Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 460

Father-son discussion

I’m sure that we will have some serious and unpleasant discussions in the future, but the conversations that my son and I have today aren’t too bad, especially when only one of us speaks English and the other mostly shoves his hand into my mouth and bites my nose.

“In The Night Kitchen” relies on the penis for its success and notoriety.

This reading of In the Night Kitchen got a lot of attention on the Internet last week with the passing of James Gandolfini.

And Gandolfini delivers a spectacular reading of this Maurice Sendak classic, but let me go on the record as saying that I do not like this book at all.

Perhaps it’s because I first read the book when I was 40 years-old and therefore lacked the childhood nostalgia that can occasionally prop up lesser works of art, but I find the story to be strange, creepy, frightening, unnecessarily graphic and most important lacking a cohesive and compelling narrative.

Frankly, I think that had Sendak not included the little boy’s penis in the illustrations, this book would have disappeared into obscurity.

I think the inclusion of the penis gained the book its initial notoriety and has continued to allow it to stand out as something different and unusual.

But not very good.

In the wake of the Supreme Court’s DOMA ruling, I can’t help but accentuate the negative

I think it says a lot about me that as happy as I am about the Supreme Court’s ruling striking down the Defense of Marriage Act, I take infinitely more pleasure in imagining how outraged, surprised, angry and defeated the bigots in this country must feel right now.

I should feel elation for my gay friends and the equality they so deserve. They should be people in the forefront of my mind on this historic day.

Instead I find myself focused on the image of some probably old, probably white bigot somewhere probably south of me, sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch, pained as he watches the America he once loved rapidly transform into an America that we can all love.  

I’ve always been a fan of schadenfreude. This is the one instance when it feels not only good but somehow righteous as well.

Second place sucks. I am a jerk.

I came in second place on Monday night at a Moth StorySLAM in New York City. I was in first place after four stories but gave up the lead to the eighth storyteller, who told an amusing and revealing story about her battle with herpes.

Last week I finished second at a Moth StorySLAM in Boston. I went first and held the lead until the ninth storyteller took the stage and told a fabulous story about her father.

Back in April I came in second place at a Moth StorySLAM in New York City. I was in first place after five storytellers but lost to the ninth storyteller, who told a story that I have since forgotten.

I also won a StorySLAM in Boston last month, but that victory does not fit into the narrative of this post. More notably, it doesn’t make any of those second place finishes feel any better.

There are many problems with finishing in second place in a competition.

Research shows that Olympic silver medalists feel worse after their Olympic performance than bronze medalists, because silver medalists know how close they came to winning.

I understand this sentiment precisely.

Jerry Seinfeld is famous for saying that second place is the first loser.

I understand this sentiment, too.

I am the King of Second Place. Throughout my life, I have constantly found myself in second place, the runner-up position and as one of a handful of disappointed finalists.

Rarely do I find my way to victory.

I’ve competed in 14 Moth StorySLAMs over the past two years. I’ve been fortunate enough to win 4 of them and finished in second place 6 times. I’ve also finished in second place in 2 Moth GrandSLAMs.

See the problem?

I’ve been exceptionally lucky over the past two years. I should be grateful for my record at The Moth. I should be grateful simply for the opportunity to take the stage and tell a story about my life.

I have absolutely no right to complain.

Except all those second place finishes KILL ME. They hurt my heart. They linger in my mind, serving as constant reminders about how close I came to winning again and again,

Sadly, tragically, and pathetically, I remember the second place finishes better than the first place finishes.

But no one wants to hear this. Complain about second place to someone who has finished fifth and you feel like a jerk. Complain about second place to someone who didn’t even have the chance to compete and you feel like an even bigger jerk.

Complain about second place in almost any context you’re a jerk.

I was recently complaining about a second place finish to a fellow storyteller, lamenting about the fact that I had lost despite posting scores of 9.8, 9.5 and 9.4.

The storyteller glared at me and told me that he was still waiting for his first score in the 9 range.

I felt like such a jerk. I still do. That moment may have irrevocably confirmed my jerk status forever.

But am I supposed to feel gratitude about a second place finish?

Should I rejoice in my excellent, albeit not entirely winning, performance?

Should I just smile and keep my mouth shut?

The latter is probably the best advice, but it is also advice that I have never been able to follow.

I should be happy with all those second place finishes. I should be thrilled with my overall record. I have stumbled upon something I do well and something I unexpectedly love. Two years ago storytelling wasn’t even on my radar. Today it’s an enormous part of my life.

This should be enough.

But it’s not because second place sucks. And I am a jerk for thinking so.

If only he could remain so agreeable

My son has begun to make that transition from baby to little boy. He can speak a few words now, and he’s crawling upright on all fours rather than slithering around the house like a snake.

He’s even stopped putting everything in his mouth for the most part.

Most recently, he’s begun to pull himself upright, sometimes with the help of a piece of furniture and sometimes with the help of his Mommy.

  

I want to tell him that he can stop growing up now. Other than the diapers and the middle-of-the-night wakeup calls, he has reached that perfect age wherein he is mobile and reactive enough to play with for hours, but he’s not yet capable of rejecting any of my ideas or telling me I’m not entertaining enough.

Unfortunately, this moment will last about nine seconds. Before I know it, he will be telling me that my version of hide-and-seek (the real version) is boring and will be adding bizarre rules to the game that I will never quite understand.

I’ll still play, but I will do so in a fog of confusion and misunderstanding. 

Don’t get me wrong:

The next age will be perfect, too, but it’s just nice to have someone so agreeable around the house for a while.

The Moth: Guys in Shower

The following is a story that I told at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bell House in Brooklyn in December of last year. The theme of the night was Courage.

I told a story about being unexpectedly trapped in a shower in a woman’s dorm.

