Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 597

A girl who takes care of her cat will surely take care of her elderly parents. Right?

Before leaving for school today, my daughter made sure that her new kitty cat was well taken care of.

This bodes well for me in old age.  Right? 

McDonalds makes Happy Meals healthier, regardless of The Daily Beasts uncertainty over the matter

The Daily Beast tweets:

__________________________________________________

McDonald's Adds Fruit to Happy Meals: In attempt to make food healthier. http://thebea.st/nV5a2p #cheatsheet

__________________________________________________

In attempt to make food healthier?

Since when is fruit (and vegetables, which have also been added to the Happy Meals) not a healthier choice?

Is there any chance that adding fruit and vegetables (and reducing the number of French fries, which McDonald's is also doing)) will not make their Happy Meals healthier?

Is it even possible for McDonald's to fail in this healthier attempt?

Shouldn't the headline read something like:

McDonald's Adds Fruit to Happy Meals and makes food healthier.

Or…

McDonald's Adds Fruit to Happy Meals and yes, Happy Meals are now healthier. No doubt about it.  Oh, and they added vegetables, too.  And reduced the number of fries.  And also the overall calories as a result.  Yup.  A healthier choice.  No attempt here.  Just downright certainty.

Rhinos and lions and left-handers, oh my!

Two years ago I wrote a post about group descriptors. 

Phrases like a pride of lions and a murder of crows, as well as three that I invented myself. 

Based upon what I wrote in that post, I didn't like any of the descriptors that I had invented at the time.  But two years later, I find myself liking them a lot. 

Perhaps I am an acquired taste, even to myself. 

My three descriptors were:

A gamble of poker players A concern of mothers A fumble of left-handers

I mention this today because I just learned about one of the greatest group descriptors of all:

A crash of rhinoceroses

Pretty fabulous.  Huh?

Winnie the Pooh aborted. Too damn frightening.

My wife and I attempted to take our daughter to her first movie yesterday.

In truth, Clara has been to many movies as an infant but has no recollection as she was asleep for all of them.

She attended two movies designed for mothers of little babies.  Scheduled for the afternoon, the volume is turned down on these films, the lights are kept up, and a baby changing station is positioned in the front of the theater.  Babies are able to sleep or nurse while moms (and this dad) are able to take in a movie. 

The only problem is that the choice of films is sometimes questionable. My wife saw My Sister's Keeper (which is supposedly heart-wrenching), and we saw The Time Traveler's Wife together (which also ends badly).

Not the best choices for a bunch of hormonal, post-partum mothers.

Clara also went to several drive-in movies with us, sleeping in the back seat while we caught a double feature. 

Why the parents of infants don't do this more often is beyond me.

Unfortunately, we had to abort our movie-going attempt yesterday when my daughter became semi-hysterical, screaming, "I want to go somewhere else! I want to go somewhere else!"

It was all a little overwhelming for her.  The volume of the trailers was exceedingly loud and the theater was very dark. 

Even on Mommy's lap, it was a no-go. 

But I learned a few interesting tidbits from our failed attempt:

1.  Because my daughter has only watched programming on our local PBS station, she has never been exposed to a commercial before, and so the commercials shown prior to the movie were the first she had ever seen.  And they were loud, fast paced, and fairly frightening as a result.

2.  Because my daughter has only watched programming on our local PBS station (and two animated films on the couch), she has not been exposed to the slapstick comedy and the danger and violence inherent in even the most benign of children's movies.  The preview for Puss in Boots scared the hell out of her, even while it was making my wife and me laugh out loud.

Red-eyed boars. 

Guns firing off.

Puss crashing through a wooden box and being struck in the head by a boot.

Swordplay.

It's all innocent enough, I think, for a kid exposed to this kind of entertainment before, but for Clara, it was overwhelming and terrifying. 

3.  Even the animated short, The Ballad of Nessie, which opens the film, was too much for her.  It told the story of Nessie, the Loch Ness monster, and how she is forced to leave her pond when golf course developers take over the land. No matter where Nessie goes, she cannot find a new home.  Eventually, she cries the tears that so many have told her to suppress, and in doing so, she creates a loch of her very own.

