What were the three most important decisions of your life?

A recent Quora question asked, “What were the three most important decisions of your life?”

I’ve been debating this question for almost a month, and I have finally settled on three. While many decisions could have occupied these three spots, I decided to favor the toughest and most unlikely decisions of my life rather than the ones that were easy and obvious.

For example, deciding to marry Elysha is probably the most important decision of my life, but it was barely a decision. Who wouldn’t want to marry Elysha if given the chance? It was a no-brainer.

Instead, I found three extremely important decisions in my life that could have gone either way and changed the course of my life forever.

1. Maintaining my innocence when charged with grand larceny and embezzlement.

While being questioned about a crime that I did not commit, the police almost had me convinced to confess to the crime rather than risk a lengthy prison sentence. I spent a minute in a mop closet pondering that decision and ultimately decided to stick to the truth, but it was a close call. The police can apply a great deal of pressure in these moments, particularly when you are a 19 year-old kid without any parents, any money or an attorney.

The result was a brief period of homelessness, 18 months spent working 80 hours a week at two different jobs in order to pay a $25,000 attorney’s bill, a permanent case of post traumatic stress disorder as a result of an armed robbery, and a trial where I was found not guilty.

Had I confessed and accepted their plea deal, I could not have become a teacher. 

2. Choosing West Hartford Public Schools over Newington Public Schools.

In the summer of 1999, my hometown of Newington, CT had offered me a permanent position as third grade teacher in one of their elementary schools. I was asked for a day to consider their offer, but the wait time was merely perfunctory. I was taking the job.

During that 24 hour period, I received a call from a principal in West Hartford requesting an interview. Out of curiosity more than anything else, I agreed to speak to him that day. Three hours later, he had offered me a one year position covering a second grade teacher on maternity leave.

The permanent position in Newington would have been the wise and sensible choice. It was in my hometown and would provide me with long-term stability in a time when teaching jobs were hard to find. But I was impressed by the principal, his commitment to children, and his support for the arts. After much debate, I decided upon the one year position in West Hartford, and 16 years later, I am still teaching in the same school.

 

That decision changed my life. I met my wife while teaching at that school school. I met five of my closest friends while teaching, including the principal, who has since retired but remains one of my closest friends today. I met my son’s and daughter’s god parents while teaching at that school. Many of my former students are my children’s favorite babysitters, and one of my first students is our primary babysitter and like a member of the family.

I was given the freedom to create a classroom environment that placed reading, writing, and theater at its core, and I have developed a teaching philosophy that has led to much success in my field. I was named Teacher of the Year in West Hartford and was a finalist for Connecticut Teacher of the Year.

I started playing golf, a game that I love beyond all others, thanks to the friends I met at that school, and ultimately wrote a book about it. 

The school’s community, teachers, students, and parents, have become a second family to me. When my job and my future were threatened several years ago, they rallied around me in ways I could have never expected.

3. Saying yes when my best friend asked me to start a wedding DJ company with him.

In 1997, I was attending Trinity College and Saint Joseph's University fulltime, working on degrees in both English and elementary education. I was also managing a McDonald’s restaurant fulltime and tutoring students part-time at the college’s writing center. I was writing for the college’s newspaper. I was the Treasurer of the Student Senate.

I was busier than I had ever been in my life.

Then Bengi called and asked if I wanted to be a wedding DJ, even though we had no experience or equipment or knowledge of the industry, and I said yes.

Seventeen years later, we remain in business. I have entertained at more than 400 weddings in that time. The DJ company has provided me with much needed income through the lean times of my life.

I met one of my best friends while working as the DJ at his wedding, and that friendship has led to me becoming a Patriots season ticket holder. That same friend led me back into writing when I had given up hope on ever becoming a novelist and professional writer.

I would not have a writing career today had it not been for him. 

I unknowingly gained 17 years of public speaking experience, which allowed me to step into the world of storytelling and public speaking three years ago with unexpected ease and success. I won my first Moth StorySLAM in large part to the experience I gained as a DJ.

