Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 382

Not so internal dialogue

As I was buckling my daughter into her car seat, she began talking. I looked at her and realized that she wasn’t talking to me. She was just thinking aloud. Her internal dialogue was escaping, and she didn’t seem aware of it.

What did she say?

“I want to use Mommy’s phone. I haven’t used Mommy’s phone all day. I’m going to ask her to use it when she gets in the car. I’m going to ask nicely.”

I shudder to think what other things she may be plotting.

Resolution update: August 2014

In an effort to hold myself accountable, I post a list my New Year’s resolutions at the beginning of each month, along with their progress (or lack thereof).

1. Don’t die.

There’s a good chance that we all exist in a computer simulation, and if so, we are not actually alive. But if that’s not the case, I’m still going strong.

2. Lose ten pounds.

Still six down and four to go.   

3. Do at least 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups five days a week.

Done.

4. Launch at least one new podcast.

Author Out Loud, my first podcast, is still yet to launch (and therefore still not my first). Once we have that podcast running smoothly, we can think about adding a second podcast.

Progress so far: I have completed the redesign of my website, which would allow me to post podcast online. By “completed the redesign,” I mean that I have finished sketching the architecture on paper. Now I have to actually do the work, which I only kind of know how to do.

I’ve also begun saving segment topics for both Author Out Loud and my unnamed podcast.

5. Complete my sixth novel before the end of the summer 2014.

So much of the summer was consumed with completing the revisions of my next novel that I was unable to apply myself to the next book. It remains more than half finished, and I have adjusted my timeline to extend until the end of 2014. 

6. Complete my seventh novel.

A great deal of progress was made on this book in August, mostly because of the non-traditional way that it’s being written. It’s still possible that I’ll finish my seventh novel before I finish my sixth, which obviously makes no sense. 

7. Sell one children’s book to a publisher.

Three manuscripts are in the hands of my agent. I await word on their fate.

8. Complete a book proposal for my memoir.

The proposal for a memoir comprised of the about three dozen of my Moth stories is complete. It will be sent to editors for their consideration soon.

Work also continues on a memoir that focuses on the two years that encompassed my arrest and trial for a crime I did not commit. These two years also include an armed robbery, the onset of my post traumatic stress disorder, my period of homelessness, and the time I spent living with a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

It was a memorable two years.

I’m also writing another memoir about this current season of golf. Since I haven’t played enough golf this summer, I plan to stretch it so that it encompasses the entire year rather than just the summer.  

9. Host at least one Shakespeare Circle.

Nothing scheduled yet.   

10. Write a screenplay.

Nearly complete. And I have my idea for the next screenplay, too.    

11. Write at least three short stories.

Nothing. I still hate this goal.

12. Write a collection of poetry using existing and newly written poems.

My agent has spoken. Not only does poetry in general not earn any money, but she doesn’t think my poetry is worth my time in terms of time and money. She encouraged me to send some of my better poems to journals and contests, which I may do at some point.

13. Become certified to teach high school English by completing one required class.

Still one class and $50 away from completion. My wife is actively looking for a place online where I can complete this relatively obscure requirement.

14. Publish at least one Op-Ed in a physical newspaper.

My first column in Seasons magazine published in June. My next column publishes in September.

I also pitched a column idea to a major online magazine that is seriously being considered.  

I also published a piece in The Cook’s Cook, a magazine for aspiring food writers and recipe testers. You can read the April-May issue here.

None of these are Op-Eds in a physical paper. Please ignore that fact in the event I need to use these publishing credits in order to claim that I have completed my goal.

15. Attend at least 10 Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

I competed in a Moth GrandSLAM and a StorySLAM, both in Boston, bringing the total number of Moth events to 12 and exceeding this goal. I won the StorySLAM and placed second in the GrandSLAM.

I have plans to attend another Moth StorySLAM in New York in September.

16. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

I competed in the aforementioned GrandSLAM in August and placed second. I have completed in eight GrandSLAMs in the past three years and placed second six times.

It’s annoying.  

I have another GrandSLAM in New York in November, and that may be my last chance at a championship for 2014.   

17. Give yoga an honest try.

No progress.

18. De-clutter the basement.

Progress continues at a constant, albeit glacial, pace.

19. De-clutter the shed

Done! I dislodged a mouse family, filled the back of my truck with junk, and now I have an empty, organized shed.  

20. Conduct the ninth No-Longer-Annual A-Mattzing Race in 2014.

No progress.

21. Produce a total of six Speak Up storytelling events.

Our total stands at five after our July show with additional shows planned for September and December at Real Art Ways and October at The Mount in Lennox, MA.

22. Deliver a TED Talk.

I delivered a TED Talk in March at Brooklyn Boulders in Somerville, MA.

