Why I'm obsessed with that traffic video

Two weeks ago, I wrote about my obsession with this traffic video.

I'm still a little obsessed, and I know that seems weird. I thought it was weird, too, but then I put some thought into why I am so obsessed, and I think I found the reason:

I always think things can be improved. Be made more effective and more efficient. Not everything needs to be made more efficient and more effective, but I think a lot of things do. There is a lot of room for necessary improvement in this world.

Yet so often I see people take the first choice available to them. The most obvious route. The mindless decision. The path of least resistance. 

When I'm working with storytellers, for example, I often see them choose the first anecdote that comes to mind when building their story. The first choice of words. The first means of description. The first pathway into the story.

I'm always trying to find the better way. In some ways, I know this makes me a little crazy.    

For example, I'm engaged in lifelong experiment to determine the fastest way to empty a dishwasher. Dishes first, then glasses? Silverware first? Should I move certain items to the counter to make it faster to access the cabinets? I'm a person who uses a stopwatch when emptying the dishwasher.

That's a little crazy.

I do the same thing when taking a shower. Can I get in and out of the shower in under 100 seconds? Is there a faster, more efficient way of getting myself clean? If I start by soaping my chest, while gravity pull the soap down to my legs, making that process faster? Do I even need to wash my knees? Do knees ever get so dirty that they require a scrubbing?

Crazy. I know.

And when it comes to storytelling, I make lists. Lists of possible anecdotes. Lists of descriptors. I experiment with different places to begin a story.  Different places to end a story. In a lot of ways, storytelling is about choice. The best storytellers make the best choices when constructing their stories.

But so many storytellers make no choices at all. They simply choose the first thing that comes to mind. They see their story as a predetermined construct rather than something that is flexible, malleable, and rife for improvement.

Just like emptying the dishwasher. And taking a shower. And a thousand other processes I dare not mention lest you think I'm losing my mind. Every day of my life, I am trying to find more efficient, more effective ways of doing things, to a degree that would probably surprise and perhaps alarm you. 

But I believe that things can always be made better. Work can be accomplished faster. Time can always be saved.  

Just like that traffic video, which acknowledges in a wonderfully visual way how simple changes in design can yield remarkable results.   

That's why I'm obsessed. The people who design intersections are my people. That video is like looking into my head and seeing how my brain works, for better or worse.

BOOK LAUNCH PARTY! SAVE THE DATE!

Join internationally bestselling author and 36-time Moth StorySLAM and 5-time GrandSLAM champion Matthew Dicks for the launch of his first non-fiction title:

Storyworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life through the Power of Storytelling.

Saturday, June 16, at 7:00 PM at Real Art Ways in Hartford.

In lieu of a traditional book launch party, Matthew will perform a one-man show comprising five BRAND NEW stories with short lessons after each story (right from the book!) designed to make you a better storyteller.

Following the show, Matthew will take questions, sign books, and give away prizes.

The evening will be emceed by Elysha Dicks.

Live music performed by Shoulda Coulda Woulda.

Books will be sold in partnership with Barnes & Noble of Blue Back Square, West Hartford.

The show is PG-13, so teens are welcome.

Beer, wine, and snacks will be on sale courtesy of Real Art Ways.

Tickets are just $5, and all proceeds from ticket sales will go to fund educational programming at Real Art Ways.

Kids say funny (and not so funny) things

In the playscape at McDonald's, Clara is playing with two little girls and having a grand old time. At the height of their joy, the father of the two girls shouts, "It's time for church, girls! Let's go!"

As the two little girls put their shoes on, one of them asks Clara is she has to go to church, too.

"No," Clara says. "We don't go to church."

Charlie, sitting next to me and eating pancakes, whispers, "Thank God."

_____________________________________

After seeing a black and white picture of Starbucks hanging on the wall in a Starbucks, Charlie asks Elysha if the world used to be in black and white. 

_____________________________________

Clara asks why women's bathing suits have to cover their chests but men's bathing suits don't. 

Try something new. Again and again and again.

My wife, Elysha, is learning to play the ukulele. Her remarkable and handsome husband gave her a ukulele and lessons for Christmas, and ever since December, she has practiced and played almost every day.

