Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 594

One in five Americans smoke. Where the hell are they? And it would appear that Mad Men gets it very wrong when it comes to smoking.

The 2009 figures on smoking were reported recently in USA Today.

I looked at the statistics and thought:

One in five Americans smoke?  Who the hell is smoking anymore?

I am blessed with a large circle of friends, and thanks to my wife, an even wider circle of quasi-friends and acquaintances.

You cannot imagine the number of people to whom she introduces to me on an weekly basis.  It's a never-ending turnstile of new faces.   

And yet I cannot think of a single friend or acquaintance who smokes. 

Not one. 

So what is going on here?

Has smoking become a regional addiction, or is there a purposeful segregation taking place between the smokers and the nonsmokers? 

Are their equally wide circles of friends and acquaintances in which the majority of their members smoke?

And why in hell are kids still smoking in high school?  Forget the health implications.  Hasn't the cost, the smell and the general appearance of a smoker served as deterrent enough? 

Hasn't smoking reached the level on uncool? 

Are kids in my local Connecticut high school smoking in such large numbers, or is this once again a regional trend?

I find every one of these statistics baffling in some way.

Even the 1965 statistics on smoking. 

The 1965 figures are quite interesting in light of Mad Men, the television series that Elysha and I have begun watching.  The first season of the show takes place in 1960, and every single character on the show smokes.

Constantly.   

Yet the statistics indicate that in 1965, less than half of all Americans were smokers. 

What is going on here?

For a television show that has received much acclaim for its accurate portrayal of 1960's America, it's apparently inaccurate obsession with smoking would seem like a serious flaw.

A set piece taken to an unfortunately inaccurate extreme.

Thoughts anyone?

And more important, are any of my readers smokers?

The Girl Who Hated to Swing

For the first 18 months of my daughter's life, she hated to swing. 

My wife and I bought one of those indoor, wind-up-and-go swings with visions of our baby girl joyously swinging for hours while we went about our daily business.

We tried it once.  Clara screamed and cried.  She just about lost her mind.  So I threw it into the basement, never to be seen again.

At gym class, Clara was the only kid who cried when we put her in the swings.  For everyone else, swing time was the best time. 

For Clara, it was torture. 

I never, ever thought she'd like to swing. 

At least until she was school age.

And now look at her, less than a year later. 

The Girl Who Loves to Swing. 

  

The next time I feel stuck, unable to move forward, learn something new or embrace change, I'll look back on these photographs and remember Clara's transformation from The Girl Who Hated to Swing to The Girl Who Loved to Swing.

I'll look at these images and remind myself that time, encouragement and persistence can change almost anything.

You have to be having sex in order to choose your phone over sex. I know this sounds obvious, but apparently its not.

A national survey conducted by TeleNav has shown that one in three Americans are willing to give up sex for a week over giving up their phone.

The overwhelming majority – 70% – of these respondents were women.

Here's the problem with these numbers:

Of the 33% of Americans reporting that they would give up sex for a week, more than half of them probably aren't having sex anyway, either by choice or by the lack of a willing partner.

And another significant percentage are probably so disappointed with the sex that they are having that giving it up for a week would be no chore.

Skews the numbers quite a bit. 

What I'd like to see is the percentage of Americans who are having and enjoying sex who would be willing to give it up for a week in order to retain their phone.

Something tells me that the numbers would be decidedly smaller.    

The study also reports that 22% of smartphone users said they were willing to forego seeing their significant other entirely for a week rather than give up their phone.

But at least 22% of my friends would kill for a week alone without their spouse or significant other.  Even in the best of relationships, I have friends, both men and women, who find the thought of an empty house luxuriating, and at least 22% of them would be more than willing to send their significant other off for a week of whatever if it meant they could have the house to themselves.

I am not one of these people and fail to find the joy in being home alone for any significant period of time, but the feeling is certainly not uncommon.

When viewed in these terms, the 22% statistic seems significantly less astounding.

I realize that the people conducting these surveys desire news-worthy results, but none of this is news. 

A bunch of people who weren't having sex anyway or were having uninspired sex were willing to give up the unlikely possibility of good sex for a week rather than lose their phone?

And a bunch of people who would kill for some time alone acknowledged that they would accept the offer of time alone rather than lose their phone? 

Big deal.

Simple pleasures

Oh to be young enough to spend 30 minutes playing with the mail slot.

