This really is perfect.
The strategy. The tone. The ability to utilize the strategy on an almost daily basis.
I love t.
I’m not sure if it will still apply by the time my children are in need of this kind of coercion (we may have the Internet implanted in our brains by then), but it is an excellent reminder of how easy it can be to manipulate human behavior.
It just occurred to me this week:
I am left handed. I am very clearly left handed. I have always been left handed.
Yet the first baseball glove that my parents bought me as a child was for a right handed player, thus dooming my future Major League career and (more importantly) requiring me to learn how to play the most important sport in a young boy’s life with my non-dominant hand.
I was never a great baseball player, and yet as a child, I never understood why.
Of course I was never great. No wonder why I still throw (pardon the expression) like a girl. I was playing with the wrong hand.
What is the possible explanation for this kind of parenting decision?
Did they not realize that I was left handed?
Was a left handed glove too difficult to obtain?
Did it cost more?
They purchased a glove for my brother around the same time, and they bought him the requisite right handed glove. Did it not occur to my parents (one of whom played in a softball league) that their left handed son and right handed son probably shouldn’t be using the same kind of baseball glove?
My parents made many decisions throughout the course of my childhood that I did not like.
Leaving me at home on a Saturday night to babysit my brothers and sisters at the tender age of 9 until 2:00 in the morning.
Feeding me bologna and catsup on white bread for lunch for entire summers.
Never mentioning the word college to me once despite my excellent grades.
But this baseball glove thing might be the most egregious thing they ever did to me. To take away a boy’s ability to play baseball at an adequate level and make learning the game so difficult seems like the worst thing you could ever do to a boy.
Mortensen’s is a restaurant and ice cream shop located on the Berlin Turnpike in Newington, CT.
Years ago, I stopped at Mortensen’s for dinner with a friend and hadn’t been back since. A couple weeks ago Elysha and I brought the kids to Mortensen’s for ice cream, and since that fateful night, Elysha has complained that we have wasted far too many years not frequenting this establishment.
She loves the place and insists that we visit often in order to make up for lost time.
It’s a quirky place. It originally began as a dairy farm that delivered milk to homes by horse and cart. The restaurant opened in 1976 and has been going strong ever since.
Their dessert case was manufactured in 1941 (a fact to which they proudly attest) and several antique items from their dairy farm days are on display within the restaurant.
They accept cash only.
But my favorite part of the place is the last item listed on their dessert menu. It’s real, though it hasn’t been ordered in “a few years.”
There will come a day, sooner than later, I hope, when I order this item. Who is with me?
Just six days until our inaugural Speak Up storytelling event at Real Art Ways in Hartford, CT.
Saturday, May 4 at 7:00 PM. Admission is free. Beer, wine and snacks will be sold at the venue.
If you plan on attending, please go to our Facebook invite page and let us know to help with the head count.
Today I’m announcing our seventh and final storyteller, which happens to be me. When I first proposed this project to Elysha, my goal was two-fold:
1. Bring storytelling to Hartford, Connecticut, in order to give audiences a chance to experience the magic of live storytelling without having to drive into New York or Boston.
2. More selfishly, provide an opportunity for me and other interested storytellers to tell stories to interested audiences without having to drive into New York and Boston to do so.
So yes, I plan on telling a story as well on Saturday night. Oddly enough, I’m feeling a little nervous about doing so, even though I frequently tell stories to large audiences in New York City and rarely feel nervous.
____________________________________
Matthew Dicks is the author of the novels Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, Something Missing and Unexpectedly, Milo, as well as the rock opera, The Clowns. He has also published pieces in The Hartford Courant, The Huffington Post, The Houston Chronicle and Educational Leadership. He has also published poetry and blogs regularly at matthewdicks.com/blog.
When he is not hunched over a computer screen, Matthew fills his days as an elementary school teacher, a wedding DJ, a heathen minister, a life coach and a Lord of Sealand. He is a former West Hartford Teacher of the Year and a three-time Moth StorySLAM champion.
Matthew is married to friend and fellow teacher, Elysha. They have a daughter named Clara and a son named Charlie.
Matthew grew up in the small town of Blackstone, Massachusetts, where he made a name for himself by dying twice before the age of eighteen and becoming the first student in his high school to be suspended for inciting riot upon himself.
Each week, amongst the many interesting, insightful and occasionally scathing comments on my blog, I find comments by businesses and/or spammers who are clever enough to construct comments that avoid spam detection technology.
I delete these comments and ban their IP address, but I know that I will be doing the same thing again tomorrow for a new spamming scumbag.
