Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 49

“Don’t let the old man in”

Mike Lombardi, in his newsletter “The Daily Coach” told this story:

The late, great country music singer Toby Keith was on the golf course with his hero, actor, director, and Academy Award winner Clint Eastwood.

Eastwood told Keith between shots that he was heading to Augusta, Georgia, in the morning to begin shooting for his new movie, “The Mule.”

Upon arrival in Georgia, Eastwood would star, direct, and produce the movie, all at the tender age of 88. Keith was surprised to learn that Eastwood had the bandwidth and energy to handle the rigors of directing and acting.

The question running through Keith’s head was how Eastwood could keep his motivation levels so high. Eastwood told Keith that he needed to keep moving, stay highly active, get outdoors, and enjoy the fresh air, and then said something that made Keith pause and take note:

“You can’t let the old man in.”

Keith later wrote a song called “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”

I love this admonition.

I love it so much.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

“Don’t let the old man (or woman or person) in” warns against complacency, stagnation, and expectation.

It says, “You only get old if you let yourself get old.”

It screams, “Live like a young man, and you will remain a young man.”

It demands that you constantly look to the next horizon. Seek new challenges. Do new things. Do hard things. Don’t slow down. Keep moving forward into uncharted territory. Never stop.

“Don’t let the old man in” reflects a desire to live each day on your feet, in the company of others, doing things, going places, and making things. It’s an absolute rejection of the sofa, sleeping in, and slowing down.

“Don’t let the old man in” warns that a day will come when you need to slow down but fight it. Don’t simply slow down because the number of times you’ve traveled around the sun has reached a certain number. Get the most out of every mile your body and mind will allow.

“Don’t let the old man in” demands that you avoid spending your days talking about how you’re getting older, how rapidly the world has changed, and how you miss the good old days.

“Don’t let the old man in,” says, “These are the good old days, damn it. Just as long as you allow them to be.”

I know people—good friends—who have “let the old man in.”

It’s a damn tragedy.

In his song, Toby Keith offers his own suggestion:

“Ask yourself how old you would be if you didn’t know the day you were born.”

Brilliant.

Keith asks, “Do you feel your age? Are you acting your age? Are you living like someone your age?

It’s such a fascinating question. An important one, too.

I spend enormous amounts of time in the company of people younger than me. Many of these younger people are my students who I berate daily by saying, “I am four decades older than you, and I have more energy than all of you!”

Disappointingly, they often agree. Rather than opposing my statement and proving me wrong, they resign themselves to the fact that their teacher seemingly has more energy than them.

Some of them seem to be “letting the old man in” at the age of ten. Surrendering to a man five times their age. I’ll have to tell them to stop “letting the old man in” this year.

Many friends and colleagues are a decade or more younger than me, but I rarely notice the age difference. I may seem older to them based on my experience, life history, and other monikers of age, but I certainly don’t feel older, and I don’t seem to have any problem keeping up with them or exceeding their output.

How old would I be if you didn’t know the day I was born?

Perhaps my late twenties or early thirties? I have no aches or pains, sore back, or worn-out rotator cuff. I bounce out of bed every morning with a skip in my step and a genuine excitement about the day ahead.

I can’t wait to get out of bed every morning.

While playing laser tag around our home with Charlie last week, he said, “Dad, you don’t need to dive on the ground or throw yourself into a bush. You’re not in a movie.”

Sounds like an old man to me.

I’m certainly a slower runner than I was when I was younger, but I was also running a hell of a lot more back then, so maybe if I got off my bike and returned to the street, I could be nearly as fast once again.

My calcium scoring—a measure of plaque in your arteries—was done last week, and the result was another zero.

“No identifiable plaque in the patient’s arteries.”

Even better:

“Calcium score of 0 places the patient in the 0th percentile rank. This means that 99.99 percent of males at this age will have a higher calcium score than this patient.”

Even my arteries are crushing it.

My cholesterol and blood pressure are low. I don’t take any medications daily. I lost 34 pounds last year and have lost two more this year.

Besides actually getting a calcium score (something I wasn’t doing in my twenties), I like to think I haven’t slowed down from the version of myself two or three decades ago. In fact, I may have sped up.

And yes, genetics certainly play a role in how you live your life. You also need to avoid the unavoidable diseases and unfortunate accidents. You need, at least to some degree, to get lucky to still be as productive as Eastwood at 88.