I have since competed in 24 Moth StorySLAMs in New York and Boston and won 12 of them. I’ve told stories for Main Stage shows and GrandSLAM championships and many other storytelling organizations in New York, Boston and Hartford. I would not be the storyteller and speaker I am today had I not worked for almost two decades as a wedding DJ.

 

Telling stories for The Moth led to the founding of Speak Up, the Hartford-based storytelling organization that my wife and I founded last year. In a little over a year, we have produced eight sell out shows, launched a series of storytelling workshops, and have now been approached by outside venues, asking us to take our show on the road.

The DJ business also led to me becoming ordained as a minister. I have presided over almost 20 weddings, one baptism, and three baby naming ceremonies in that time.

I’d love to hear your three most important decisions if you’re willing to share. Post in the comment sections. Send me an email. Contact me through social media.

The question all successful people can answer immediately: What’s your super power?

Serial entrepreneur Tina Roth Eisenberg says that all the most successful people she’s met have been able to answer this question immediately:

What is your super power?

From TIME:

John Maeda, who led the MIT Media Lab and Rhode Island School of Design, responded with “curiosity.”

Maria Popova, who curates the popular Brain Pickings blog by reading 12-15 books a week, said “doggedness.”

Eisenberg’s own superpower? Enthusiasm.

Knowing your superpower means you know yourself well enough to have a focus, and that’s the same competitive advantage that makes you so great at what you do. It’s the quality you’re most proud of, the one thing that makes you stand out, and what gives you an edge over everyone else.

My wife claims that my super power is productivity, but what she really means is efficiency. I get a lot done, but it’s in large part because of the systems of managing work that I have developed.

It’s not magic, as much as some people may think. It’s not even hard work (although it does require hard work). It’s a combination of focus, determination, and a willingness to spend time and effort developing streamlined processes for my work. 

But I would drill down even further and get even more specific. I think my real super power is my ability to rapidly and seamlessly shift between projects without a reduction in quality or loss of efficiency, which allows me to work on many things at one time.

On Monday, for example, I completed a re-write for a musical, finished writing the first chapter of a non-fiction book, wrote about 10 pages of my screenplay, worked on two different novels, worked on a story for a Moth event, and completed tasks for my DJ company and Speak Up.

I shifted between all of these projects quickly and without loss of productivity, and I didn’t require an artisanal latté, a communal table made from refurbished railroad timber, or any smooth jazz to do so. I worked in many different locales at times ranging from 4:00 AM to 10:30 PM.

That is my super power.   

My wife’s super power, by the way, is her ability to endear herself to every  person of every type almost instantly. People automatically love Elysha. It’s as if humanity’s default setting is almost instantaneous love for her.

I wonder if she would agree.

Three questions:

1. What is your super power?
2. Were you able to answer the question almost immediately?
3. If you know me well, do you agree with the super power that I have proposed?

Are toddlers really smarter than the elderly?

A friend of mine works in the healthcare industry helping people to quit smoking by providing strategies and incentives to those who are willing and able to quit.

Using a breath sensor that attaches to the iPhone, he is able to remotely monitor a person’s respiration output and even determine if the person is being honest about the amount of smoking that he or she has done in the previous week. 

One of his greatest challenges is with the technology. Many of his clients are elderly, and they  have great difficulty navigating the iPhone’s interface.

I find this astounding. My not-yet two year-old son can take my iPhone, close the app that I am using, swipe to an app three screens away, open the folder with the app, open the app, and begin playing a game more complex than any game that I ever played on the Atari 2600 when I was a kid.

If a two-year old can navigate the technology, why can’t an 80 year-old?

Sincerely. I don’t get it.

   

Will my daughter miss out on the culture of cruel pranks and purposeful, public embarrassment because she is a girl? If so, I’m sad. Also, why?

Men can somehow be incredibly cruel to one another, in a very protracted and public ways, and not damage their friendships at all.

Pranks are accepted in male culture. They are encouraged. Embraced.

They may actually serve to strengthen friendships over time.

The more elaborate and cruel the prank, the better.

The prank that these minor league baseball players played on their teammate, Jeff Francoeur, is hilarious and incredibly embarrassing. Not only did they make him look foolish, but they created a film to document the prank and posted it online, where it’s received more than a million views already.