It's her new thing.

My friend, Steve, is hosting his first corn hole tournament on Saturday in his backyard. Dozens of competitors, corporate sponsors, fabulous prizes, and he's opening the event with a singing of the national anthem. 

It's his new thing.

I can't say enough about introducing new things to your life on a regular basis.

You must. You never know where they might lead.  

Back in July of 2011, I went to New York City to tell a story on a Moth stage. My plan was to tell one story and never do it again. 

Today, I have become a storyteller who performs all over the country and the world. 

In 2013, Elysha and I produced our first Speak Up storytelling event at Real Art Ways in Hartford, expecting 30-40 friends would gather two or three times a year to listen to stories. 

Today, we produce about a dozen shows per year for audiences as large as 500 people.

In 2014, I taught my first storytelling workshop, telling the participants that this would be the only workshop I ever teach.

Four years later, I teach storytelling professionally. I work with corporations, clergy members, politicians, nonprofits, colleges and universities, public schools,  hospitals, and many more.

The last four days alone:

On Saturday, I taught storytelling at Central Connecticut State University to abut 75 educators as part of a conference on literacy.  

On Sunday, I taught storytelling to a group of remarkable young women at Miss Porter's School, a private boarding school in Connecticut, in preparation for a show that I will be producing on campus.

On Monday I traveled to a Mohawk reservation an hour north of Toronto, Canada, to teach storytelling to a group of Mohawks who are learning their native language for the first time,

Yesterday, I taught storytelling to high school students in Woodbridge, CT. I also produced a story slam for students and performed that night alongside friends and fellow storytellers.

Tonight I will consult on storytelling with an attorney in Kansas City who works to reform housing and labor practices in his city.  

All of this happens because in 2011, I tried something new. 
In 2013, I tried something new.
In 2014, I tried something new. 

I shudder to think what my life might be like today had I not taken that stage seven years ago. 

Not everything that I try has similar results.

I wrote a book of poetry that will never see the light of day.
I've written picture books that no one wants to publish. 
I tried to learn to code online and honestly could not wrap my mind around any of it.

But each of these new experiences opened a door to me. Provided me with possibility. Gave me new insights. Carved new neural pathways in my brain. 

Elysha may never play the ukulele professionally, but every night. we listen to her play and sing, and it's beautiful.

Steve may never turn his corn hole tournament into anything more than an annual backyard event, but those annual tournaments will be a source of joy and amusement for him and his friends and family.

I keep a list in Evernote called "What's Next?" It's a list of things I want to try at some point in my life. Some of the items on the list are realistic and doable. Others are fanciful and unlikely. But if you had told me seven years ago that I would spend two days on a Mohawk reservation in Canada teaching Native Americans to tell stories, I would've thought you were being ridiculous.

You just never know.

Items on my "What's Next?" list include:

• Perform my one-person show in a theater
• Spend a summer at Yawgoog Scout reservation
• Write and direct a short film
• Launch a podcast with featuring me and the kids
• Learn to make an outstanding tuna avocado melt for Elysha
• Try curling
• Teach a college class for new teachers about the things that are really important
• Officiate a funeral
• Become a notary 
• Become an instructional coach 
• Design and teach a competitive yoga class
• Land a weekly column in a major newspaper
• Become an unlicensed therapist

These are just a few of the many items on my life. An endless list of opportunities for me to try.

Life is so full of opportunities. So full of possibilities. Yet I see so many people become stagnant and still. Stuck in the routines of their lives. Unwilling to try new things. Afraid to attempt the ridiculous or the difficult or the seemingly impossible. 

Avoid this at all cost. Pick up a ukulele. Start your own corn hold tournament in your backyard. Officiate a funeral. 

Do something new, and after that, doing something else that is new. Keep doing this. Never stop. Life is full of possibility and surprise if you allow it. 

Evangelicals hate. Jesus would love.

Evangelicals would disagree, but this is exactly the kind of church that Jesus would love if he were here on Earth.

I'm not a religious person. I describe myself as a reluctant atheist, and that's about right. I wish I had faith, but despite a lifetime of effort, I've yet to find it.

