Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 247

Things I Do #10: I don't look at airline pilots

I don’t look at the pilot when boarding a plane. I'm terrified of looking into the cockpit and seeing a pilot who looks like an idiot or resembles someone who I think is an idiot. 

I don't mind shaking the pilot's hand at the end of the flight and looking him or her in the eye. I'm simply avoiding the danger of spotting the pilot prior to takeoff and thinking, "Oh no. The person responsible for flying this aluminum tube looks like that idiot from freshman algebra."

Self care, people. It's important. 

A reasonable response to anti-vaxxers

There will come a day when our children or our children's children will read about the anti-vaxxer movement and say, "What was wrong with you morons?"

I will say, "In the early twenty-first century, Americans read about a study in a British medical journal that claimed that vaccinations caused autism, and when that study was completely debunked a short time later, they didn't care, because they were ignorant, selfish, and had too much time on their hands. Also, some C and D level celebrities, as well as the President of the United States (also a C-D level celebrity) had taken up the cause because they, too, were stupid, and Americans loved celebrities." 

Until that day, this is a fairly effective response to the anti-vaxxer movement. 

Chuck Todd's litany of vile and shameful events is worth watching

The shame, embarrassment, incompetence, and cruelty that Trump and his White House produces on a daily basis makes is hard to remember all of the horrors of the past year. But it's important to remember every single one of them as Republicans continue to stand alongside this racist, misogynist, authoritarian ignoramus.

For the sake of a economically unsound, deficit exploding transfer of wealth from the working class to the 1% and the hope of cutting entitlements like Medicare and Social Security, Republicans have stood by and supported a vile and incompetent man.  

Meet the Press's Chuck Todd does a fine job reminding us of the atrocities of the past year on Sunday.

It's worth watching.

It reminded me of moments of stupidity and vileness that I had forgotten and re-energized me to click on my 5 Calls app every day and continue to speak out against this President and this administration at every turn. 

Moth StorySLAM: Clara Wants a Sister

This summer I took about 30 young ladies from Miss Porter's School to a Moth StorySLAM in Somerville, MA as part of a weeklong program on writing and storytelling. 

It was kind of a magical night for these young ladies, who came from all over the country and the world to attend this program. As fate would have it, eight of the ten storytellers were women. The host of the show, the brilliant Bethany Van Delft, as well as the producer, Gina James, were also women. 

Such a great opportunity to show these young ladies how women can take and own the stage. 

I told a story that night about the birth of our son, Charlie and the problems that his sister, Clara, posed during the process. 

My wife and kids slow me down. Gloriously so.

I loved this dedication by Joseph J. Rotman.  

While it may seem like he's throwing some shade at his family, I suspect not. 

2017 was an exceptionally busy time for me. I completed three books (an adult novel, a middle grade novel, and a book of nonfiction), all within a single calendar year, which means I was sitting at the end of my dining room table a lot, pecking away at the keyboard. 

And yes, it's true. I could've finished the books much sooner if not for Elysha, Clara, and Charlie, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank goodness I didn't finish them sooner, because that would've meant missing out on so much that I love and cherish.

I suspect Rotman felt the same way.

Then again, Rotman is a Professor of Mathematics at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign and has written 10 textbooks. This dedication can be found in An Introduction to Algebraic Topology.

He might not be the world's greatest romantic. 

Walking a paper route with a friend taught me an invaluable lesson.

I'm admittedly hyper-focused on productivity. 

"How can I do more in less time?" has been a flashing beacon in my mind for a long, long time. As far back as I can remember.  

Along those same lines has been this question:

"What is the most productive way to spend my time?"

This second question came into focus when I was about twelve years old. My friend, Jeff, had a paper route in his neighborhood, and one day he asked me to walk along with him. I agreed. He delivered the afternoon edition of The Woonsocket Call Monday-Friday plus the Sunday morning edition. We had fun, walking from house to house as he introduced me to the idiosyncrasies of each of his customers. 

This old lady gives me one stale Oreo cookie on Friday.This guy answers the door on payday in a robe and slippers.The customers who he had never seen. "They just leave money in an envelope under the mat for me, like they did for the last paper boy."

