Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 620

A dramatic reading of Gwyneth Paltrows cookbook

As I work on a semi-autobiographical book on productivity, I will keep this video in mind and attempt to avoid the pitfalls of self-indulgence:

Killer tornados not OK

I've never liked the abbreviation for Oklahoma.  Abbreviations should never spell words that could later be misconstrued as the actual word. 

Case in point:

Today's headline from the Daily Beast Twitter feed:

2 Killed in OK tornados ... At least 4 twisters hit southeastern region of state.

Yes, it only took me less than a second to realize the tornados were not receiving the Daily beast's seal of approval, but that was a rather appalling microsecond of confusion. 

I do not understand teenagers who fail to rebel

My wife is right. 

I cannot understand why all teenagers and young adults don't rebel against their parents.

One example:

She tells me that a former student, now in college, is engaged to get married.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised at the age in which she has decided to tie the knot.

My wife explains that her former student is from a very devout family and takes religion quite seriously, and these people tend to marry early.

And right there she has lost me, because she's right.  I cannot understand how a young person becomes as devout about their religion as their parents, because I cannot understand why all teenagers and young adults don't rebel against their parents.

Especially in matters like religion, where time constraints and heavy-handed rules are arbitrarily imposed upon a person.

Time constraints and rules.  These seem like two of the best reasons for a teenager to rebel, and while many do, it's not all, and I just don't get it.   

You've had a couple kids and suddenly decide to take religion more seriously for the sake of your children?

I get it.  I wouldn't do it, but I get it.

You've lived a life of debauchery and hope that strict adherence to religion might save you?

I get it.  It's not for me, but I get it.

You're getting older and are worried about your potential afterlife, so you decide to convince God that you are deserving a place in Heaven by attending church regularly and becoming more devout?

I get again.  Again, I wouldn't do it, but I at least understand the motivation.

But for a sixteen year old boy or a twenty year old girl to fall in lock-step with their parents on such conservative ideals as religion?

I don't get it.

I know this a blind spot for me.  I know that many, many people embrace their parent's religious beliefs with enthusiasm and sincerity., but I can not imagine spending my teenage years embracing any of my parents conservative ideals, and I did not know a single person from that time in my life who did.

I just don't get it.  There is too much opportunity and appeal in choosing for oneself and striking out on one's own for me to ever understand why one's parents beliefs would ever become your own. 

My wife attempted to claim that she did not rebel against her parents when she was young, but less than a minute later, after I had fired off an lengthy list of acts of rebellion from her youth, even she admitted that she was probably not in lock-step with her parents as she had once imagined.

And I love this about her. 

In fact, it's one of the things I love the most about her.   

That and her acceptance of me in every way, blind spot and all. 

In defense of revision

Two of my favorite television shows of all time, and two of my wife's favorite television shows of all time, are remakes: 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (a remake of a film) and Battlestar Galactica (the remake of a poorly-executed television show).

Perhaps television in general would be better if we gave its writers more opportunities for revision. 

Visual representation of a specific human emotion

This is what "No, we can't have ice cream for dinner" looks like:

Defending my biography

During a recent book event in Vermont, two different people assigned to introduce me jocularly questioned the various biography pages that I have scattered throughout the Internet. 

Specifically, a few things came into question, so I thought I'd clear them up here and now.

First, my official bio was written by a friend (and theoretical biophysicist) who entered my bio writing contest last year and won.  The seemingly rambling but perfectly grammatical sentence is a nod toward author Jose Saramago, whose style is something that I have criticized often and who is mentioned in the bio: 

Matthew Dicks, who is not one for long, crafted sentences, preferring the stylings of Vonnegut over those of Saramago, is an author whose works, to date, include the novels Something Missing and Unexpectedly Milo; a successful blog and a number of Op Ed pieces, all of which, at some level or another, tend to examine the outcomes of the quirky and/or rebellious individual when forced up against staid society; however, to say that he is an author is an understatement (or possibly an overstatement, since he devised a contest to compose this author bio and then chose the ramblings of a theoretical biophysicist as the winning entry), for this husband and father from Newington, CT, who has faced a number of near-death experiences, lived in his car, and been tried for a crime that he did not commit, is also an acclaimed elementary teacher who has received the Teacher of the Year Award, is the co-owner of a DJ business, and still wishes that he could beat some of his friends at golf. 

