Resolution update: May 2011

1.  Lose 23 pounds, bringing me down to my high school track and field weight.

Down eleven pounds since the beginning of the year.  Twelve to go.

2.  Do at least 50 100 200 push-ups and 50 sit-ups a day.

I have increased my push-up total to 200 a day, and in May, I missed three days.  Two were purposely missed because I used the rowing machine at the gym, and one day was forgotten because I was spending the evening at the in-law’s home was fell out of my routine. 

I might want to think about increasing my sit-up goals as well, except that sit-ups just aren’t as fun. 

3.  Practice the flute for at least an hour a week.

No practice. I remain a complete disappointment.  

4.  Find a wine that I can drink every night or so.

I tried one wine in May and di not like it.  

5.  Complete my fifth novel.

Four chapters into my newest book and things are going well.  Once I have all four chapters in decent shape, I will send them to my agent for a first look. 

6.  Complete and submit one children’s book to my agent.

Done.  She liked it.  It has now been passed onto an agent who specializes in children’s book for an opinion.    

7.  Complete the book proposal for the non-fiction collaborative project that I began last year

Still a summer project,      

8.  Complete an outline for my memoir

Done, but it grows by the week.  It would appear that my book on productivity will also be my memoir.  The two have merged into one entity. 

9.  Convince my sister to write on http://107federalstreet.blogspot.com at least once a week and do the same myself.

No progress yet.

10.  Drink at least four glasses of water every day.

Done. 

11.  Complete at least one of the three classes required for me to teach English on the high school level.

Nothing done yet.

12.  Try liver.

Nope.

13.  Publish an Op-Ed in a national newspaper.

Nope.

14.  Participate in The Moth as a storyteller, at a live show or on their radio broadcast.

No, but I pitched another story about a week ago.  How long should I wait before assuming that they are not interested?

15. See our rock opera (The Clowns) performed on stage as a full production or in a dramatic reading format.

Our dramatic reading at the local playhouse is scheduled for November 5 and 6.

16.  Organize my basement.

Progress continues at a decent pace. 

17.  Land at least one paying client for my fledgling life coach or professional best man business.

None.  But now I’ve added professional best man to the list.  Please keep me in mind.   

18. Rid Elysha and myself of all education debt before the end of the year.

Still waiting on the funding. 

19. Replace the twelve ancient windows on the first and second floor of the house with more energy efficient ones.

Still waiting on the funding.

20. Make one mortgage payment from poker profits.

I remain stuck on a little less than 25% of a mortgage payment so far.  

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

Done.  On time for once.  

Disappointed that billions haven’t died?

More fallout from the failed Rapture:

Expert Rapture predictor Harold Camping's public relations manager moved his family from California to Ohio a month before the supposed Rapture in order to wait for the end of days. 

Last week he announced that he is headed back to California next week:

"You can imagine we're pretty disappointed, but the word of God is still true," he told The Los Angeles Times. "We obviously went too far, and that's something we need to learn from."

I’m not sure if you want your public relations manager telling the world that you were disappointed that the world was not ravaged by massive earthquakes and raging fires, killing every living thing on the planet.

Perhaps just a “Yeah, we were surprised since Harry’s only gotten this Rapture thing wrong once before” would have been more appropriate.

Super Grover playing Saint Peter?

I found these little people on the window sill yesterday, set up in a position that I assume can only be a reenactment of the Saint Peter story.

Naturally, my daughter has Super Grover playing the role of the big man at the Pearly Gates.  

Personally, I don’t think the purple dragon has a shot in hell of getting in. 

     

Serious daddy fail

I couldn’t quite remember my daughter’s birthday today. 

I thought I knew it, and I knew I was within ten days or so of the correct date, but I couldn’t be certain until I checked my calendar.

The person who asked was horrified.

In fairness, I have always had a hard time remembering dates.

On a scale of 1-10, how bad of a father am I?

Dishonoring the dead with stupidity

From Fox News:

Is Obama Chewing Gum at Joplin Memorial Service?

Earlier today President Obama spoke at a memorial service in Joplin, MO honoring those who lost their lives to the destructive tornado that stuck the region last week. Seen at the last seconds of this video clip it appears as though President Obama was chewing gum. What do you think?

____________________________________________________

I try to avoid politics here, but I can’t imagine even the most ardent Fox News supporters getting behind a story like this. 