Back then, paper routes were precious. In order to secure one, you had to purchase it from a retiring paperboy for a considerable amount of money. As I walked with Jeff, I wondered if my paper boy might be retiring soon. Maybe I could be a paper boy and finally have some money in my pocket. 

I walked the paper route with Jeff several times until one day, he and I walked together on Friday. 

Payday.

That was when I saw how much money Jeff made per week. I couldn't believe it. As poor as I was and as much as I wanted to have money in my pocket, a quick calculation in my head determined that this must be the least productive job on the planet. 

The pay was atrocious. It was miniscule. It was not worth his time.  

Not only was the pay pathetic, but taking on the job as paperboy meant committing every afternoon to the job without exception. No after school sports. No visits with friends. Just straight home to deliver the papers. And it didn't matter if it was raining or snowing. It didn't matter if it was 10 degrees or 100 degrees. It didn't matter if you were sick or hurt. A paperboy was outside, delivering papers, every day, no matter what. 

That was the moment I realized that as poor as I may be, some jobs are simply not worth the pay. My time, I came to understand, is exceptionally valuable, and simply having more money than I had before should never be the reason to take a job.  

It was the moment I realized that my time was worth a certain amount of money, and my goal was to find work that balanced the equation between my time and effort and the money and benefits being offered in return. 

A few months later I would be hired for my first job:

Laborer on a local farm. I hooked and flung bales of hay off tractor trailers. Hung barbed wire. Sunk fence posts. Mucked stalls. Cleared brush. I worked 5-6 hours every Saturday morning and made more money than Jeff made in a week. 

Time is money, I learned at an early age, but only if the money and benefits offered matches the time being given in return. 

Far too often, I watch people take on additional work, new assignments, and side jobs that are simply not worth the time invested. While I understand the inclination to say yes to any additional income, you must keep the big picture in mind:

Time is the most valuable commodity on the planet, and you have just as much of it as the wealthiest people alive. Value your time accordingly. Never waste it away. Find the additional work and side jobs that price your time accordingly. Take the time to find the right fit. Invest in yourself and your skills so you can ultimately earn what you deserve. Demand that your compensation be commensurate with your ability from every employer.   

Admittedly, I still struggle with that last one a bit. 

My kids first paying gig and my first paying gig were very, very different

My first paying gig, as far as I can recall, was in 1991 when I performed as the stripper for a bachelorette party in the crew room of a McDonald's restaurant in Milford, MA. 

I was unexpectedly paid $100 for the unexpectedly humiliating experience.

You can watch me tell that story here:

Since that day, I've worked extensively in the gig economy. 

For more than 20 years, I've worked as a wedding DJ, performing at close to 500 weddings. I've also worked as a minister, marrying more than two dozen couples and performing a handful of baby naming ceremonies. 

Six years ago, Elysha and I launched Speak Up. Since then, we have produced more than 75 storytelling shows and showcases throughout Connecticut and Massachusetts. 

I routinely get paid to tell stories, speak inspirationally, and teach storytelling, public speaking, and writing in venues all over the country. Theaters. Libraries. Universities. Middle and high schools. Corporations. Nonprofits. Bookstores. Churches and synagogues.

Most would consider my writing career a part of the gig economy. When I sell a piece to a magazine or online publication or sell a book to a publisher, it's not like I've been hired by a company in the most traditional sense of the word. I've entered into a temporary employment agreement with a publication that may or may not continue beyond the initial job.

This month I will be paid to perform as a standup comic for the first time. 

But it all started in 1991 in that crew room when I took off most of my clothes and was paid to do so.

This is why I was so damn proud of my kids when they informed Elysha and me that they had  prepared a puppet show for us. In addition to making the puppets out of paper and straws, they also produced tickets for the show. 

"25 cents," Clara said. "Per person," she emphasized. 

Clara and Charlie collected our money at the door and performed hilariously for us, whispering directions to one another and sometimes whipping up forgotten puppets on the fly.

Sadly, they are more artists than business people, because they left their quarters on the table and forgot all about them.

