Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 465

Twinkle Twinkle cruelty

I have never seen a child love a sibling more than my daughter loves her brother. It’s truly remarkable. Clara routinely approaches strangers in restaurants, parks and stores to tell them about her little brother.

This is even more surprising given that the first time she met Charlie and realized he was a boy, she wailed in soul-crushing agony on the floor of the hospital waiting room for about 15 seconds before immediately recovering and becoming instantly infatuated with him.

Still, that doesn’t mean she’s not capable of an occasional act of cruelty, particularly when it comes to her toys. Sharing is the one area that she is willing to be less-than-kind to her brother, as you will see in this video.

It starts out cute but ends up cruel.

You need not travel far to see aliens

Before you start dreaming of traveling to strange, new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, don’t forget to check out this square mile of our own planet for some alien life forms.

The Seas Strangest Square Mile. from Shark Bay Films on Vimeo.

The secret of the first follower

This is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

It’s also what I often lack when I propose a new idea. Perhaps I have less charisma than the half naked dancing man in the video.

The Office finale: Near perfect

I love The Office.

I loved the British version of the show, and I loved the slightly less brutish American version even more.

It ended last week, and I am sad. I will miss those characters deeply.

It occurred to me that Elysha and I started watching the show at the onset of our relationship. Jim, Pam and Dwight have been with us for as long as we have been together.

I don’t think I have ever been as emotionally invested in the relationship between two television characters as I have been with Jim and Pam. It bordered on obsessive at times. I’d find myself sitting in a restaurant, enjoying dinner with friends, and suddenly I’d be worried that Jim and Pam might never get together. This year I was legitimately angry with the writers of the show for introducing discord into their relationship.

It was bizarre. I often wondered why I cared so much about them.

During this series finale, I realized why.

In one of the many memorable lines from the final episode, Creed Bratton says:

It all seems so very arbitrary. I applied for a job at this company because they were hiring. I took a desk at the back because it was empty. But no matter how you get there or where you end up, human beings have this miraculous gift to make that place home. 

A minute later, Jim says:

Even if I didn’t love every minute of it, everything I have I owe to this job.

Then I realized it.

I am Jim.

Elysha is Pam.

That is why I care so much so much about them.

Like Creed said, my marriage to Elysha seems so arbitrary.

I chose to work at my school because they were hiring. I had already been hired to work in Newington and was scheduled to sign my contract the following day, but a principal in West Hartford called and asked me to come in for an interview. I was mowing the lawn, and because I was nearly finished with the front yard, I thought, “What the hell?” Might as well get some more interview experience.”

I had a terrible interview. I didn’t take it as seriously as I should. I immediately regretted everything that I said once I realized that this school was a perfect fit for me, but somehow I got the job anyway.

Elysha chose our school three years later after nearly deciding to work in Farmington instead. Like Pam, she was engaged to be married when she arrived at our school. I was newly single. We became friends first, and after Elysha called off her engagement and we both dated other people for about a year, we finally came together.

Much like Jim and Pam.

Almost exactly like Jim and Pam.

Even if I didn’t love every minute of it, I, like Jim, owe everything I have to my job. My wife. My children. Even my writing career. Had I not enjoyed the support and encouragement of Elysha, I might still be writing the first few chapters of failed books.

I might have quit by now.

Unlike Jim, I love my job most of the time, but I would not be married to the most amazing woman in the world and have these two perfect little children had we not come together as seemingly arbitrarily as Creed described it.

No wonder why I suffered so when Jim and Pam were apart. I saw us in them.

Except for the fact that it signals the end of the series, I loved the season finale of The Office. It was damn near perfect.

Other excellent decisions from the season finale included:

A limited role for Steve Carell’s character, who left the show three years ago. It was right that Michael Scott return, but it was also right that he not be the focus of the episode. He was gone too long to return as the star. At it’s heart, The Office has always been about Jim and Pam and Dwight anyway. It was right to keep the attention directed on them.

Actually, I think the show has always been about Pam more than anyone else, so it was fitting that the last voice we heard was Pam’s.

I also loved the ending for almost every character.

Toby gains a moment of mediocre acceptance. Perfect.

Dwight becomes manager, marries Angela, and declares that Pam is his best friend. Perfect.

Stanley is retired and divorced. Perfect.

Andy is off to Cornell, a place where he always belonged, after delivering this brilliant line:

I wish there was a way to know that you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.

Perfect.

Darryl is leaving the place that he despised for so many years for a much brighter future, and yet he finds himself inexplicably lamenting his departure. Perfect.

Phyllis, Erin and Oscar remain in The Office, as they should. Perfect.

I didn’t love the idea of Creed being arrested, but for those less savvy Office fans, it was great to let them in on the secret that Creed Bratton was playing himself for the entire series. Creed Bratton was a musician in the popular 1960’s band The Grass Roots. I learned about this after listening to Creed perform a version of Spinnin’ and Wheelin’ in an episode years ago. The producers of The Office never concealed this fact, but unless you did your homework, you would never have known that Creed Bratton was a real person operating in a fictional world.

