Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 299

Vincent Van Gogh on Doctor Who makes me cry.

You may know that I don't handle mortality well. 

One of the things that hurts my heart most is the idea that when we die, we cannot see tomorrow. We'll never know how this grand story ends, and how far reaching our influence may be.

I weep for people like Abraham Lincoln, Edgar Allen Poe, Johann Sebastian Bach, Emily Dickinson, Gregor Mendel, and all the others who died never knowing how they changed the word. 

Vincent Van Gogh is another person who fits into this category. One of the greatest painters of all time never realized commercial success or critical acclaim when he was alive.

This is why I adore this episode of Doctor Who, when the Doctor and his companion Amy take Vincent Van Gogh to the Musée d’Orsay to see an entire room filled with his paintings.

It brings me close to tears every time I watch it. If only it were real. 

At last I am a Beautiful Person. Verified and confirmed by beautifulpeople.com.

In 2013, I applied twice for acceptance to beautifulpeople.com, a social networking site designed specifically for attractive people. Access to beautifulpeople.com is granted only if the members of the network deem you attractive enough to be a member.

I was rejected both times. I cataloged my rejections in blog posts in both August and September of that year. 

In August of this year, I applied to beautifulpeople.com again, using the same photo that I used in 2013.

This photo:

After three days of voting, I was accepted. 

Yes. That's right, people.

I'm a beautiful person. It's been verified. Confirmed. Authenticated.

If I was a professional athlete, I would say that no one can take this away from me, except I'm not, and beautifulpeople.com has been know to kick people off the network for failing to maintain suitable levels of attractiveness.

Still, it's about damn time. 

Now that I've snuck past the good looking gatekeepers and am on the inside, I've been exploring the network as much as possible. Here is what I can report:

The operators of beautifulpeople.com really, really want me to upgrade to a premium membership for $12.49 per month. Many of the benefits of the network are hidden behind the paywall.















I am now allowed to vote on prospective members. I have chosen not to do this, since I have vowed to never comment on the physical appearance of others, but it's tempting. I've received five emails from current members. I need to become a premium member in order to read them.I've received four "blinks" from members. I have no idea what this means.Elizabeth G. from Chicago and Khaleesss from Houston "like" me. Khaleesss also added me as a favorite. 















Three members are currently "checking me out." I can't see who they are without becoming a premium member. Nor do I really know what "checking me out" means.Based upon a sampling of the last 100 new members to the network, it appears that the female to male ratio is about 7:1. A surprising number of profile photos are taken inside a automobile. Exposed cleavage is also often used in profile photos. Bathing suits, hats, and selfies taken in front of a mirror are also popular. The network presets my account to only see female members in the network. In order to see men, I needed to change my settings.Beautifulpeople.com apparently sponsors events that I am now invited to. The next two events are in London and Australia. I don't think my wife will allow me to attend.Members are ranked, with lists of the most popular and highest ranked members available for browsing.  















My average photo score is a 3.0. I don't know what the actual scale is, though I suspect that it's at least a 5 point scale. Perhaps a 50 point scale. 

As much as I'd like to gain access to the premium areas of the network, I probably won't be paying the $12.49 to do so. I can't envision myself spending money on this particular product, even in the pursuit of valuable information. As much as I love being authenticated as a beautiful person (and therefore having irrefutable proof of my beauty), I can't see any real benefits from being a member of the network.

I like my $12.49 too much.  

Perhaps I'll start a Kickstarter campaign to raise the necessary funds. 

"Flesh" was a crayon color.

Yes, Clara and Charlie. your daddy grew up in a time when "flesh" was an actual Crayola color. 

It's a miracle I survived. 

First day of preschool apparently went well

I only wish I could've been there.

Also, I'm still waiting for a restaurant chain to hire him as a spokesperson. That "thumbs up" is perfection.

Unknown but brilliant

I found this post-it note on my desk today. 

I have no idea which student wrote it, but he or she is clearly brilliant.

Shortcomings and Flaws: 2016

Years ago a reader accused me of being materialistic after I wrote about my lack of a favorite number, specifically criticizing me for saying that when it comes to my salary, my favorite number is the largest number possible.

After refuting the charges of materialism, I acknowledged that I had plenty of other shortcomings and offered to list them in order to appease my angry reader. Then I did. Then I added to the list when friends suggested that I had forgotten a few.

Nice friends. Huh?

So began an annual tradition of posting my list of shortcomings and flaws, starting first in 2011, and continuing in 2012, 2013, 2014, and 2015. 

Here is the revised list for 2016. I’ve added two items (the last two) and for the first time ever failed to remove an item from the list. The total now stands at 37. 

