Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 229

Trump vs. Me

I received some good news today. 

Back in July of 2017, I was blocked by Donald Trump on Twitter after tweeting at him: 

While there are ways to get around a block and see Trump's Twitter feed, the block prevents me from ever commenting on any of his tweets or tweeting directly at him. I was teaching about 25 girls from around the world at a private school on the day that I was blocked, and upon hearing that I was blocked, they broke into a spontaneous, joyous dance around me, seeing this as a badge of honor and a reason to celebrate. 

It was a beautiful moment, but I was still upset. 

It wasn't right. 

This week The Knight Foundation, whose attorneys represented the plaintiffs in the Knight Institute v. Trump lawsuit, which alleged that the President’s actions in blocking individuals from the @realDonaldTrump account violated the First Amendment, contacted me.

On May 23, 2018, the judge in the case ruled in favor of The Knight Foundation and their clients and issued an order declaring that blocking the plaintiffs from @realDonaldTrump because they criticized him in reply tweets violated the First Amendment.  

Following that decision, the plaintiffs in the lawsuit were unblocked. 

I sent an email to the Knight Foundation a few months ago, asking if I could join the lawsuit or become involved in some way. This week, an attorney from the Knight Foundation replied, offering to forward my information to the Department of Justice for the purposes of getting me and other Americans in my situation unblocked as well.  

No guarantees that it will happen. Thus far Trump has only lifted the block on the nine defendants in the case, but it's a start.

Either way, it'll probably make a good story one day. 

A small but glorious victory thanks to Charlie and Elysha

I'm on the beach with Charlie, watching him play in the sand when a man about my age approaches. My thought is always the same:

"Damn. He knows me, but I have no idea who he is. I hate this."

It happens all the time. 

But no. Instead, he reaches down and plucks one of our plastic shovels from the sand beside our wagon. 

"This is our shovel," he says.

I look around, hoping to see Elysha. I'm sure that the shovel is ours, but Elysha bought it. She can turn my 99% certainty into 100% certainty. But she's nowhere to be seen. I'm on my own.

"No," I say. "I think it's ours." I look at the other shovel in the wagon. Different colors but same design. "In fact I'm sure it's ours."

"No," he says, "It's mine, sir." 

Now I'm annoyed. The man isn't speaking in a voice to conveys a desire to discuss. This is not a negotiation. He's right, and I'm wrong. In fact, he might think we stole the damn thing. And he called me "sir." How annoying.

But Charlie is sitting at my feet, slowly becoming aware of the situation. I can't just lay into the guy while Charlie is listening. I can't just initiate my usual attack mode. Instead, I decide to respond with a bit of delicacy.

"Just because you're holding the shovel doesn't make it yours," I say. "And just because you think it's yours doesn't make it yours, either. But if you need the shovel that badly, take it. But it's ours."

"It's mine," he says forcefully. "It's my shovel."

"Yeah," I say flatly. "You said that already. Repeating yourself doesn't make it yours either, but go ahead. Take it."

The man starts to turn when Charlie reaches out and grabs the shovel. The man pulls on it, and I start to say, "No, Charlie!" when Charlie stops me.

"No," Charlie says, "Look." Charlie points to a sticker on the handle of the shovel. The sticker bears Charlie's name. His full name, in fact.

It turns out I wasn't alone after all. I had Charlie.  

"Is that your name?" I ask, pointing.

"Oh," the man says. "Well, it looks like mine."

"Maybe we shopped at the same store," I say. There's so much more I want to say. So much more I could say. But Charlie is here, and it's his moment. Instead, I smile. It's not a nice smile. 

Then the man steps away. I watch him circle the beach, continuing his search for his precious, plastic shovel. 

I'm ecstatic. A brilliant triple-teaming by my family. 

Elysha has the foresight and wisdom to label our beach equipment.I avoid an angry confrontation on the beach by being direct, specific, but flexible in the face of arrogance. I keep my cool.   Charlie makes the man look very stupid. 

I had a wonderful weekend. A child's birthday party with lots of people who I like a lot. Dinner with the next-door neighbors. Swimming in the backyard pool. A trip to a new ice cream shop. A morning spent at the Coventry Farmer's market. A couple visits to the gym and an hour spent at the driving range. An afternoon at the beach, playing in the sand and water with the kids. Elysha in a bathing suit.

