Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 249

Stop getting older, little girl.

Today is my daughter's ninth birthday.

As I write these words (at 5:40 AM), she's standing about seven feet to my left, listening to the music of Grace Vanderwaal and, in her words, "enjoying an early morning Grace Vanderwaal dance party."

The cats are sitting on the counter, watching her dance. Transfixed by this not-so-little-girl move across the kitchen floor.   

If only I could freeze these moments forever. 

Watching her dance on her birthday morning reminded me of this tweet and photo, posted by a high school senior in 2017 on her last day of school.

Killed me. 

"My dad has been peeling oranges for my lunch since kindergarten & on my last day of high school I got this instead."

It's 9:00 on a Saturday...

During my 21 years as a wedding DJ, I have played Billy Joel's "Piano Man" at 9:00 on a Saturday whenever possible.

Hundreds of times. 

Only once - La Renaissance, September 2011 - did someone notice.

Five sausages and a good story

The New England Patriots defeated the Jacksonville Jaguars on Sunday in the AFC championship game at Gillette Stadium. It was the eighth AFC championship game that I have attended in my lifetime.

Patriot fans have indeed been blessed over the last 16 years. 

Prior to the game, about ten of us gathered in the parking lot across the street from the stadium for our traditional tailgate. My friend, Tony, does this cooking. My friend and seat mate, Shep, brings tables, grill, and a TV. 

I hand over money and thank them for taking care of me.

After the game, the group gathered back in the parking lot for a post-game tailgate. Since we remained in the stadium to watch the championship festivities on the field, we knew it would be at least an hour before we could exit the parking lot, so burgers, dogs, and the first half of the Eagles-Vikings game was on tap. 

That is, until we realized that one of our friends decided to skip the post-game festivities, flee to the parking lot, and escape the traffic. This would have been fine except he took all the food with him, knowing full well that a post-game tailgate was planned.

Needless to say the eight remaining souls were not pleased to discover that all we had to eat were five sausages and a little cornbread. 

Not exactly a meal for eight people who had just spent five hours standing in the stadium, cheering on their team.

After speaking about our departed friend in the most vile of terms and declaring him dead to us now and forever, we decided to take the one item we had in abundance - alcohol - and attempt to barter for meat from our fellow tailgaters.  Before long we had traded hard liquor, beer, and space around our TV for a little bit of chicken, two pieces of steak, a small army of pigs in a blanket, potato chips, and more. A couple people came over with cooked food and brownies, offering us some of their food out of pity for our miserable condition. Our huddle mass of eight grew to as many as fourteen at one point, and I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with some fellow Patriots faithful.

Don't get me wrong. Burgers and hot dogs would have been fantastic, and they should've been there, damn it. You don't leave early with the food when you know that a large group of hungry football fans are expecting to eat. 

Leaving with the food was not cool. It will not be forgotten. 

But the result - bartering for food, the chance to meet knew people, and the collective, creative resentment for a single individual - was kind of great. A otherwise ordinary post-game tailgate turned into something memorable and meaningful under the sodium lights of that dirt parking lot.

There's a phrase that my friend, Catherine, uses about storytelling:

"You have a good time, or you have a good story."

In this case, we were lucky. We got both. 

It's a wonder I get anything done

I was writing this morning. It was quite early. The sun had yet to rise. Words were flowing. Paragraphs were forming. Things were good. 

Then my daughter, Clara, age 8, appeared at the table. Early. The sun still wasn't up. 

Her very first words of the day to me were these:

Clara: "I know Hawaii became a state in 1959. Right?"

Me: "I guess so?"

I had no idea. Maybe? Why are we talking about this at 5:42 AM?

Clara: "And before that, Hawaii was a United States territory. Right?"

Me: "Yes. Definitely."

I knew that one. 

Clara: "But my American Girl book says that Hawaii was the only state in America to enforce laws about people staying in the state, on the island, during World War II. And they were the only state had blackouts from 6:00 PM until 6:00 AM, too. So the Japanese couldn't see them." 

Me: "Okay..."

Clara (rolling her eyes): "But World War II happened in the 1940's, Dad. If Hawaii wasn't a state until 1959, why does the book say that Hawaii was the only state doing those things during World War II? It wasn't a state during World War II."

My response was perhaps a little less than what she hoped,  

Me: "It's not even six o'clock yet, Clara."

Not great. I know. Her response was better. 

Clara: "That's not an answer, Daddy."

And there you have it. The end to the writing that morning. 

Women's March 2018

I wasn't able to attend this year's Women's March, which saddened me. Last year's march was one of my highlights of 2017. It represented hope and possibility in a time when all seemed bleak.

My kids loved the march and still talk about it today. 

Last year's march was was also comeuppance for Trump on the day after his unimpressive, embarrassing inauguration turnout and the sad, poorly attended parade that followed. I love it when rotten people (particularly those obsessed with image, popularity, and perception) are publicly shamed and humiliated.   

But thanks to the magic of the Internet, I was able to see photos and videos of the enormous gatherings from all over the country, including some of this year's best signs. 

Below are some of my favorites, but this first one is by far my favorite. A simple promise from a younger generation that all the damage Trump and his administration has caused will one day be swept away by smarter, wiser, kinder, more noble people.   

Are my books a window into my soul?

