Help! Some kind of voodoo priest is trying to change my life!

I met a woman in Michigan who told me that she performed improv with Second City in Chicago a few years ago.

"Why dd you stop?" I asked.

She explained that she moved north to Michigan for work, and there is no real improv scene in her area. She still loved performing improv when she left Chicago, but there's just no opportunity for her anymore. 

"Then you need to create an opportunity," I said. "You need to start something here."

She paused for a moment. Thought. Then smiled. She said, "Yeah, maybe. That's not a bad idea."

"No maybes," I shot back. "Do it. You need to do it now. Don't wait for some other day. Go home tonight and take one small step forward. Choose a name. Create a logo. Make a list of possible venues. Call ten people who might want to perform. Get started today."

"Maybe," she said. "It's a good idea."

"Stop saying maybe," I demanded. "You need to do it now. Too many people put off the hard, important, scary things that could change their lives forever. Don't be one of those people. Don't find yourself five years from now regretting this moment in this hallway when you could've done something great. Go home tonight and do something."

"Help!" she shouted, leaning into the office space adjacent to us. "Some kind of voodoo priest is trying to change my life."

Then she fled. 

Two days later, I ran into her again in the same hallway. I repeated many of the same things. She said she was "seriously thinking about it," which sounded pretty terrible to me. Lots of people "seriously think" about things and then live lives of quiet desperation. Fail to make their dreams come true. Lie in their death bed regretting all that could have been. 

Instead of "seriously thinking," she needed to be "seriously doing."

"Okay, okay," she said, not sounding as committed as I wanted.  

I left Michigan that day.

Three days later I mailed her a two-page letter reminding her that someday is today. "Get to work. Stop making excuses. Stop 'seriously thinking about it' and start making your dreams come true."

Our only guarantee in life is that that someday it will end. The rest is up to us. We need to make the beauty and magic and art in our lives real. We have to stop saying that someday we'll do something and instead make that someday today.

She probably thinks I'm crazy. She might even believe that I'm a voodoo priest. Maybe she's right. I sent a person who I knew for all of three minutes a letter demanding that she stop spinning her wheels and build something. Create an opportunity. Perform.  

Maybe I am a little crazy. I don't care, just as long as she starts that improv troop and takes the stage as soon as possible. 

Add "voodoo priest" to my already long list of job titles if that's what it takes to get you moving. 

My daughter has a full time job (in her estimation, at least)

Clara was helping Elysha get dinner on the table. Putting out plates and silverware. Pouring milk for her brother.

Then she sighed and said:

"I’ve only been helping you for two or three minutes, and it already feels like a full time job that I’m not getting paid for." 

I was both appalled by the massive overstatement of the work she had just done and impressed by her desire to be paid for her efforts. The girl might have a horribly skewed understanding of what amounts to a full time job, but no employer is ever going to get away with not paying her a fair wage. 

There is nothing wrong with Bigfoot erotica

Virginia Democrat Leslie Cockburn is accusing her Republican opponent, Denver Riggleman, of being a “devotee of Bigfoot erotica” based on screenshots he appeared to have posted of a Bigfoot with a large penis.

Yes, Bigfoot erotica is a thing. If you'd like to do a deep dive on the subject, Katie Heaney wrote a piece in 2014 that will explain this subculture to you fairly extensively. 

Leslie Cockburn lives in rural Rappahannock County and is running against Denver Riggleman in the state’s 5th Congressional district, which includes parts of Charlottesville.

I am no fan of Denver Riggleman. He is a Trump supporter who has campaigned alongside a white supremacist. He should not be elected to any office in this country. 

But if Riggleman is a fan of Bigfoot erotica, I don't think that has any bearing on his capacity for serving the constituents of Virginia, and I think that Leslie Cockburn's use of it as a campaign issue is inappropriate, narrow-minded, and stupid.  

I don't understand Bigfoot erotica. It's definitely not for me, and if I'm being honest, just the thought of Bigfoot erotica makes my skin crawl. But there is apparently a subset of human beings who finds excitement and pleasure in this unusual form of sexualized literature, and if it brings them happiness and hurts no one, then far be it for me or Leslie Cockburn or anyone else to criticize.

Yes, I'm defending Bigfoot erotica. I'm defending a person's admiration of Bigfoot erotica. I'm defending a person's right to write and read and fantasize about sex with Bigfoot. 

I'll even defend having sex with Bigfoot if everyone involved is a consenting adult participant.  

If we're going to be a society that stops caring about what people do in the privacy of their own homes, then this must extend to all interests, fetishes, and personal predilections that do not conform with our own. If I want the bigots of the world to stop concerning themselves with the private lives of my gay, bisexual, and transgender friends, then we must extend this desire to the private lives of all people.

As long as no one is being hurt and everyone is a consenting adult, we have no right to judge the multitude of ways that our fellow human beings find happiness, pleasure, and love.  

Bigfoot erotica makes no sense to me. It strikes me as the one of the least arousing concepts on the planet. But that doesn't mean that it's wrong and that someone should be condemned for finding pleasure in it. 