I even got some work done. Wrote some letters. Recorded and edited a podcast. Started the final revisions of my next novel. Worked on my musical. 

But those 90 seconds I spent on the beach with that man and Charlie constituted my favorite moment of the weekend. It's not even close. 

I like to win. I like to win verbal confrontations a lot. And I love decisive victories like the one we experienced today. A clear-cut victory.

Charlie said he liked it a lot, too. 

Speak Up Storytelling #11: Jessica Isom

Episode #11 of Speak Up Storytelling is now ready for your listening pleasure.

On this week's episode, we talk about finding and crafting stories in your everyday life using my strategy "Homework for Life." I describe how to turn a seemingly benign moment from my week into a compelling story and discuss how Homework for Life can be helpful to fiction writers, too.

Next, we listen to a story by Jessica Isom about a secret that she must carry throughout her graduation weekend from college. Then Elysha and I discuss the strengths of his fantastic story as well as suggestions for improvement.

Finally, we answer a listener questions about how to tell the stories of other people and why storytelling shows are often centered around a theme. 

If you haven't subscribed to the podcast in Apple podcasts (or wherever you receive your podcasts), please do. And if you haven't rated and/or reviewed the podcast in Apple Podcasts (who are the best people ever), we would love it if you did.

Ratings and reviews help listeners find our podcast easier, and it makes us feel better about ourselves and our work. 

Windows down. Music up.

Driving home alone after performing in Maine last week, I decided to spend the last hour of my four-hour drive with the windows down and the music up. 

Music blasted. Springsteen. Tom Petty. Tesla. The Ramones. Guns N' Roses. The Stones. The wind roared through the car. It was fantastic. 

As I roared down the highway, I looked around, taking note of how others were driving. Searching for my proverbial soulmates. Here is what I noticed:

Almost everyone drives on the highway with their windows up. Actually, almost everyone drives everywhere with their windows up. The vast majority of people travel via automobile in their own climate-controlled bubbles of air and sound.

What a shame. 

Part of this may be generational. When I was first learning to driving, air conditioning was far less prevalent than it is today. In 2017, 99% of all new automobiles came equipped with AC as a standard feature.

But in 1970, only 54% of cars were equipped with air conditioning.

In fact, the first three cars that I owned - all built in the 1970's and driven by me in the 1980's - did not have AC. Instead I drove with the windows down. Allowed fresh air to flow through my car. Offered my musical tastes to the world. 

It was glorious. It still is glorious. 

If you haven't done this in a while, you must. The next time you are driving on the highway or any place of any distance, lower all the windows. Choose some of your favorite music and turn it up. 

I drove for four hours from Maine to Connecticut. For the first three hours, I listened to books and podcasts and stopped for breakfast, but can't remember a dam thing about the drive. It was like every other long, forgettable distance drive.

But that last hour, heading west in Interstate 84, wind roaring through the car as Thunder Road and Satisfaction and I Wanna Be Sedated blasted from the speakers - I remember it well. 

I smile when I think back on that final hour.

And when I finally arrived home, I was energized. When I stepped out of my car, I was almost running to see Elysha and the kids. Part of it was the excitement of seeing them after a night away, but a bigger part was that I was excited and happy and filled with music. 

What a joyous, riotous feeling.   

Escape your climate-controlled bubble. Let the wind mess up your hair. Blast your music in the way you did when you were a teenager and understood the power and importance of song.

Grab hold of a some of that primacy again. 

"What the Heck?" - Episode 1 (Seeds and boys in dresses)

I've launched a third podcast called "What the Heck?" It's an occasional conversation with my kids, Clara and Charlie.

"What the heck?" is a favorite expression of Charlie. 

Honestly, I'm doing it just to record the kids' voices for posterity, and because they love podcasts and wanted one for themselves.

They want to be stars, and Elysha and I won't stand in their way.

But if you're interested in hearing Charlie talk about the science behind seeds and engage in a brief discussion on transgender issues, you can listen here to episode #1 or subscribe on Apple podcasts, Spotify, Overcast, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Devil lady

I stopped at McDonald's while I was in Michigan to get myself breakfast each morning before heading off to record the audio version of Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling. 

It turns out that my standard McDonald's breakfast in Michigan amounts to $.6.66.

The woman who took my order saw the price and said, "Oh, I hate when that number comes up across my register."