 

The most common and egregious of all leadership flaws

I've seen it more often than I care to remember, and I saw it again last week: 

A leader complaining about the amount of time required from him or her in order to manage a crisis.

It's one of the most egregious of all leadership flaws, and yet it is astoundingly common. 

And even worse is when the leader's complaining is directed at the employees  who are directly or indirectly responsible for the crisis, because at the moment of complaint, the leader has ceased managing the crisis.  Instead, he has placed his own emotional needs ahead of the organization and has made the crisis entirely about himself.

Yes, it's true.  In the time of crisis, vast amounts of time and energy are often directed away from a leader's day-to-day responsibilities, and his or her workload can increase significantly.  Years ago I found myself at the center of a crisis, and in a time when the leader of the organization should have been strategizing, problem solving, investigating and negotiating, he chose to spend thirty minutes detailing in a less-than-polite fashion how the crisis had impacted his week thus far.

He went so far as to tell me how the quality time with his grandchildren had been impacted. 

I left hid office thinking one thing:

Spineless, gutless, clueless moron.  

One of the primary responsibilities of a leader is to manage a crisis.  If you're unwilling to deal with unexpected problems, don't become a leader.    Complaining about crisis is  akin to a fire fighter yelling at a homeowner for playing with matches while the guy's house burns down.

Yes, it's a shame that the fire has started in the first place, and yes, perhaps the homeowner is to blame, but it's your job to put the fire out. 

This is the burden of leadership. 

There are many reasons not to complain about the time it takes to manage a crisis, but I like to think that they can be summed up in four simple sentences:

1.  It's your job.

2.  Complaining doesn't change anything.

3.  No one wants to hear it.

4.  Complaining makes you sound like a gutless, selfish fool.

A new writer has taken the stage. Go forth and see what she has to say!

Recently, I have begun using my author appearances as an opportunity to encourage people to write. 

I still talk about my books, tell amusing stories from my life, answer questions from the audience and try to avoid actually reading from my books (the one aspect of author appearances that I do not enjoy). 

But somewhere in there, I take a moment to urge the audience members to write.

Sometimes I cajole.  Sometimes I plead.  Sometimes I admonish.  A couple of times I've been downright mean about it.  I never really know what I am going to say at one of these appearances until my mouth gets moving, but I always try to send the message that everyone, regardless of age, experience or ability, should be writing something. 

And I always conclude by asking that if someone begins writing, he or she let me know about it.  While I would love for the people who attend these events to read and love my books (and purchase them in bushels), I would almost prefer that they just go home and start writing.

Apparently they have.  Or at least one person has. 

During last spring's Books on the Nightstand retreat in Vermont, I decided, on whim, to avoid talking about my books altogether in favor of taking a moment to urge the sizable audience to write.  It may have been the first time I actually made this appeal to an audience, and I was happy that I did. 

My talk can be found here on the Books on the Nightstand website as a part of their weekly podcast.

Earlier this week, a reader named Heather contacted me about an NPR story that had reminded her of Martin, the protagonist in SOMETHING MISSING (I'll share this interesting insight in a future post).  After exchanging emails, I learned that she had attended the Books on the Nightstand retreat last spring and had taken my appeal to begin writing to heart. 

Beginning on May 27th of this year, she began writing a blog called the One Thousand Words Project, where she attempts to write 1,000 words a day on a topic of her choice.

Her first post explains the genesis of the idea and the rules that she has assigned herself, and I must say that she has not made the process an easy one.

It's quite impressive. 

I spent some time reading her blog this morning and I couldn't be more thrilled.  Her writing is clear, insightful, compelling, and most important, she's writing!  Everyday!

She is writing fiction as well, and from the process that she has described to me through her emails, it sounds as if she is well on her way to beginning her first novel. 

I could not be more thrilled. 

It sounds silly to say that something like this is comparable to publishing my own novels, but it almost is.  While decidedly less profitable than selling my own writing, I can't tell you how rewarding it is to discover someone writing because of something I said. 

And to be writing so well.   

Perhaps it's the teacher in me, always looking to encourage people and utilize their talents. 

More likely it's my terrified-of-death/need-to-leave-my-mark-on-the-world desire being satisfied in a small but extremely meaningful way. 

Or maybe it's my narcissistic tendencies bubbling to my admittedly shallow surface, hoping that Heather will hit the bestseller list someday and attribute a small margin of her success to me.