I considered removing three, but after conferring with my wife was told that I can in no way remove these items from the list. 

If you have a suggestion for a flaw or shortcoming that you do not see on the list, please feel free to submit it for review.

Matthew Dicks’s List of Shortcomings and Flaws

1. I have difficulty being agreeable even when the outcome means nothing to me but means a great deal to someone else.

2. I have a limited, albeit expanding palate (though I would like to stress that this is not by choice).

3. I often lack tact, particularly in circumstances in which tact is especially important.

4. I am a below average golfer.

5. It is hard for me to sympathize with adults with difficulties that I do not understand, do not think are worthy of sympathy, and/or are suffering with difficulties that I would have avoided entirely.

6. I have difficulty putting myself in another person’s shoes. Rather than attempting understand the person, I envision myself within their context and point out what I would have done instead.

7. When it comes to argument and debate, I often lack restraint. I will use everything in my arsenal in order to win, even if this means hurting the other person’s feelings in the process.

8. I do many things for the sake of spite.

9. I have an unreasonable fear of needles.

10. I become angry and petulant when told what to wear.

11. Bees kill me dead.

12. I become sullen and inconsolable when the New England Patriots lose a football game.

13. I lack adequate compassion and empathy for adults who are not very smart or resourceful or are easily overwhelmed.

14. I can form strong opinions about things that I possess a limited knowledge of and are inconsequential to me.

15. Field of Dreams makes me cry every time without fail.

16. I am unable to make the simplest of household or automobile repairs.

17. I would rarely change the sheets on my bed if not for my wife.

18. I eat ice cream too quickly.

19. I procrastinate when it comes to tasks that require the use of the telephone.

20. I am uncomfortable and ineffective at haggling for a better price.

21. I am exceptionally hard on myself when I fail to reach a goal or meet a deadline.

22. I take little pleasure in walking.

23. Sharing food in restaurants annoys me.

24. I drink too much Diet Coke.

25. My hatred for meetings of almost any kind cause me to be unproductive, inattentive, and obstructionist.

26. Disorganization and clutter negatively impacts my mood, particularly when I cannot control the clutter myself.

27. I am overly critical of my fellow storytellers, applying my own rules and standards to their performances.

28. I cannot load a dishwasher effectively.

29. I think less of people who nap.

30. I lack patience when it comes to assisting people with technology.

31. I am easily annoyed by the earnestness of adults.

32. I don't spend enough time with my best friend.

33. I have a difficult time respecting someone's accomplishments if they benefited from economic privilege in their life.

34. I believe that there are right and wrong ways of parenting. 

35. I love saying, "I told you so" so freaking much.

36. I wear my wireless headphones way too much.

37. I consistently screw up my wife's laundry regardless of how careful I think I am.  

I broke into the Brooklyn Navy Yard and committed a crime (I think)

I went to Brooklyn at the end of August to record a podcast at Slate. 

Slate moved its offices from a fairly convenient location in Manhattan to a terribly inconvenient location in Brooklyn that I had been to only once before. So I plugged "Slate Magazine" into the Waze app on my phone and was off. 

By the time I arrived at the destination indicated on the app, two things were apparent:

1. This was not the Slate offices.

2. I had to pee so badly that I thought I might pee my pants.

My GPS app had brought me to a blighted section of Brooklyn featuring razor wire, graffiti, boarded-up buildings, and not a single person walking the streets. But I assumed that I was close to my destination. Perhaps a block or two away, so when I saw all the free parking spots on the street, I took one, thinking it would be a five minute walk at best to Slate. 

I also had to pee so badly that I couldn't stand the thought of driving around to find the place. Even if I had to walk a little ways, I assumed that I could find a place to pee on the way. 

Boy was I wrong. When I emerged from the side street onto the main thoroughfare, I saw a single gas station and block after block of empty buildings, chainlink fences, and walls. Not a retail establishment, restaurant, or coffee shop to be seen.

I waddled to the gas station. It was my only hope.

When I entered, I saw a woman speaking to the gas station attendant, who was standing behind nine inches of glass. I also saw a small door marked restroom behind the glass as well.

My salvation. 

I waited patiently for the woman and the attendant to finish their conversation, but when it became apparent that it might never end, I interjected.

"Excuse me. Could I use your restroom. I'll buy stuff if I can. Lots of stuff."

The attendant replied, " It's out of order."

"Out of order?" I asked. "Then how do you pee? Or where do you pee?"

"It's out of order," he repeated.

"Yes, but you must pee, I said. Where does that happen?" 

"Sir, there's no bathroom here."

"But there must be," I said, "You can't go all day without peeing."

"He said there's no restroom," the woman shot back at me. "Leave him alone." 