I smiled, knowing that 666, the supposed number of the beast from Revelations, is a questionable interpretation of the number at best. Also, I don't think that God or the Devil would care if my combination of sandwich, hash brown, and drink amounted to that number.

The next day, I returned to the McDonald's. The same woman was manning the same cash register. I placed the same order, and once again, $6.66 appeared on the register.

"Were you here yesterday?" she asked. 

"Yes," I said. 

"You ordered this yesterday," she said. "Didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why would you do that?" she asked, sounding exasperated. Annoyed, even. "If you know it costs $6.66, why wouldn't you change it a little? Order a smaller drink or an extra hash brown?"

Possible answers flashed before me:

I'm not a crazy person.I don't allow Biblical numerology to alter my consumer decisions.I'm not superstitious. I'm still not crazy. 

Instead, I said, "It's not something I worry about."

"You really should," she said, now visibly annoyed.

I returned to the McDonald's the next day, thrilled about the possibility of bringing $6.66 to her resister (and her life) once again. 

I've never been so excited to order breakfast in my life.

Sadly, she wasn't working. I ordered a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit instead of my usual Egg McMuffin. 

I was working hard. Sitting alone in a recording studio all day. Reading a book that I already knew well. I deserved a biscuit.  

But bringing $6.66 back to that woman's life one more time would've been better. 

Crazy man in the airport

On the way to Michigan, my plane encountered a mechanical problem. After sitting on the runway for more than an hour, the pilot asked us to disembark while they attempted to find us another plane.

An hour later, another aircraft was located, and we were assigned a new gate. This gate was designed for a much smaller plane, so there was little room inside the space to sit or even stand. As a result, my fellow passengers and I were spilling out into the concourse. 

Then an announcement was made from the podium, and because I couldn't hear it in the noise of the concourse, I stepped into the space to listen. This placed me at the entrance to the Zone 2 line, where passengers were beginning to line up. 

I was in Zone 4. I would be one of the last to board the plane, which I usually prefer. I wasn't carrying a roller bag, so I wasn't concerned about overhead space, and like to get on the plane at the last possible second. 

As I listened to the announcement, a middle-aged man in a suit tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he barked. "What zone are you in?"

"Four," I said. 

"Excuse me then," he said, rather abruptly. He pointed up at the Zone 2 sign hanging over my head and then jerked his head to the left in a gesture meant to tell me to move away from the entrance to the Zone 2 lane so we could get a spot.

Shockingly, I complied. Despite his abruptness and rudeness, I was still listening to the announcement, and I wasn't fully cognizant about what was happening.I followed his order.

Then the man brushed past me with a huff, walked about eight feet, and assumed his spot in line. 

Then it hit me.

What zone am I in? Did he really just ask me that question?

The guy couldn't wait another ten seconds for this announcement to finish? He could see that there was no room in this waiting area for all of us. He could see that I wasn't actually in the Zone 2 line or trying to get into the Zone 2 line. He was on the plane with me less than an hour ago. He knew the deal. And yet he motions me aside like he has some kind of "Zone 2 authority" over me?

And instead of just saying, "Excuse me," he asks me what zone I'm in?

Hell no.  

Maybe it was the hour spent on the runway or the hour spent in the terminal that had me a little edgier than usual, but a second later I stepped into the Zone 2 lane, walked up on the guy, and tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Excuse me," I said, aggressively. "What zone are you in?"

The man turned. He looked startled. "Zone 2," he said.

"Zone 2?" I asked, flatly. Staring him in the eye.

"Yes," he said. "What?"

"I just wanted to know what zone you were in today. Since you were so curious about my zone."

Then I just stared for another second. A long second. Finally I turned, left the Zone 2 line, and bought a pretzel. 

The man looked concerned about my behavior, and he gave me side-eye until we boarded the plane. Rightfully so. I was acting like a crazy person. Rather than engaging in simple, polite, verbal combat or expressing my displeasure over the way he spoke to me, I decided to out-crazy him. I stood close, stared, and sounded crazy. 

It wasn't nice.

Elysha hates when I do this. She worries that I'm going to run into someone someday who out-crazies my crazy. She's absolutely right. And to my credit, I have decreased these moments of public confrontation considerably. 

The mechanical failure of the plane, the time spent on the runway, the delays, and travel in general had me on edge. 