In response, I write a post each week that highlights these businesses that either engage in this spamming behavior on their own or have hired spammers to do it for them. My intent is to shame these vile companies and cause them to reconsider their means of advertising in the process.
I realize that both goals are unlikely to be achieved, and that even mentioning them in a post boosts their SEO, but doing so makes me feel good, and that is enough.
This week I present Phone Beauties, a company that sells decorative phone cases and spams the comment sections of humble bloggers like me in order to improve their search rank.
I suggest that you forgo aesthetic considerations and look toward functionality by purchasing a Mophie instead. The Mophie is a protective case that also serves as a juice pack, allowing me to carry an extra full charge of battery life with me for those days when plugging in is impossible.
I cannot tell you how reassuring it is knowing I have another full charge at hand when needed.
Also, it doesn’t look stupid like the Phone Beauties cases.
Women who don makeup before heading to the gym are suffering from traumatic brain injury. This is truly unfair.
Just because a person does something incredibly stupid doesn’t mean that the person is incredibly stupid.
I am a living testament to this rule.
I wrote a poem about my son today. I’ve been working on it for three days, including about an hour this morning. I’m ready to hear what people think.
Suggestions?
The second line was especially troubling for me (I’ve written it about three dozen ways), as was the transition from the second line into the third line.
I also need a title. I have many options. I like none of them.
______________________________________
Untitled
Watching my baby boy crawl across the polished kitchen floor,
low to the ground like a Marine traversing a field of barbed wire,
thinking he’s making his way to me,
his Daddy.
only to realize that his target
was the rogue Cheerio
on the floor beside my sneaker.
There are days when I don’t feel like going to the gym.
On those days, I think of Ann Coulter.
Ann is a decade older than me (even with all that plastic surgery), which means that if I take care of myself, I have a reasonable chance of outliving her.
I have never existed in a world in which Ann Coulter did not also exist. But if I exercise regularly, get routine checkups, and eat a healthy diet, the day could come when I exist and Ann Coulter does not.
That is my dream.
Thank you, Ann. Your continued existence gets me back on that treadmill everyday, working hard in an effort to outlive you.
In the recent Boston Marathon bombing and subsequent death and apprehension of the alleged bombers, we did not turn on our television once. All of my news came via Twitter, which provided links to stories from reputable news organizations like The New York Times, Slate, The Daily Beast and more, as well as links to relevant video coverage.
Not once did we even think about turning on the actual television.
Elysha first learned about the bombing via Facebook on her phone. She called me, since I was supposed to be in Boston that evening at a Moth event, and I immediately turned to Twitter for updates.
In fact, I can’t remember the last time we turned on the television for news, and I like to think that I am a well informed person. I am well aware of the current political machinations in our country, as well as the events taking place overseas. In fact, I often find myself explaining current events to friends and family. In many ways, I am a news junkie.
Yet I do not rely on the television or a traditional newspaper to inform me. Almost every bit of my news comes via my curated Twitter stream and the podcasts that listen to weekly. This doesn’t mean that I’m not reading or watching news reports from traditional media outlets, but I am only receiving the reports that my Twitter stream deems worthy.
My news is therefore absent the ceaseless weather updates, the pointless banter between news anchors, the stories about car accidents and localized power outages, the human interest stories involving unexpected wildlife in the backyard, and best of all, the YouTube videos that I saw three days before traditional media realized it might be a story.
Nor do I think that I am an exception. I expect that many, many people now receive their news this way. If I’m correct, what will the traditional news outlets do in twenty years when their aging audiences begin to die off and no one turns on the television at 7:00 AM or 6:00 PM anymore for news?
My daughter teaches me something new every day.
Today she reminded me that if given the opportunity to walk on the sidewalk or the more precarious curbing, the curbing is always much more fun.
We sometimes forget these little things as adults. We must remember to look to our children for these reminders lest become old, crotchety, staid, or worst of all, boring.
I wonder if my librarian and bookseller friends ever use this strategy when attempting to locate a wayward book on a shelf:
I did not like this piece by Jessica Grose in The Daily Beast defending the toddler bikini. I don’t like it at all.
I’m not quite sure how I feel about toddler bikinis. Honestly, I think I agree with Grose on the issue for the most part, but I don’t like her argument one bit. It’s a mess.
Issues include:
Gwyneth Paltrow’s goofily named e-commerce website and blog, Goop, recently featured bikinis for girls 4 to 8 years old.