And so, in answer to the question that Fox News posed: 

I think that at a time of great tragedy, the last thing that a news organization should be doing is reporting on a non-story that is clearly designed to undermine the credibility of the President in a way that would only be meaningful to the most base, derisive and fanatical elements of our citizenry. 

I can accept Fox News’s Fair and Balanced slogan as cleverly ironic (whether it’s meant to be or not), and I can even accept a news organization so slanted to one direction that they need to nail the news desk down to the floor lest it slide across the set.

Fox News is entirely within their rights to promote any agenda that they so choose, and while I do not believe them to be fair and balanced, they are free to do as they please.   

besides, without Fox News, what would Jon Stewart do?  Or The Onion?

But it’s impossible  for me to accept any news organization that attempts to politicize a memorial service for dead Americans by attempting to make such an inane and meaningless observation regarding the President.

Was he chewing gum?  Perhaps. 

Does it matter?  Of course not.

This is not a story, Fox News.  It is a pandering, pointless and ill-timed attempt at character assassination, and you should know better.

Particularly at a time like this.

Your sense of smell or your cell phone?

From a recent McCann survey of more than 7,000 people ages 16-30 across a variety of countries:

Given a list of things (including cosmetics, their car, their passport, their phone and their sense of smell) and told they could only save two, 53% of those aged 16-22 and 48% of those aged 23-30 would give up their own sense of smell if it meant they could keep an item of technology (most often their phone or laptop).

We all know how important technology is to young people, but a willingness to sacrifice one of their human senses to keep it shows just how intrinsic it has become.

I didn’t even have to think about it.  I would do the same. 

Without a moment’s hesitation.

Am I crazy?

Angry, hilarious outbursts

When my daughter gets angry, she begins moving and narrating her motion as it is taking place.

For example:

Mommy:  Clara, It’s time for bed!

Clara:  No!  I running!  I running!

Or…

Daddy:  Clara, it’s time to take a bath!

Clara:  No, I don’t want to take a bath! I moving! I moving!

And our favorite…

Mommy:  Clara, it’s time to go to school!

Clara:: No! I hopping like a bunny!  I hopping like a bunny! 

Chasing fire engines

When I was in my early twenties, I worked two full time jobs while awaiting trial for a crime I did not commit. I would arrive at South Shore Bank at 7:30 AM to work my shift as a customer service representative, leave at 5:00 PM, arrive at McDonald’s at 6:00 PM and work until 1:00 AM. I also worked on Saturday mornings at the bank and some Saturday nights at the restaurant.

During these two long years, I dated a girl named Christine who was attending Massasoit Community College during the day and working at a McDonald's restaurant across town at night. She would leave work about the same time I would and return to school the next day around noon, making her schedule similar to my own.

As a result, Christine and I spent an inordinate amount of time together between the hours of midnight and 3:00 AM, eating in diners, hanging around at the 24-hour bowling alley, driving around in my car and parking in various parking lots and make-out spots around town. She was nineteen and living with her parents, and I was sharing a room with a goat and a guy named Rick in the home of a family of Jehovah Witnesses, so we didn’t have many other choices.

One of our favorite ways to spend those early morning hours together was following fire engines to house fires.

We would park in the lot across from the fire station, and when the fire engines took off for a late night fire (and there seemed to be many of them in Brockton, Massachusetts during those days), we would follow closely behind, acquiring the ideal vantage point upon arriving at the scene.

We were witness to some spectacular pyrotechnic displays during that year, and some of the firefighters even got to know us by name. Parking across the street and out of the way, we would sit on the hood of my car, watching the real life drama unfold before our eyes:

Fires shooting out through rooftops, collapsing chimneys, windows exploding, homeowners and (more often) pets being rescued in the arms of sooty firefighters.

I didn’t own or watch television during those two years, but those dramas were far better than anything on TV.

Yes, it was at least a little exploitative in terms of a homeowner's suffering and the potential for serious injury or even death, but we were young and stupid.

Christine and I eventually broke up. She was about four years younger than me, and while that difference doesn't mean much later on in life, it’s a lot more to overcome in your early twenties.

With the end of the relationship came the end of my fire engine chasing days. Shortly thereafter I was found not guilty in a courtroom and was free to leave the state for bigger and better things.

But every time I see a fire engine fly by, sirens blaring and lights flashing, I experience an instinctual need to turn around and begin chasing it. It's probably a feeling closely akin to a dog’s need to chase cars.