I would've loved to have engaged further with this woman, but realizing that I was not going to be able to use a restroom here and knowing how dire my situation was becoming, I left. 

I stood outside the gas station, just a week after US Olympic swimmer Ryan Lochte got in trouble for (among other things) peeing on a gas station in Brazil and wondered if I was about to do the same thing. There was no place to pee anywhere, and not a single tree or area of concealment to be seen.

Then I looked across the street and saw them. Three thin saplings. A tiny stand of trees. All that I needed to pee. 

The only problem: The trees were standing just inside the entrance to the Brooklyn Navy Yard, an imposing brick entrance festooned with a guard shack and a sentry. There was no way I was going to slip through that entrance and make it to the saplings without being seen.

Then I caught a bit of good luck. A delivery truck pulled into the Navy Yard and stopped at the sentry post, creating a barrier between the sentry and the saplings. If the truck remained in place long enough, I could duck into the entrance of the Navy Yard and into the trees unseen. 

There was no way the guard wasn't going to see me emerge from the stand of trees a minute or two later, but that was a problem to solve after I had relieved myself. 

I went for it. I ran as fast as possible with a bursting bladder across the road and through the large gates of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, veering off after about 15 feet into the trees. I could barely contain my bladder for a second more. As soon as I was secreted behind the stand of trees, I  peed onto the vine-covered brick wall, keeping the trees between me and the sentry.

One of the happiest moments of my life. 

When I finished, the truck was gone. I emerged from the stand of trees and was immediately spotted by the sentry, he rose from his seat. I tried to look confused, held up my phone as if to imply it had misled me (which it originally did), and exited the Brooklyn Navy Yard while offering gestures of confusion and apology.

The sentry appeared annoyed but allowed me to pass without comment. 

A few minutes later, after speaking to a Slate producer on my phone, I began the 25 minute walk to Slate in the 90 degree heat rather than driving my car closer to the offices, which turned out to be a terrible decision.

But it gave me time to ponder this:

Had I been a woman, I would've been in a lot of trouble. A woman could not have peed in that fairly exposed location behind those tiny trees. A guy needs the smallest sliver of privacy in order to pee. Essentially, a man need only to turn his back in order to avoid exposing himself while peeing, whereas women require a hell of a lot more privacy. 

Then I thought about all the times I have peed against trees while playing golf. All the times I have stepped off a trail while hiking or hopped off my bike to pee a step or two into the woods. All the times I have disappeared into a stand of trees a a park to pee. All the portable toilets in the parking lots of Gillette Stadium where I am able to pee without touching a single thing other than my pants.

Men have it good.

We have it very, very good.

I found enormous sympathy for womankind on that walk to Slate, realizing that had I been a woman, I I might well have peed my pants. 

There are solutions to this problem for women, including devices like the GoGirl, which comes in a lovely shade of lavender, but the image of a woman holding a GoGirl against her groin as she pees seems even less discreet than a woman dropping trow in order to pee.  

It's also bizarre. Rachel, my Boy vs. Girl podcast co-host, has agreed to give one a try.

 

I also thought that the Brooklyn Navy Yard is not nearly secure enough for my liking. Had I had been an evil doer with more nefarious purposes, I wonder how much damage I could've done had I been armed with more than a full bladder. 

The bravest

One of the most quoted lines from Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend is this:

“You have to be the bravest person in the world to go out every day, being yourself when no one likes who you are.” 

I'm so glad that so many readers have become attached to this sentences, because it is one of the things I think and feel most deeply about in this world. When asked to describe a central theme throughout all my books, I first explain that I don't think in terms of themes but in terms of story. 

I want to write an entertaining story. Any themes that emerge from that story are welcomed but often not initially intended.

However, when pressed, I will admit that I am attracted to characters on the fringes of society. People who dare to be exactly who they are despite their exclusion from mainstream society as a result. I like to write about people who are brave enough to be who they are when much of the world would laugh at or reject them for being themselves.

These are the bravest and most noble of all people in my mind.

To that end, I give you the washing machine enthusiasts featured on CBS Sunday Morning. Men who collect, admire, and obsess over washing machines. These are men who love to watch these machines at work.

They are easy to laugh at and dismiss but deserve to be honored for their willingness to be exactly who they are in such a public way.  

I admire the hell out of these men.

Book Club Adventures on Planes and Trains and Automobiles (sort of)

Since I published my first novel in 2009, I have attended well over 100 book club meetings both in person and over Skype with people from all over the world who have read my books. While I love speaking in book stores and libraries whenever given the opportunity, it's always a special honor to be invited to one of these book club meetings. These are folks who have already read my book and are armed with interesting comments and questions that I love to listen to and answer.