Don’t open the piece by making fun of the name of the website selling the bikinis. Even if you think Goop is a goofy name for a website (and I do not), it’s no way to begin an argument. Ad hominem attacks are unnecessary and undermine your authority.
Next:
“The British charity Kidscape, whose mission is to prevent bullying and child sexual abuse, took one look at the dour blonde child model donning the Odabash bikini on Goop and cried outrage.”
Also poorly argued. To imply that Kidscape “took one look” attempts to imply that the organization did not examine the issue closely before issuing their statement. Grose could not know this, and it is likely not true.
Also, using the phrase “cried outrage” implies that Kidscape’s statement was less than reasoned. Read the statement. Kidscape did not cry outrage. The organization released a statement that explained their opposition to these bikinis in clear, reasoned language, and I am quite sure this was written after more than just “one look.”
Next:
This isn’t the first time Kidscape has criticized a celebrity mom for her pro-bikini stance: They dissed Jessica Simpson back in September for putting her baby girl, Maxwell, in a yellow two-piece and showing pictures of the 4-month-old on Katie Couric’s show.
Dissed? Read their statement. Kidscape released a rationale statement expressing their concerns about these bathing suits, especially in light of Simpson’s celebrity status. They did not “dis” her. They did not attack her in any way. Once again, this is an attempt to imply an emotional response that simply did not exist.
Next:
“…if you unpack the logic behind it…”
This may be a personal preference, but “unpacking the logic” is a self- important phrase that carries no real meaning. You can examine the logic. Counter the logic. Debate the logic. Refute the logic. Oppose the logic. Even guffaw at the logic. But unpack the logic? Give me a break.
Next:
If you think there’s anything sexual about that child model’s presentation, you’re probably the kind of person who’s outraged by the retro Coppertone toddler. All that exposed cartoon flesh! The horror!
Not only does Grose make a broad assumption here (if you believe A, you must believe B), but she does not actually attempt to refute the opposition to the bikini or the retro Coppertone toddler. A sarcastic “All that exposed cartoon flesh! The horror!” is not an actual argument. There’s nothing wrong with a little sarcasm if it’s also supported with an actual reason or evidence, but Grose provides no reason whatsoever.
Next:
Beyond the misplaced fears of early sexualization, the other concern among the anti-bikini set is that girls who are put in bikinis at a young age will be more worried about their weight.
While I agree that these fears of early sexualization may be misplaced, Grose doesn’t actually make this argument. She simply dismisses them in this single transition sentence. “Beyond the misplaced fears of early sexualization?” When did we get beyond them?
Next:
But as Dr. Robyn Silverman tells the Today show, a mom’s attitude about body image is much more important for her daughter’s well-being than how much fabric her swimsuit has.
Agreed, but just because a mother’s attitude about body image trumps the amount of fabric in a toddler’s swimsuit does not mean that the swimsuit is irrelevant. No one is surprised that many factors play a role in a girl’s body issue, nor are we surprised that some factors might be more important than others. But to imply that the importance of one nullifies another entirely is an obvious a flaw in logic, packed or unpacked.
In addition to all of this, Grose cites expert’s appearances on The Today Show and a commenter on Jezebel in the piece, and other than a writer from the Daily Mail, these are the only sources she uses. I don’t think of any of these sources as serious or reliable. Basing your argument on the answers derived by third party journalists on a morning talk show is hardly the way to support your argument, and cherry-picking a random Jezebel commenter is convenient and ridiculous.
As I said, I ultimately agree with Grose on the issue of the toddler bikini. I don’t think I have a problem with it unless it is designed in poor taste.
But I have a problem with this piece.
While the bikini doesn’t offend my sensibilities, Grose’s argument does. It’s careless and at times ridiculous.
This is a 1929 postcard of the original Protestant Cathedral at Yawgoog Scout Reservation on Wincheck Pond's Thrush Cove, courtesy of The Story of the Yawgoog Trails.
I love this photo. The site of the Protestant Cathedral at Yawgoog is one of my favorite places on the planet.
But my heart also aches while looking at this image. I always feel this way looking at photos like this. Almost any old photo, really.
Look at these boys. They have so much of life still ahead of them. So much to look forward to. So much potential. They are young and strong and have no idea what challenges and blessing are in store for them. It’s a moment of their lives captured forever by a unknown photographer, but other than this image, this moment and their lives are tragically fleeting.
Even with so much ahead of them, their time on this Earth is spinning out faster than their young minds could ever imagine.