While I refrain from following the fire engines of today, I hope to someday find myself sitting on the hood of my car just one more time, bathed in the orange glow of a fire, watching firefighters battle the flames, with my daughter and son sitting beside me, slowly acquiring the same animal-like instinct for following fire engines that her father still possesses.

Is downhill downhill or downhill?

Scenario #1: Something has gone wrong early in the day. It is not good. The rest of the day promises to only get worse.

I say, “Damn. Everything is going to be downhill from here.”

___________________________________

Scenario #2:

A difficult day suddenly becomes much better when a colleague solves an especially challenging problem for me.

I say, “Wow! You just made my day! Everything’s going to be downhill from here!”

___________________________________

So I ask you:

Which usage us correct? The positive or the negative connotation?

Please don’t say both.

How to be pretty

Today’s message to my daughter:_____________________________________

An important thing to remember, little one:

Attractiveness is more closely related to IQ than actual physical appearance.

Nothing is uglier than a stupid person.

Me? Or a muzzled version of me?

Over the past three days, I have been keeping track of the number of ideas, thoughts and feelings that I was unable to share because doing so might have hurt the feelings of a friend or family member. The total: 19

This includes three blog posts that I cannot write.

I find this frustrating.

Equally frustrating is the number of friends and/or family members to whom the three blog posts and the majority of the 19 thoughts, feeling and ideas might offend:

The total: 3

So I’m left wondering:

Are these three friends and/or family members more easily offended than most, or are they more prone to saying and doing things that I am likely to find reason to criticize, mock or poke fun at?

Unfortunately, I think the answer is both.

And while I have no desire to offend these people, because they are legitimately people who I want in my life, I find it exceedingly difficult to muzzle myself for their benefit.

And so I’m also left wondering:

Would these likely-to-offend friends and/or family prefer that refrain from remarks that might be critical or hurtful to them, or would they prefer that I just be myself and express all ideas and opinions absent of any filter?

Would they want to know what I genuinely think, or would they argue that ignorance is bliss?

In short, do they want me to be me or a less-than-authentic version of me?

On a positive note, my wife did not account for a single one of these 19 instances over the past three days.

I clearly married the right woman.

Why today's video games suck

It happened more than a dozen years ago. I was playing a new PC game called Diablo II with some buddies and liking it very much. About an hour into the game, my character was killed by an arrow-shooting monster, and my head dropped to my chest. Damn. I’d have to start over.

“But, wait,” my friends said. “No need to start over.”

When a character dies in Diablo II, he or she simply reappears back in town without any of the equipment or items previously accumulated. And the lost equipment and items remain on the ground where your character died, so while it can be tricky to get back there without any weapons or armor, it is doable. And you have all the time in the world to accomplish it.

In short, the game has no risk. There are no life-or-death battles taking place within the game. It is simply a means of item-accumulation.

While I kept playing because my friends were playing with me, the joy in playing the game was gone.

It’s why I eventually became a griefer, finding a way to circumvent the rules of the game in order to kill players (also not normally allowed) and strip them of the items that they had spent hundred of hours accumulating.

The game needed genuine risk to be worthwhile.

So when I came upon this graphic illustrating the difference between the video games of my youth and the games of today, it made sense to me.

There was a time when dead meant dead in video games. When finishing a game was only possible for the most skilled players. When you would literally be drenched in sweat upon defeating the game’s boss.

Hell, there was a time when every game cost 25 cents to play. That made the stakes extraordinarily high.

But as video games moved exclusively into the home and the video game industry looked to expand beyond its base of hardcore gamers, it sought to create games that would appeal to a more casual gamer. The new games allowed players to experience the fun of playing the game without having to make a serious commitment in order to become good.

The risk-reward was removed from most games, including Diablo II.

This is probably why I play significantly fewer video games today. It has nothing to to with age.

It’s all about the stakes, or the lack thereof.

Introducing Matthew Green

My last name has caused me problems before. And many, many more that I have yet to write about.

Despite the burden that a last name like Dicks has carried, I never imagined giving it up for a new name.

It may not be pretty, but it’s my name.

I have never been able to understand or respect someone who changes their last name just for the sake of preference. I’ve known a few of these people during my life, and each time, I have continued to use their original last name whenever possible.

I can be a real jerk sometimes.

But my last name hasn’t been all bad. Thanks to Dicks, I learned at an early age that the best place to punch someone is between the eyes and never in the mouth. The stomach is pretty good, too, but only if you know you can get a off a solid punch.

I know lots and lots of people with beautiful last names who would be useless in a fight, so there is something to be said about a name like Dicks.