Still, I have no doubt that the relationship between Jeff Francoeur and his teammates remains unaltered and unharmed. He may be embarrassed, and he may be plotting revenge, but he’s not angry.

This is how man are.

I don’t see this same phenomenon in female culture. Perhaps I’m wrong, but the elaborate prank, the public acts of cruelty and the constant attempts to embarrass or derail your friends for the sake of amusement are not things that I see women regularly embrace.

Women don’t seem to prank one another. At least not with the frequency that men do.

As a man, I’d be hesitant to prank a woman, especially in a public way. 

As the father of a little girl, it makes me sad to think that she may miss out on the joy of prank culture. Some of the pranks that I have perpetrated and been victim to are some of my all-time favorite memories.

When I was 17 years-old and working at McDonald’s, my friends waited for me outside the restaurant, near the dumpster, knowing that I would be bringing out the trash soon. As I lifted the first bag into the dumpster, they emerged from their hiding places (four guys in all), dragged me to the ground, held me down and tickled me in front of fellow employees and customers for a solid minute before sprinting to their cars and driving off. 

I’ll never forget it. It was horrible and embarrassing and even a little  terrifying at first, but it was hilarious, too.

I have dozens, if not hundreds, of memories like that. 

I’d hate to think that Clara won’t enjoy similar moments in her life because she’s a girl.

Tell me I’m wrong.

If no one believes your lie, what’s the point?

North Korean reports that dictator Kim Jong-un has been “reelected” with 100 percent of the vote. Kim also won every single vote in his district on Mount Paekdu with 100 percent turnout.

I understand the value of propaganda, but wouldn’t it make more sense to have your propaganda sound believable?

Or at least mildly plausible?

I don’t get it. What’s the value of making a claim that no one believes?

I’ve always thought that a library fine was a good thing. Unexpected income. Some librarians have disagreed. Am I wrong?

From a piece in the Hartford Courant entitled Wethersfield Library Begins ‘Food For Fines’ Program:

For a limited time, Wethersfield Library patrons can pay their overdue fines with a can of beans or a jar of spaghetti sauce.

The library's Food for Fines program, which began Monday and lasts through the end of August, donates the items to the town's food bank, Library Director Laurel Goodgion said. The library runs the program every year, she said.

"People like doing it," Goodgion said. "It gives them a way to feel good paying off their fines."

I have always been a person who doesn’t mind paying fines for overdue books. I’ve always considered it my way of supporting the library. And because I’m never borrowing a new release, the books that I borrow are presumably not in demand. No one else is waiting for them when I am finished reading. I’ve never been accused of making another patron wait for a book.

In my mind, my fines have always been favors for the library.

Unexpected income.

Some librarians have disagreed.

While I admire and respect librarians a great deal, I have run into one or two in my time who become genuinely angry when I return an overdue book. It typically occurs when the librarian attempts to scold me for my tardiness, and I respond with a smile and a comment over how happy I am to pay the fine.

One time the discussion became so heated that I stormed out of the library and charged into the restroom in the outer hallway, only to find myself standing over a half-naked woman sitting on the toilet.

Her fault for failing to lock the door on the single occupancy restroom, but had I not been so angry, I may have offered a courtesy knock before entering.

While I understand that one of a librarian’s duties is to safeguard books and other media on behalf of the general public, I have never understood the emotional response that has occasionally greeted me.

The system of overdue fines serves a purpose. If I am late in returning a book, the library (and thereby the general public) is compensated for my lateness.

And it’s not as if I’m paying a fine for speeding or failing to stop at a crosswalk, which endangers the lives of others. It’s a fine for a book that I kept for three extra days.

Can’t we be a little happy that the book is being returned along with some unexpected cash?

I’d even be happy to pay more. Increase the fines if necessary. I’m more than happy to contribute to the library. Perhaps the increased fine would increase my chances of returning the book on time. At the very least, it may give librarians a reason to smile while collecting the fine, knowing the money will support the institution that they and I love.

Am I wrong about this?

Toys don't mean as much when you're not allowed to play indoors.

My siblings and I did not take good care of our toys.

We did not keep track of pieces. We were never careful with fragile parts. We smashed and crashed and broke our toys at every turn.