Leslie Cockburn is running against a man who has campaigned with a white supremacist. She is battling a Republican supported Trump's decision to separate migrant families at the border. He defended a Republican tax cut that sent more than 90% of the money into the hands of the wealthiest Americans. Stood by Trump when he equated torch-bearing Nazis in Charlottesville with counter-protesters. Voted for a man who bragged about sexually assaulting women.    

There is plenty of ammunition to use against Denver Riggleman. Plenty of proverbial bullets to fire in this campaign for Congress.  

His alleged appreciation of Bigfoot erotica should not be one of them.  

Resolution update: July 2018

PERSONAL HEALTH

1. Don’t die.

Still alive. Feel fantastic. 

2. Lose 20 pounds.

Stuck at 12 pounds lost. 

3. Eat at least three servings of fruits and/or vegetables per day. 

I had three servings of fruits and/or vegetables on 22 of 31 days in July. Worst month so far.

4. Do at least 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 3 one-minute planks for five days a week.

Done.  

5. Identify a yoga routine that I can commit to practicing at least three days a week.

No progress. In August, I will spend a full week at Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. I'll be teaching storytelling, but I'll also have the opportunity to take some yoga classes and perhaps find a routine that fits my lifestyle and personal preference.  

6. Stop using the snooze button.

Done and still highly recommended. Science is right. Snoozing is a terrible practice that you must end immediately. Get the hell out of bed once you are awake. You will feel a lot better.     

WRITING CAREER

7. Complete my seventh novel before the end of 2018.

My agent and I have settled on the next novel. Progress has begun.  

8. Complete my second middle grade/YA novel.

I've submitted my first middle grade novel to my editor and am awaiting word in terms of required revision. I can't choose or start the next book until the first is complete. 

9. Write at least three new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist. 

No progress

10. Write a proposal for a memoir.

My agent and I have decided upon the memoir, and progress has begun. First draft of the proposal has been sent to my agent for review.

11. Write a new screenplay.

Writing has commenced.

12. Write a musical.

Writing has commenced. 

13. Submit at least five Op-Ed pieces to The New York Times for consideration.

Nothing submitted in July. Three submitted so far.

4. Write a proposal for a nonfiction book related to education.

No progress.

15. Submit one or more short stories to at least three publishing outlets.

No progress.

16. Select three behaviors that I am opposed to and adopt them for one week, then write about my experiences on the blog.

No progress. I'm still looking for possible behaviors to adopt. Suggestions welcomed.  

17. Increase my author newsletter subscriber base to 2,000.

I added 98 subscribers added in July, and a total of 298 added in 2018. I'm 153 away from my goal. 

If you'd like to subscribe to my newsletter and receive tips on writing and storytelling, as well as links to amusing Internet miscellany and more, please subscribe here:

18. Write at least six letters to my father.

One letter written in July. Three letters written thus far.

19. Write 100 letters in 2018.

12 letters written and mailed in July, bringing my total to 44 in 2018.

20. Convert Greetings Little One into a book.

No progress.  

21. Record one thing learned every week in 2018.

Done! My favorite from July:      

There are only four countries in the world which have bigger GDP’s than California, and Russia is not one of them. In fact, three US states have bigger GDP’s than Russia - California, Texas, and New York.

STORYTELLING

22. Produce a total of 12 Speak Up storytelling events.

No shows produced in July. Our total number of shows stands at 6. 

23. Deliver a TEDx Talk.

Done! I spoke at a TEDxNatick salon event in May. 

24. Attend at least 15 Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

Two Moth StorySLAMs in July, bringing the total to five in 2018. 

25. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

Two second place finished in July. One victory back in February. 

26. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

Done twice over! I won my fifth GrandSLAM in February and my sixth GrandSLAM in April.

27. Produce at least 25 episodes of our new podcast Speak Up Storytelling. 

Episodes 1-11 are now now available wherever you get podcasts. The reception to the podcast has been excellent, and our audience is growing fast.

Subscribe wherever you get your podcasts, and please leave us a rating on Apple Podcasts.

C'mon, people.  

28. Perform stand up at least four times in 2018. 

Done! I performed in three open-mic events while in Grand Rapids, Michigan, including one night when I was asked to perform a second set. This brings my total number of stand up performances in 2018 to 5, including one paid gig.   

29. Pitch my one-person show to at least one professional theater.

Done! My one-person show has been pitched and been accepted by the Speak Up, Rise Up Storytelling Festival. I'll be performing on Tuesday, August 7 at 9:30pm on their Main Stage.

You should come!

30. Pitch a new Moth Mainstage story to the artistic director of The Moth. 

No progress.

NEW PROJECTS

31. Write a syllabus for a college course on teaching. 

No progress.

32. Cook at least 12 good meals (averaging one per month) in 2018.

No progress. 

33. Plan a 25 year reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.

No progress. 

MISCELLANEOUS

34. Pay allowance weekly.

Done! 

35. Ride my bike with my kids at least 25 times in 2018.

Only three more rides in July, bringing the total to five. 

36. I will report on the content of speech during every locker room experience via social media in 2018. 

Done. I spent 30 days at three different gyms (including three different locker rooms) in July, plus two locker rooms at golf courses, and I did not hear a single comment related to sexually assaulting women.  