A year later, I still like this biography a lot.

As for the specifics from other biographies that were called into question this weekend:

Yes, I died twice before the age of eighteen and was revived by paramedics both times.  Posts describing these incidents can be found here and here.

Yes, I was a pole vaulter, and a damn good one, too, until the aforementioned car accident/near-death experience caused me to miss my senior season.  A post describing my experience as a pole vaulter can be found here.

And yes, I was a bassoonist, as well as a flutist and a drummer. 

I began my musical career as a flutist in third grade when my mother forced the instrument on me, declaring it quiet enough for her to accept.  A week later I discovered that I was one of only two male flutists in the entire town, and the other was a boy three years older than me named Kevin who rode my school bus and was the biggest nerd I had ever seen.

While I enjoyed the flute, the act of playing it was socially devastating.

When I arrived at our junior-senior high school in seventh grade, I was asked to join the marching band as a drummer.  Lacking a football team, my school's marching band became the centerpiece of my high school's competitive endeavors, and our marching band was considered one of the best in the country.

In need of bodies who could keep time in order to fill out the bass drum line, the music director saw an average flutist, an athlete who could carry a bass drum for hours without tiring, and a young man who despised the stigma of his instrument.  Summing up my desires well, he asked if I would like to switch to drum line during the marching band season.

Needless to say I jumped at the chance. 

In my six years in the marching band, we won the Massachusetts championship four times, the New England championship three times, and I had the opportunity to march in Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Rose Bowl parade.

Some of the best times of my life. 

In the off-season, however, there was no need for two dozen drummers in the Wind Ensemble, so for the first three off-seasons, I was forced to return to the flute until the day that my school purchased its first bassoon and was in need of a bassoon player.

Once again seeing a middling flute player who was not enjoying his instrument, the band director asked if I would like to become the school's first bassoonist, and once again, I jumped at the chance.

I became the school's first bassoonist, and I played it until I graduated from high school.

Two near death experiences before the age of eighteen, a career as a pole vaulter, and a bassoon player.

All true.

Dont upset the French.

In the real world, there is no equity when it comes to retaliation.

You fire bullets at our ambassador's house and we will fire rockets at your President. 

That, my friends, is a deterrent.

Spring has sprung

Almost 70 degrees yesterday in Connecticut. 

My daughter approves.

Pugnacious, happily-married Franklin-like contemporary of Jennifer Egan

The always generous Jim Higgins of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel wrote a piece about me and one of my recent blog posts entitled Top 10 Ideas About Books.

I'm not sure what thrilled me the most about the piece:

The title, Ideas About Books: Matthew Dicks, Jennifer Egan, which places my middling little name alongside the great Jennifer Egan. His mention of SOMETHING MISSING as one of his favorite novels of 2009 The fact that Higgins refers to me as a modern-day Ben Franklin His prediction that I would enjoy a long and happy marriage (presumably to Elysha) His description of me as "a pugnacious character"

I was wavering between the Jennifer Egan connection and the modern-day Benjamin Franklin moniker when I decided to look up the definition of the word pugnacious.  While I already knew what the word meant, I like the formal definitions even better:

hard-bitten: tough and callous by virtue of experience Naturally aggressive or hostile; combative; belligerent

That may trump everything else on the list. 

Either way, Higgins has made my day, my week and perhaps my month. 

And he managed all this in an impressive 150 words.

No limits on royalty. Or milk.

No classism in our little girl.

No economic oppression either.

Tonight we found a baby and a knight perched on identical thrones, both dining on what my daughter considers the finest of all cuisines:

Milk.   

Equality at its best.