But I've read The Bible - beginning to end - three times in my life, and I've read the first four books of The New Testament many times beyond that. I cannot imagine how Evangelicals - or anyone, really - could read the books of The New Testament (the story of Jesus) and not think that Jesus would support every word on this sign.

I have to believe that they have either never read their foundational text from beginning to end or have been taught to pick and choose between the Old Testament and the New Testament, buffet style, in order to better support their bigotry.

Transactional Christians. Not the kind of Christians who Jesus - human philosopher or Son of God - would want following him. 

Going nowhere

The woman sitting beside me on a plane bound for Toronto fell asleep as we taxied out onto the runway. We were tenth in line to takeoff, so we were on the runway for quite a while.

Just before it was our turn to takeoff, the pilot announced that the plane was experiencing problems with the brakes, and we would need to return to the terminal.  

When the plane finally came to a stop at the gate, the woman beside me woke up.

"Wow," she said. "I slept through that whole flight!"

I smiled. “No, I'm afraid we’re still in New York. We haven’t gone anywhere yet.”

The look on her face... such disappointment. 

I was just so very happy to be the one to break the bad news to her. 

Good news/bad news on the exoneration front

Good news: 

Lawrence McKinney, 61, jailed for 31 years for a crime he did not commit - rape and burglary - has been awarded one million dollars in compensation from the state of Tennessee.

A decidedly different outcome from Lamont McIntyre's fate, who I wrote about a couple weeks ago. 

Bad news:

It wasn't easy. And it almost didn't happen. 

Upon his release from prison, McKinney received just $75 after three decades behind bars.

"Because I had no ID it took me three months before I was able to cash it," McKinney told CNN.

After he was freed, Mr McKinney sought a full exoneration. This was the only way he could petition the state for a more appropriate settlement. But in 2016, a parole board unanimously voted against a full exoneration, even though all DNA evidence indicated he was not guilty of his crime. 

One board member defended their decision not to exonerate him with this gem:

"The victim's descriptions to police matched McKinney's description, to a tee."

However, Tennessee Governor Bill Haslam reversed the parole board's verdict and unilaterally exonerated him in December 2017. Only then were McKinney's attorneys able to get him his one million dollar settlement. 

Had the governor not intervened, McKinney's $75 settlement would have stood. That amounts to .006 cents per day of incarceration. 

Six-thousands of a cent per day behind bars. 

Even now, the settlement of one million dollars amounts to just $88 per day, and once attorney's fees have been deducted, that amount is closer to $61 per day.

There is no way to return 31 years of a man's life, but the state can at least ensure that his remaining years are spent is relative leisure and comfort.  

Is that really too much to ask?

Recently, Nevest Coleman made news after being released from prison after 23 years thanks to DNA evidence and immediately returned to his job as Chicago White Sox groundskeeper. 

Coleman endured a 12-hour interrogation, during which he was punched by a detective when he denied any involvement in the killing.

Told he could go home if he confessed, Coleman was coached to say that two other men had carried out the murder while he acted as a lookout. Coleman gave a statement, then recanted as soon as his lawyer arrived, according to court records.

Coleman and co-defendant Darryl Fulton both gave confessions and were convicted of rape and murder, while a third suspect who did not confess, was never charged.

As a person who came precariously close to confessing to a crime he did not commit after hours of interrogation and false promises, I can't tell you how much I feel for those men. I know what it's like to be in that small room, desperate to escape, feeling like you never will. 

The same detectives who coerced Coleman and Fulton's confessions were involved in other questionable cases. Just last month, defendants arrested by the same detectives but later exonerated by DNA evidence reached a $31 million settlement with the city.

Colemman and Fulton have yet to learn how much they will receive. 

Hopefully more than a groundskeeper makes. 

Snoopy's advice sucks

If you know me at all, you'll know that I suffer from a persistent, constant, never-ending existential crisis. 

I think about death all the time. More that you could ever imagine.

In an effort to alleviate my concerns and perhaps offer me a little peace, one kind reader sent me this cartoon. 

But there's one terrible flaw in Snoopy's logic:

Yes, it's true. There is only one day in our lives when we will die, but we will also stay dead for all the days after we die. For as long as time and space exist, we will not. 

