Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 617

Devil on the rise

Two firsts today. 

Neither very good.

1.  My daughter's preschool teacher informed us that our normally angelic child misbehaved today for the first time.  She yelled at her teachers and classmates and was non-compliant.

She is remarkable verbal, they say, but today she used those words for no good.   

I fear that my genes are finally asserting themselves. 

2.  Clara also told me to put down the seat on the toilet after I emerged from the bathroom. 

"Close the potty!  Close the potty!" she shouted. 

She's only two years old and she's already nagging me. 

 

McDonalds and Charlie Sheen would be bad titles, too

In regards to yesterday's post on author's acknowledgements:

THE OTTOMAN HOTEL, Christopher Currie's novel that includes a marriage proposal within the acknowledgement section, is poorly titled.

There is a real Ottoman Hotel in Turkey that is apparently quite well known.  The first five pages of Google return results related to the hotel, so breaking through to the first page is going to be difficult for Currie.

Adding the word book to the query doesn't help either.  The Ottoman Hotel remains the subject of the results, and options for booking a room fill the page instead. 

Only when The Ottoman Hotel is combined with Currie's name does mentions of his book begin to appear.

Not good for a reader looking for a book but can't remember the author's name.

But a good lesson for authors choosing their titles.    

Make those titles unique. 

This is how moms want to spend their weekend?

This week Living Social alerted me to the gomom.me convention taking place this weekend in Hartford, Connecticut. 

As far as I can tell, this is a convention dedicated to mothers.  There will be a "motherhood panel of amazing moms," a "fun image workshop," a Spa Power Hour and a eco-friendly gift bags filled with samples and goodies.

I thought about the possibility of a similar convention for fathers and then remembered that I DON'T KNOW ANY MEN WHO WOULD BE STUPID ENOUGH TO ATTEND SUCH A RIDOCULOUS, UNNECESSARY, SELFAGGRANDZING AFFAIR. 

Not one. 

To be honest, I have yet to find a woman who thinks this is a good idea either.  Female responses to this convention have ranged from "absurd" to "embarrassing for all of womankind" to "downright creepy."

And as you can see from the Living Social image, only 30 people took advantage of the 67% savings. 

Not a lot for a deal that offered $5 admission.

All this has left me wondering if we have reached the point where attending motherhood panels and image workshops are the best ways of spending a Saturday afternoon.    

I realize that there are women who seem to believe that motherhood equates to martyrdom and who barter for free time from the kids with their spouse as if they are negotiating nuclear disarmament, and I am sure that there are fathers who feel and act the same way. 

But are there really enough of them to fill a convention hall for a weekend?

I nearly purchased the Living Social deal on Monday, just to be able to pop in and witness this spectacle for myself.  And since I am home alone this weekend with my daughter while my wife is in New York, Clara and I may still drive down to the convention center to take a peak if we find ourselves in need of something to do. 

My disgust for this event is only matched by my curiosity over it.  

Maybe I can get a blog post or even a short story out of the adventure.    

A proposal in an authors acknowledgements? How do I top this one?

After thanking his publisher and various bosses in the acknowledgements at the end of THE OTTOMAN MOTEL, first time novelist Christopher Currie thanked his girlfriend. 

"If it's possible to fall more in love with someone every day, then that's what I do.  To my favorite, to the reason I live my life, Leesa Wockner, who, if she reads this, I hope will agree to marry me, despite the number of commas in this sentence."

That's right.  He asked her to marry him in the acknowledgements.

Damn.

And I thought my engagement story was good.  

My immediate reaction was the story was this:

How do I top it?

What can I include in the acknowledgements of my next book, or perhaps in the book itself, that can one-up a wedding proposal?

I guess I could also propose marriage to someone, which would be even more noteworthy considering that I'm happily married already.

But that would feel like copying. 

So what else?

I could reveal one of my deepest, darkest secrets in the acknowledgements, except I think I've revealed most of my deepest, darkest secrets on this blog already.

I could announce the pregnancy of my wife, if she were pregnant, and if we could time the pregnancy to the publication date of the next book, and if my wife was patient enough to wait until next May to get pregnant, and if she could keep the pregnancy secret for more than twelve seconds, which she was not able to do the first time.