Toby Keith tragically died of stomach cancer just three months after performing “Don’t Let the Old Man In” at the People’s Choice Awards.

Sometimes, it’s simply your time.

It’s convenient and perhaps trite to say that age is a state of mind, but that doesn’t make it untrue. Eventually, certain body parts will wear down, and a sore back, a creaky knee, or a nagging case of tennis elbow may strike, but even then, “Don’t let the old man in.”

Take some Advil. Get some physical therapy. Grit your teeth and move on. Have surgery if you must. Switch from tennis to pickleball. Do whatever you can to keep moving forward into unknown, uncharted territory.

We may not all be still going strong at 88 like Clint Eastwood, but we can try like hell to avoid settling into a routine, setting up shop on the couch, shrinking our world, and slowing down.

“Don’t let the old man in” is a mantra to guide our lives. It will ensure that every year of your life—despite the number affixed to it—is lived to its fullest.

Empty case?

I saw this case at Magic Wings Butterfly Conservatory in South Deerfield, MA.

I get it.

Amidst cases filled with lizards, insects, and other creatures, you don’t want visitors staring into an empty case, looking for something that doesn’t exist.

But I see a sign like this and think, “Someone is messing with me. I’ll bet there’s something great in that case.” So I always look, expecting to see something.

It’s always as empty as advertised.

Still, I never believe these signs. I always look.

I think it’s for two reasons:

I grew up visiting Southwick’s Zoo (formerly Southwick’s Wild Animal Farm), which has a small, red house-like structure in the center of the zoo. It has a small window for looking inside and a sign reading, “The Amazing Red Bat. Take a look!”Inside, you’ll find a red baseball bat.I’ve been trained to distrust and look for the joke.If I owned a zoo, butterfly conservatory, aquarium, or similar facility, I might post a sign that says, “This case is empty,” on a case that is not empty, designed to reward the curious, the suspicious, and the nonconformist.I would most definitely do this.

Thus far I have not been rewarded.

How to manage social media

I was listening to a group of authors discuss how challenging social media can be.

The cruelty of strangers.

The negativity of reviews.

The relentless challenge of the masses.

My advice is simple:

If social media is hard because people are mean – and they can be really mean – STOP LOOKING.

Place your content online—an Instagram post, Facebook update, blog post, YouTube video, or TikTok thingy—and walk away. Make your point, plug your book, speak your peace, say your stuff, and then make some new stuff.

Real stuff.

Leave that ethereal, impermanent, flimsy, forgettable world behind. Ignore the comments that commenters have already forgotten. Spurn the criticism that the critics can’t remember writing.

Protect your soul.

Be kind to yourself.

Stop looking.

To hell with the monsters.

Matt and Jeni’s Moth Adventure

My friend Jeni Bonaldo and I went to a Moth StorySLAM in the Bronx on Wednesday night.

It was a memorable occasion.

First, I won the StorySLAM, which always makes the night a lot better—my 62nd Moth StorySLAM victory and my third this year.

I told a story about a simple moment at a minor league baseball game last week when I came to understand and adjust my expectations for Charlie.

Jeni and I also drove to New York through lightning and thunderstorms rivaling any I have ever seen. Enormous lightning bolts struck the ground, and sheets of rain drove many cars to the shoulder to wait it out.

But not us! We engaged in some minor hydroplaning, and there were moments when I couldn’t see the lane markers, but we survived.

Sadly, Jeni kept missing the enormous lightning blasts because she was staring down at her fries rather than at Mother Nature’s wonders.

When we arrived in the city, the storm had ended, but the adventure did not stop. As I drove down a street, a man opened his car door just as I was driving by, striking my mirror with his door. I saw it happening at the very last moment, so I did not scream like Jeni when the two cars collided, but my heart admittedly skipped a beat as I wondered if I had hit a car or a human being.

Thankfully, it was a car-on-car interaction, and mine was fine. Mirrors are made to pivot when struck, which happened in this case.

A mile down the road, while stopped at a light, a man wandered across the road, appearing to speak to random people on the sidewalk and making them noticeably uncomfortable. “I hope he walks up to your side of the car and starts talking to you,” I said to Jeni, and then the man did exactly that.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Another thunderstorm rolled in after we arrived at The Bronx Museum for Art. The storm was so violent that the fire alarm went off during one story because the thunder was so loud that it triggered sensors designed to detect explosions.

Windows positioned behind the storytellers made for an interesting sight:

Stories were told as a near-constant flash of lightning and crack of thunder punctuated their words.

