Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 596

Um climate change is not real because the Moon has volcanoes, too. Right?

Did that Fox news anchor just attempt to link the presence of volcanoes to global warming?

They really are just talking hair.  Aren't they?

Watch Bill Nye's reaction upon hearing it. 

Priceless.  

Who knew that erectile dysfunction could be so captivating and suspenseful?

I was on the elliptical, flipping between channels on the adjacent television.  On an ideal day, there is a movie, a Yankees game, a SportsCenter and a rerun of The Daily Show all airing at the same time to keep me entertained. 

Even two of these is great.

I stopped flipping at AMC, a channel that often airs classic movies.

I love to watch old Westerns with the closed captioning turned on.  The way in which the writers of these captions describe the sounds and music from these films fascinates me. 

Instead of a movie, a commercial was airing.  I decided to wait for it to end.  Thirty seconds became a minute.  One minute became two.  Then I began to wonder if what I was watching was an actual television show.  Around minute three I realized that I had been duped by an infomercial, but I was trapped.

I had been watching for three full minutes and still had no idea what product the two gentlemen sitting behind a news desk were talking about.

This was the worst infomercial ever, I thought.  Three minutes and I don't know what you're pitching.

But then again, I was still watching after three minutes. 

Around the tenth minute, I realized that the product had something to do with erectile dysfunction, but the pitchmen had yet to show the product, describe the product, or even place the product in a general category. 

Was it a pill?

A medical procedure?

It was covered by Medicare (a fact that was repeated again and again), so could it be some form of outpatient surgery?

Around the twentieth minute, I gained a vague understanding of what the product was, but it wasn't until I was at home, in front of my computer, that I was able to learn the true, horrifying nature of the product.

Even their website is exceedingly vague until you start digging a little.

And I don't blame them for being vague.  I would be to, if I were selling this product.     

But to capture my attention for twenty minutes via solid production values, passionate pitchmen and the building of suspense, I had to give a nod to these infomercial producers.  Even after I had a vague idea of what the product was, I kept watching, desperately wanting a glimpse of this product, and I eventually visited their website.

What more could the maker of this product ask?  Especially considering I have no need for the product.

That is some seriously effective advertising.    

The name of the product is Pos-T-Vac. 

Click at your own risk.    

The most looked-up words of 2011: How many do you know?

The New York Times recently published a list of the most looked-up words of 2011.  Below is a list of the top 20. 

I only knew the meanings of 14 out of the 20 words.  Just 70%.  A C- level of understanding.

Don't tell my students. 

The words that are bolded are the ones that I knew.

1. Panegyric

2. Immiscible

3. Manichaean

4. Inveighs

5. Crepuscular

6. Legerdemain

7. Churlish

8. Risible

9. Anathema

10. Recognizance

11. Omertà

12. Superannuated

13. Perfidy

14. Hauteur

15. Samizdat

16. Avuncular

17. Inchoate

18. Duplicitous

19. Perfunctory

20. Dyspeptic

Most improbable moment in Hollywood history

There have been many improbable moments in movie history, but I would argue that there is nothing more improbable than the final scene from The Goonies, in which Chunk invites Sloth to live with him.

Let's put all custody issues aside, though they would be considerable.

Is the movie-goer really expected to believe that Chunk's parents are going to assume responsibility for this inarticulate, mentally challenged, rage-prone man simply because their son loves him?

Presuming that this lower-middle class family has the space in their home for this 7-foot monster, the dental expenses alone would be astronomical. 

Add to this the speech therapy, plastic surgery, job training and years of counseling that will be required in order to overcome the fact that he was physically and mentally abused by his siblings, rejected by his mother, forced to live in chains in the basement for most of his adult life, and is ultimately responsible for his family's incarceration.

Is this even within the means of Chunk's parents?

Remember that this is a family who was about to lose their home to a wealthy land developer.  Sure, they have the profit from the sale of some pirate jewels, but are we expected to believe that will be enough money after paying off the mortgages of half a dozen families to fund Sloth's life of constant, continuous  care?

Or that Mickey, the owner of the jewels, would even be willing to provide such funding?   

And what happens to Sloth when Chunk goes off to college?

His parents are stuck living with and caring for an enormous, mentally deficient man thanks to a spur-of-the-moment offer made by their son while in the throes of post-traumatic stress?

I don't think so. 

As a writer, the decision was simple:

Sloth should have died while saving the Goonies from certain death back in the cave or he should have been seen in the final frame of the movie, wearing an eye-patch and a pirate hat, steering One-Eyed Willy's pirate ship on its final voyage.

Sloth might be the hero of the film, but let's face it.  No one wants to live with the creep.

Even his mother kept him chained in the basement. 

And while we're on the subject of The Goonies, how the hell did director Richard Donner get away with naming his pirate One Eyed Willy in a kid's movie?