But if ever there was a place to out-crazy someone, it's probably an airport terminal. I knew the guy had undergone a thorough screening before entering the terminal and had no weapons on his person. Other than a possible punch in the face, I was as safe as I could be.

Still it wasn't nice.

There's a time and place in this world to call out people who aren't being kind, polite, civil, or decent, but there is also a way to do it. A better way. 

It was one of those moments when I was simultaneously thrilled with the way I handled the situation and disappointed with the way I handled the situation.     

Lemonade advertising was never so legal (or clever) before

There are days when I wish I worked in advertising. 

I'm sure the industry isn't as fun, creative, or permissive as I would like to think, but I think I could produce ideas for some unique, amusing, and memorable campaigns.

Campaigns like this one from Country Time lemonade. 

It's brilliant. So brilliant.  

Never Have I Ever: 12 things is now 14 things, partially because I'm a jerk

Three years ago I made a list of 12 things that most people have at least tried in some what that I have never done. 

My "Never Have I Ever" list. 

I revisited the list today to see how much is still true, and it turns out that all 12 are still true today, and I've managed to add two more to the list. 

Never purchased or used an illegal drug of any kind Never purchased a lottery ticketNever tasted coffeeNever smoked a cigaretteNever bruisedNever slept past 9:00 AMNever swore in the presence of my parentsNever shopliftedNever watched an episode of The Real Housewives, The Bachelor, or anything involving KardashiansNever owned an umbrellaNever used an emoji Never taken a selfieWith the exception of my wedding ring (which I don't wear), never worn a piece of jewelryWith the exception of a golf watch designed to provide distance to the hole, I've never owned or worn a watch

Notes:

I've never purchased or used an illegal drug of any kind because I was keenly aware at the age of 18 that I was on my own, without any familial safety net. I knew that I couldn't afford to get into the kinds of trouble that drugs can cause, because I had no one to bail me out.

I was on my own.

I also chose to avoid drug (and alcohol) throughout high school, recognizing their dangers and frankly never feeling the need to experiment.

For the record, Elysha never drank alcohol in high school either, so when people tell us that "kids are going to drink, no matter what we say or do," we scoff. I we could resist, so can they.  
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Certain people are obsessed with getting me to try coffee. I resist, of course. I purposely decided to avoid coffee at an early age after seeing people "need their coffee" every morning and abhorring its complexity. The multitude of preferred temperatures, brews, flavors, sweeteners, brands, and creams make this drink just too complicated for a person who strives for simplicity. 

Also, I just don't like hot beverages.

I've since learned that New England Patriots quarterback has also never tasted coffee, so I'm not the only one. 
_____________________

I can't explain why I don't bruise, but I don't. I've been with Elysha for 15 years, and she's never seen a bruise on my body. When I was 17, I nearly died in a head-on automobile collision that sent my head through the windshield and tore my legs open to the bone, but still no bruises.

It's a stupid super power, useful for nothing.  
_____________________

My refusal to use an emoji is stupid. It's gone from something I thought silly years ago to me just being a jerk now. They're cute and easy to use today, but I still resist, only because I'm a jerk. 
_____________________

I define a "selfie" as a photo taken of yourself by yourself. I've never taken one of these photos. I've taken photos of myself with others, and I've appeared in many photos taken by someone who also appears in the photo, but I've never taken a photo of me by me. 

This also started because I thought selfies were ridiculous (and for a while, the selfie stick confirmed this), but now I'm just being a jerk.
_____________________

I don't wear my wedding ring because it's steel and can't be resized. I lost about 50 pounds after Elysha became pregnant with Clara, and the ring now slides off my finger with ease.

I should get a new one. I know.  

Get a cat

Earlier this week, I heard a clattering of bowls in the kitchen. When Charlie and I went to investigate, we found Pluto sitting atop the refrigerator, and if you look closely at the first two photos, you'll see the eye of Tobi peeking out from inside the cabinet.

He can find his way into almost any space in the house. 

So began a 10 minute adventure better than any movie or television program. Charlie and I watched and laughed and cheered as the cats battled from either side of the door before Tobi got bored and returned to the interior of the cabinet.  

These are just a few of the photos from the cats' encounter.

We've had our cats for just over a year, and they have given us more joy than I could've ever imagined. They can be annoying at times, but the happiness that they have brought us more than makes up for their occasional misdeeds. 

If you don't own a cat, get yourself two. Go rescue a feline friend. You won't regret it.