It toughens you up.

I have two uncles named Harold and they both go by the name Harry Dicks.

My father’s name is Leslie, and he goes by Les Dicks.

You have never met three tougher men.

I like to think I am following in their footsteps, even if my first name is slightly more palatable than theirs.

But after forty years, it turns out that I will be changing my name after all.

We have sold the rights to my next book, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, to nine different countries so far, including the UK. One of the terms in the contract with my UK publisher, Little Brown UK, is that I change my last name for the British version of the book.

While Dicks might be an amusing name in the United States, it is apparently quite offensive in England.

At first I was admittedly taken aback by the request. I was annoyed, disappointed, and a little flummoxed. While my previous two books had not been published in the UK, I knew that the US version of the book had made it across the pond and been read by many, many people there without any complaint.

So why the need for a change now?

After some research into the matter, it turns out that this is not an unusual request, and many authors from the US are asked to change their names for British publishers. Randy, for example, is a first name that is changed quite often in the UK, and there are others.

The British are apparently a sensitive people when it comes to these kinds of things.

Thankfully, my disappointment over the news was cushioned significantly by my introduction to a wonderful editor at Little Brown UK who will be working on my book, as well as a serious commitment from the publisher in regards to the novel and my future career.

It would appear that they love everything about me except my last name.

So came the process of choosing a new last name. My initial thoughts were names like Phallic or Shaft, and had I not already had great respect for my editor at Little Brown UK, I may have forwarded these choices with a glad heart.

But instead, I decided to get serious and choose a more fitting name.

Since I was able to choose anything, it was suggested by a fiend of mine in the publishing business that I opt for a name that would place my books on eye-level shelves in bookstores.

Apparently authors with last names beginning with W often change their name to improve their book shelf position.

Ultimately I sent two names to my publisher and asked for them to choose what they preferred.

The names were Green and Mandeville.

Green is my wife’s maiden name, and Mandeville was my mother’s maiden name.

Either choice would pay homage to someone I loved, and both seemed fitting.

The publisher chose Green almost immediately, liking the single syllable match with my real name, Dicks, as well as the simplicity of the name.

Matthew Green.

While my mother’s maiden name would have been nice, this choice made my wife quite happy, and I have always believed in the phrase:

Happy wife, happy life.

So after forty years of mild-to-moderate suffering with the last name Dicks, it has finally been changed, at least in one country, and on at least one book.

It’s a strange feeling, having a new name.

I can’t believe that women do this every time they get married.

The Rapture. Part II.

Oh good.  Just when I thought I would have to wait years for another Rapture prediction comes word that the next one is just around the corner. 

Harold Camping, the minister responsible for last weekend’s prediction, announced that the Rapture began on May 21, just in a “spiritual” and not “physical” way.

“But it won’t be spiritual on October 21,” Camping said.

Almost sounds the like the tagline to a movie trailer.  Doesn’t it?

So when October 12 comes and goes and the world has not been consumed by a fireball, what will Camping’s next excuse be?

“The Rapture continues, just not in a spiritual way anymore.  Now it’s emotional.  Or financial.  Or technical. Or transcendental. Or metaphorical. Or cosmological. Or nutritional.”

It could be decades before he runs out of excuses.

Let’s just hope that no one is stupid enough to rid themselves of their worldly possessions and quit their jobs again.

Fool me once, I’m an idiot.  At least when it comes to Rapture predictions.  Fool me twice, shame on me.   

Either way, it’s good news for me, as I will have a second chance at the prank that I forgot about last weekend.        

When it comes to the Rapture, I have always believed that more is more.

Explanation at last

Pretty damn funny.

And some truth to it, perhaps?

The Author's Prayer

A while back, Washington Post fiction critic extraordinaire Ron Charles tweeted: Does being stuck inside writing a review on this gorgeous day make me even more annoyed with this tedious novel?

I was never able to determine which book Charles was referencing, but the comment left me wondering if a critic’s personal circumstances might impact his or her opinion of a book.

Did the fine weather and his unfortunate interior confinement impact Charles’ review of the book in question?

Probably not.

But are their more likely circumstances where a critic’s opinion could be influenced?

For example, does the last novel that the critic has read influence the review? If he has just finished reading a real clunker, does that give the next book a slight leg-up?

And conversely, what if the critic has just read what he considers to be the book of the decade? Will this influence his opinion of the next book he reviews?  Could the next book hope to measure up to the previous book, and if not, will the review be inherently, if not purposefully, slightly less favorable?

