Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 508

Bike helmets suck

I’ve wanted to say that for a while, but it seemed so wrong.

Even though I grew up riding a bike almost every day and never wore a helmet throughout my childhood, I am not stupid enough to rely on the “I did it as a child and turned out just fine” argument.

For every one of us who turned out fine, how many children died during the 1970s and 1980s because they weren’t wearing a helmet?

It turns out the number might be surprisingly small.

Elizabeth Rosenthal of the New York Times points out that in most countries, bike helmets are a rarity, and as a result, rates of bike sharing and cycling in general are considerably higher.

“Pushing helmets really kills cycling and bike-sharing in particular because it promotes a sense of danger that just isn’t justified — in fact, cycling has many health benefits,” says Piet de Jong, a professor in the department of applied finance and actuarial studies at Macquarie University in Sydney. He studied the issue with mathematical modeling, and concludes that the benefits may outweigh the risks by 20 to 1.

He adds: “Statistically, if we wear helmets for cycling, maybe we should wear helmets when we climb ladders or get into a bath, because there are lots more injuries during those activities.” The European Cyclists’ Federation says that bicyclists in its domain have the same risk of serious injury as  pedestrians per mile traveled.

Does this mean that I will allow my son or daughter to ride their bikes without helmets? Probably not, but possibly only because they have a mother who would likely oppose this nonconformist view of safety.

But does it mean that I may stop wearing my helmet when riding my bike?

Yeah, it might. I hate the stupid thing.

My crazy ideas aren’t so crazy after all.

A couple weeks ago I wrote about The Reverse Nap, a concept that I predicted would quickly (or eventually) sweep the nation and become a thing.

I know that many of you thought I was crazy when you read that post, but since then, two people have contacted me to tell me that they are now reverse napping and loving it.

I’m telling you. It’s going to be a thing.

A week ago, I wrote about my evening of skipping down streets of Brattleboro, Vermont, and encouraged you to give skipping a try.

I know that some of you, including my wife, thought this was crazy, but since writing that post, no fewer than half a dozen people have contacted me to tell me that they have tried skipping again after many years of non-skipping and have fallen in love with it.

Some have even skipped in pairs.

Skipping might just become a thing, too.

More than a year ago I wrote about my desire to become a professional best man. I am certain that some of you thought I was crazy when I wrote this post because you told me so, but to date, three people have attempted to hire me as their professional best man. The only thing that has prevented them from engaging my services is geography. All three live to far away for me to be effective.

In addition, I was recently contacted by entrepreneurs in the UK who are considering launching their own professional best man service and wanted to know what kind of success I had experienced thus far.   

I may be crazy, but I’m crazy like a fox.

Notes from the Brattleboro Literary Festival

Last weekend I had the great honor of participating in the Brattleboro Literary Festival in Brattleboro, Vermont. Here are some thoughts from the weekend.

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I lost in the first round of Friday night’s Literary Death Match to author Victor LaValle and his amusing, suspenseful and disgusting story about a man and a public restroom. Nevertheless, author Stuart O’Nan described me as “Raymond Carver meets Denis Johnson” and poet Major Jackson called me the Bruce Springsteen of storytelling.

Jackson’s comparison was partly the result of my hairy arms and working class appearance, but still, I think my life may finally be complete.

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Also judging Literary Death Match was inestimable Jane Yolen, who directed Guggenheim Fellowship winner Victor Lavalle to give me some money once she learned that I was not also a Guggenheim winner. 

I am still waiting to see the cash.

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The aforementioned writers Jane Yolen, author of more than 325 children’s books, and Stuart O’Nan, author of more than 15 novels and works of nonfiction, are enormous, mindboggling celebrities in my mind, which made the amount of time I spent with these two authors and others this past weekend both astounding and humbling. 

I chatted with Jane and Stuart before and after Literary Death Match and later found myself at the same table as Stuart in a bar near our hotel, discussing books, publishing and most of all, baseball. Also sitting at the table were award-winning authors Tayari Jones, Bernice McFadden and the aforementioned Victor LaValle.

I felt like a complete fraud sitting at a table of such literary heavyweights. 