It was one of those stories that is 95% tragedy and 5% happiness, and that percentage was evident in my daughter's reaction to the piece.  As we left the theater, all Clara could talk about was how sad Nessie had been, and how she had cried and cried and cried.  It took all of our efforts to convince her that Nessie was fine, now, and happily swimming in her own pond.

Unfortunately, Clara has an outstanding long term memory, so I suspect that it will be a long time before we can attempt another trip to the movies.

She will remember this harrowing experience for a very long time.  

Perhaps we should've waited until she was older.

Maybe we could have entered the theater after the previews had finished.

It's possible that a steady diet of PBS is not conducive to the viewing of mainstream Hollywood moviemaking.

Oh well.  At least I won't have to sit through a bunch of bad children's movies for a while.  

I also was left wondering about the two separate groups of adults (a foursome and a twosome)  who were also in the theater to watch this one hour Winnie the Pooh film without any children in tow. 

These people exist?  And if so, who the hell are they? 

Winnie the Pooh aborted. Too damn frightening.

My wife and I attempted to take our daughter to her first movie yesterday.

In truth, Clara has been to many movies as an infant but has no recollection as she was asleep for all of them.

She attended two movies designed for mothers of little babies.  Scheduled for the afternoon, the volume is turned down on these films, the lights are kept up, and a baby changing station is positioned in the front of the theater.  Babies are able to sleep or nurse while moms (and this dad) are able to taken in a movie. 

The only problem is that the choice of films are sometimes questionable. My wife saw My Sister's Keeper (which is supposedly heart-wrenching), and we saw The Time Traveler's Wife together (which also ends badly).

Not the best choices for a bunch of hormonal, post-partum mothers.

Clara also went to several drive-in movies with us, sleeping in the back seat while we caught a double feature. 

Why the parents of infants don't do this more often is beyond me.

Unfortunately, we had to abort our movie-going attempt yesterday when my daughter became semi-hysterical, screaming, "I want to go somewhere else! I want to go somewhere else!"

It was all a little overwhelming for her.  The volume of the trailers was exceedingly loud and the theater was very dark. 

Even on Mommy's lap, it was a no-go. 

But I learned a few interesting tidbits from our failed attempt:

1.  Because my daughter has only watched programming on our local PBS station, she has never been exposed to a commercial before, and so the commercials shown prior to the movie were the first she had ever seen.  And they were loud, faced paced, and fairly frightening as a result.

2.  Because my daughter has only watched programming on our local PBS station (and two animated films on the couch), she has not been exposed to the slapstick comedy and the danger and violence inherent in even the most benign of children's movies.  The preview for Puss in Boots scared the hell out of her, even while it was making my wife and I laugh outloud.

Red-eyed boars. 

Guns firing off.

Puss crashing through a wooden box and being struck in the head by a boot.

Swordplay.

It's all innocent enough, I think, for a kid exposed to this kind of entertainment before, but for Clara, it was overwhelming and terrifying. 

3.  Even the animated short, The Ballad of Nessie, which opens the film, was too much for her.  It told the story of Nessie, the Loch Ness monster, and how she is forced to leave her pond when golf course developers take over the land. No matter where Nessie goes, she cannot find a new home.  Eventually, she cries the tears that so many have told her to suppress, and in doing so, she creates a loch of her very own.

It was one of those stories that is 95% tragedy and 5% happiness, and that percentage was evident in my daughter's reaction to the piece.  As we left the theater, all Clara could talk about was how sad Nessie had been, and how she had cried and cried and cried.  It took all of our efforts to convince her that Nessie was fine, now, and happily swimming in her own pond.

Unfortunately, Clara has an outstanding long term memory, so I suspect that it will be a long time before we can attempt another trip to the movies.

She will remember this harrowing experience for a very long time.  

Perhaps we should've waited until she was older.

Maybe we could have entered the theater after the previews had finished.

It's possible that a steady diet of PBS is not conducive to to the viewing of mainstream Hollywood moviemaking.

Oh well.  At least I won't have to sit through a bunch of bad children's movies for a while.  

I also was left wondering about the two separate groups of adults (a foursome and a twosome)  who were also in the theater to watch this one hour Winnie the Pooh film without any children in tow. 

These people exist, and if so, who the hell are they? 