We would throw our toys out of our second floor bedroom window onto the driveway just to see what would happen. We would tie rope to action figures and drag them along the road as our mother drove down the highway.

Considering that we had very little growing up, this has always surprised me. I’ve often wondered why we didn’t take better care of the little we had.

I watch the way that my wife takes care of our children’s toys today, trying to keep every piece of every train set and Lego set together and repairing toys when they break, and it makes me wonder about my childhood even more.  

It has baffled me. Why were children with so little so careless?

Then I had a thought.

As children, we played outdoors at every moment possible. We were sent outside after breakfast and invited back inside only for lunch and dinner. We were sent out in the rain and the snow. Only extreme weather kept us indoors.

We has few restrictions on where we could go, so the world was our playground. We had fields and orchards to sprint across, trees to climb, forests to explore and ponds and rivers and streams to splash through. We had a barn in our backyard that we used as a clubhouse, a poorly maintained pool for swimming and bicycles that could take us anywhere.

We never had time for toys. When you are required to play outside all the time, toys quickly lose their meaning. Action figures, stuffed animals, board games, and Matchbox cars are nothing compared to a fishing pole, a bicycle, a length of rope, a baseball glove and acres of unsupervised forest and field.

Perhaps we didn’t take great care for our toys because we never had time to play with them the way my wife did as a child and my children do today. We were so rarely inside our home that we never even saw most of our toys on a daily basis.

Maybe we threw toys out of our bedroom windows in the same way that our parents tossed us out of the house everyday.

This makes sense to me. It feels right. I think I’ve found an answer.

Facebookless friends

It just occurred to me:

My three closest male friends are not on Facebook. Two have no accounts whatsoever, and the third has an account that he has never used. 

I can’t decide if I have the most impressive assemblage of friends in the world or simply a collection of Luddites.

What kind of food is this?

I was visiting the pretend diner at Kid City, a local children’s museum. I was sitting at a Formica table, waiting for my daughter to serve me some plastic food on a plastic plate.

These are the two items she placed in front of me.

I honestly have no idea what either of these things are supposed to be. Nor did my wife.

Thoughts?

I’m launching an email newsletter. What should be included?

The publishing Gods (Jane Friedman and many others) have declared that the most important tool that an author has for building a platform and marketing a book is a strong mailing list and a regular newsletter. 

Having used a mailing list as the sole means of promoting Speak Up, our Hartford-based storytelling organization, I have come to understand the power of this seemingly old fashioned form of marketing. We have sold out every one of our shows simply through the power of an email.

I’ve been collecting email addresses for more than five years. There’s a place on my website and blog to enter your email for my mailing list, and this somewhat annoying field disappears once you have signed up. After five years, I have a surprisingly large mailing list.

The question is what to include in a newsletter.

Here are my ideas so far:

• Links to the top 3 blog posts from the previous week, with commentary about reactions to the post when appropriate
• Updates on upcoming storytelling and speaking appearances
• Links to any recent videos of me performing for The Moth, TED and similar organizations
• An update on the progress of my books and any behind-the-scenes peeks into the publishing world that I could provide.

Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like to see included in a newsletter from someone like me? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Since I write a blog and post regularly, I’m looking for content that does not appear already on the blog. Something different and special that will make people open the newsletter when it arrives in their inbox.

The experts say I should be sending a newsletter to my readers at least once a month, and preferably one a week. I ‘m considering splitting the difference and sending one every other week.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this as well.

The average husband would choose the cash and time over well appointed fingernails.

I’m not criticizing the value of a manicure or pedicure. At least not at the moment.

If a manicure or pedicure makes a person happy, that’s a wonderful thing.

I’m not sure if I really believe this, but for now, I’ll stand by this statement so as to not confuse the issue. For now, here’s the question:

A friend told me that she was getting a manicure because she knows her husband likes it when her nails look good.

“Did your husband actually say this?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But I know.”

I disagreed. While I’m sure that her husband thinks that pretty nails are pretty and finds his wife’s post-manicure appearance appealing, if given the choice between a wife with well-appointed nails or $35 (the price she quoted) and 90 additional minutes to spend with his wife, I think he (and most husbands) would choose the latter.