I have also been contacted about speaking at two other TED conferences in the fall and am still awaiting word on my pitches.

23. Set a new personal best in golf.

I shot a 42 last week, but that was at an executive course (par 32). Not a personal best, and I don’t feel like setting my personal best at an executive course would be a real victory anyway.  

24. Find a way to keep my wife home for one more year with our children.

We still don’t know how we will afford this, but we made the decision to keep Elysha at home for one more year with our son.

25. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.

Done.

Economy of blessings is paramount to my son. Either that or he’s already rejecting religion.

When my wife says, “Bless you,” to our two year-old son after he sneezes, his most common response is, “No bless you. I okay.”

At first I thought that he was concerned with the economy of blessings or the implication that he required a blessing when one was clearly not needed.

But it occurs to me that perhaps this is my son’s first steps into his rejection of organized religion. Maybe his, “No bless you. I okay,” is really his way of saying:

“Spare me your superstitious nonsense. My soul is not in danger of fleeing my body when I sneeze, nor am I vulnerable to attack from some unseen demon, which is how this ridiculous tradition began. Sneezing isn’t even a precursor to illness in most cases. I feel fine. Besides, offering a blessing assumes that the receiver possesses a religious belief that can accommodate such a blessing, and though you may have forcibly conscripted me to a religion and plan to indoctrinate me into your belief system and ancient traditions, I am only two years old. My religious belief, if I ever possess one, will undoubtedly be a process that requires a lifetime of introspection and learning. Who knows? I may even start my own religion someday, or I may reject religious belief altogether. My the presumption that my religious belief will match your own is unrealistic at best. So spare me your unnecessary and meaningless blessings and just give me a cookie. I’m fine.” 

Yeah. I think that might be it.

Most threatening (and perhaps effective) example of signage ever

This is real, despite all my instincts telling me otherwise.

The restaurant is real. It’s existence was never in question. It’s located in Staten Island, and people eat there every day.

But sometimes you stumble across (or in the case are sent) a video that you have to assume is fake. A parody. An intentionally ridiculous fabrication.

Except no. This commercial for Troy restaurant is real. Someone, somewhere in the world produced this video, watched it, and thought, “Yes, this will surely bring the restaurant more customers.”

Who knows? Maybe it worked. But I doubt it.

Men humiliate men. Constantly. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Man who finishes in last place in his fantasy football league is required to make an embarrassing photo calendar that celebrates famous moments in print history, including a recreation of the ESPN: The Magazine Naked Prince Fielder cover and the famous photo of breastfeeding on the cover of TIME.

 

Brilliant.

Also something you would find almost exclusively in the company of men.

Embarrassing your closest friend in the most unimaginable and horrific way possible is the stuff of men. So, too, are most pranks and public insults. Men are intentionally cruel and purposefully hurtful to one another on a minute-to-minute basis,  and we are just fine with it.

We actively, unrelentingly seek to annoy, harass, humiliate, poke, and prod one another. We plot and plan for months (in sometimes years) in order to pull off the perfectly timed prank.

The best gift that I have ever received was a gift-wrapped box that my friend, Jeff, handed me before a round of golf. We were kicking off my bachelor party weekend, and Jeff told me that this little box was my wedding gift. I was instructed not to open it. Just hand it to our friend, Tom, when there were lots of people around him, and tell him that it was my gift to him for agreeing to be a groomsman in my wedding.

I asked no questions. Just did what I was told.

I waited until a large group of men had gathered near the starter’s shed and handed Tom the box. “Thanks for being a part of my wedding,” I said.

Tom looked surprised. Appreciative. Humbled. He thanked me. Then he untied the ribbon and open the box. Inside was one of the largest spiders I have ever seen. Tom is deathly afraid of spiders, so he screamed like a little girl, threw the box into the air, and ran.

Best gift ever. Not only was Tom’s reaction priceless, but my own surprise was like icing on the cake.

But this is the kind of thing that almost only happens with men.

Women are rarely involved in pranks. They are almost never openly cruel to their closest and dearest friends. They never seek to embarrass or humiliate the ones they love. The idea that a group of women would make one of their friends pose for those calendar shots is unthinkable. 

I’m not sure why this is so, but I’m so happy to be on the male side of this equation. I have been the victim of many, many pranks and cruelties at the hands of my friends over the years. I have been humiliated far more often than I have humiliated a friend. As a friend once told me, “It’s not that you’re an easy target. You were just born to be the target.”

It’s true. I don’t know why, but he was right. Had I been competing in that fantasy league, the universe would have undoubtedly pushed me into last place, injuring my players in any way possible to make it happen, and I would’ve been the one posing naked.

It would’ve been humiliating photos of me hanging in offices and kitchens and features on Deadspin.

Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Saddest photos ever taken

First day on the bus. Breaks my heart.