As Jeni and I left the venue, the storm was relenting, but it was still pouring as we made our way to the car. Fire hydrants on the street were shooting water across the roads, presumably due to the enormous amounts of water dumped into the streets.

Along the way, in the car and in the venue, Jeni and I told each other stories. Hassled each other. Berated each other. Ate French fries. Laughed.

Jeni fouled up her order at McDonald’s, so I explained to the employee that it was okay. “We don’t take her out often, so she’s still learning,” I said. “But she needs to keep trying and stay positive!”  Then I turned to Jeni and said, “Let’s go back home now, dear, and tell everyone how well you did.”

“I hate you,” Jeni said, but she doesn’t. Maybe.

We discussed the stories told at the slam in depth, discussed the philosophy of storytelling, and compared lists of the worst stories we’ve ever heard onstage. We discussed what we liked about the stories told that evening and how they could’ve been better. We shared stories of teaching, vacations, kids, and more.

You can get a lot done when you spend five or six hours in a car with someone.

Jeni researched the name for the condition by which a person never, ever bruises, despite being struck by cars, slammed head-first through windshields, punched, kicked, hit by a golf ball, hit in the face by a softball, knocked unconscious by a football, had ribs broken during a touch football game, and more.

That’s me. I’ve never bruised. Not even once.

The only explanation Jeni found during her cursory search online:

Thick skin.

I have thick skin. Both mentally and now physically.

I’ll ask my doctor for alternative theories when I see her next.

We met storytellers at the slam who have performed with me before. We met storytellers for the first time. We chatted with audience members, producers, and judges. We chatted with Elysha Dicks on the way home over the phone.

When I pulled into my driveway around 1:00 AM, the skies had finally cleared enough for an almost moon to peak through the clouds. It was beautiful. Clouds spilled past a white orb, casting an eerie glow on the lawn.

“I get to see this,” I thought, “because I am still up and out. Thank goodness.”

It was a night to remember.

As we were heading north out of the city through yet another raging thunderstorm, I told Jeni, “All of this is fine because we’ll be home soon, and instead of staying home, sitting on the couch, watching TV, and going to bed at a reasonable hour, we had a night we’ll never forget.”

She agreed.

Of course, she did. For all of her claims of nervousness, anxiety, and annoyance with me for encouraging her to step out of her comfort zone, Jeni Bonaldo is a courageous, outrageous, unabashed adventurer, ready to do hard, complicated, taxing, exhausting, and demanding things.

I’m so lucky to have her as a friend.

She’s even luckier to have me as a friend.

That will most certainly annoy her.

Interviewing nightmare

Recent data on interviewing:

53% of interviewees struggle with eye contact

50% of interviewees ask for unreasonable compensation

47% of interviewees dress inappropriately

27% of interviewees use inappropriate language

21% of interviewees refuse to turn on their camera

19% of interviewees brought a parent

Some of these things are less concerning to me than others.

Eye contact, for example, might simply be a matter of technology. If most of these interviews are conducted via video conferencing and you don’t spend much time on Zoom, Google Meet, or Teams, you may struggle to know where to look and how to focus on a screen for a long time.

I’d also like to know how “inappropriate dress” is defined. Given the enormous variation in expectations these days, this might simply be a matter of misunderstanding the company’s culture.

Admittedly, dressing up for an interview is never a bad idea, but in terms of appearance standards, it’s a more complex world than a decade ago, so mistakes are likely to be made.

Using inappropriate language is never ideal, but again, I’d like to know the definition of “inappropriate language.” This might also be a misunderstanding of company culture. Language expectations can also vary depending on where you grew up and how you were raised, so I can see where mistakes of this nature could be made. 

Again, it’s best to avoid questionable language of any kind in an interview, but I can at least envision a scenario in which honest errors are made.   

Asking for unreasonable compensation might simply be a negotiation strategy. “Anchoring” involves establishing a number higher than expected in a negotiation to control where the bidding starts, often resulting in a higher offer. It’s often wise to ask for more but settle for less unless the amount requested is egregious.

Again, the definition of “unreasonable compensation” would help here.

All of these things may be legitimate problems with interviewees (and signals that something is very rotten in the state of Denmark), but it’s hard to know for sure.

And who knows? Maybe these things have always been problems when it comes to interviewing. Maybe this data isn’t as alarming as it is typical.

