likely, she’s just nervous about driving into a new and complicated city filled with impatient and aggressive drivers and unexpected one-way streets.

Many people feel nervous about driving into a city like New York, especially if they don’t do so on a regular basis. It’s only natural to feel this way.

It’s normal.

I have yet to convince her of this truth, but I continue to hammer away at her defenses whenever I get the chance.

The point that the therapist was making is that we have a tendency to perceive something as normal and expected as nervousness into the more chronic, debilitating problem of anxiety, sometimes seeking help and medication to mitigate a problem that doesn’t really exist.

Even worse, when we label our nervousness as anxiety, it becomes harder to overcome and easier to assume that it can’t be overcome.

This is not to say that anxiety is not a real thing, nor am I implying that public speaking or driving can’t produce anxiety in some people. Anxiety is a real thing, and it’s an enormous struggle for many people.

I know this.

But this idea that people often perceive nervousness as anxiety feels right to me, too.

Then again, what the hell do I know? Other than legitimately frightening moments like Charlie swallowing a marble or our cat requiring CPR in order to return from the dead, few things ever make me nervous. I also have a strong inclination towards optimism and a tendency to minimize the perception, impact, and severity of most problems, which might not be so healthy, either.

I simply compare the problems of today with the problems of my past, and they almost never measure up.

Homelessness, jail, and armed robbery are hard to beat.

I’m also constantly telling myself:

“This problem, which might seem enormous and overwhelming at the moment, will be utterly irrelevant tomorrow or next week or next month, so keep that in mind and treat this problem like it’s something that will be ultimately irrelevant. Solve it, but don’t sweat it.”

Perhaps this isn’t so healthy, either. I know for sure that it annoys many people when I’m dumb enough to say this aloud.

Perhaps this whole nervousness versus anxiety idea is little more than confirmation bias. A theory that conveniently aligns to my personal belief system.

Still, I like it.

Professional Best Man (and the amazing things that have happened since I first proposed this job)

In case you’re a new reader (or perhaps forgotten):

Almost a decade ago, I proposed a new job idea:

Professional best man

It remains a role that I am waiting to fill. Let me explain.

Although I’ve met many outstanding best men in my role as a wedding DJ, I also meet many who are too nervous to deliver the toast, too drunk to assist a groom in need, and too disinterested in the role to be of any use.

Besides, why burden your best friend with this role if all he wants to do is have a good time at the wedding as well?

Instead, hire me. Your professional best man.

What, you may ask, are my qualifications for such a job?

They are, admittedly, quite extensive:

I’ve attended more than 500 weddings as a DJ, guest, groom, member of the bridal party, and best man, so there is little that I have not seen. As a result, I will be ready and able to assist in almost every unexpected or unusual circumstance.

My experience and expertise will allow me to ensure that the DJ, photographer, caterer and other professional staff are doing their jobs to the best of their ability and serving the bride and groom to my exceedingly exacting standards.

I have extensive experience in dealing with in-laws, drunken guests, angry girlfriends, belligerent uncles, and any other potentially disruptive wedding attendee and am adept at deflecting these distractions away from the bride and groom.

I can deliver an outstanding toast. I am often instructing tragically unprepared best men on what to say just minutes before their toasts and making them sound quite good.

I am a skilled party planner and will give you the bachelor’s party of your dreams while also ensuring that you do nothing that you will regret the next day.

I possess a wide range of interests and am skilled at ingratiating myself to a wide range of people. I can do jock and nerd equally well and rarely meet someone who I cannot find common ground. We may not be best friends after your wedding, but for the duration of our nuptials, I will be surprisingly likable and chameleon-like in my ability to blend in with your group of friends.

And who knows? One of my best friends is a former DJ client. It could happen for you, too.

And what if you want to hire a professional best man but have a friend who also wants the job and would be upset to learn that you went with a professional?

No problem. Simply have two best men.

One who will get drunk during the cocktail hour, hit on one of the bridesmaids during photos, deliver a humorless speech, and forget to end it with an actual toast.

The other will not drink at your wedding except when capping off an amusing and heartfelt toast, will keep your best interests in mind at all times, and is skilled and experienced enough to ensure that everything goes smoothly on your wedding day.

Don’t you deserve another friend on your wedding day?

A friend absent of personal needs and petty grievances.

A friend who will guide you through and past every awkward, annoying, unfortunate, and potentially disastrous moment of your wedding.

Don’t you deserve the services of a professional on your wedding day?

A professional best man.

Since I proposed this idea back in 2011, a number of surprising things have happened:

Three grooms have attempted to hire me. Two lived in California and one lived in the UK, and their wedding dates dd not align to my schedule, so I had to decline.

One groom hired me, explaining that he was marrying a woman whose culture demanded that the best man be an unmarried, never-before-married friend, and he had no one in his life who met these qualifications. I explained that I did not meet the qualifications, either, but he didn't care. He planned to lie to his fiancee and tell her that I was a lifelong bachelor. Elysha wasn't pleased with this ruse, but I agreed. After hiring me and planning for six months, he backed out without explanation.

A bride strongly considered hiring me for her husband, who is "a great guy" but lacks any real close friends. Ultimately she decided that hiring me might hurt her fiancee's feelings and decided against it.

At least three television producers - two reality show producers and one documentarian - have contacted me about appearing in their television shows. We explored the possibility in all three instances, but nothing came of it.

When The Wedding Ringer, a film about a professional best man, came out in 2015, the actor and star of the film, Kevin Hart, contacted me, crediting me with coming up with the idea first.

I await the next step in this journey to make this job a reality. At least once.