The list of potential influences is endless.

Did the critic and his wife engage in verbal fisticuffs just prior to sitting down to read the book?

Were the kids’ report cards uncommonly glowing this semester?

Was dinner a disappointment?

Did the critic just have sex?

Did the critic’s iPhone refuse to sync, necessitating a trip to the Genius Bar?

Had the critic recently lost a lot of weight through surprising minimal effort?

Was the local 7-11 out of Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia?

Was the critic drunk?

Was his back sore?

Was his most recent performance review less than favorable?

Does the cover art on the book remind the critic of the girl in high school who dumped him for his step-brother?

Did his dog just die?

While I like to think that all book critics are impartial and souls, perfectly capable of excluding personal success and disappointment from their work day, it’s probably not possible. As impartial as they may be, a personal crisis tends to weave its way into the fabric of our lives, whether we like it or not.

So  wonder how often a critic’s opinion of a book is slightly shifted by circumstance.

Can the weather or a technological snafu or the death of a pet change a review for better or worse?

Maybe.

If so, I offer this author’s prayer:

When it comes time to review my next book, may all the fine literary critics of the world be the slightly inibriated, suddenly svelt parents of straight A students who have been away at summer camp for a month, allowing the critic and spouse to eat Chunky Money ice cream and have sex on the dining room table after a more-than-satisfying late night dinner.

I have never been treated by an OB/GYN but I have an opinion on the subject nonetheless

Admittedly I  have almost no experience when it comes to OB/GYNs. Unfortunately that will not stop me from commenting on a piece in Slate that criticizes OB/GYN practices in Florida for establishing 200 pound weight limits for their patients.

When I first read the headline, I was a little shocked. I thought, “Are these doctors turning these women away based upon their physical appearance?  And do these doctors care that much about their patients’ physical appearance?”

But then I read the paragraph explaining the rationale for the weight restrictions, which included author Anna Resiman’s counterarguments:

Some of the doctors interviewed in the article opted not to care for obese women because of inadequate equipment. That’s pathetic: As I’ve said here before, they should buy larger exam tables, longer speculums, and bigger blood pressure cuffs, and do their best. Another reason for the ban, according to one of the office managers: The doctors weren’t “experts in obesity” and didn’t want to have to send patients to specialists if problems occurred. My take: Doctors should be adept at caring for patients of all sizes. Gynecologists don’t only do pelvic exams; a big part of their job is counseling. There’s no reason any should shy away from counseling overweight women, whether that entails diet and exercise recommendations or referrals to dieticians and bariatric surgeons. One of the doctors rationalized his decision as a way to decrease potential surgical complications and lawsuits; while this might make his work easier, what if all doctors in this part of Florida followed suit?

Let’s look at Reisman’s counter-arguments in order.

1.  Doctors claim that they lack the equipment to deal with women over 200 pounds.

Reisman’s response: “…they should buy larger exam tables, longer speculums, and bigger blood pressure cuffs, and do their best.”

Really? Are doctors expected to purchase enough equipment to handle every patient who could potentially walk in the door? Does Reisman think that these doctors have piles on money in their closets, ready to be spent on whatever piece of equipment they need, regardless of the fiscal sensibility of purchasing the equipment?

Isn’t a doctor permitted to determine how often he or she might use a piece of equipment and then determine if the purchase is cost-effective? They are running a business, and it would seem to me that “they should just buy more stuff” implies that business decisions should play no role in medicine.

Perhaps in an ideal world, but rather naive in this one, I think.

2.  The doctors weren’t “experts in obesity” and didn’t want to have to send patients to specialists if problems occurred.

Reisman’s response: “Doctors should be adept at caring for patients of all sizes.”

Really? Is medicine truly a one-size-fits-all model?

Is it unreasonable for a doctor to admit to not knowing everything?

Is it unreasonable to think that the needs of a 200 pound woman could be vastly different than the needs of 130 pound woman? Do we really want to tell doctors that they should know everything about their potential patients, regardless of their physical attributes, and not rely on experts in the field who specialize on particular patient attributes?

As a teacher, should I be expected to teach kindergarteners and high school seniors with the same level of skill? Like doctors, should teachers also be adept at teaching students of all sizes? If not, why?

As a writer, should I be expected to be able to write a textbook and a technical manual with the same skill as I write a novel? If I can write 120,000 words of fiction at a time, should I also be able to write a 5,000 word car manual?