So I guess that isn't going to happen. 

For a moment I thought about seeking revenge upon someone in the acknowledgements.  Acknowledging them as a poopy pants or a cowardly, backstabbing evildoer.  Goodness knows I have more than a few people in my life who are deserving.  But I've already written an unpublished manuscript that serves this purpose nicely and is much more subtle about the whole thing.

And someday it'll be published.    

So what other big moments in life compare to a marriage proposal and the birth of children?

Landing on the best seller list?
Finding the perfect grilled cheese recipe?
Shooting under 90 in a round of golf?

Probably.  But none of these conform well to an acknowledgements page, and none are likely to happen anytime soon. 

Especially the golfing one.    

Perhaps I could use my acknowledgements as a shout-out to someone I've always wanted to meet.  Express my appreciation to Derek Jeter or David Sedaris or Bill Bryson or Paula Poundstone, even though none of them have nothing to do with the book, in hopes that one of them might reach out and give me a call. 

Maybe even offer to meet me for dinner.   

Or maybe step outside the box a little more and acknowledge the people who know the truth behind the JFK shooting or the fine folks working on that crashed spaceship that the US government has hidden away in Area 51.

Imagine getting that call.

"Hi, I'm one of the astrophysicists working on the crashed alien ship in Area 51.  I just wanted to thank you for acknowledging our work on your Acknowledgements page.  As you can imagine, we don't get a lot of attention or fanfare here.  Everything is always Top Secret this and Top Secret that.  We'll execute you if you tell anyone about the alien bodies we have in the freezer.  So thanks for remember us down here.  You made my day."

Now that might top a silly little marriage proposal.

Wisdom of the young perhaps.

At Easter dinner, my father-in-law asked the son of friends if I had a tendency to exaggerate at times.

"No," the boy said.  "Mr. Dicks doesn't exaggerate.  He either tells the truth or he lies."

I'm not sure if it's entirely true, but it's an intriguing observation.

If only they were real

If only my daughter's new washer and dryer were real, my wife's life would be so much easier, because Clara loves to pretend to do the laundry. 

   

My wife does almost all the laundry in the home, but for the record, I did almost all of the laundry the four years that we lived in apartments together, and I am still willing to help out with the laundry whenever needed. 

Those were four good years of laundry, too.  I learned to fold shirts and pants according to her exacting specifications (she worked briefly at Abercrombie and Fitch and the rules stuck), separate items according to color and fabric and remember to use a dryer sheet more than half of the time.

Despite these better than average skills, my wife routinely declines my offers to help with the laundry.   

In fact, earlier this week I attempted to surprise her by folding an exceedingly large load of clothing and wash and dry two others.  I also packed up all the clothing in the laundry room and transported it to the bedrooms to be put away.

I was feeling pretty good about myself. 

When she came home and realized what I had done, I did not receive the appreciative hug and kiss that I had expected.  Instead I was greeted with a look of suspicion and a thorough examination of my laundry progress.

It's amazing how one or two shrunken sweaters can leave a woman bitter after so many years.  

Professional best man for hire

New job idea:  Professional best man. 

While I meet many outstanding best men in my role as a DJ, I also meet many who are too nervous to deliver the toast, too drunk to assist a groom in need, and too disinterested in the role to be of any use. 

And besides, why burden your best friend with this role if all he wants to do is have a good time at the wedding as well?

Instead, hire me.  Your professional best man. 

And what, you may ask, are my qualifications for such a job?

They are, admittedly, quite extensive:

I've attended more than 400 weddings as a DJ, guest, groom, member of the bridal party and best man, so there is little that I have not seen.  As a result, I will be ready and able to assist in almost every unexpected or unusual circumstance. My experience and expertise will allow me to ensure that the DJ, photographer, caterer and other professional staff are doing their jobs to the best of their ability and serving the bride and groom to my exceedingly exacting standards. I have extensive experience in dealing with in-laws, drunken guests, angry girlfriends, belligerent uncles and any other potentially disruptive wedding attendee and am adept at deflecting these distractors away from the bride and groom.      I can deliver an outstanding toast.  I am often instructing criminally- unprepared best men on what to say just minutes before their toasts and make them sound quite good.    I am a skilled party planner and will give you the bachelor's party of your dreams while also ensuring that you do nothing that you will regret the next day. I possess a wide range of interests and am skilled at ingratiating myself to a wide range of people.  I can do jock and nerd equally well and rarely meet someone who I cannot find common ground.  We may not be best friends after your wedding, but for the duration of our nuptials, I will be surprisingly likeable and chameleon-like in my ability to blend in with your group of friends.  And who knows?  One of my best friends is a former client.  It could happen for you, too. 