37. I will not comment, positively or negatively, about physical appearance of any person save my wife and children (except in service of a story while appearance is relevant), in 2018 in an effort to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall. 

I did not speak of physical appearance with the exception of my wife and kids in July. 

38. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2018.

I surprised Elysha FOUR TIMES in July, bringing my total number of surprises to nine. 

1. I stuck a Starbucks gift card to her steering wheel with a note written in marker on the actual card.
2. I purchased a shirt that I knew she loved (she pointed it out at a farmer's market, so I hunted down the sell) and timed the purchase so it would arrive while I was in Michigan.
3. I arrived home from Michigan a day early without tell her that I had finished my work ahead of schedule. After the plane landed, I found her in a restaurant with a friend and presented her with a gift from the trip and some flowers.  
4. I took Elysha to In & Of Itself, an incredible magic show in New York City. She had no idea where she was going or what we were doing.

39. Replace the 12 ancient, energy-inefficient windows in our home with new windows that will keep the cold out and actually open in the warmer months.

I've received some more reasonable estimates for this project. It might actually be doable.

40. Clean the basement. 

More than halfway done this job.

41. Set a new personal best in golf.

I played several rounds of golf in July, and I came within 3 strokes of my personal best. 

42. Play poker at least six times in 2018.

No poker in July. I cancelled another game due to lack of players. 

43. Spend at least six days with my best friend of more than 25 years.

A spent an evening working as a DJ with Bengi in July, bringing my total to two. 

44. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.

Done.

Trump vs. Me

I received some good news today. 

Back in July of 2017, I was blocked by Donald Trump on Twitter after tweeting at him: 

While there are ways to get around a block and see Trump's Twitter feed, the block prevents me from ever commenting on any of his tweets or tweeting directly at him. I was teaching about 25 girls from around the world at a private school on the day that I was blocked, and upon hearing that I was blocked, they broke into a spontaneous, joyous dance around me, seeing this as a badge of honor and a reason to celebrate. 

It was a beautiful moment, but I was still upset. 

It wasn't right. 

This week The Knight Foundation, whose attorneys represented the plaintiffs in the Knight Institute v. Trump lawsuit, which alleged that the President’s actions in blocking individuals from the @realDonaldTrump account violated the First Amendment, contacted me.

On May 23, 2018, the judge in the case ruled in favor of The Knight Foundation and their clients and issued an order declaring that blocking the plaintiffs from @realDonaldTrump because they criticized him in reply tweets violated the First Amendment.  

Following that decision, the plaintiffs in the lawsuit were unblocked. 

I sent an email to the Knight Foundation a few months ago, asking if I could join the lawsuit or become involved in some way. This week, an attorney from the Knight Foundation replied, offering to forward my information to the Department of Justice for the purposes of getting me and other Americans in my situation unblocked as well.  

No guarantees that it will happen. Thus far Trump has only lifted the block on the nine defendants in the case, but it's a start.

Either way, it'll probably make a good story one day. 

A small but glorious victory thanks to Charlie and Elysha

I'm on the beach with Charlie, watching him play in the sand when a man about my age approaches. My thought is always the same:

"Damn. He knows me, but I have no idea who he is. I hate this."

It happens all the time. 

But no. Instead, he reaches down and plucks one of our plastic shovels from the sand beside our wagon. 

"This is our shovel," he says.

I look around, hoping to see Elysha. I'm sure that the shovel is ours, but Elysha bought it. She can turn my 99% certainty into 100% certainty. But she's nowhere to be seen. I'm on my own.

"No," I say. "I think it's ours." I look at the other shovel in the wagon. Different colors but same design. "In fact I'm sure it's ours."

"No," he says, "It's mine, sir." 

Now I'm annoyed. The man isn't speaking in a voice to conveys a desire to discuss. This is not a negotiation. He's right, and I'm wrong. In fact, he might think we stole the damn thing. And he called me "sir." How annoying.

But Charlie is sitting at my feet, slowly becoming aware of the situation. I can't just lay into the guy while Charlie is listening. I can't just initiate my usual attack mode. Instead, I decide to respond with a bit of delicacy.

"Just because you're holding the shovel doesn't make it yours," I say. "And just because you think it's yours doesn't make it yours, either. But if you need the shovel that badly, take it. But it's ours."

"It's mine," he says forcefully. "It's my shovel."

"Yeah," I say flatly. "You said that already. Repeating yourself doesn't make it yours either, but go ahead. Take it."

The man starts to turn when Charlie reaches out and grabs the shovel. The man pulls on it, and I start to say, "No, Charlie!" when Charlie stops me.

"No," Charlie says, "Look." Charlie points to a sticker on the handle of the shovel. The sticker bears Charlie's name. His full name, in fact.

It turns out I wasn't alone after all. I had Charlie.  

"Is that your name?" I ask, pointing.

"Oh," the man says. "Well, it looks like mine."

"Maybe we shopped at the same store," I say. There's so much more I want to say. So much more I could say. But Charlie is here, and it's his moment. Instead, I smile. It's not a nice smile. 

Then the man steps away. I watch him circle the beach, continuing his search for his precious, plastic shovel. 

I'm ecstatic. A brilliant triple-teaming by my family. 