What I have discovered over the years is that no two book clubs are exactly alike. Each possesses a unique personality and culture that is often surprising and oftentimes unimaginable.

Simply put, I have witnessed a great many things over the years while visiting with book clubs. Occasionally, Elysha will join me for a book club meeting, making these experiences even more fun.

The methods by which book clubs choose the books they read are fascinating. From debates to democracy to diplomacy to the simple process of taking turns (the preferred method of my own book club), these decisions are fascinating to watch and sometimes a little overwhelming. I have witnessed two PowerPoint presentations at the end of book club meetings, filled with slides arguing why a particular book should be chosen next. I've watched people read book reviews aloud in an effort to win over their fellow book club members. And I've watched one woman offer to buy the book for all of the ladies in the club if they agreed to read it next.  

I have participated in living room game shows of sorts, designed by book club members to test their fellow members' knowledge of the plot and characters of the book. One of these games included theme music, an enormous scoreboard, and electronic buzzers.

I've attended book clubs where the only food served was food mentioned in the book.

I've attended book clubs where members skinny dipped in the adjacent pond. Granted that was my own book club, and one of the skinny dippers was my wife, but still. 

I've visited the book clubs of colleagues and friends. High school classmates and former students. Elysha's first babysitter. My ex-girlfriend. A fellow author.   

I visited a book club that rates the books they read on a 10-point scale, and these scores are averaged, giving the book a final score. In addition to assigning a number, each person also gives a reason for their determination. Members not present who finished the book can email in their rating and rationale. One of their members on the night I was there was in Korea but still took the time to email a score and a paragraph explaining her thinking.

At the end of the year, this book club meets for an awards night of sorts. The members vote on the books read during the year in categories like best and worst book, best passage from a book, best and worst male and female character, best discussion, best cover, and more. They run this awards gala like the Oscars. Members vote, and presumably one member (unless they also enlist the services of Price Waterhouse) collects the votes and places the winner’s names in Oscar-like envelopes for the dramatic reveal.  

I've Skyped with readers in at least half of the 50 states, plus Canada, Mexico, the UK, Denmark, Brazil, and Germany. I've spoken to a bookclub of women in Saudi Arabia who were all donning full burkas for the entire discussion. I've spoken to students in on the other side of the country and prisoners behind bars. 

I've often thought that I should write a book about my book club adventures. I have more than enough stories to fill the pages, 

And I continue to experience new and interesting moments with book clubs all the time. Last week I had two such experiences.

Early in the week, Elysha and I were invited to attend my first book club meeting on a boat. We traveled to Coventry, CT, where we boarded a small boat on Lake Wangumbaug and went for a ride on a warm, summer evening with about half a dozen ladies and two of their husbands. Barbecue chicken and other tasty morsels were served, as well as Blackstone wine, in honor of my hometown and the setting for The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs.

It was a beautiful summer evening and a picturesque setting for a chat about books, writing, schooling, and more. We met some fantastic people that evening and hope to see them again sometime soon.

Later in the week, I was scheduled to Skype with a book club in Strasburg, Ohio, but a mix-up on my part regarding the date of our meeting caused me to be double booked. I was supposed to be at a Moth StorySLAM at the National Black Theater in Harlem that night while also speaking to a group of library patrons who had just finished reading Something Missing.

So in another book club first, as we drove into Harlem, Elysha called the group via Skype on my phone and pointed the camera in my direction while I sat behind the wheel. While I navigated the surface streets of Harlem, I answered questions from the group about Something Missing and my writing process. And when things became dicey because I was traveling into unfamiliar sections of the city and needed to consult my GPS, Elysha turned the phone on herself and answered questions from the group.

Book clubs folks love to ask her questions. 

One of the questions asked was this:

"Is Matt as funny at home as he is in his books?"

Elysha's response:

"No, not really. But he makes like interesting."

Two weeks later and I'm still stinging from that answer.

But it was my first book club conducted from behind the wheel of a moving vehicle, and while it caused Elysha to panic a few times, it was exciting, and the readers in Ohio got a kick out of listening to me speak while catching glimpses of New York that they only see in TV and movies.

I like to think that I turned a problem (double booking the evening) into something better than originally planned.  

I also offered to do a more traditional book club meeting with them anytime they want.

I've yet to meet with a book club while on a plane, train, bicycle, or horseback, but I'm sure that day will come. 

If you'd like to invite me to one of your book club meetings, either in person or Skype, simply send me an email. I'd be happy to get together with you and your fellow readers.

I think my wife is hitting on me.

Elysha's no dummy. If she's trying to woo me, she knows exactly how to do it.

Nothing is sexier than finding Organizing magazine on the kitchen counter.

I left her a note.