Death sucks, but it's just the beginning of an eternity of remaining dead. And that, even more than my death, saddens me. Constantly. Immeasurably. 

Just a T

Driving to dinner last night, Clara looked out the window and said, "Aw! Look at the pretty T!" 

My poor, confused, Jewish daughter...

Yes, they are real eggs

I found myself at dinner recently assuring someone for what felt the millionth time that the eggs cooked at McDonald's are in fact real eggs. 

"They actually crack eggs?" she asked. 

"Yes," I said. "They crack the damn eggs." 

"Really? They crack real eggs every morning?"

"Yes."

The question arose because I had been explaining to the woman that every morning I stop by McDonald's for an Egg McMuffin. When she heard this, she looked at me in horror. Possibly disgust.  

Naturally my first question was: "When was the last time you were in a McDonald's?"

Here answer, as I expected, was a billion years ago.

This always astounds me. Kind, generous, thoughtful souls are always so willing and quick to assume and judge when it comes to food. Whether it's fast food or processed food or anything in between, people make rapid determinations about food absent of any facts and experience. 

For example, people assume that fresh vegetables are the best possible form of vegetables, when the truth is that frozen vegetable are just as good for you (and sometimes better for you) than fresh vegetables. 

When I explain this fact to perfectly rationale human beings, they scoff. When I provide scientific evidence of this fact, they refuse to believe. When I show them mountains of research proving my case, they change the subject. 

Fresh food is supposed to be better than frozen food, damn it. End of story. 

Another example: Every day, almost without exception, I eat a bowl of Quaker instant oatmeal for lunch. Colleagues have repeatedly questioned my choice of lunch, the rigid consistency of my lunch, and my decision to eat prepackaged oatmeal as opposed to the fabled steel-cut, homemade variety.

I explain that I eat instant oatmeal on the advice of my doctor, and after one year of eating instant oatmeal almost every day, I lowered my cholesterol 50 points. I went from borderline high cholesterol to fantastic cholesterol, and the only change I made was one bowl of instant oatmeal every day.

Just as my doctor ordered. 

When I asked a nutritionist if I should consider switching to the homemade, all-natural, steel-cut variety, her response was this:

"Only if you prefer the taste and want to spend more time making oatmeal. The instant oatmeal probably has a little more sugar than what you'd make at home, but otherwise it's just as good for you. Oats are oats." 

Yet when a person sees my lunch emerge from a small, brown bag and cooked in a microwave, the assumption is that I'm eating a processed, unhealthy food that would never be found in a good and wholesome place like Whole Foods. And when I explain that my doctor and a nutritionist fully support this decision, and that I've lowered my cholesterol 50 points in the process, they continue to fight.

Food that comes out of little brown bags and cooked in microwaves isn't supposed to be good for you, damn it. End of story.

So back to the Egg McMuffin. I eat one a day. Over the course of ten years spent managing McDonald's restaurants I made tens of thousands of Egg McMuffins. I've cooked so many eggs that I can hold four eggs in my two hands and crack and empty them into a frying pan simultaneously.

Here is what an Egg McMuffin is made of exactly:

One real, honest-to-goodness egg, cracked into a egg ring and poached.
One English muffin, exactly like the kind of English muffin you have in your home.
One slice of American cheese, exactly like the American cheese you purchase at a deli.
One round slice of Canadien bacon.

That's it. All real ingredients. 290 calories in total.

If I was to serve you a scrambled egg (with a little American cheese mixed in for flavor) alongside an English Muffin and a slice of bacon, you'd accept this as a reasonable breakfast. If I served it to you on a pretty plate with a orange wedge garnish (that you probably wouldn't eat) and a cup of your favorite coffee, you'd think you were in heaven. 

Yet hand that same breakfast through a drive thru window in sandwich form and people can't believe the egg is real. 

Fast food is not real food, damn it. End of story.

I'm not implying that all fast food or processed food is good for you. I'm not saying that eating an Egg McMuffin every morning is the best possible breakfast.

I often add an apple or a banana for that very reason.