1. Elysha has the foresight and wisdom to label our beach equipment.
2. I avoid an angry confrontation on the beach by being direct, specific, but flexible in the face of arrogance. I keep my cool.   
3. Charlie makes the man look very stupid. 

I had a wonderful weekend. A child's birthday party with lots of people who I like a lot. Dinner with the next-door neighbors. Swimming in the backyard pool. A trip to a new ice cream shop. A morning spent at the Coventry Farmer's market. A couple visits to the gym and an hour spent at the driving range. An afternoon at the beach, playing in the sand and water with the kids. Elysha in a bathing suit.

I even got some work done. Wrote some letters. Recorded and edited a podcast. Started the final revisions of my next novel. Worked on my musical. 

But those 90 seconds I spent on the beach with that man and Charlie constituted my favorite moment of the weekend. It's not even close. 

I like to win. I like to win verbal confrontations a lot. And I love decisive victories like the one we experienced today. A clear-cut victory.

Charlie said he liked it a lot, too. 

Speak Up Storytelling #11: Jessica Isom

Episode #11 of Speak Up Storytelling is now ready for your listening pleasure.

On this week's episode, we talk about finding and crafting stories in your everyday life using my strategy "Homework for Life." I describe how to turn a seemingly benign moment from my week into a compelling story and discuss how Homework for Life can be helpful to fiction writers, too.

Next, we listen to a story by Jessica Isom about a secret that she must carry throughout her graduation weekend from college. Then Elysha and I discuss the strengths of his fantastic story as well as suggestions for improvement.

Finally, we answer a listener questions about how to tell the stories of other people and why storytelling shows are often centered around a theme. 

If you haven't subscribed to the podcast in Apple podcasts (or wherever you receive your podcasts), please do. And if you haven't rated and/or reviewed the podcast in Apple Podcasts (who are the best people ever), we would love it if you did.

Ratings and reviews help listeners find our podcast easier, and it makes us feel better about ourselves and our work. 

Windows down. Music up.

Driving home alone after performing in Maine last week, I decided to spend the last hour of my four-hour drive with the windows down and the music up. 

Music blasted. Springsteen. Tom Petty. Tesla. The Ramones. Guns N' Roses. The Stones. The wind roared through the car. It was fantastic. 

As I roared down the highway, I looked around, taking note of how others were driving. Searching for my proverbial soulmates. Here is what I noticed:

Almost everyone drives on the highway with their windows up. Actually, almost everyone drives everywhere with their windows up. The vast majority of people travel via automobile in their own climate-controlled bubbles of air and sound.

What a shame. 

Part of this may be generational. When I was first learning to driving, air conditioning was far less prevalent than it is today. In 2017, 99% of all new automobiles came equipped with AC as a standard feature.

But in 1970, only 54% of cars were equipped with air conditioning.

In fact, the first three cars that I owned - all built in the 1970's and driven by me in the 1980's - did not have AC. Instead I drove with the windows down. Allowed fresh air to flow through my car. Offered my musical tastes to the world. 

It was glorious. It still is glorious. 

If you haven't done this in a while, you must. The next time you are driving on the highway or any place of any distance, lower all the windows. Choose some of your favorite music and turn it up. 

I drove for four hours from Maine to Connecticut. For the first three hours, I listened to books and podcasts and stopped for breakfast, but can't remember a dam thing about the drive. It was like every other long, forgettable distance drive.

But that last hour, heading west in Interstate 84, wind roaring through the car as Thunder Road and Satisfaction and I Wanna Be Sedated blasted from the speakers - I remember it well. 

I smile when I think back on that final hour.

And when I finally arrived home, I was energized. When I stepped out of my car, I was almost running to see Elysha and the kids. Part of it was the excitement of seeing them after a night away, but a bigger part was that I was excited and happy and filled with music. 

What a joyous, riotous feeling.   

Escape your climate-controlled bubble. Let the wind mess up your hair. Blast your music in the way you did when you were a teenager and understood the power and importance of song.

Grab hold of a some of that primacy again. 

"What the Heck?" - Episode 1 (Seeds and boys in dresses)

I've launched a third podcast called "What the Heck?" It's an occasional conversation with my kids, Clara and Charlie.

"What the heck?" is a favorite expression of Charlie. 

Honestly, I'm doing it just to record the kids' voices for posterity, and because they love podcasts and wanted one for themselves.

They want to be stars, and Elysha and I won't stand in their way.

But if you're interested in hearing Charlie talk about the science behind seeds and engage in a brief discussion on transgender issues, you can listen here to episode #1 or subscribe on Apple podcasts, Spotify, Overcast, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Devil lady

I stopped at McDonald's while I was in Michigan to get myself breakfast each morning before heading off to record the audio version of Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling. 

It turns out that my standard McDonald's breakfast in Michigan amounts to $.6.66.

The woman who took my order saw the price and said, "Oh, I hate when that number comes up across my register."

I smiled, knowing that 666, the supposed number of the beast from Revelations, is a questionable interpretation of the number at best. Also, I don't think that God or the Devil would care if my combination of sandwich, hash brown, and drink amounted to that number.

The next day, I returned to the McDonald's. The same woman was manning the same cash register. I placed the same order, and once again, $6.66 appeared on the register.

