Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 474

Fraggle Rock is obsessed with death

I bought the complete box set of Fraggle Rock for my wife last year. We both loved the show as children, and we will presumably introduce our children to it at some point.

In truth, I couldn’t remember why I liked the show so much as a child. I’ve never been one for musical numbers performed by puppets.

But after seeing this, I understand why.

Ends badly

I play tag with my daughter almost every night. It’s her favorite game.

Other than the fact that she still believes that the person who is “It” is the one being chased, she’s quite good at the game. She doesn’t quit, even when I’ve forced her to chase me around the house a dozen times or more.

My girl has stamina.

Since tag has been such an enormous part of our life, I had hoped to capture some of these moments on film for posterity, but it turns out that playing tag and recording videos should not be done simultaneously, as you will see:

Raiders of the Lost Ark most overlooked flaw: Indiana Jones need not apply

The most overlooked flaw of Raiders of the Lost Ark is this:

Indiana Jones is superfluous to the story. Had he refused the mission and remained back at the college, the Nazis would’ve found the Ark on their own, brought it to the island, opened it and died the same horrible death.

Nothing changes with the introduction of Indiana Jones to the story.

The story’s protagonist is completely unnecessary.

Still, I love the movie.

Pixar’s bathroom. Eddie Van Halen’s M&Ms. Enough. We got it.

I’ve heard the story of Pixar’s bathrooms about a thousand times now. Enough. I get it. People peeing together make for great collaboration and great film.

I’ve also heard the Van Halen brown M&M story a thousand times, too. Brown M&M’s equal contract accountability. I got it.

Last week I heard the M&M story told on a business podcast as if it were something new and enlightening.

I also heard the Pixar bathroom story on a similar podcast and read about it on a science blog. In both cases, the story was told in its entirety.  

I’d like to officially propose a five year moratorium on both these stories.

I don’t want to read about them in any social science, business or behavioral economics books. I don’t want to find them in any journal articles or magazine pieces or science blogs. I don’t want to hear them discussed on television or on a podcast.

Can we all agree that everyone has either heard these two stories by now or don’t read or watch or listen to the kind of material that would ever expose them to these two stories?

Find some new stories. Please?

Baby needs a pillow

Our son has been waking up in the middle of the night a few times a week for the past couple weeks.

Sometimes he goes back to sleep. Sometimes Elysha has to nurse him.

No wonder he keeps waking up. This doesn’t look very comfortable.

I am a library maker.

Clara told me that I am a “library maker.”

“Because you make books, Daddy,” she said.

She could’ve burned the house down and spent all the money in the checking account on chocolate ice cream and doll house furniture (her two favorite things), and I still wouldn’t have punished her today.

Spamming scumbags of the week

Each week, amongst the many interesting, insightful and occasionally scathing comments on my blog, I find comments by businesses and/or spammers who are clever enough to construct comments that avoid spam detection technology.

I delete these comments and ban their IP address, but I know that I will be doing the same thing again tomorrow for a new spamming scumbag.

In response, I’ve decided to write one post each week that highlights these businesses that either engage in this spamming behavior on their own or have hired spammers to do it for them. My intent is to shame these vile companies and damage their business in the process.

I realize that both goals are unlikely to be achieved, but attempting to do so will make me feel good, and that is enough.

This week I present two scumbags to you:

The first is Kasper Suits, which claims to be “one of the most stylish and popular options for ladies in the workplace.” 

If they are so popular, why are they spamming blogs like mine? I know the answer. It’s because they are scumbags.

I suggest that if you are a lady in need of a suit, you go to Nordstrom. My wife adores the store, and my one experience with Nordstrom customer service was outstanding.

Next is The Law Offices of WT Johnson, a personal injury attorney in Dallas, Texas who apparently has forgone ambulance chasing in lieu of spamming.

If you are in Dallas and need a personal injury attorney, I suggest you ignore this spamming scumbag and opt instead for The Law Offices of Frank L. Branson. Located just minutes from spamming scumbag W.T. Johnson, Frank won the Distinguished Service Award for Vietnam Veterans of America. Forbes also named him one of the most successful trial attorneys in America.

The greatest brownie spokesperson on the planet today

In the event that Dunkin Hines or one of its competitors is looking for a spokesperson for its Brownie mix, I may have just the person for you.

My wife’s Brownies are made from scratch, but I’m sure that Clara can be equally cute for anything out of the box.

For the right price, of course.

   

A hovercraft on a golf course: I officially live in the future.

Golf season is upon us, and I can’t wait to start playing again.

I almost always walk when I play, but if given the chance to ride this, I might never walk again.

People say the craziest things at author talks

Author and friend Nichole Bernier recently wrote an amusing (and occasionally disturbing) piece in the Huffington Post about the strangest things ever said to authors at book events.

I thought I’d share a few of my own.

At one of my first book talks for the launch of SOMETHING MISSING, a woman asked, “How do your ex-girlfriends play a role in your fiction?”

When I asked about the inspiration begins her unusual question, she said, “You look like the kind of guy with a lot of ex-girlfriends.”

I’m still not sure what she was implying.

Recently I was discussing my newest book, MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, at a local library. One of the gentlemen in the audience identified himself as autistic and asked, “Do you know what the cause of autism is?”

After stating that there was no definitive answer to that question, he said, “Autism is caused by inbreeding. My parents were first cousins.”

I pointed out that perhaps his parents would prefer that information like that remain private and quickly changed the subject.

During an appearance at the Hartford Public Library a year ago, a less-than-stable audience member rose up halfway through my answer to another audience member’s  question and shouted, “Where are the damn donuts?”

I told her that I tried to avoid donuts whenever possible.

At a recent book club appearance, I was asked about my religious beliefs. I described myself as a reluctant atheist who wishes he could believe in a greater power but hasn’t been able to do so yet.

A woman asked, “Can I pray for you?”

“Sure,” I said. “Knock yourself out.”

“Can I pray for you constantly?”

“Sure,” I repeated, with considerably greater trepidation.

Lastly, a woman at another book club meeting had read my biography earlier that day and inquired about my two near death experiences and the  armed robbery that I experienced. After giving her some details about each event, she asked, “Do you think the universe hates you?”

“As long it doesn’t kill me,” I said, “I don’t care what it thinks of me.”