If you are getting a manicure because it makes you feel good, that’s great (at least for the sake of this post). But I have a hard time accepting the premise that most husbands (and spouses in general) would not choose the additional time and cash over the painted nails if given the option.

I think my friend is kissing herself if she believes that she is getting manicure for her husband and not herself.

Thoughts?

Am I really so annoying?

Three things happened to me yesterday:

A friend told me that something I said to her was the meanest thing that anyone has ever said to her.

Another friend spitefully followed my advice in order to prove me wrong, and the advice turned out to be right. Things turned out legitimately great for her. And yet she was annoyed by her inability to prove me wrong.

A student told me that my suggestion for improving her essay was brilliant, but that it was probably just dumb luck on my part.

I clearly have a polarizing impact on people.

The most amazing door you will ever see

And yet the remarkable functionality of the door is underscored by the designer’s apparent inability to find a floor that doesn’t sound like it’s about to collapse beneath him.

The door is astounding. The choice of flooring is even more so.

If Dennis is a dentist, what is a Dicks?

You may have heard about this research, which seems to suggest that your name can influence your future career choice.

If your name is Dennis, you are more likely to become a dentist.

This works with other names, too. Lauras and Larrys are also more likely to become lawyers, for example.

The effect is attributed to something called implicit egotism.

“People prefer people, places, and things that they associate (unconsciously) with the self. People’s positive automatic associations about themselves may influence their feelings about almost anything that people associate with the self.”

I plan on using this odd human tendency as the basis of a novel someday.

But here is the $10,000 question:

If these findings are correct, what does this mean for someone like me with the last name Dicks?

Or even worse, someone like my uncle Harry Dicks, or my great uncle, Harry Dicks, or my father, Les Dicks?

The perpetual search for a good parking spot is probably insane

Slate’s Justin Peters argues that handicapped parking fraud is one of the jerkiest crimes imaginable.

I agree.

My evil stepfather didn’t teach me much and demonstrated little by way of moral judgment, but when he saw a car parked illegally in a handicapped spot, he would scratch the paint with his car key.

Not the best example to set for your child, but at least he was talking a stand against something.

The most baffling aspect of of handicapped parking fraud is the risk-reward involved:

Park a little closer. Save a few steps. Risk a hefty fine and being labeled as a social pariah.

It’s just not worth it.

Almost as infuriating is the senseless desire to find a parking spot close to the entrance to a person’s destination. The amount of time that the average person is willing to invest in order to avoid walking 50 feet is astounding.

I have known people who will spend 15 minutes looking for a good parking spot at the mall in order to save 100 steps, knowing full well that their intention is to spend the next four hours walking thousands of steps inside the mall.

It’s insane.

I would love for an economist to do a study on the time and energy wasted searching for a good parking spot versus adopting the policy of driving to the end of the row and parking as far away as possible, even when a closer spot is clearly available.

I strongly suspect that consistently parking at the end of the row, without any attempt to park closer, would prove to be a time saver in the long run, and perhaps get you a little more exercise in the process.

I would adopt this policy myself, but I am married to a woman who really likes a good parking spot.

The sacrifices we make for our spouses.

I’m apparently competing against myself now.

Booktopia, the largest bookstore in all of Australia, is now selling the Matthew Green and Matthew Dicks versions of Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend side by side.

As the reader who reported this oddity to me said, I’m really not sure what to think about this.

 

Is this generation of grandparents different than previous generations, or is this bald, bespectacled man just unusual?

My son is less than two years old and already has a great relationship with his grandparents. He loves them a great deal. He especially loves playing with his Gramps, who is the kind of guy who will play with my children for a very long time without ever getting bored.

My daughter is almost five years-old, and she has been over the moon for her grandparents ever since she was a baby. She asks to see them all the time and throws herself into their arms every time they arrive.

She and Gramps are also quite capable of playing together for hours.

   

I wish I had shared a similar relationship with my grandparents. My mother’s parents were wonderful people who lived until I was in my twenties, and though I spent a great deal of time with them as a child, I don’t ever remember them as being playful, silly, overly affectionate or indulgent.