"Were you here yesterday?" she asked. 

"Yes," I said. 

"You ordered this yesterday," she said. "Didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why would you do that?" she asked, sounding exasperated. Annoyed, even. "If you know it costs $6.66, why wouldn't you change it a little? Order a smaller drink or an extra hash brown?"

Possible answers flashed before me:

• I'm not a crazy person.
• I don't allow Biblical numerology to alter my consumer decisions.
• I'm not superstitious. 
• I'm still not crazy. 

Instead, I said, "It's not something I worry about."

"You really should," she said, now visibly annoyed.

I returned to the McDonald's the next day, thrilled about the possibility of bringing $6.66 to her resister (and her life) once again. 

I've never been so excited to order breakfast in my life.

Sadly, she wasn't working. I ordered a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit instead of my usual Egg McMuffin. 

I was working hard. Sitting alone in a recording studio all day. Reading a book that I already knew well. I deserved a biscuit.  

But bringing $6.66 back to that woman's life one more time would've been better. 

Crazy man in the airport

On the way to Michigan, my plane encountered a mechanical problem. After sitting on the runway for more than an hour, the pilot asked us to disembark while they attempted to find us another plane.

An hour later, another aircraft was located, and we were assigned a new gate. This gate was designed for a much smaller plane, so there was little room inside the space to sit or even stand. As a result, my fellow passengers and I were spilling out into the concourse. 

Then an announcement was made from the podium, and because I couldn't hear it in the noise of the concourse, I stepped into the space to listen. This placed me at the entrance to the Zone 2 line, where passengers were beginning to line up. 

I was in Zone 4. I would be one of the last to board the plane, which I usually prefer. I wasn't carrying a roller bag, so I wasn't concerned about overhead space, and like to get on the plane at the last possible second. 

As I listened to the announcement, a middle-aged man in a suit tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he barked. "What zone are you in?"

"Four," I said. 

"Excuse me then," he said, rather abruptly. He pointed up at the Zone 2 sign hanging over my head and then jerked his head to the left in a gesture meant to tell me to move away from the entrance to the Zone 2 lane so we could get a spot.

Shockingly, I complied. Despite his abruptness and rudeness, I was still listening to the announcement, and I wasn't fully cognizant about what was happening.I followed his order.

Then the man brushed past me with a huff, walked about eight feet, and assumed his spot in line. 

Then it hit me.

What zone am I in? Did he really just ask me that question?

The guy couldn't wait another ten seconds for this announcement to finish? He could see that there was no room in this waiting area for all of us. He could see that I wasn't actually in the Zone 2 line or trying to get into the Zone 2 line. He was on the plane with me less than an hour ago. He knew the deal. And yet he motions me aside like he has some kind of "Zone 2 authority" over me?

And instead of just saying, "Excuse me," he asks me what zone I'm in?

Hell no.  

Maybe it was the hour spent on the runway or the hour spent in the terminal that had me a little edgier than usual, but a second later I stepped into the Zone 2 lane, walked up on the guy, and tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Excuse me," I said, aggressively. "What zone are you in?"

The man turned. He looked startled. "Zone 2," he said.

"Zone 2?" I asked, flatly. Staring him in the eye.

"Yes," he said. "What?"

"I just wanted to know what zone you were in today. Since you were so curious about my zone."

Then I just stared for another second. A long second. Finally I turned, left the Zone 2 line, and bought a pretzel. 

The man looked concerned about my behavior, and he gave me side-eye until we boarded the plane. Rightfully so. I was acting like a crazy person. Rather than engaging in simple, polite, verbal combat or expressing my displeasure over the way he spoke to me, I decided to out-crazy him. I stood close, stared, and sounded crazy. 

It wasn't nice.

Elysha hates when I do this. She worries that I'm going to run into someone someday who out-crazies my crazy. She's absolutely right. And to my credit, I have decreased these moments of public confrontation considerably. 

The mechanical failure of the plane, the time spent on the runway, the delays, and travel in general had me on edge. 

But if ever there was a place to out-crazy someone, it's probably an airport terminal. I knew the guy had undergone a thorough screening before entering the terminal and had no weapons on his person. Other than a possible punch in the face, I was as safe as I could be.

Still it wasn't nice.

There's a time and place in this world to call out people who aren't being kind, polite, civil, or decent, but there is also a way to do it. A better way. 

It was one of those moments when I was simultaneously thrilled with the way I handled the situation and disappointed with the way I handled the situation.     

Lemonade advertising was never so legal (or clever) before

There are days when I wish I worked in advertising. 

I'm sure the industry isn't as fun, creative, or permissive as I would like to think, but I think I could produce ideas for some unique, amusing, and memorable campaigns.

Campaigns like this one from Country Time lemonade. 

It's brilliant. So brilliant.  

Never Have I Ever: 12 things is now 14 things, partially because I'm a jerk

Three years ago I made a list of 12 things that most people have at least tried in some what that I have never done. 

My "Never Have I Ever" list. 

I revisited the list today to see how much is still true, and it turns out that all 12 are still true today, and I've managed to add two more to the list. 

