Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 648

Equality not always advisable

Sometimes women take equality a little too far.

In November, men are encouraged to grow moustaches in order to raise awareness of prostate cancer, thus dubbing the month Movember.

Not to be outdone, December has now been declared "Decembrow" by the feminist-oriented website Feministing.  Women are encouraged to grow out their eyebrows to the point where they connect in the middle or to "use an herbal remedy or a pencil to fake it" in order to raise money for a cause of their choice.

There is so many things wrong with this idea.

First, a cause of their choice?  The lack of a unified effort in regards to a specific cause gives this the impression of a bunch of women who are desperate to play the same game as their male counterparts but without the actual desire, organization or ability to do so.

Hey!  No fair!  We want to play, too! 

Feministing actually states that Movember "has heretofore been lacking in opportunities for women who have trouble growing moustaches to get involved."

Lacking in opportunities?

Trouble growing moustaches? 

I always thought that it was trouble for women who grew moustaches.  Don't women who are genetically inclined to facial hair spend countless hours ridding themselves of their unwanted whiskers? 

I would hardly consider an inability to grow a moustache as a lack of opportunity or troubling for anyone. 

Especially women.    

And whether or not you are a fan of the moustache, a man sporting a moustache does not stand out in a crowd.  It is hardly considered an eyesore.   

Walking around looking like Frida Kahlo, however, is certain to draw some negative attention.

How about this?  Rather than raising money by growing a uni-brow, women could instead collect extortion money from men by agreeing not to grow a uni- brow.

The threat of having to spend a month starting at a co-worker's single eyebrow is probably enough to convince to me to kick $20 for whatever charity she have deemed worthy.

Ladies, it's sometimes okay to let the boys play their games and not feel excluded when you can't play as well. 

Kitty cat love

Sometimes Elysha threatens to throw Owen out of our bedroom window.

Moments like these assure me that she she's all talk and no action.

 

Me and Clifford simpatico

The original, 1963 version of Clifford the Big Red Dog is written like the first draft to one of my novels. 

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The plot does not begin until two–thirds of the way through the book.

On page 23 of 27, author Norman Bridwell writes:

One day I gave Clifford a bath.

Thus begins the four brief pages of plot that ultimately end the story. 

Clifford is brought to a dog show and wins second prize, and Emily Elizabeth declares her love for her second-place mutt, regardless of his eccentricities. 

That's it.  The whole plot.  In four pages. 

Everything prior to page 23 serves merely as character development.

Clifford plays hide-and-seek.  
Clifford is difficult to feed.
Clifford chases off burglars.

Random anecdote after random anecdote about Clifford's unique characteristics.

No plot whatsoever. 

And while my daughter has yet to complain about this obvious flaw in the story, I expect to hear about it any day now.  She has nearly memorized the book, and thus her ability to analyze its narrative structure is probably only days away.   

Sadly, while the ratio of character development to plot in my first drafts might be slightly better than Bridwell's, it's not far off.

Of course, that's what I get for writing books without any plot in mind. 

Hooray for my agent, Taryn, and her ability to fix my mess. 

A little weird or immeasurably cool?

My wife says that she would not be opposed to living next to skinny-dippers, but it would depend upon what they looked like.

I'm not sure what to think of this.  

WOW.

I probably like this a lot more than I should

My wife and I are fairly progressive policy on the giving of holiday cards.

Our card is always late and always digital. 

While we adore receiving Christmas cards from our friends and family, we simply cannot muster the energy or organization needed to physically mail cards to our friends. 

Instead, Elysha creates something magnificent in Photoshop, and we email it to our friends sometime in January.

Two years ago here was what we sent to friends:

While this "digital and always late" policy may strike you as inefficient and unimpressive, I always like to remind people that our holiday cards are much better for the environment than the traditional kind, and our card arrives at a time after all the other holiday cards have come and gone.

Therefore, our holiday card has a singular moment in the sun.

As creative as Elysha's cards always are, they pale in comparison to this year's holiday greeting from Jabba the Hutt:

Facebook Fail

A former colleague passed away this week. 

We worked together for about six years, and while we never became close friends, he was the first teacher to greet me as I nervously made my way into the school on a humid August afternoon in 1999 to begin setting up my classroom. 

He walked me around the building that day, giving me the lay of the land and offering me materials that he was no longer using.  The two of us rarely saw eye-to-eye during our teaching days, but he was always as kind and supportive to me as he was on that first day that we met. 

In a final stroke of irony, Facebook featured his name and photo this evening in the People You May Know section of my sidebar, suggesting that he and I may want to become Facebook friends.  It was the first time that I can ever remember seeing his name and image on my Facebook wall, and Facebook chose today to do so. 

In case you were concerned, there is a process by which a deceased person's Facebook account can be memorialized, so that these things do not happen, and I'm hoping that my former colleague has someone in his life who knows how to do this. 

I'm not sure why this is the case, but the image of him floating in his kayak in a North Carolina river is haunting to me. 

Perhaps it serves as an unnecessary and unwanted reminder of how tragically short a person's retirement can be. 

And it's a reminder of death, of course, which is not a subject that I handle with great aplomb. 

A couple of winners

My wife and I received our state pension statements today.

For the first time in more than six years, one of us (Elysha) decided to actually examine the information.

In the event of Elysha's death, her benefits are currently slated to go to her former fiancée. 

In the event of my death, my pension will revert over to my ex-wife. 

As you can see, we have our financial house in excellent order over here.

Best worst insult

One of my good friends recently insulted someone using what I believe is the worst (meaning best) insult of all time:

"He sucks at life."

It really says it all.  Right?

Beauty squared

It's fuzzy, and the coloring isn't great in the top right-hand corner, and it's not perfectly framed, but this is currently my favorite photo of my daughter.

And as an added bonus, my wife appears in it as well.

In fact, she's the one who took the picture.