And please don't tell me that any phallic allusions associated with that name did not exist in 1985, because they did.  I was thirteen at the time and I remember cracking up every time someone said One-Eyed Willy's name, and I still giggle sometimes when hearing it today.

What could Donner have been thinking?

Interviewing for Google

From Jason Kottke:

in the early days of Google, Sergey Brin ended his job interviews in an unusual manner.

Finally, he leaned forward and fired his best shot, what he came to call "the hard question."

"I'm going to give you five minutes," he told me. "When I come back, I want you to explain to me something complicated that I don't already know." He then rolled out of the room toward the snack area. I looked at Cindy. "He's very curious about everything," she told me. "You can talk about a hobby, something technical, whatever you want. Just make sure it's something you really understand well."

And so I challenged myself to come up with a few of the complicated subjects to which I have expertise that I might have used in an interview with Brin.

They are: 

Successfully attending a woman's college as a man
Scheduling 60-100 employees of varying skill levels, while accounting for specific financial and scheduling needs and language barriers, for a week of work at a 24-hour fast food restaurant, while also being held accountable for labor cost as a percentage of actual sales based upon uncertain and consistently inaccurate sales projections
Planning for and executing 27 different parent-teacher conferences during a 3-5 day period
Playing consistently profitable poker

What would your answer be?

Come to the Show!

It's official!

There will be a staged reading for The Clowns, the rock opera written by Andy Mayo and myself, at the Playhouse on Park in West Hartford, CT.

The Playhouse has hired a director, a music director, and a stage manager. Auditions will take place in the next couple months, and if I would just wrap up the script, we'd be ready to go!

Shows will be on Saturday, November 5 at 8:00 PM and Sunday, November 6 at 2:00 PM.  There will be no advanced ticketing.  A suggested donation of $10 will be collected at the door. 

It should also be noted that this is a rock opera written for an adult audience.  The story centers on a group of twenty-something rock musicians, and so the language and situations presented are reflective of these conditions. 

I only mention this because Andy and I are elementary school teachers, and I didn't want anyone to assume that this was a G-rated show. 

Come to the Show is the name of the first song in the show, and I hope you will all heed its call and show up for an exciting night for me and Andy!

A business arrangement involving stickers

I have been told by many authors and would-be authors that they are very jealous of my agent, Taryn Fagerness, and the near-perfect relationship that we have.

I don't blame them.  I can't tell you how fortunate I feel to have her in my life.  She is my business partner, but more importantly, she is my biggest fan, my most honest critic, my most adept collaborator and my friend.   

And here's just another reason why I adore her so much. 

After reading my post detailing Clara's propensity to apply stickers to her belly, she sent this: 

An evening of challenging questions and fabulous gifts in Lebanon, CT

On Monday night I had the pleasure of speaking as a part of the third annual Connecticut Author's Trail at the Jonathan Trumbull Library in Lebanon, CT.  An audience of about 50 intrepid Author Trail followers were kind enough to fill the room to listen to me chat about writing and books and life in general.

It was an engaging group of people, filled with lots of interesting questions, and they sent me home with a tub of cookies that I managed to avoid eating by passing out at drive-thru restaurants and Dunkin Donuts over the last two days. 

I made a bunch of fast food employees happy when avoiding most of the unwanted calories. 

A few notes from the night included:

The audience was kind enough to allow me to defer from reading from any of my books, which I always appreciate. 

I really hate that part of almost any reading.

My friends, Tony and Erin, were kind enough to show up for the talk.  It is thanks to Tony that I have Patriots season tickets, and he actually delivered them to me that night, making it the best gift I have ever received for a  speaking engagement.

I told the audience that Tony ranks fourth in my life in terms of most important people.  The order is my wife, my daughter, my agent and then him.  And while that may be slightly tongue-in-cheek, it isn't far from the truth. 

And yes, technically I paid for the tickets, so they weren't exactly a gift.  But I paid for them way back in March, so they felt free to me when Tony handed them over. 

Probably why the Patriots make me pay so early. 

I entered the library wearing a baseball hat and shorts and carrying a backpack, and as a result, no fewer than four people commented on how young I looked.  "You're a little young to be an author," one woman said skeptically, and two others suggested I get a new publicity photo taken, and fast. 

It just goes to show: Dress like a little boy and you'll probably scrape away a dozen years or so, at least until you remove your hat. 

I was asked one of the toughest questions of my authorial career when a librarian who I had met at a previous retreat explained that she is often asked, "Who is this Matthew Dicks?"  Faced with having to explain that I am an author, a teacher, and a DJ (among other things), she has had a difficult time describing me.  So she passed the question onto me.  "Who is Matthew Dicks?" she asked, leaving me to fumble with the question before offering little by way of answer.

But at every author appearance, I always recommend half a dozen other books, and on Monday I recommended SIX WORD MEMOIRS, and so she suggested I provide my own six word memoir in hopes that it might help.