1. Never purchased or used an illegal drug of any kind 
2. Never purchased a lottery ticket
3. Never tasted coffee
4. Never smoked a cigarette
5. Never bruised
6. Never slept past 9:00 AM
7. Never swore in the presence of my parents
8. Never shoplifted
9. Never watched an episode of The Real Housewives, The Bachelor, or anything involving Kardashians
10. Never owned an umbrella
11. Never used an emoji 
12. Never taken a selfie
13. With the exception of my wedding ring (which I don't wear), never worn a piece of jewelry
14. With the exception of a golf watch designed to provide distance to the hole, I've never owned or worn a watch

Notes:

I've never purchased or used an illegal drug of any kind because I was keenly aware at the age of 18 that I was on my own, without any familial safety net. I knew that I couldn't afford to get into the kinds of trouble that drugs can cause, because I had no one to bail me out.

I was on my own.

I also chose to avoid drug (and alcohol) throughout high school, recognizing their dangers and frankly never feeling the need to experiment.

For the record, Elysha never drank alcohol in high school either, so when people tell us that "kids are going to drink, no matter what we say or do," we scoff. I we could resist, so can they.  
_____________________

Certain people are obsessed with getting me to try coffee. I resist, of course. I purposely decided to avoid coffee at an early age after seeing people "need their coffee" every morning and abhorring its complexity. The multitude of preferred temperatures, brews, flavors, sweeteners, brands, and creams make this drink just too complicated for a person who strives for simplicity. 

Also, I just don't like hot beverages.

I've since learned that New England Patriots quarterback has also never tasted coffee, so I'm not the only one. 
_____________________

I can't explain why I don't bruise, but I don't. I've been with Elysha for 15 years, and she's never seen a bruise on my body. When I was 17, I nearly died in a head-on automobile collision that sent my head through the windshield and tore my legs open to the bone, but still no bruises.

It's a stupid super power, useful for nothing.  
_____________________

My refusal to use an emoji is stupid. It's gone from something I thought silly years ago to me just being a jerk now. They're cute and easy to use today, but I still resist, only because I'm a jerk. 
_____________________

I define a "selfie" as a photo taken of yourself by yourself. I've never taken one of these photos. I've taken photos of myself with others, and I've appeared in many photos taken by someone who also appears in the photo, but I've never taken a photo of me by me. 

This also started because I thought selfies were ridiculous (and for a while, the selfie stick confirmed this), but now I'm just being a jerk.
_____________________

I don't wear my wedding ring because it's steel and can't be resized. I lost about 50 pounds after Elysha became pregnant with Clara, and the ring now slides off my finger with ease.

I should get a new one. I know.  

Get a cat

Earlier this week, I heard a clattering of bowls in the kitchen. When Charlie and I went to investigate, we found Pluto sitting atop the refrigerator, and if you look closely at the first two photos, you'll see the eye of Tobi peeking out from inside the cabinet.

He can find his way into almost any space in the house. 

So began a 10 minute adventure better than any movie or television program. Charlie and I watched and laughed and cheered as the cats battled from either side of the door before Tobi got bored and returned to the interior of the cabinet.  

These are just a few of the photos from the cats' encounter.

We've had our cats for just over a year, and they have given us more joy than I could've ever imagined. They can be annoying at times, but the happiness that they have brought us more than makes up for their occasional misdeeds. 

If you don't own a cat, get yourself two. Go rescue a feline friend. You won't regret it.

Speak Up Storytelling #10: Kristin Budde

Episode #10 of Speak Up Storytelling is now ready for your listening pleasure.

On this week's episode, we talk about finding and crafting stories in your everyday life using my strategy "Homework for Life." I describe how searching for stories in your present day life can unearth moments from the past that you can't believe that you've forgotten. We also discuss how not every storyworthy moment needs to be a full story in order to be useful. 

Next, we listen to a story by Kristin Budde about a day of doctoring gone wrong. Then Elysha and I discuss the strengths of his fantastic story as well as suggestions for improvement.

Finally, we answer a listener question about our marriage and the rules that I establish in my new book Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling. 

If you haven't subscribed to the podcast in Apple podcasts (or wherever you receive your podcasts), please do. And if you haven't rated and/or reviewed the podcast in Apple Podcasts (who are the best people ever), we would love it if you did.

Ratings and reviews help listeners find our podcast easier, and it makes us feel better about ourselves and our work. 

Why a poached egg is funny

I performed in a show in Maine earlier this week called Sound Bites. In addition to telling a story, I also served as the emcee for the evening, introducing storytellers and bantering a bit between stories.

Doing my best Elysha Dicks impression. 

During one of the stories, a storyteller talked about how she can't cook a poached egg. When her story was done, I took the stage and told the storyteller that not only could I not cook a poached egg, but I don't actually know what a poached egg is, which is sadly true. 

The audience roared with laughter.

Later on, I asked myself why.

Why was that funny? I knew it would be funny, and I knew if I delivered it well, it would be really funny, but why? 

I've become a little obsessed with humor recently. Doing standup and constantly being asked in workshops to assist storytellers with being funny, I've become interested in looking closely at what makes things funny.