Colorforms teach important life lessons about the limitations of caregivers and the importance of suppressing your feelings.

My daughter played with Colorforms for the first time today. 

She loves the toy.  Today she organized a baby's birthday party, and as she assembled the people and balloons and cakes on the board, she narrated a rather complicated story for us.

It was fabulous. 

There was only one problem.

This piece:

 

Clara did not like the way the dog was licking the cat, and so she tried to pull the pieces apart, assuming that they had inadvertently joined in the box. 

She yanked.  She pulled.  She pinched. She grunted. 

Eventually she handed the piece to me.  "Daddy fix it!" she said, and when I failed, she turned to my wife.  "Mommy, fix it!"

I briefly considered grabbing some scissors and cutting the piece down the middle, but then I realized that it was time for my daughter to learn an important life lesson:

Mommy and Daddy can't fix everything.

It's a sad but necessary truth of life. 

Of course, when she wasn't looking, I hid the piece. 

I may not be able to fix it, but there's nothing wrong with learning to compartmentalize your problems and stuffing your feelings away for another day.

Chatting with your ex-wife at a football game or marrying your ex-wifes first husband. Which is worse?

I often make fun of my friend, Shep, for spending more time speaking and texting his ex-wife while we are attending Patriots games than I spend talking or texting my wife for the whole time that I am away.

He will claim that the communication is always daughter related, but it's not true.  Yes, they are coordinating and consulting on childcare issues, but many times they are just talking about the game or other less pertinent issues.

It's nice that they have remained friends, but it's still great fodder for teasing.    

Last week he invited me to his daughter's birthday party at the home of his ex-in-laws, and it's not uncommon for him to spend time with this ex-wife's family even when his ex-wife is not around.

Again, it's nice, but it's also great fodder.

Then I got thinking:

I once officiated the wedding of my ex-wife's ex-husband, her first husband, and his new bride, and then I served as the DJ at their reception.

And though I have no contact with my ex-wife, I am Facebook friends with my former sister-in-law and her children, and they have attended more than one of my book signings.

So I guess I shouldn't throw stones from my glass house.

But I will.  Shep's fodder is more timely.  

But it is indeed a brave new world.

Excellent first impression

Um… did you want me to come to your store?

If so, when?

Respect yourself and shut up.

I cannot stand to listen to people complain about being disrespected.

Earlier this week I listened to professional football players complain about being disrespected by team owners for prematurely voting on a collective bargain agreement, even as their NFL brethren were calling the owners names and tweeting statements like:

Look guys I have no reason to lie! The truth of the matter is we got tricked, duped, led astray, hoodwinked, bamboozled!

You can't be consumed with anger and disappointment over being disrespected while simultaneously disrespecting the guys who supposedly disrespected you.

Well, you can, but it makes you a hypocrite and an idiot. 

More importantly, is there anything more pathetic than a guy whining about being disrespected? 

Oh… you felt disrespected?  Poor little linebacker.  Do you need a hug?

One of the worst ways to get respect is to ask for it. 

If you have to ask for it, it ain't real.

But even worse than asking for respect is whining when you are not getting any. 

Respect yourself.  Respect those who have earned your respect.  And stop worrying so much about other people think.

New business idea: Rorschach tee-shirts

My daughter does not know what a ninja is yet, nor is she able to discern the face embedded in my Ask a Ninja tee-shirt.  Instead, she sees three separate  blobs of white ink, and whenever I wear the shirt, she will stare at it until she has decided what the three blobs are.

Most recently, she declared them to be (left to right) a fish, a tree and a sailboat. 

But it changes every time she sees the shirt.

And I kind of love it.  I am fascinated by the challenge that it presents to her creativity, and I can't wait to hear what she will see next in those blobs.

Which leads me to my new business idea:

Rorschach-like tee-shirts for the parents of infants and toddlers. 

In an effort to stimulate creativity and encourage a child to make connections and generalizations with the real world, I would produce a series of tee-shirts with Rorschach-like images for parents to wear when with their little ones.

Rather than inundating your child with brand names or your sports allegiances or even floral patterns, why not give your child something to think about?  Puzzle over.  Invent. 

What do you think ?

A billion dollar idea?

Or maybe just a million?