 

Thankfully, there are these images at the end of the day to not-quite-balance the sadness of the early morning hours.

 

Open a toy. Record. Make a fortune.

My wife made me aware of the inexplicable existence of YouTube videos that feature the removal of toys from their packaging.

That’s it. Someone purchases a Transformer or a Barbie Doll or a SpongeBob Squarepants action figure and opens the toy on camera.

And millions of people watch.  

I can’t imagine who the audience is for these videos. Are little kids flocking to YouTube to watch their favorite toy emerge from it’s plastic cocoon? Is there a Brony-like brand of adult who is fascinated by this? Is this some kind of fetish that I can’t understand? 

I don’t know.

I didn’t believe Elysha when she told me that these videos existed, so I started watching this one, which had ten million views at the time, waiting for something to happen.

Something… anything other than toys emerging from plastic.

Nope. Toys removed from packaging. That’s it.

The world is a strange, strange place.

I went to Maine to officiate a wedding for a couple I had never met, and it wasn’t crazy.

My friends think I’m a little crazy.

Three days before the start of my school year, I headed to Maine to officiate the wedding ceremony of a couple who I had never met.

The bride is a fan of my novels. We met online a few years ago after she read Something Missing and reached out to tell me how much she liked book, and over the course of time, we got to know each other. She went on to read all three of my novels, and she got to know my family thanks to social media.

Yes, it’s true. I drove for more than 17 hours over the course of three days in order to reach my destination and return home.

Yes, it’s true. I arrived at a cabin filled with people who I had never met.

Yes, it’s true, all of this was happening in my last few days of summer vacation.

My friends couldn’t understand why I would sacrifice three precious days of vacation in order to spend a total of about 30 minutes marrying a couple who I had never met.

Some of them thought it crazy to drive into the woods of Maine to meet someone who could very well have been an ax murderer.

More than a few thought it ludicrous that I wasn’t charging this couple a hefty sum of money to officiate a wedding four states away.

I went to Maine to marry Charity and Brent because when life presents you with a unique and unusual experience, you take it. A fan of my fiction asked me to play a role in one of the most important days in her life.

How many authors are given that opportunity?

How many people are given that opportunity?

Despite the long drive and the time away from my family, I had an experience that I will never forget.

I stood on a rock beside a crystal clear lake and assisted as two people promised to spend the rest of their lives with each other.

I met some amazing people along the way, including Truc, who somehow managed to cook a five-course Vietnamese dinner for two dozen in a tiny cabin kitchen in a place where questions like, “Where is your ginger?” engendered responses from supermarket employees like, “I’ll need to get my manager.”

I met Shelly, her husband, and her sons, who run a second-generation boy’s camp by the lake that teaches young man how to build canoes from scratch and paddle them across open water.

I met Sahar, the fire-eating, sword swallowing circus performer who entertained us with a death-defying spectacle after the wedding.

I met a painter from San Francisco. Fire fighters from Wisconsin. Many more. People from every corner in the country gather in Maine for this celebration, and I was fortunate enough to be there with them.

Yes, the drive was difficult, and the traffic was horrendous.

Yes, I missed Elysha terribly.

Yes, it would’ve been great to have spent the time swimming and biking and golfing and playing with Charlie and Clara.

Yes, I had a book to finish and could’ve used the time to wrap it up.

Yes, I had a classroom to prepare and a garage to clean and a thousand other things to do at home, but never again will I be presented with an opportunity like the one I had in Maine last week.

Sometimes you say yes because the question will never be asked again.

The Louisiana Literacy Test of 1963 is astonishing. Impossibly difficult and truly evil. I think I’ll give it to my students.

The website of the Civil Rights Movement Veterans, which collects materials related to civil rights, posts samples of actual literacy tests used in the South  during the 1950s and 1960s.

These tests were designed to prevent African Americans from voting in local elections. They were purposely difficult and confusing, and many times, the questions were simply impossible to answer.

Slate recently ran a piece that included the Louisiana literacy test of 1963, which is “singular among its fellows.”

Designed to put the applicant through mental contortions, the test’s questions are often confusingly worded. If some of them seem unanswerable, that effect was intentional. The (white) registrar would be the ultimate judge of whether an answer was correct.

The test was to be taken in 10 minutes, and a single wrong answer meant a failing grade.

The questions are astonishing in their Machiavellian degree of opacity. The people designing and administering these tests may have been racists, but they were clever racists.

Take the test, or at least take a moment and read the questions. It’s unbelievable.

I return to the classroom today to a new batch of fifth graders and a brand new school year. It occurs to me that it would be fascinating to give my students this test and see how the perform, and even better, how they react to some of these questions.

What better way to demonstrate the criminal inequities of the pre-Civil Rights era?