Based upon a decade spent intervening and hiring people as a restaurant manager, I tend to think otherwise, but my data is admittedly anecdotal.

But most alarming to me are the 21% of interviewees who refused to turn on their cameras and the 19% who brought a parent to their interview.

Refusing to turn on your camera seems like a guaranteed way to avoid being hired. Presenting your face to your potential employer is a basic and reasonable requirement during an interview. I suspect that refusing to do so effectively ends the interview, even if questions are still asked.  

Bringing a parent to the interview also seems a great way to guarantee you won’t be hired. It’s also an excellent way to avoid growing up and a great way for your friends to make fun of you forever. 

Most baffling to me:

What the hell are these interviewees thinking?

Also, what the hell are these parents thinking?

If these numbers are accurate, something disastrous has happened in our world. When one in five interviewees refuses to turn on their cameras and brings their parents to an interview, one in five people are effectively unemployable.

The good news:

If you are a person of average intelligence and skill who knows how to speak, dress well, look people in the eye, and possess a modicum of common sense and independence, your future is bright.

When I interviewed for my first jobs—at age 12 at a local farm and at age 16 at a McDonald’s restaurant—I had to walk into these businesses on my own, fill out job applications, and speak to potential employers like a big boy, absent any parental involvement. I had to answer questions, ask some of my own, negotiate a salary, and agree to terms.

If you can do the same, you’ll apparently be doing better than at least 20% of your competition.

The bar seems to be much lower these days. Terrible for society as a whole but fantastic for those who can still manage their lives like rational, reasonable adults.

Angry Charlie

Charlie saw this building across the street while waiting in line for a Broadway show.

It annoyed him. Tremendously.

The uneven windows,” he said, pointing. “Why?” he asked. “Why?”

I had no explanation. “I’m sure there’s a reason,” I said. “I just don’t know what it is.”

“There can be no reason for something like that,” he said. Then he looked to the sky again and shouted, “Why?”

He has a tough road ahead if uneven windows annoy him this much.

Banned books

At a book talk, I was asked about the recent banning of books in stupid places by stupid people.

My answer:

The same people who are banning and support the banning of books have placed phones in their children’s hands, giving them access to every damn thing ever placed on the internet — vile, horrendous, violent, sexual, predatory content accessible with just a few clicks.

These book-banning cretins don’t care about the welfare of children. They only care about scoring political points.

If they were truly worried about the corruption of the youth, the last thing they should worry about is a book.

The internet is a billion times more corrosive and dangerous to a child than a book could ever be.

Book banners are political hacks. Disingenuous monsters. Power-hungry hypocrites.

We don’t have a book-banning problem in this country. We have a lying, scheming, self-serving politician problem, along with a whole bunch of toady know-nothings who blindly follow these politicians without any critical thinking.

Today we celebrate 18

Today, Elysha and I celebrate our 18th wedding anniversary.

We’ll spend most of it driving north to Vermont to pick up Clara from camp, where she has been for more than three weeks. Besides a handful of postcards, we haven’t heard a peep from our girl in nearly a month, so hugging our daughter and squeezing every story out of her will be a pretty great way to spend an anniversary.

Still, on this day, I always reflect on that summer day in July of 2006 when Elysha and I were wed.

It was the best wedding.

I know I’m a bit biased when it comes to evaluating our nuptials, but I’ve also been a wedding DJ for 27 years and have attended more than 500 weddings over my lifetime—many as a guest but many more as a DJ—so I have some expertise in the matter.

Our wedding really was the best.

It started with our ceremony, of course. Our friends and colleagues, Rob and Andy, played Beatles songs.

Elysha walked down the aisle to “Something.”

I will never forget it.

We had bridesmaids and groomsmen to our left and right—all of whom are still our friends today—and our principal and friend, Plato Karafelis, officiated.

Elysha and I wrote our own vows. I don’t know if Elysha knows this, but I read them often. I’ve put them on my phone, and whenever I have a moment, I’ll open the file and read them, like I did first thing this morning.

I think I did a fine job with my vows. I like them a lot.

I think Elysha did better.

______________________________

Matt,
You are my dream come true.
There is nothing that could make me happier than marrying you,
my best friend and soul mate.
From this day forward, I promise to share with you the joys of life,
because with you, they will be that much sweeter.
I promise to help shoulder our challenges
because through them we will emerge stronger.
I promise to always encourage your creativity
because that is what makes you unique and wonderful.
I promise to nurture your dreams
because, through them, your soul shines.
I promise to try to be on time and pick my things up off the floor
because I know those things drive you crazy.
Most of all I promise to laugh with you, support you,
and to be your partner in all things.
I love you up to the sky and back.