I thought that the ending for Kelly, Ryan and Nellie was a misstep. While it was fine for Kelly and Ryan to come together for what will most assuredly be another failed fling, the idea that Kelly would leave her husband for Ryan, who would then abandon his baby to Kelly’s husband, a pediatric doctor, and then that doctor would pass the baby off to Nellie with the suggestion that she call child protective services, and then Nellie would illegally adopt the child and take him back to Europe was too much to believe, even for The Office.

Not a satisfying or decent end to any of those characters.   

But other than that mistake, it was a perfect series finale. Pam’s decision to take her painting of the office with her was excellent. We all want that painting. We all want to take The Office with us. Keep it close. And it was a perfect final nod to Michael, the person for whom the series centered upon for so long.

The series ended with the words of Pam Beasley. Her words not only spoke to the nature of the show and the characters who populated it, but they also spoke to Pam herself, the simple receptionist who won the heart of Jim and so many viewers over the years:

There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that kind of the point?

Perfect.

My daughter wants to dance, but the dance recital machine sucks. What are we to do?

My daughter has requested dance lessons, and based upon the enthusiasm and talent displayed in this video, my wife and I will have to get her some soon.

 

Here’s the thing:

We want our daughter to learn to dance, but we’d like to find a studio that does not require us to participate in a three hour dance recital full of half-naked girls shaking parts of their bodies that should never be shaken.

We don’t want to sit through a recital that opens with a performance by the owner of the studio or a team of instructors.

We don’t want to sit through a recital that ends with children receiving awards based solely upon the length of time that parents have been paying the dance lesson bill.

We don’t want to be forced into spending exurbanite sums on professional-grade costumes that will be worn once.

We don’t want our daughter’s face plastered in professional-grade makeup in order to dance for two minutes onstage.

We would love our daughter to learn to dance at a studio where the disturbing and exploitive trappings of the dance recital do not exist. We want her to understand that dance is a combination of expression and creativity and exercise, absent the skin and makeup and sexualized dance moves.

Anyone know of such a place?

A victory at The Moth Boston

Elysha and I attended the Moth StorySLAM in Boston last night, and I was fortunate enough to squeeze out a victory by a tenth of a point over two worthy competitors for my fourth StorySLAM victory. It was my first time telling a story in the state where I grew up, and it was a lot of fun.

I told a story about my realization as a child that hard work, effort and creativity cannot always overcome the material shortfalls and economic disadvantages associated with of poverty.

At its heart, the story was about the time when my childhood friend received a new ten-speed bike for his birthday and my subsequent realization that I would never defeat him in a bike race again, no matter how hard I tried, as long as I continued to ride my ancient, knobby-wheeled Huffy hand-me-down.

I managed to defeat two outstanding storytellers who both told hilarious and compelling tales from their youth as well. One told a story about how be became a vegetarian for five years just to win a bet against his older brother. The other told a story about the way in which Quentin Tarentino helped her try to win the heart of her high school English teacher.  

Both stories were equally deserving of the win.

Thoughts from an evening:

1. This was my third attempt to attend a Boston StorySLAM. My first two trips were canceled due to a blizzard and the marathon bombing, so when hail the size of acorns began pelting our car on the Mass Pike, I began to wonder the universe was urging me to stay away from Bean Town.

Thankfully, we make it to Boston safely, though I thought Elysha was going to kill me when I refused to pull off the highway in the midst of the storm.

2. Attending The Moth in Boston was a lot like attending my first StorySLAM in New York back in July of 2011. I stepped into The Oberon not knowing a soul, much the same way I entered the Nuyorican Poet’s Café on my first night of storytelling almost two years ago. When I attend a StorySLAM in New York today, I always have friends in the audience. Many are fellow storytellers, Moth staff and producers, but there are also audience members who recognize me as a storyteller and make me feel at home. As loud and crowded and seemingly intimidating as a New York Moth event may be, it’s also a warm and inviting place for me to tell a story.

I was a complete stranger to the Boston audience. In truth, it was the first StorySLAM for most of the people in the audience last night. The Moth opened its doors just six month ago in Boston, and though their shows are consistently selling out, the audiences are still new to the format, and they are just beginning to build a base of regular attendees.

3. As the show began, there were only seven names in the hat. Unlike a New York StorySLAM, where there are always at least ten names in the hat and almost always many more, producers encouraged audience members to put their names in the hat at intermission to fill the ten storytelling slots for the evening, and they did. The number of names in the hat eventually swelled to 13, and in many ways, the second half of the show was much stronger than the first.

4. Even though it was my first time in Boston, I already started making friends with my fellow storytellers. It’s quite remarkable. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done in my life in which I want to absolutely destroy my competition while at the same time hope they do exceptionally well.

Winning a StorySLAM is an amazing feeling, but losing to great stories doesn’t hurt so much.

