Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 488
January 28, 2013
Previous me.
Elysha made this South Park figure of me about eight years ago. It’s a good example of how much can change in just eight short years.
At the time, the iPhone and wireless Bluetooth headsets did not exist, so I am holding an iPod and wearing wired headphones.
Just think: In 2004, most of us weren’t texting, using Facebook or Twitter, navigating with GPS or accessing the Internet on a mobile device.
It’s hard to even imagine that now.
In 2004 I owned an AT&T 8525, which was the geek phone for its day. It had a slide-out keyboard and could make phone calls, check email and access a bastardized version of some websites.
It was a dinosaur by today’s standards, but at the time, it was the best phone on the market.
The cards in my hand are a reflection of the amount of poker I was playing at the time. I had a weekly home game, and I was playing online as well.
I actually paid for our honeymoon through poker winnings.
I’ve since realized that writing is more profitable for me than poker, so I play a lot less. My home game went away as my friends began having children and becoming less and less available. Though I’d still be willing to host a weekly game, I was struggling to get even four players to the table each week.
The US government also made online poker illegal in 2010. The largest online sites were immediately shut down and the online game became considerably harder to play.
No more fish. Just sharks. While poker remain profitable for me, I am no longer winning at the rates I was even three years ago.
I can’t help but wonder what my South Park figure would look like if Elysha decided to make one today. What would she put in my hands now? What does she she as my primary distractions?
Though your first instinct might be an iPhone, everyone has a iPhone or its equivalent in their pocket today. Though many people owned an iPod in 2004, few were using it with the frequency that I was, and even fewer were playing poker as often as me.
So maybe it would be an iPhone, but I don’t think so. If that were the case, everyone’s South Park figure would be holding a phone.
I think my wife is more creative than that. Maybe she’ll make one and we can see.
January 27, 2013
Amazon’s new policy on book reviews did not impact me thanks to the quality of my friends and family.
You may have heard that Amazon has a new policy when it comes to online book reviews. From a piece in The New York Times:
Giving raves to family members is no longer acceptable. Neither is writers’ reviewing other writers. But showering five stars on a book you admittedly have not read is fine.
After several well-publicized cases involving writers buying or manipulating their reviews, Amazon is cracking down. Writers say thousands of reviews have been deleted from the shopping site in recent months.
Upon reading this,I immediately clicked over to Amazon to see the damage that this new policy had inflicted upon the reviews of my books.
Then I remembered:
My friends and family don’t review my books on Amazon. Or anywhere else.
MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND currently has 131 reviews (a 4.3 average), and with the exception of my mother-in-law, I don’t think a single review came from a personal friend or family member.
SOMETHING MISSING currently has 81 reviews (a 4.1 average), and I don’t think any of my friends or family members, including my mother-in-law, reviewed this book.
UNEXPEXTEDLY, MILO currently has a slightly anemic 25 reviews (a 4.2 average), but since there were so few reviews, I took the time to scroll through them all and did not recognize any of the names as being friends or family.
While it may seem like I’m complaining about the loyalty and support of friends and family (and I sort of am), I also take a lot of pride in the fact that none of the reviews of my books on Amazon, Goodreads or anywhere else have been given by friends or family members, nor have I ever solicited a review from anyone.
It’s great to know that I’m doing just fine on my own, since I am apparently doing this on my own.
January 26, 2013
My daughter’s first day
I write to my children everyday and post my words on a blog for them to read someday. In light of my daughter;s fourth birthday, I went back and re-read the post written on her first day of life. I thought I’d share.
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Our day began yesterday, at 11:53 PM, little one, when you mother awoke me from twenty minutes of glorious sleep to inform me that her water had broken. In fact, it was still breaking as I awoke. I could hear the splashing from the bed. Despite the hours of birthing class and hundreds of pages that Mommy and I read on pregnancy, we both stared at one another and asked, “What do we do?”
It was at this point that both us fell into an “I told you so” situation. For me, I doubted that your mother was experiencing contractions, since the brutal, possibly hedonist midwife earlier that day had told me that there was “no mistaking contractions.” Since your mom said that she thought it might be contractions, I assumed that she was experiencing cramps and that we should probably not go to the hospital yet.
Your mother, in a bit of a panic, insisted that we go and refused my suggestion to call the doctor first and bring Kaleigh to the Casper’s house before heading off. Less than fifteen minutes later, she was on the phone with the doctor, and for a moment, she was wishing that the Caspers weren’t already on their way to our home.
Oh well. Mommy and Daddy aren’t always perfect.