______________________________

I used to believe that life would be perfect when all my dreams came true, but then you came along
and I realized that I didn’t know what dreaming was.

Elysha Jaffee Green, you are more than a man could ever ask for
and more than I deserve.

I vow to spend every day of my life
giving you as much as you have given me.

I promise to remember the darkness before you
so that I will never forget the brilliance you have brought to my life.

I promise to share everything that I have
and to try to give you everything you could ever want.

I promise to stand beside you,
hold your hand,
and be your strong and loving friend
through good times and bad.

I promise to always be the one to go into the basement at night
when the darkness frightens you,
to find you the best parking spots available,
and to shop with you and try to eat sushi,
no matter how much I despise both.

Most importantly, I promise to love you,
to love you like no man before,
with all of my heart and mind, and soul,
until the end of these days and beyond.

RIP Dr. Ruth

Dr. Ruth Westheimer, the iconic sex therapist whose advice helped educate millions of Americans about sexual desires and practices, sadly died this week.

I met Dr. Ruth backstage at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health in the spring of 2016. We were both speaking at a TEDx conference. She spoke about the importance of taking risks, and I delivered my “Homework for Life” talk.

As I stepped backstage into the green room to prepare to speak, I found Dr. Ruth sitting there, reviewing her notes.

Before I could say anything, she introduced herself and said, “Tell me about you.” I did, trying to be as brief as possible. I am awful when it comes to backstage and green rooms. My lack of nervousness, cavalier attitude, and unconscionable degree of self-confidence make me chatty, carefree, and relaxed before a show, which is often exactly what a performer doesn’t want or need just before taking the stage.

While I’m asking performers about their kids, their weekend plans, or the cheeseburger they just ate, they are trying to lock in a story, memorize transition points in a talk, gain control of their nerves, and focus on the task at hand.

I’ve been told to leave the green room more than once.

But Dr. Ruth was as relaxed as me, so when I finished telling her a little bit about myself, she said, “Okay, how is your sex life?”

She didn’t wink at me when she asked this question, but her words somehow felt like a wink. An assurance of sorts that it would be okay to answer honestly.

“Fine,” I said, a little taken aback.

“Well,” she said. “That is a sad way to describe a sex life.” Then she offered me five tips for improving it.

I took notes.

A moment later, one of the producers appeared and told me to get ready. My moment in the orange circle had arrived.

I shook Dr. Ruth’s hand and waved goodbye. I took the stage and delivered my talk. I sat in the audience a little while later as she delivered hers.

Now, she is gone, having left an enormous impact on the world in a brave, bold, unique, and important way.

She zigged while everyone else was zagging.

I hope to have a tiny fraction of the impact on this world that Dr. Ruth did.

Rest in peace, Dr. Ruth.

Carlos O’Kelly’s

I’ve driven by this restaurant every time I visit the FBI at Quantico, and I cannot help but wonder:

How did this happen?

How did a Mexican restaurant end up with an Irish name? Or a partially Irish name.

So I went searching and found a few other oddities:

First, Carlos O’Kelly’s is a franchise. The first store opened in Marion, Iowa, in 1982, and despite the sign, it’s not a Mexican restaurant. It’s a New Mexican restaurant featuring cuisine from New Mexico, which is apparently different than Mexican and even Tex-Mex cuisine.

The restaurant was founded by brothers Darrel and David Rolph—whose names seem neither Mexican nor Irish—who were also instrumental in the early franchising of Pizza Hut. They owned one of the world’s first ten Pizza Hut restaurants and served as leaders in the company as it expanded before leaving the business to open Carlos O’Kelly’s.

Before Pizza Hut, Darrell Rolph was a science teacher. When he heard about the potential of Pizza Hut, he left teaching, bought a franchise, and partnered with his brother.

It’s kind of sad to think we lost a science teacher to pizza, but pizza is undeniably profitable.

The Rolph brothers have since passed away. The company is run today by their nephew.

There are nearly two dozen Carlos O’Kelly’s restaurants operating today in Nebraska, Kansas, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Virginia, including one about a mile down the road from FBI headquarters.

As for the name?

I still can’t find an explanation, and it’s making me crazy.