My father’s mother died when I was very little, and though I lived next door to my father’s father for my entire childhood, I can’t even remember getting a hug from him. He was a quiet, stoic, perpetually busy man.

Was this simply a generation of people who did things a different way? Men and women who lived through the Great Depression and World War II and saw the world through a more somber, reticent lens? 

Do the majority of the grandparents today behave similarly to my grandparents, or are my wife’s parents blessedly unusual?

I’m not sure.

Either way, my father-in-law has shown me what the relationship between a grandfather and his grandchildren can be, and I will not forget it when it comes time for me to be a grandfather.

Do I know Dan Kennedy?

I have read two of Dan Kennedy’s three books. I own the third and will read it soon.  

  

I follow him on Twitter and read his tweets daily.

I read his work in McSweeney’s.

I have listened to him tell true stories from his life, both on stage and recorded.

I have seen him host many Moth events, where he often shares bits from his life as well as his reactions to the stories.

I’ve spoken to him in person on many occasions at Moth events.

My question is this:

Do I really know Dan Kennedy?

I’m not sure.

I think I know Dan Kennedy, but I find myself wondering what would happen if Dan and I were to  spend a weekend together. Would I discover that I didn’t really know him at all? Would I find myself liking him more or less than his public facing persona?

Is the Dan Kennedy who I know and love the real, honest-to-goodness version of Dan Kennedy that his friends and family know?

In this age of media, it’s easy to think that you can know a person by immersing yourself in their content, particularly when they produce a great deal of it across multiple platforms.

The same holds true for me. If a reader has read all of my novels, reads my blog regularly, follows me on Twitter and Facebook and has listened to me tell stories for The Moth similar organizations (live or recorded), do they really know me?

I’m not sure.

Do they know me better than an actual friend or family member who sees me once every couple months or only during the holiday season?

I have a friend named Gary. I’ve known him for at least twenty years. I’ve spent long stretches of time with him, including a road trip to Florida more than decade ago. Today, I see Gary a few times a year. He judges my annual science fair at school. We spend an occasional weekend together. I see him at parties and cookouts. We might play poker or golf together or attend a Patriots game with some mutual friends. 

Gary doesn’t read my blog. As far as I know, he hasn’t read any of my books. He doesn’t follow me on Twitter. He doesn’t use Facebook. He’s never seen or heard me tell a story onstage.

I’m not sure of he even knows that I am a storyteller.

Does Gary know me better than someone who I have never met but who consumes my written and spoken content regularly and interacts with me through social media?

I think maybe not.

I suspect that the person who immerses him or herself in my content and communicates with me regularly through social media might actually know me better than Gary.

But does that person know the real me?

Is my book/blog/social media/storytelling persona my true persona?

I like to think so, but maybe not. I’m not sure.

Here’s my hypothesis:

The person who knows me through my content probably knows me better than Gary. For the same reason, I may know Dan Kennedy better than I know Gary. But I have no idea what the combination of me and Dan Kennedy would yield.

Dan Kennedy is like a chemical compound that I have studied closely. I know a great deal about his color, consistency and chemical composition. But I don’t know how Dan Kennedy’s chemical compound would react when combined with my own. Would we integrate seamlessly into some new, more glorious compound? Would one compound consume the other? Would we separate like oil and water? Would we explode?

I may not know Gary’s chemical compound quite as well, but I know how we fit together. I know how we interact. I know that when we come together, as infrequently as that may be, Gary’s chemical compound and my own will react well together.

All will be well.

Though I don’t see Gary often and rarely speak to him unless we are doing something together, I know that we work well together.

I think this is the real difference between knowing someone in real life and knowing someone through social media and their content. It’s not a question of knowing the real person. It’s a question of knowing how you and that person would get along in the real world.

I suspect that Dan Kennedy and I would combine just as well as Gary and me, but I don’t know for sure. I can’t know for sure. I only know the side of Dan Kennedy that faces the public. There may be other parts of his chemical compound puzzle that I don’t know well and wouldn’t combine with me at all. 

Do I know Dan Kennedy as well as I think?

I don’t even think Dan Kennedy could answer this question. 