At the end of the show, I found myself chatting with storytellers onstage, sharing insight and advice when asked. Storytelling is new for many of them, and upon learning that I tell stories in New York, many were eager to pick my brain for tips. Unlike any other competitive situation, I gave willingly. 

5. My name was the fifth drawn from the hat, which is much better than first or second but still a tough spot to be with such strong storytellers in the second half of the show. Of the four times that I have won a StorySLAM, my name has been drawn tenth, second, ninth and fifth.

6. During intermission, a guy sitting next to me asked if I was feeling more relaxed now that I had told my story. I said no. I explained that I truly love telling stories onstage, so when I tell my story during the first half of the show, my favorite part of the evening has come to an end.

While I am always grateful to have my name chosen at all, I often find myself sitting through the second half of the show thinking about what my next story will be for my next StorySLAM.

In short, when I’m finished telling my story, I already can’t wait to get back onstage again. 

Even I haven’t made this golf shot yet.

“Book club date night” is probably not the most romantic way to spend an evening with your wife

Since publishing my first novel in 2009, I’ve visited with more than one hundred book clubs throughout Connecticut and beyond, oftentimes in person and many times via conference call, Skype or a similar platform. I’ve video chatted with books clubs in Canada, Finland, Australia and the UK as well as clubs throughout the United States.

Last week I joined 23 women in my home state who had read my first novel, SOMETHING MISSING.

This particular meeting took place on a late Wednesday afternoon, but when the book club meets on a Friday or Saturday night, I make every effort to bring Elysha along and declare it “book club date night.”

Don’t try this at home.

Essentially, I’m asking my wife to join me at a stranger’s home and spend two hours listening to women (it’s always women) ask me questions about my books and my life while telling me how much they enjoy my work.

It’s rare for someone to tell me that they did not like my book. I try to arrive about 15 minutes late to every book club in order to allow any detractors to have their say before I arrive, but there have been a couple of women over the years who have been less than enthusiastic about my work and not afraid to tell me so.

I always admire these women for their moxie while simultaneously questioning their taste in literature. 

I’m always honored to be invited to attend a book club, and it’s fun to be able to talk to people who have read my novel already. The conversations tend to be deeper and more specific, and the food and drink is always surprisingly elaborate and good. Book clubs have even gone so far as to decorate the space in the theme of the book and design games for us to play related to the story.

It can be a lot of fun.

But still, asking your wife to join you for a stranger’s book club meeting on a Friday night might not be the best way to win points with your spouse. To her credit, Elysha almost always agrees to join me and always seems to have a great time.

Many times she almost becomes a part of the book club, sitting apart from me and chatting with the women like she’s known them all her life. Occasionally questions will be directed at her as the spouse of the writer, and sometimes she will even direct questions at me as well.

At the book club pictured below, the love seat was set aside for the two of us, but Elysha refused, choosing instead to sit amidst the ladies on the soda and chatting them up all night long.

I complained about her unwillingness to sit beside me, but I shouldn’t.

Getting her to agree to join me is always a victory.

Another Yes Man

Back in January, Andy Mayo and I debuted our rock opera, The Clowns, at The Playhouse on Park. During our two weeks of workshop with the actors, musicians and director, there were three performances of the show.

At the Saturday evening show, a man named Kevin Eldridge was present in the audience.

Kevin grew up with me in my hometown of Blackstone, Massachusetts. He was a year or two older than me, but we lived on the same street and took the same bus to school everyday. Kevin and I were the only male flute players in the school system at the time.

Despite our geographic proximity, we were not friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, but we did not spend any time together.

Kevin went to a private school for high school and I continued my journey through public school. For more than twenty-five years, I did not see or hear from Kevin. In truth, I didn’t see or hear much from Kevin when we were kids, either.

Then Kevin heard about my writing career and read one of my novels. He began following me on the Internet. He discussed my book on his podcast.

In reading my blog and becoming a Facebook friend, Kevin heard about The Clowns and surprised me by driving with his wife from their home in Massachusetts on a Saturday night in January to see the performance.

Three hours on the road to see the workshop version of a musical written by a kid who he used to ride the school bus with in elementary school.

Last month Kevin surprised me again by showing up for our first Speak Up storytelling event, this time with his podcast co-host, Cornflake.

Once again, I was both honored and stunned.

It turns out that Kevin and I are cut from the same cloth.

Kevin does not know me well. He did not know what to expect from either event. He was potentially driving three hours from his home to watch a failed attempt at unproven, experimental  entertainment.

But what were his options?

He could’ve stayed home on Saturday night, as so many others did, watching television or going to bed early.

Or he could’ve taken a chance on something new and far away and potentially entertaining and memorable.

Kevin said yes when so many said no.

I like to think that people like Kevin will find themselves with considerably fewer regrets at the end of their life.

Snoozing

What’s cuter? The two kids sleeping in the back seat or the doggy in the car seat between them?