Elysha met a person who read my first novel, Something Missing, and refuses to read any more of my books because after reading the first, she is worried that I'm a nefarious person.

I wrote a novel about a burglar who breaks into home and only steals items that wouldn't be noticed missing (and ultimately becomes a guardian angel to these homeowners), and in response to this work of fiction, this individual, who knows me and once respected me deeply as an educator, is now concerned that I am a man with criminal inclinations and a devious mind.

I had two thoughts:

That person is crazy.Damn. Do other people read that book and reach the same conclusion? Do people think I'm a bad guy because I wrote about a professional criminal (beyond the people who thought I was a bad guy long before reading Something Missing, of course)? 

A person is crazy only until everyone else agrees with their particular brand of crazy. 

And if this is the case, what other conclusions are people drawing from my books?

Also, my next novel is not going to sit well with crazy people like this, either.   

When I launched my DJ career, it was ancient times

My partner and I started our DJ business 21 years ago on a whim. We had no experience and no equipment but thought we could make it work.

Since 1997, we’ve performed at more than 400 weddings. I’ve also served as the minister at more than two dozen weddings, including the wedding of an ex-girlfriend. 

We’ve done weddings for the same groom after his marriage, divorce, and second marriage.

I've DJ'd the weddings of Elysha's college boyfriend, my ex-girlfriend, and my ex-wife's ex-husband.  

We have many, many stories.

Though we constantly contemplate retiring, our company goes on. We’ve reached the point in our careers that we turn down many weddings. We pick-and-choose our clients and wedding venues carefully. We only work when we want to work. 

2018 might be our last year in business. 

A lot of time has gone by since our first wedding. When I started my career as a DJ in 1997:

Smoking was still permitted inside most wedding venues.Digital photography did not exist in its current form. Every single professional photographer was still shooting with actual film. In fact, my partner and I carried two extra rolls of film with us after multiple photographers had run out of film at weddings.Digitized music did not exist in any realistic form. Every song that we played was purchased at a brick-and-mortar store like Strawberries.We still played some songs on cassette tapes.There was no GPS or even online mapping website. Directions to wedding venues and client’s homes had to be taken over the phone and written down by hand.MMMbop, Tubthumping, and Barbie Girl were the hot new songs.  

Twenty-one years is a long time to be doing anything.

I learned about "onset" this week

I learned something new this week:

"Onset" is a word that signals the beginning of something, but it specifically signals the beginning of something unpleasant.

Unpleasant only.

I did not know this. 

For decades, I've been writing sentences like:

"At the onset of my drive to New York City, Elysha handed me a picnic basket full of bologna and cheese sandwiches, Oreo cookies, and Doritos."

Or...

"At the onset of the long and glorious weekend, Elysha went to 7-11 to surprise me with hot dogs and Ben & Jerry's chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream." 

Or...

"At the onset of our wedding anniversary, Elysha proposed that we spend most of the time drinking prosecco and playing poker naked."

More than one of those sentences might have been more aspirational than realistic. 

Pickle smooch?

At the Olive Garden in West Hartford, CT there is a men's restroom. 

Inside that men's restroom, there is a framed photograph of a house and a tree. 

I'll never understand restaurant restroom art. Why?

Below that frame are two words, scribbled in pen. 

"Pickle smooch"

Here's what I want to know:

What does this mean? Who put this here? What is the story behind "Pickle smooch?"

Ideas? Thoughts? Suggestions?

These are the kinds of things that have been known to launch my novels.

48,762 is a completely unacceptable number

As an "inbox zero" guy (one who strives to keep his email's inbox empty or as close to empty as possible), you can't imagine how upsetting this particular phone is to me. 

It's real, too. This iPhone belongs to someone I know. I took this photograph.  

Just knowing that this number exists in the world (and is probably larger) is distressing to me. 

If you're looking to gain some control over your own inbox, may I recommend using a mail app like Inbox, which allows you to reschedule your email to a more convenient and appropriate time for you. 

For example:

I schedule all tax related information, invoices, and digital receipts to return to my inbox on February 1 of each year.I schedule tickets for shows and events to return to my inbox on the actual date of the show.I schedule information pertaining to workshops, speeches, and meetings (agendas, directions, contact info) to return to my inbox at the time and date of the actual meeting or workshop. I'll even reschedule email received during the morning or afternoon to the evening or the next day if that is when I plan to respond to it.

All done with the simple swipe of a thumb.  

Amongst the many rescheduling choices offered by the app (Tomorrow, Later this week, This weekend, Next week, a specific time and date) is "Someday," which also allows me reschedule a complimentary email to hit my inbox a second time.

A reader writes to me to compliment me on a book. A former student writes to me thanking me for inspiring her. A friend sends an unexpected email with words of kindness and generosity.   

I reschedule it for "Someday," and surprise and joy get a second visit. A second shot of the brain's four "feel good" chemicals: endorphin, oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine.

Someday... 

Inbox has many other fantastic features that I routinely use, but the ability to reschedule your email to arrive at a time that fits your schedule is the feature I use most often.

It keeps things manageable. Prevents me from missing or forgetting about an email. Keeps my mind uncluttered. It allows me to operate at "inbox zero" or close to it every day. 

I'm not saying that your goal should be inbox zero. I'm merely implying that you will be a far better human being if you are an inbox zero devotee like me.