After loading up the car and waiting for Jane to arrive to pick up Kaleigh, we were off, leaving the house at 12:30.
Seven minutes later, we arrived at the hospital, and I dropped Mommy off in order to park the car. I said, “Don’t wait for me. Just go up.”
She replied, “There’ll be no waiting for you” and exited the car.
I admit that I secretly hoped that by the time I made it up to the sixth floor, you would be well on your way out.
No such luck.
Mommy was filling out paperwork with a nurse when I arrived in the delivery center, and it was at this time that I finally understood the degree of Mommy’s pain. As she was being asked questions, her responses were not coherent. Of course, her contractions were coming every three to four minutes, which explained the pain.
After being led to our room, we met Cassie, the first of two nurses who we would come to adore throughout the process. Cassie was with us throughout the evening, making us comfortable and helping us to catch a few hours of sleep. After arriving, we learned that Mommy was almost entirely effaced but not dilated at all. We were shocked. On the way over, we took wagers on how dilated she would be. She said 4 centimeters would make her happy, and I was hoping for 7.
Zero was a disappointment.
Thankfully, our humanitarian doctor, who doesn’t believe that women should ever suffer through childbirth, offered to administer the epidural immediately, even though birthing class instructors informed us that it would not be done before 4 centimeters. This was the first of what we discovered to be several false statements made by birthing class instructors, including their assertion that the hospital had no Wi-Fi, which I am using at this moment.
I left the room for the epidural (though Cassie said I could stay, which my birthing instructor said would never happen), and even though Mommy hasn’t said much about it, it seemed to go well. The anesthesiologist was a bit of a jerk, but otherwise, the needle, the meds, and all the horrifying aspects of this procedure went off without a hitch. Mommy was terrified during this process, possibly more than any other time in her life, but she held up like a trooper.
With the epidural on board, the pain vanished, the lights were turned off, and Mommy and I managed to sleep for a couple fitful hours. The chair that I attempted to sleep in was a device that harkened back to the Spanish Inquisition. It was torture on my neck and back. I later found the wisdom to open it into a bed and sleep soundly for an hour or two. We slept from about 2:00-4:00, when Cassie checked Mommy again and found her fully effaced and 4 centimeters dilated. Lights went out again until 6:00, when Cassie checked and found Mommy fully dilated.
Hooray! I expected a baby before breakfast and said as much.
Mommy began pushing at 6:30, but in the midst of a shift change, in which Cassie left us and Catherine took over, it was decided to allow you to drop some more on your own before resuming to push.
When Catherine first appeared, we didn’t know who she was, but being the woman she is, your mother immediately requested her name and rank, and we learned that Cassie was leaving us. Cassie was wonderful; an easy going, friendly, and warm woman with three young kids of her own who was perfect for helping us to rest and relax during the night.
Catherine was warm and friendly as well, but she was also a bit of a drill sergeant, specific and demanding in her orders, and it was just what your Mommy needed when she began pushing again around 8:00. This was the hardest time for your mother. She pushed consistently from 8:00 until 11:30, but because of the placement of your mother’s pubic bone and the angle of your head, you simply would not come out. The vacuum was attempted briefly, but at last, it was determined that a c-section would need to be done.
A few interesting notes from the pushing:
Several times, Catherine encouraged Mommy to find some anger to help her push. “Get mad,” she would say. “Find something to be angry about.” Your mother continually asserted that she had nothing in her life with which to be angry. Finally, Catherine acknowledged that she was dealing with the sweetest person on the planet.
Your mother never yelled at me and never uttered a single word of profanity during the entire process.
Throughout the pushing, I was receiving and sending texts to your grandmother, Justine, and Cindy, who were all dying to find out what was going on. I also managed to update my Facebook and Twitter accounts throughout the morning.
When the vacuum was brought into play, the room filled with about eight doctors and nurses. At one point, a nurse asked me to hold your mom’s leg, which I had been doing all morning. Catherine said, “Not him. He doesn’t get off of that stool.” Though I didn’t feel queasy or weak in the knees, she saw something in me that indicated otherwise. Later I was sent out of the room to “drink some juice.”
When the decision was made to extract you via c-section, things got fast and furious and I left your mom for the first time today in order to don a pair of scrubs while she was rolled into the operating room and prepped. It was at this time that I was forced to remove my Superman tee-shirt, which had been specifically chosen for the event. I wanted your first glimpses of me to be reminiscent of the man of steel.
The best laid plans of mice and men.