And what if you want to hire a professional best man but have a friend who also wants the job and would be upset to learn that you went with a professional?

No problem.  Simply have two best men. 

One who will get drunk during the cocktail hour, hit on one of the bridesmaids during photos, deliver a humorless speech and forget to end it with an actual toast…

….and one who will not drink at your wedding except when capping off an amusing but also heartfelt toast, will keep your best interests in mind at all times, and is skilled and experienced enough to ensure that everything goes smoothly on your wedding day.

Don't you deserve another friend on your wedding day? 

A friend absent of personal needs and petty grievances on your big day.

A friend who will guide you through and past every awkward, annoying, unfortunate, and potentially disastrous moment of your wedding.  

Don't you deserve the services of a professional on your wedding day? 

A professional best man.

Super Grover to the rescue

My daughter refused to take a nap today. 

After spending about 30 minutes playing in her crib, she began calling for Super Grover to rescue her from her nap.

"Super Grover! I need help!  Super Grover!  Help me!"

We don't normally succumb to her demands for extraction, but we strongly believe in rewarding humor and originality.  So once we were finished laughing, we plucked her from the crib and spared her the anguish of an afternoon snooze. 

Super Grover didn't save her. 

In the end, it was her wit that won the day.

Can the wisdom of the near-death experience be passed on without the experience itself?

Having survived two near-death experiences and faced death once at the end of a gun, I understand Ric Elias's TED Talk with great precision.  For the first time in my life, I feel like I've found someone who truly understands how and why I live my life.   

A near-death experience can be a gift.  It can reconstitute a life and change a person forever. 

For me, my near-death experiences represent the defining moments of my life. 

They make me who I am. 

They are responsible for much of my success. 

And thankfully, most people don't require three near-death experiences in order to learn the lesson.

Ric required just one. 

A rare few understand these lessons intuitively and do not require the cessation of their heart rate or respiration in order to learn them.   

But for those that do not, I wonder if it is a lesson than can be learned by listening to a TED Talk.  or to someone like me talk about how my experiences have changed my life.   

Can the perspective that Elias and I possess based upon our experiences really be as transformative to people who have not shared a similar experience?

I'm not sure. 

Thanks you, Laura Numeroff and Felicia Bond, for saving me from my own stupidity

My daughter experienced her first Easter egg hunt yesterday. 

While she slept in the early hours of Sunday morning, I came downstairs and hid the ten candy-filled eggs.

My initial hiding places were brilliant. 

Inside a coffee mug that was positioned on the top rack of the dishwasher.

Tucked behind two cookbooks on the bookshelf. 

Inside the crock pot.

On the top rack of the oven.

Stuffed into one of my shoes.

These hiding places were outstanding, I thought.  It might take her hours to find the eggs. 

Then I remembered the book that we read to Clara about Easter:

Laura Numeroff's HAPPY EASTER MOUSE!

 

In the book, Bunny hides the eggs in considerably more conspicuous spots than me.

On top of tables.  On a sofa cushion.  Behind a chair leg.

It occurred to me that perhaps my hiding spots were too difficult for a two-year old. 

Then it occurred to me that we forbid Clara from opening the over or the dishwasher, so those hiding spots were probably bad on a number of levels.  

Then I realized that she can't even reach the crock pot. 

And she's never even hunted for Easter eggs before.

Then I felt stupid. 

So I collected all the eggs and repositioned them in fairly obvious locations:

On her chair.  On a stool.  On her toy box.  On the chimney of her dollhouse. 

And when she came downstairs and began finding eggs, Elysha turned to me and said, "Your hiding spots are perfect, honey."

No thanks to me.