The idea that a doctor should simply be able to treat all patients regardless of their physical differences is absurd.

Reisman adds:

There’s no reason any should shy away from counseling overweight women, whether that entails diet and exercise recommendations or referrals to dietitians and bariatric surgeons.

Sure there is. What if a doctor is not skilled or adept at counseling overweight women on diet and exercise? Do we really expect the doctor who specializes in obstetrics and gynecology to also be an expert on nutrition, exercise, weigh management, and more? If so, why do we have doctors who specialize in these fields already? Must we force doctors to become experts in multiple disciplines in order to cater to every possible patient who walks in the door?

3.  One of the doctors rationalized his decision as a way to decrease potential surgical complications and lawsuits.

Reisman’s response: “…what if all doctors in this part of Florida followed suit?

Three points here:

First, did Reisman really just cite one doctor as an indicator of the industry’s rationale?

Second, if the decision to set a weight limit on patients does in fact reduce surgical complications and lawsuits, can we fault a doctor for making a valid business decision in order to remain profitable?

And doesn’t the increase of surgical complications for some doctors imply the need for expertise in this field?

Do 200 pound women want to be treated by an OB/GYN who experiences higher rates of surgical complications?

But it’s the last part of the sentence that contains the great degree of stupidity:

“…what if all doctors in this part of Florida followed suit?”

Ah, yes. The doomsday scenario. Always the sign of a rhetorical mastermind.

Does anyone believe in a free market economy that there won’t be doctors willing to treat the exploding population of obese patients in our country?

Does Reisman expect the reader to foresee a day when it will be impossible for a obese women to find an OB/GYN willing to treat her?

Or is it more reasonable to foresee a day in which some doctors are perfectly willing and appropriately skilled at dealing with the unique needs of an obese woman and some are not?

Unacceptable platitude #3: “That’s your opinion.”

“That’s your opinion.” For clarification, this statement, and ones similar to it, are often made after a person states an opinion in the midst of a heated argument.

For example:

“No, I think chunky monkey is a the stupidest ice cream on the planet.  Strawberry is clearly the best. It’s simple. It’s classic. It’s known by all.  Sometimes it contains actual strawberries. And you’re not left wondering if it’s made from actual monkey bits. Strawberry rocks.”

“That’s your opinion, monkey-face!”

One of the nice things about learning to distinguish between fact and opinion in elementary school is that this universal knowledge base mitigates the need to say “in my opinion” after stating an opinion.

So when I say that Mariano Rivera is the best closer in baseball history or that Sarah Palin would make a frightening President or that Ranch dressing is the most vile substance known to man, we all know that these are opinions, no matter how forcefully or with how much certainty I may state them.

Yes. It’s an opinion. We all know it’s an opinion. We know the difference between fact and opinion.

Just like it is an opinion when I tell you that you are a moron for defining my opinion as an opinion.

Distinguishing an opinion does not qualify as a valid verbal rebuttal.

In our world, we do not need to differentiate facts and opinions as we speak.

We all just do it in our heads.

Raptured!

At least one reader decided to follow through on Wendy Clinch’s Rapture idea, which makes me extremely happy considering I forgot about it completely.

I’d like to use the excuse that my daughter’s great grandmother was staying with us for the weekend and we spent much of the day at the Connecticut Book Festival, listening to illustrator Wendell Minor and author Wally Lamb speak.

And while this is true, it is no excuse. That Rapture idea was brilliant, and Raptures don’t come around every day.

I’ll probably have to wait a least a year or two before the world ends again.

Ice cream for dinner!

That’s right. As my wife and I were finishing our walk with the dog, she turned to me and said, “How about some ice cream for dinner tonight?

She didn’t have to ask twice.

And I strongly suggest that everyone try this at least once.

As adults, we sometimes forget the when-I-grow-up promises that we made to ourselves as children. The seemingly infinite possibilities that would one day come with the freedom of adulthood.

Ice cream for dinner was probably a childhood promise for many of us, and for good reason.

Thirty minutes later, Elysha, Clara and I were sitting in a local ice cream parlor, scanning the menu, when I came across this item:

The Petersen Royal

Please note that there is $23.00 worth of ice cream in this monster, and they suggest that you ask for extra spoons if you would like to share.

If you would like to share?

Even if the seven scoops of ice cream, the whole banana and the assorted toppings aren’t enough to stop a person, isn’t the $23.00 price point barrier enough in terms of trying to eat this alone?