I finished in third place that evening, defeated by my storytelling hero, Steve Zimmer.

Taking a stand against not taking a stand to avoid offending someone

Last week I posted a list of things that I had never done that caused me to feel pride.

I receive quite a bit of pushback on this post. Specifically, readers felt that the list was an indictment of anyone engaging in these behaviors.

I want to address this concern in two ways.

First, I pointed out to my critics that the pride I feel in not doing something does not automatically impugn the behavior or character of someone who does.

The example I used most often was my vegan friends. I know several ethical vegans who take pride in the fact that they do eat meat and do not contribute to the unnecessary death of animals. I understand this sentiment and can appreciate it, but I do not assume that the pride they feel about their diet implies that meat eaters like myself are bad people or that they think less of me.

Even if this was the implication (and it might well be), what the hell do I care if a vegan thinks that eating a cheeseburger makes me bad?

The pride I feel in never having watched a show like The Bachelor should not cause you any angst if you watch the show. If it does, I would suggest that you probably already feel bad about watching the show, and my list is only serving to highlight a feeling that already resides within you.

What the hell do you care what I think if you are doing something that you believe is right?

But here is a more important point:

It would’ve been easy for me to limit my list to less potentially offensive items. I knew that placing things like popular reality television shows, lottery ticket and selfies on the list would risk offending some readers.

But there comes a time when a person has to stand behind unpopular opinions because he or she believes that they are right. While the inclusion of the selfie on the list was admittedly more tongue-in-cheek than the rest, it’s true that I have never taken one nor spoken that word aloud.

But when it comes to The Jersey Shore, The Kardashian people and The Bachelor/Bachelorette, I think these programs are crap and only serve to feed our celebrity-driven, image-obsessed, shallow-end-of-the-pool culture. Many, many people watch these programs and enjoy them, but I wish they wouldn’t. I think they are at best a waste of time and at worst a damaging aspect of our culture.

I feel the same way about lottery tickets, cigarettes and illegal drugs. The fact that I have never purchased or used any of these items admittedly places me in an extreme minority, but I think all three items are to be avoided if at all possible.

I’m taking a stand.

Do I think you should be offended if you buy a Powerball ticket once a week or watch The Bachelor with friends on Monday nights?

No. It’s just one man’s opinion.

I think the idea that a list like this is mean-spirited, snobbish, self serving or divisive is nonsense. We’re too damn careful in today’s world. Too nervous about offending.

It’s stupid to smoke. It’s potentially dangerous and unnecessary to use illegal drugs. It’s economically unsound to purchase lottery tickets. And it only serves to perpetuate and enhance this celebrity-obsessed culture by turning on The Bachelor or The Jersey Shore.

This is how I feel.

I also believe that the National Football League probably contributes to violence in our culture and is permanently damaging the bodies and brains of its players. It’s clearly the the stupidest of the major sports in terms of safety and its contribution to our culture. Yet I am a season ticket holder and an enormous fan of the game.

Am I angry at myself for impugning my own behavior?

Of course not.

Am I a bad person for continuing to support this questionable sport.

No.

But I think doing so is at least a little stupid.

I am fine if you think the same.

This is how I feel about the items of my list. I think it is probably at least a little stupid to engage in them, and with some of them, I think it’s profoundly stupid. But we all engage in stupid behavior. My list simply highlights the ones that I have managed to avoid so far.

If I want to be proud of myself for having avoided cigarettes, lottery tickets, swearing in the presence of my mother and The Jersey Shore, this should not bother you. If it does, make your own damn list. I’m sure you have plenty to be proud of, and perhaps some of the items on your list are things that I do every day.  

Maybe that will make you feel better.

A hard roll is actually soft. You probably knew that already, but I didn’t.

For the first 35 years of my life, I never ordered an egg sandwich on a hard roll because who the hell would want an egg sandwich on a hard roll?

Except it turns out that a hard roll isn’t hard. It’s soft.

Elysha pointed this out to me when we started dating. We were having breakfast at a local diner and she ordered her sandwich on a hard roll. When I asked her why she didn’t prefer a soft roll, she said that a hard roll was soft.

I thought she was crazy, but it turns out that she was right.

I had been relegated to English muffins, bagels and the occasional croissant for 35 years because some jackass mislabeled a soft roll as hard simply because of its slightly crusty exterior.

Fold a shirt in under 2 seconds

I’ve tried it about half a dozen times so far and have failed every time.

I’m not giving up.

Beauty pageants must end now.

I would like to propose that every man, woman and child in the United States sign a pledge refusing to participate in or watch any beauty pageant like the Miss USA Pageant ever again.

Pageants are bizarre and awful. Teams of  judges stare at young women in ball gowns and swimsuits and score them on their physical appearance. In the case of the most recent Miss USA Pageant, the judges included an NFL player, a professional wrestler and at least three reality television stars, so the choice of judges is apparently based upon the probability of increasing viewership for the telecast.

Then contestants are asked to answer randomly chosen public policy questions, which result in embarrassing, incoherent, inexplicably stupid moments like this one from last week’s Miss USA Pageant:

Not as bad as the South Carolinian from the Miss Teen USA Pageant in 2007, but still pretty stupid.

What the hell are we doing?

As the father of a little girl, I’m horrified and disgusted that she will be growing up in a world in which these pageants still exist and are broadcast on national television in primetime.

What kind of person even watches a show like this?

The process of judging young women on their physical appearance is disgusting. The inherent sexism behind the existence of these pageants is appalling. I can’t begin to imagine why a parent would want to involve his or her daughter in the pageant process. 

If we could all agree to never involve ourselves or our children in the pageant process and (more importantly) look away when they air these vile programs on television, then the cattle calls of pretty women in swimsuits strutting across a stage so that a football players and reality television stars can assess their curves will eventually come to an end.