Here's what I think about my poached egg joke:

I think it's funny because it's a moment of surprising vulnerability. I think it was a combination of unbridled honesty, uncommon authenticity, and a willingness to speak about something that most would not.  

Yes, it's also a self-deprecating comment, which is often funny, but I think it's more than that. 

In that moment, most people don't admit to not knowing what a poached egg is. It's not some rare Tibetan cuisine or a fruit that only grows in the South Seas. It's a poached egg. I've heard about poached eggs all my life, as have most people, and yet I have no idea what that is. Most people would worry about sounding foolish or naive or even dumb to admit this, especially when standing before more than 100 people. When I acknowledge this surprising truth, they laugh. But they don't laugh at me. They laugh at my unexpected vulnerability.

I see this at comedy open mics all the time. A comedian is bombing, but with a minute to go in his set, he says something like, "I didn't realize how silent not laughing can be" or "Thank God I don't have any friends to invite to these disasters" and the audience (mostly comics themselves) roar with laughter. Sometimes they don't even say these comments to the audience. They are speaking almost under their breaths to themselves.

Yet it's the funniest moment in their set. 

Unplanned moments of vulnerability. Unexpected peeks into a comedian's soul.  

Yes, the content is also amusing, and their facility with language is strong, but it's when the comedian drops his guard, ceases his schtick, and stops cracking jokes when we laugh. 

This is why people laughed at my poached egg comment. I was shockingly vulnerable. I said something that most don't say. I spoke to a place in the hearts of the audience where they hide their own shame. Their own poached egg ignorances. I opened that door and let in a little light. Made them feel a little less foolish. Perhaps even a little happier with their own state of being. 

Most important, I made them laugh.

It's not funny that I can't identify a poached egg. It's funny when I tell you that I can't identify a poached egg. 

There's a lot more I could say about comedy, and there is a mountain for me to still learn, but this I know is true:

The best comedians speak the truth. When they say something like, "I was talking to my girlfriend the other night..." they were really talking to their girlfriend the other night. Not the girlfriend of a friend whose story they heard five years ago but have taken on as their own because it's funny.  

They are speaking the truth. Because of this, they have the opportunity to be vulnerable with the audience. Surprisingly, so. With that vulnerability comes the opportunity for a laugh. A big one. A memorable one. One that might even touch the hearts of their audiences, too. 

I love storytelling because I am afforded an opportunity to speak my truth, and when that truth is unfortunate, embarrassing, shameful, or disastrous, even better. People want this. They crave the failures and disappointments. They want to hear about our epic disasters and moments of awkwardness and shame.

Finding someone to brag about themselves in this world is not hard. Finding someone who is willing to tell on themselves is much harder to find. This is why people are drawn to the art and craft of storytelling.

It's honest, authentic, and vulnerable.    

The more unfortunate the moment, the more vulnerability required to tell it. 

Admitting that you have no idea what a poached egg is in front of an audience of 100 people is an act of vulnerability.

It's also funny. For that very reason, I think. 

It's weird that religious folk are so often filled with hate.

I may be a reluctant atheist, but I like this church sign a lot.

It makes me wonder:

How hateful and ignorant must you be to stand against same sex marriage, gender neutral restrooms, and the happiness of my LGBTQ friends because it's what The Bible says while blatantly ignoring so many of The Bible's other clear and specific rules.

Rules like: 

Exodus 21:17: And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death.

Leviticus 25:44: Your male and female slaves are to be from the nations around you; you may purchase male and female slaves.

Leviticus 19:19 You are to keep my statutes. Do not crossbreed two different kinds of your livestock, sow your fields with two kinds of seed, or put on a garment made of two kinds of material.

That's right. According to The Bible, slavery is perfectly fine (even Jesus never spoke out against it), polyester is forbidden, and just about every child in America should eventually be put to death. 

Of course, these ridiculous rules are ignored by most Christians, whereas the rules forbidding homosexuality should be strictly enforced in the minds of many religious folk, not because The Bible says so, but because they are using The Bible to defend their own personal bigotry.

Opposition to the LGBTQ community and same sex marriage has nothing to do with religion. It's just awful, stupid, self-serving bigots hiding behind their Bibles instead of acknowledging the hatred and ignorance in their hearts.  

In case there was ever a question as to which laws of The Bible should be followed and which can be ignored, Jesus was strikingly clear on this issue, too. When specifically asked:

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Mark 12:30-32: Jesus replied: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

Love thy neighbor. Gay or straight. Cisgender or transgender. Black or white. Mexican or American. Old or young. Muslim, Jew, Christian, or nonbeliever. 

Love your neighbor, damn it. That's it. That's all you need to do.  

That's why I like this sign so much. 

Swimming in a chlorinated pool is just like taking a bath

Elysha and I disagree.

I contend that if you've spent the day swimming in a chlorinated pool, there is no need to take a bath or shower because your skin is perfectly clean. 

Maybe even cleaner than simply taking a bath or shower. Chlorine is, after all, a powerful element. 

Elysha argues that a day of swimming does not constitute time spent in a bathtub, and therefore a bath or shower is still required. She also argues that a shower is important for removing chlorine from the hair because chlorine damages hair, and she argues that chlorine can be a skin irritant, so removing it is also important.