Then I spent parts of the next day chatting with these same authors and more before sitting down to dinner on Saturday night at the same table as Jane Yolen and author Richard Mason.

The next day Jane attended my book talk, and we spent quite a while afterwards talking about books, teaching, our families and more. Jane and my wife discovered that they are both Smith College graduates, so they had a lot to chat about as well.

I cannot tell you how utterly thrilling and slightly terrifying it was to spend the weekend in the company of authors such as these. Though none of them knew it (I hope), my mind was constantly filled with screams of “I’m chatting with Jane freakin’ Yolen! I can’t believe it!” and “Stuart O’Nan and I are talking Yankees-Red Sox! How is this even possible?”

A fraud, I tell you. I felt like a complete and total fraud.

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I was joined for my talk on Sunday by author Ben Dolnick, who recently published his second novel, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Ben is the type of author who approaches his craft with great deliberation and literary earnestness, which is the opposite of how I write. While Ben is contemplating how Proust and Alice Munroe may inform the shape and design of his novel, I am spitting words on the page in hopes that they form complete sentences. It’s always an honor to have the chance to speak to an author with as much skill and talent as Ben, though once again, I couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a fraud in his presence.  

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One of the audience members suggested that I try my hand at standup comedy. While it was a nice thing to say, I explained that my wife does not think I am funny at all and I lack the courage required to become a standup comic.

There’s also far too little money in standup comedy for my liking.

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On Friday evening, while my wife and I were at Literary Death Match, my in-laws were in our hotel room, taking care of our baby. Charlie was not feeling well, so at one point, he began crying and Elysha was called back to the room. 

Before she could return, a guest called the front desk, complaining about the crying baby. My mother-in-law asked the clerk, “What do you suggest? That I smother the baby?”

Later, the same person pounded on the wall of our room, upset that my wife and her parents were still awake and talking past 9:00 PM on a Friday night.

Had I been in the room, I would have invited the passive-aggressive coward to meet me in the hallway to discuss the matter face to face. This type of challenge usually causes people like these to retreat back into their turtle shells. In the rare instance that they take you up on your challenge, even better.

Pounding on the wall of a hotel room? Is there anything more weasely and pathetic?

The next day Elysha and I were beeped at when we failed to cross a street in a timely manner while pushing our stroller. I was uncharacteristically unprepared for this confrontation and skedaddled across the road like a frightened rodent. What I should have done is slowed down or even stopped in the middle of the crosswalk to tie my shoe.

I’ll be ready next time. That’s the key to all confrontations. Mental preparation.

Elysha regretted not extracting Charlie from the stroller and nursing him right there  in the middle of the crosswalk, which would have been the greatest retort to a car honk in all of human history.

Simple pleasures

As Charlie’s father, I can only hope that he is still so easily excited by such simple things in years to come.

   

Dead and dead but still breathing

My piece in this month’s Story Collider magazine deals with my death and my other death, and how they may have saved my life.

If you’re a person who likes looking at the pictures, there’s also an image of my gravestone, which I found both amusing and slightly creepy.

A minute of infant cuteness

While attending Literary Death Match at the Brattleboro Literary Festival, our infant son spent the evening in the hotel room with my in-laws.

At one point they sent us this video.

At just four months old, Charlie can’t do very much at all, but somehow this one minute video still entertained the hell out of us.

Best advice

Do you think the Star Wars reference was intentional or simply serendipitous?

She likes a little story

My daughter stayed with friends this weekend while my wife and I attended the Brattleboro Literary Festival.

When we told her that she would be sleeping over their house, she said, “Make sure they know that I like a little story before bed.”

It was one of those moments that I wish I could continue living over and over again for the rest of my life.

First family game night!

Growing up in family in which the concept of family game night did not exist (and was not even imagined), this was both unexpected and glorious for me.

Skipping

I’m coming out in favor of skipping.

I’m serious. Have you actually tried skipping lately?

I was skipping down the deserted streets of Brattleboro, Vermont late last night, and it felt freakin’ great. The swinging of the arms, the momentary, almost violent liftoff into the air in the midst of each skip and the inability to do anything but smile throughout the process, make it something we really should do more often.