This photograph is 84 years old. Most, if not all of these young boys, are dead now. Their lives are over. All of that potential and possibility has reached its conclusion. This day spent on the shores of Wincheck Pond is not even history. Other than this single photo, there is no record or remembrance of that day.
In another 84 years, no one alive will even remember that these boys ever existed. A great-grandchild might remember a first name or possess some apocryphal story about a moment of courage in a war fought before their parents were even born, but that will be it. Despite the primacy and importance of their lives in their time, nothing will remain of these boys by the shores of that small pond.
I find myself wanting to reach into the photograph, reach back through time, and warn these boys of how insubstantial life is and how soon they will all be dust. I want to tell them to breathe in the air, squint into the sunshine, dip their toes into the pond water and mark this moment in some way that will make it last forever. For them and for us who will follow.
Except for most people and almost every moment in time, forever is impossible. We have this photograph, this miracle of light and film that has captured an image of a moment beside a pond, but nothing more. History has been lost to the ether, never to be recovered.
My heart aches for these boys. It aches for all of us.
Less than two weeks before our inaugural Speak Up storytelling event at Real Art Ways in Hartford, CT. May 4 at 7:00 PM. Admission is free. If you plan on attending, please go to our Facebook invite page and let us know to help with the head count.
Today I’m proud to introduce our sixth storyteller, Plato Karafelis. _____________________________
Plato Karafelis has been the principal of Henry Wolcott School in West Hartford for 25 years. He is retiring in June. A kindergarten student recently told him that he looked like he was 29 years old and that retirement meant you got to spend time with your family. Of course, another student told him he looked 87 and retirement meant you lost your job and couldn’t find another one.
Plato did not have a given name for the first year of his life. His family just didn’t get around to naming him and it didn’t seem important. This explains a great deal about Plato’s need to please others.
Plato grew up in a family of gregarious, Greek storytellers. It was hard to get a word in edgewise. When the family gathered, all generations sat in the same room and stories were told by committee. This usually resulted in arguments. Sometimes the arguments turned into feuds and family members would disown each other and not speak to each other for years. Eventually, someone would die and the family would all get together at the funeral and tell stories about the person who died and end up hugging each other, drinking Metaxa, and dancing.
Plato lives with his lovely wife Sharon and their twin daughters Alexis and Chloe, who will be going to college in the fall.
My four year-old daughter shocked me today by spelling the words “stop” and “go” on the way to school.
“But Dad!” she yelled. “I can’t spell slow down. It’s so frustrating.”
I thought stop and go were pretty impressive.
The Daily Beast reports on a new book, The Newlywed's Guide to Physical Intimacy, available in stores soon:
A new sex guide to be published in Hebrew aims at teaching orthodox Jews the basics of sex.
How basic?
The book goes as far as outlining the anatomical differences between males and females. The author, Dr. David Ribner, has a doctorate in social work and is an ordained Rabbi. He has spent the last 30 years working with orthodox Jews in Israel, who often know absolutely nothing about male-female interactions.
As a fifth grade teacher, I actually teach some of this basic anatomy as part of our health curriculum. I would’ve been the perfect person to write this book. I have plenty of experience dealing with students who are clueless in this regard.
Of course, the book also address sex, which is not a part of our fifth grade curriculum. But it does so very carefully. Rather than actually including information about sex in the book, there is a a sealed envelope on the back flap, with a warning to readers that it contains sexual diagrams. If you don't want to look at them, you can rip off the envelope and throw it away.
Inside are three diagrams of basic sexual positions.
Just three?
This could be the first and last word that these people ever receive in terms of sex, and all they are being given are three positions?
These are grown men and women who have no idea what the anatomy of the opposite sex even looks like, and in many cases, they don’t understand how their own anatomy works.
Just three positions?
They need as much help as they can get.
I should’ve written this book.
…but fifteen minutes after my wife left for the park with the kids, I abandoned the laptop and followed.
Yes, I failed to meet my daily writing goal.
Yes, there is still work to be done on my manuscript.
Yes, the problems with the manuscript still plague me.
But as you can see, it was worth it.
On this week’s episode of Parks and Recreation, Patton Oswalt guest stars as a resident who invokes a bylaw about citizen filibustering to delay a city council vote. The show's producers gave Oswalt full creative power for the scene, asking him to simply "ramble a bit about whatever subject he wanted."
And he did — about Star Wars.
For a full eight minutes, Oswalt lays out a potential, detailed plot for the next installment of the film (he even threads in Disney elements, due to the recent acquisition of Lucasfilm).
It’s pure genius.