When I entered the operating room, the doctors were already working on your mother, and I inadvertently caught a view of her before I was ushered to a stool behind the screen and told not to move.
It was my least favorite moment of the delivery. A nurse grabbed me by the arms, said, “Put your head down and move” and got me onto a stool behind the protective sheet.
Sitting beside your mom’s head and three anesthesiologists who were busy at work injecting Mommy with more medicine than I could have ever imagined, I listened and waited with her. It took about fifteen minutes before I heard your first cries and one of the doctors leaned over the screen and said, “Here it comes. Do you want to know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Yes,” we said in unison.
“It looks like… a girl,” he said, and immediately thereafter, the docs behind the screen began confirming your sex. We began crying while we listened to your first cry and caught our first glimpses of you as a nurse was preparing to weigh you. A couple minutes later, after managing a 9/9 on your apgar scores, you were handed to me, the first time I have ever held an infant without the protection of a sofa and many cushions.
You were simply beautiful.
Because of the position that Mommy was still in, she wasn’t able to see you well until Catherine finally took you from my nervous arms, flipped you upside down like a football, and held your face to hers.
I’ll never forget this moment.
Your mom was forced to remain on the table, arms outstretched and pinned, for more than an hour while the doctors stitched her up. She began to go a little stir crazy for a while, unable to move and shivering uncontrollably, and we tried to calm her by massaging her shoulders and rubbing her arms.
Eventually the surgery ended, and you were finally handed to Mommy. The two of you were rolled into Recovery while I had the pleasure of telling your grandparents, Aunty Emily, and soon-to-be Uncle Michael all about you. There were many tears. Your grandfather laughed, your grandmother cried, and in keeping with her character, Emily was indignant over her inability to see you and her sister immediately.
It’s almost 9:00 PM, and we are now sitting in our room, resting and chatting. You are asleep and have been for the past few hours. I must leave soon in order to go home so that I can teach tomorrow and use my time off when you and your mom are at home. My students will be thrilled to see your photos and hear all about you.
For your mother, the three plus hours of pushing were her greatest challenge of the day. For me, the greatest challenge will be leaving this room tonight and not taking you with me. I want nothing more than to hold you in my arms for the next week.
We love you so much, little one. Welcome to the world.
Best of 2013
The first fifteen minutes of Clara’s birthday were the best fifteen minutes of my year thus far.
Could someone please invent a way to stop the aging process immediately?
January 25, 2013
Imaginary friends make cheap dates
Yesterday I proposed that imaginary friends are becoming a thing.
More evidence that this is the case.
Four years old today!
Best four years of my life. Presumably of my daughter’s life, too.
Imaginary friends selling cars
I’ve tried to imagine what Budo, the imaginary friend protagonist of MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND (who happens to watch a lot of television) would think of this.
I can’t. I think it might blow his mind.
Clara’s infamous Christmas Day poop
We spent Christmas day at our friends house and had a lot of fun.
Clara opened a few gifts that were waiting for her under their tree, Charlie got passed around from person to person quite a bit, and Clara had her infamous poop with our friend, Phil.
At the end of dinner, Phil appeared in the dining room and informed us that he had just been taken by the hand to the bathroom by our daughter for a poop.
Mind you, Clara doesn’t know Phil all that well. She has seen him about three times in her entire life, and she doesn’t know his name.
Nevertheless, she needed to poop, found Phil passing by in a hallway and asked him to bring you to the bathroom.
Phil asked if he should get me or Elysha, but Clara said no. He could take her.
We couldn’t believe it. We still can’t believe it.
Like every other time I have taken Clara to the bathroom, she demanded that Phil “cuddle” her while she sat on the toilet, and as always, she demanded silence, too. Even praise upon completion of the bathroom process is frowned upon by my daughter.
When she finished, she left the bathroom, but not before introducing herself to Phil by saying, “I’m Clara.”
Elysha and I were in tears listening to this story. We still laugh when we think about it today. We are also slightly terrified about what might happen the next time she needs to use the bathroom and stumbles upon someone someone other than me or Elysha, but thankfully, she is becoming more and more independent by the day.
There will come a day (soon I hope) when she will no longer require simultaneous cuddles and silence from me and Elysha (and strangers) while taking care of her business.
That’s one piece of growing up that I won’t mind a bit.
January 24, 2013
Guys as friends
When I hear a woman say that she doesn’t get along with other women and prefers guys as friends, I think, “THAT IMPRESSES NO ONE, YOU TRAITOROUS, INAUTHENTIC, CLICHÉ JERK FACE.”
Just sayin’.