These things may or may not be true, but they are not a part of this argument.

For argument's sake, let us assume that your hair and skin are immune to the possibly harmful effects of chlorine.

My skin and hair apparently are. 

If that's the case, isn't a day spent in a chlorinated pool just as good as 10 minutes spent in a bathtub?

I've done some Googling on this issue, and information is scant. It would appear that experts agree with me providing that the pool is outdoors and in the sun. Apparently indoor pools can become contaminated with bacteria that needs to be removed via bath or shower.

Admittedly, none of the experts seem terribly reliable. so I'm accepting their opinions with a large grain of salt. I've also submitted this question to Every Little Thing, a podcast that finds answers to challenging questions like this, and I've also emailed the question to a professor of chemistry and a doctor who I know. 

None of this is actually important to me. I just think I'm right.

I kind of know that I'm right. 

More importantly, I think this is a good example of how our upbringing can influence our opinions later in life. So many of our routines and beliefs are simply the result of the way our parents structured and managed our childhood.  

My mother never made us take a bath or shower if we had spent the day in the pool. She believed that we were clean, and as a result, I believe this, too.

Elysha spent most of her time swimming in a lake, and as a result, she always took a bath or shower after swimming, so she believes that bathing after swimming is essential. 

There are lots of examples of how our childhoods cause our expectations and routines as adults to differ.

When I was a child, we ate dinner at sometime between 4:30 and 5:00 everyday. When Elysha was a child, she didn't eat dinner until after 6:00. When we came together, one of us needed to adjust our dinnertime expectations.

In this case, I did. I always eat after 6:00.  

The important thing to remember is that one way is not necessarily correct. Both dinnertimes are perfectly valid. I think couples run into problems when one person assumes that their way is the right way, when so often, it's simply a matter of preference and upbringing. 

As long as we respect and honor both ways of doing something, common ground can almost always be found.

But then there are cases when there is an objectively better way of doing something, and I suspect that this chlorinated pool situation is one of them. 

I believe that a chlorinated pool is just as effective at cleaning a human body as a bath or shower. Forgetting issues of hair damage and skin irritation, swimming in a pool is a fine way to keep your body clean. Earlier this month, we spent about five days visiting Elysha's sister and husband, and we spent almost every day in their pool.

I took exactly one shower in those five days and was perfectly fine. 

I await for information from the experts, but until then, any thoughts on our chlorinated pool disagreement?

Goggles

Each of my children own a pair of goggles, and I hate them so very much. 

Most of the children who frolic at the lake where we are spending many of our summer days are wearing goggles, and I despise every pair. 

I did not own goggles when I was growing up. As far as I can recall, no one did. One weirdo owned a clip that pinched his nose shut, but that was it. We all learned to open our eyes underwater - in pools and lakes and even the ocean - and then we moved on. Life was simple. We donned a pair of swim trunks, perhaps remembered a towel, and jumped into the lake. 

I watch these kids - mine included - fidget and fuss with these damn things constantly. They adjust, clean, remove, and replace. They ask parents to tighten or loosen. They become upset when water sneaks through and touches their precious eyeballs.  

It's insane. 

Yesterday I saw a kid crying because he forgot to bring his goggles to the beach. He told his mother he couldn't swim because of this. 

Simplicity. This is what I prize above most things.

It's why I've never owned an umbrella.
It's why I threw out all of my ties.
It's why I wear the same pair of sneakers almost every day of my life.
It's why I've never owned a watch or a single piece of jewelry save my wedding ring. 

Simplicity. Streamline life by requiring as little as possible to get through my day. 

It's why I don't own goggles. It's why I wish my kids didn't own goggles. Every item added to your life complicates your life in some way, so unnecessary and burdensome items like goggles should be avoided at all costs.   

Baby jumping is a real thing, and it's really, really stupid.

It's often considered to be culturally insensitive to criticize specific cultures or religions for rituals, practices, or celebrations that don't align with our own positions or values. 

I think that as long as you're willing to accept the scrutiny and criticism of others without acting like someone has just murdered your family, it's perfectly acceptable to apply the same scrutiny to others. 

For example:

Yes, I sit in a frigid stadium in December, freezing my ass off while watching large men who I have never met but nonetheless love compete in a sport that may cause them permanent brain injuries. But if a player leaves this team to earn more money and a better living on a rival team, it is likely that my undying love for that player will instantly transform to hate.  

Also, my allegiance to this team is purely geographic. Wholly dependent on where my parents lived when I was a child. 

It's so stupid. I'm so stupid.  

See? Be objective about your own insanity, and the you can feel free about pointing out the insanity of others. 

Case in point: El Salto del Colacho. Otherwise known as "the devil's jump" or "baby jumping."

During this annual Spanish festival, men dressed as the Devil in red and yellow suits jump over babies born during the previous twelve months of the year as they lie helplessly on mattresses in the street.

The "devils" hold whips and oversized castanets as they jump over the infant children, because jumping over babies is apparently not frightening enough. 

Look at those photos. Those are real babies, being jumped over by real men dressed up as the devil. 

It's so stupid. Dangerous and insane and stupid. 

At least as stupid as my love for the New England Patriots, and perhaps a little more.