Anatomy of a possibly pathetic New Year’s Eve

There was a time (and perhaps there will be again) when my friends and I hosted some enormous New Year’s Eve parties, complete with keg stands, dancing and police raids.

This year, my New Year’s Eve did not resemble those days of yore in the slightest. As I look back, I’m not sure if I am pleased or horrified by the way I spent my New Year’s Eve and the first few hours of 2014.

December 31, 2014
6:00 PM

Friends arrive for dinner. I spend much of the evening giving notes to my friend on the screenplay for his latest pilot and taunt him about my recently discovered IMDB page. We also discuss plans for my screenplay, my  golf memoir and the revisions of my latest novel.

9:00 PM

Friends leave to put their children (and my friend) to bed. Elysha and I read books to Clara before putting her to bed.

9:30 PM

Elysha and I sit across from each other, pecking away on our laptops. She threatens to go to bed (she’s sick) but stays up for about an hour, poking around on the Internet. I resume work on my manuscript. It is due to my editor on Friday, and I have been obsessively honing it for more than a week.

10:30 PM

Elysha finally goes to bed. I continue work on the manuscript.

January 1, 2014
12:00 AM

The cuckoo clock signals midnight. 2014 has arrived. I drink champagne from the bottle and ring in the New Year alone. Even the dog is asleep.

12:05 AM

I resume work on the manuscript.

1:45 AM

I finally go to bed.

2:30 AM

Charlie wakes up, crying. I rock him back to sleep.

3:00 AM

Back to bed.

6:00 AM

Charlie wakes up for good. We eat breakfast, empty dishwasher, sweep and mop floor and play with trucks.

7:30 AM

I bring Charlie upstairs to Elysha. I walk the dog.

8:00 AM

I resume my work on the manuscript.

9:30 AM

Family leaves for brunch with friends. I resume work on the manuscript.

When my family arrives home around 1:30 PM, I finally stop working for a while and spend some leisure time with them. I ride scooters around the house with my daughter, fly my remote controlled helicopter, crawl around on the floor with my son, eat dessert for lunch and take down the Christmas tree.

Even that isn’t exactly leisure.

While I’m pleased with the work that I accomplished thus far in 2014, I’m not sure if New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were the best times to get this work done.

You only get one New Year’s Eve a year. I’m not sure if ringing in the New Year alone, sitting at the laptop, drinking champagne from the bottle, is the best way to spend it.

Perhaps next year I will be less… I’m not sure.

You tell me the word.

Compelling? Truthy? Horribly narrow minded and sexist? I’m not sure.

From a piece in TIME entitled It’s a Man’s World, and It Always Will Be by Camille Paglia (author and professor at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) comes these two paragraphs which I found incredibly intriguing and thought provoking. 

I’m not saying I fully agree with what Paglia asserts here, but I’m not saying that I disagree, either.

I’m not sure. It has the air of truthiness to it, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel quite right.

It also makes use of two unnecessary exclamation points, which doesn’t help her argument at all.

I would love to hear what you think about the paragraphs and perhaps about the entire piece.

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After the next inevitable apocalypse, men will be desperately needed again! Oh, sure, there will be the odd gun-toting Amazonian survivalist gal, who can rustle game out of the bush and feed her flock, but most women and children will be expecting men to scrounge for food and water and to defend the home turf. Indeed, men are absolutely indispensable right now, invisible as it is to most feminists, who seem blind to the infrastructure that makes their own work lives possible. It is overwhelmingly men who do the dirty, dangerous work of building roads, pouring concrete, laying bricks, tarring roofs, hanging electric wires, excavating natural gas and sewage lines, cutting and clearing trees, and bulldozing the landscape for housing developments. It is men who heft and weld the giant steel beams that frame our office buildings, and it is men who do the hair-raising work of insetting and sealing the finely tempered plate-glass windows of skyscrapers 50 stories tall.

Every day along the Delaware River in Philadelphia, one can watch the passage of vast oil tankers and towering cargo ships arriving from all over the world. These stately colossi are loaded, steered and off-loaded by men. The modern economy, with its vast production and distribution network, is a male epic, in which women have found a productive role — but women were not its author. Surely, modern women are strong enough now to give credit where credit is due!