But I didn't. I grabbed those quarters and tucked them away for safe keeping. This was their first gig. The first time they were paid to perform. Perhaps they will not go onto a career onstage as their mother and father have, but maybe they will find their way into the arts someday in some capacity.

Someday down the road, when they can appreciate it more, maybe on the evening of their first professional performance, I will give them back their quarters and remind them of the night they performed for a paid audience for the first time. 

It's a night I will never forget.

Trump can't be banned from Twitter, but then he shouldn't be able to block me, either.

As you may know, the President has blocked me on Twitter. 

Shortly after I fired off three successive tweets at him this summer about his failure to produce his promised tax returns, Trump tweeted some inane nonsense to the world and then blocked three people (likely the three at the top of his feed), including me. 

I was outraged. I remain outraged. Yes, I can still see his tweets via an alternate account or a variety of browser settings, but I am no longer able access his Twitter feed via my primary Twitter feed, and this means I can no longer tweet at him or respond to him as me.

More egregious, in 2017, then Presidential spokesperson Sean Spicer said that Trump's tweets amount to "official statements from the President." Therefore, I am also being denied access to the President's official statements because he is a thin-skinned, ignorant coward who cannot handle criticism of any kind. 

When you don't clap at his speech, he calls you a traitor, for example.  

In January of 2018, after Trump seemed to be goading North Korea into a nuclear clash via Twitter, an argument was made that Twitter bans users all the time for making similarly threatening and endangering remarks. 

Why not Trump? 

Twitter responded to these inquiries as it has with similar calls to ban Trump from the platform for similarly egregious tweets:

“Blocking a world leader from Twitter or removing their controversial Tweets would hide important information people should be able to see and debate.”

Fine, but then this:

If Twitter is concerned about the dissemination of the important information from world leaders and therefore exempts them from any possible ban, then Twitter should also be concerned about the hundreds and perhaps thousands of Americans who Trump has blocked, including me, who have also been denied this "important information."

If you want to argue that world leaders cannot be banned from Twitter because the information they provide is too important to hide, then world leaders should be prevented from blocking citizens from this same important information. 

This would be a fair, logical, and sensible policy that would afford world leaders the benefits that Twitter believes is necessary while also providing some basic rights for the citizenry of the world as well.

Why Twitter has not taken this step baffles me. Are they afraid of our vindictive, man-child President? Do they worry that he might abandon the Twitter platform for Snapchat? Or is the company run by hypocrites who don't give a damn about the dissemination of important information? 

I would really like to know. 

It hurts to ask sometimes.

You've heard the expression, "It never hurts to ask." Right?

I'm here to report that this expression is nonsense. It hurts to ask.

At least some of the time. 

I despise this expression because some of the people who I find most annoying in this world are the ones who ask. Not for your occasional favor. Not for the unlikely rescue. Not for the appropriate request. 

It's the pushy people who annoy me. The nervy folk. The ones who ask for things that shouldn't be asked for. The ones who ask again and again even after being rebuffed the first time. The ones who ask for things that any sane and decent person would never think of requesting. The ones who make requests that cause everyone around them to cringe.

Occasionally an addendum is attached to this terrible expression:

"The worst they can say is no." 

Wrong again. The worst they can say is, "No."

And then they say to themselves: "Damn this person is a pushy, nervy jackass of a human being. Who says something like that. I need to cut this loser out of my life as soon as possible."

That is the worst they can say. Not directly to you, but damaging nonetheless. 

Don't believe the nonsense. It hurts to ask sometimes. It hurts the people who you're asking, and it probably hurts yourself in the process. 

There was a time in this country when Dads knew more than kids

My kids were watching a TV show in the other room. I heard one of the characters in the show mention that they were going to explore the Mariana Trench. 

"That’s the deepest place in the world," I said. 

"As far as humans know," Clara shouted. "Over 90% of the world’s oceans are unexplored! There could be a deeper spot that we haven't discovered yet."  

"Yeah," said Charlie. "And it’s located in the midnight zone, where no sunlight ever gets. So who knows what's going on down there. We can't see!"

I'm living with a bunch of nerds.