Maybe even decide to become my patron and fund my future as a writer.

Whatever the reason, I encourage you to visit Heather's One Thousand Words Project and see what she has to say. 

Even if I never profit from her efforts, I couldn't be more happy and excited for her and the work that she is doing.

It is perfectly acceptable to question a teachers judgment in the case of a serial killer.

During this past school year, my students spent a week reading graphic novels as an introduction to the genre.  Among the many graphic novels I have is a set of non-fiction books that center on famous disasters in American history like the Hindenburg explosion, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, and the near-tragic Apollo 13 mission. 

 

The kids love the comic book-like nature of the books, but even better, they loves the stories contained therein.  Most of them have heard bits and pieces about these dramatic moments from our nation's past, but few have ever read full accounts of the events until they read these books.

A parent volunteer (who also happens to be a good friend) was in the classroom one day during the graphic novel unit, volunteering to read with some of my students.  After assigning him to a group of kids, I handed out copies of the books and sent them on their way. 

My friend looked at me like I was crazy. 

"Are you sure you want us reading that book?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.  "A bunch of kids have read it already.  It's a little gruesome, but it's fine. It's American history."

"Alright," he said, still sounding uncertain. 

About fifteen minutes later I checked in with his group to determine their progress.  His look of consternation had been replaced by noticeable relief. 

"The Donner party!"  he said. "Donner!"

"Yeah, the Donner party," I repeated.  "What did you think I said?"

"I thought you said the Dalmer party.  Like Jeffrey Dalmer.  I thought you had the kids reading about serial killers." 

"And you were willing to go along with that?" I asked. 

"Well, you're the teacher," he said. "I figured you knew what you were doing."

"Really?" I said.  "Even if it's a book about a serial killer?"

"Well, yeah."

Sometimes there's a such thing as having too much trust in a teacher.

I see dead people. Occasionally. Usually in restaurants.

It's always a little upsetting when I look across a restaurant and think I know the person sitting at a table, and then I realize that it can't be the person I think it is because that person is dead. 

Yesterday it was Hugh Ogden, my poetry professor from college, who tragically fell through the ice on a Maine lake and drowned in 2007.

I could've sworn it was him.   

This kind of thing doesn't happen often, but it happens enough to make me realize that the people in my life are slowly but surely starting to die. 

And I don't like it.

Childhood hunger strikes fail to initiate change but perhaps define a life

After listening to a story about summer camps on NPR, I found myself thinking back on my summers spent at Yawgoog Scout Reservation in Rockville, Rhode Island.  

They were by far some of the best days of my life.

But instead of telling stories about the near-perfection that was summer camp, I found myself telling a friend about the meals at summer camp, which were not always great. 

Two stories that I related today:

1. On Wednesdays at Yawgoog, Scouts were required to bring a letter or postcard for our parents to the dining hall in order to receive dinner.  Angry about being told to whom I should write, I skipped Wednesday dinner every week for my entire summer camp career (at least 24 weeks).

2. In an effort to improve the quality of the food at camp, a boy named Chris and I decided to boycott the meals one summer and spent an entire week eating only bread and butter and drinking milk and water.

As you might expect, the food did not change as a result of our bread-and-water strike.   

And my Scoutmaster was smart enough to allow us to suffer rather than putting up a fight and forcing us to eat, a lesson that I have brought to parenting and teaching:

When a kid decides to make his life difficult out of spite and obstinacy, let him suffer.

When I told these stories to my friend today, he had two comments. 

He said it just like that. "I have two comments."

1.  It's sad to see how little you have grown since childhood.

2.  When someone asks you to describe the person you are today, tell them those two stories. They'll sum you up nicely. 

I like to think I'm a little more layered than that, but he has a point.    

Ominous automobiles

Have you ever noticed that every car parked outside a 7-11 looks like a getaway car? 

Perhaps it's because I was once robbed at gunpoint, or perhaps it's because I am constantly envisioning possible fictional scenarios in real-life situations, but every time I drive by the local 7-11 or pull into its parking lot, I am convinced that it is being robbed.

Yesterday there was a police car parked in front of the 7-11, and still I thought that the store was probably being robbed.

And yet I still go inside quite often because to avoid the store would mean submitting to my insanity.

Better to walk into a robbery in progress than admit to yourself that your post- traumatic stress disorder is getting the best of you.