I've written almost four dozen six-word memoirs and simply cannot choose with one is the most fitting, but I've promised to post my top 10 or so by the end of the week.

So I'm whittling the list down to something manageable.

A piece about the evening was written up in the Lebanon Reminder by staff writer Melanie Savage, and I liked it quite a bit.  She captured the highlights of the event well.

The piece also included this photo as well, which I liked because it captures the season tickets sitting on the table beside me. 

I love the Patriots. 

        

M-I-L-O

My daughter noticed my books for the first time today.  They are stacked on the cluttered bookshelf near where I write, and as I was giving her a hug, she looked over my shoulder and asked, "What's that?"

 

I told her that they were the books that I had written.  She knows that I write books because she often tells my wife that "Daddy write books on computer" but I don't think she knew that I had actually published anything until today.

How could she?  She's only two-years old.  She doesn't know what publishing means. 

But for the first time, I think she finally understood that the books that I write on the computer are related to the books that she reads everyday.  

She stared at the pile for a moment before reaching out and touching the spine of UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO. Then she traced the word MILO with her index finger and said, M-I-L-O. 

Just the fact that she could identify all four letters without any prompting was amazing. 

But to watch my daughter trace the letters on the spine of a book that I had written, and then to listen to her call out the letters while realizing for the first time that her father had actually written the book, was one of those singular moments in life that I will never forget.

I still support ferocity

A week ago I wrote a post about parenting. Specifically, I outlined what I thought it took to be the best parent. 

The response I received to that post (and there was a lot) was evenly split.  It consisted of:

Praise over the ideas expressed in the post (one woman told me that she will be placing a copy of the post in all future baby shower cards)
Doubt and downright disagreement over the supposition that there is one best way to parent

Surprisingly, no one objected to my recommended style of parenting.  Opposition only resided in the notion that there was one best way to parent.   

Specifically, people said that while my description of ideal parenting might be effective, parents who have taken opposing positions have also raised children who grew into loving, caring, productive adults.  Therefore, no single method of parenting is necessarily correct, and different parenting styles might be required for different children.   

I've been thinking about this argument ever since. 

It is true that a less earnest, less deliberate parenting style like the one I described has proven to be effective for many, many children.  As a teacher of thirteen years who has gotten to know hundreds of kids and their families, I can attest to this.   

In fact, my parents barely parented me.  My mother and evil step-father could not have been less ferocious about the way they raised me, and I am quite pleased with the way I turned out. 

But here's the thing:

I still think that I am right.

I think that there are many good and perfectly acceptable ways of parenting that will yield outstanding results, and I also feel that despite universally-acknowledged bad parenting, kids can turn out just fine as well.  But I still believe that there is probably one best way of parenting, and my philosophy comes closest to it.

This doesn't mean that other ways, including ill-advised means of parenting, can't be effective.  It simply means that the chances of them being effective are reduced.   

For example, we all know or have heard of someone who lived well into his nineties while smoking two packs of cigarettes a day

Does this mean that smoking is a good thing for some people, or does it mean that bad decisions can still produce positive results?

And could the smoker who died at 95 have lived to 110 had he not smoked?

Measuring lost potential is an impossible task.

Although I am pleased with the way I turned out and am at least moderately successful in terms of meeting my life goals, what could I have been had there been books in books in my childhood home and help with my homework and parents who did not allow me to stay out at all hours on a school night?

What if my parents had attended my Little League games and track meets and fed me more than bologna on bread for lunch everyday and required me to practice my instrument and read every night?

What if I had been sent to college immediately after high school instead of having to claw and scrape my way to get there years later?

Where might I be today?

And yet my mother might say that her style of parenting worked out just fine for me, and who could argue?  Her son is a successful teacher and novelist and he owns a small business.  He is married to a great woman and is raising a bright, precocious, well behaved daughter.

But this doesn't mean that her parenting decisions were right.  While I have managed to survive and thrive, my sister has had a considerably tougher life and my brother disappeared five years ago and has not been seen or heard of since.

I managed to beat the odds, but they were certainly stacked against me.      

No, I suspect that there is a best way of parenting, and I suspect that my philosophy of ferocity is close to it.

And I know this makes some people angry, especially if they have adopted an opposing philosophy, because parenting is a very personal matter, and to question one's decisions in regards to their children treads on dangerous ground.

But relax. Just because I think I am right doesn't mean that I am right.

I mean, I am right, or close to it.  But you can think otherwise.  

And it also doesn't mean that I always adhere to this philosophy.  There are nights when my ferocity wanes as I battle with my daughter over brushing her teeth and rainy days when I cave into her demands to watch Sesame Street when I know that we cannot play outside.

Having a philosophy and adhering to it all of the time are two entirely different things.

I am not always as ferocious as I should be. 

But I still believe that I should be.