What I'm asking is that when it comes to food, we try to assume less. Be less influenced by preconceived notions. Be less susceptible to the marketing of corporations like Whole Foods and The Food Network. Be a little less fetishistic about our food beliefs. Be more open-minded to the idea that perhaps food establishments or food products that you have deemed demonic are perhaps not as evil as you once thought.   

And stop doubting the fact that McDonald's cracks real eggs, every morning, in every restaurant. 

The best compliment wasn't about my hair

A colleague stopped by my classroom the other day. She approached my desk and said, "I know this probably doesn't mean anything to you. I know you don't really care about physical appearance and things like that, but I wanted you to know that I really like your haircut."

This was an amazing compliment. One of the best compliments I've received in a long time.

And it had nothing to do with my hair. 

Instead, this colleague acknowledged that she knew me. Really knew me. 

She knows that except for my wife, children, and mother-in-law, I never compliment physical appearance. In my effort to reduce the obsessive amount of attention we pay to the way someone looks, I refrain from all of these comments and instead compliment words and deeds only. 

She also knows that in addition to this policy, I also take little personal stock in physical appearance. While I would certainly like to appear attractive, she knows that when it comes to things like clothing and hair, utility, comfort, and efficiency are my primary motivators, far exceeding anything related to the way I look. 

I know, for example, that if I wore a jacket and tie on occasion, certain people would appreciate this look and think it attractive. But I reject neckties as ridiculous, pointless, decorated nooses strapped around the necks of men who are conforming to senseless, arcane, sometimes dangerous tradition.  

And if I'm going to wear a jacket, it's probably going to be a hoodie. At the very least it will be something with good pockets. A traditional suit jacket doesn't even keep you warm on a cold day. Many of the pockets are decorative only. 

I rarely wear a traditional jacket, and I threw my neckties away years ago because I prize utility, efficiency, and comfort over physical appearance. I would rather preserve my precious time, achieve more as a result, and feel better while doing so than have someone think that the bit of cloth wrapped around my neck, designed and fashioned by someone other than me, somehow makes me look more attractive.  

That strikes me as ludicrous and absurd. It makes no sense. 

This colleague, who I have worked with for years, knows this about me. 

She knows me.

As a storyteller and a writer of blog posts, newspaper columns, and a hopefully soon-to-be-published memoir, I speak and write to be known. I stand on stages and share my most personal, embarrassing, frightening, and intimate moments in an effort to have others understand who I am. To connect with me. To know me.

My colleague wanted to compliment my haircut, but instead, she offered me something far more meaningful. She told me that she understood me as a human being. She understood my personal philosophy. My primary motivation. My nonconforming eccentricities.  

She knows me. Far beyond my haircut or clothing choices, she knows me as a human being.  

That was a compliment that meant something to me. It meant a whole lot.

And it had nothing to do with my hair. 

Time spent in the Starbucks drive thru line is not time well spent

When asked about how I get so much done, I have a multitude of answers. Strategies. Recommended routines. The propagation of certain habits. Suggested ways of thinking. 

But what I should really say every time I'm asked this question is this:

I value my time appropriately. I know that time is the most valuable commodity on the planet, and therefore I am constantly making value judgements about how I will spend it. 

Most human beings don't value their time appropriately. I have a multitude of examples to demonstrate this tragic fact, but here is one that makes me insane:

There is a Starbucks near my home with a drive thru window. I stop by this Starbucks on the weekends to pick up Elysha's latest caffeinated fix. The line of cars in the drive thru line at this establishment is typically so long that it sometimes blocks the entrance to the parking lot. 

It's insanity. It infuriates me. The parking lot in front of the store is bereft of cars. The parking spot beside the front door is empty. The inside of the Starbucks is almost empty. Twice as many employees as customers. Yet people will sit in their cars, waiting for this line to slowly wind its way around the building instead of hopping out of the car and going inside.

These are people who do not value their time appropriately.

Last weekend, I decided to determine if I was missing something. Maybe I was misunderstanding the situation.

Perhaps the line moves incredibly fast?

It doesn't. I watched customers walk into the store, order their coffee, receive their coffee, use the restroom, and leave long before the cars at the back of the drive thru line were even close to the window. 

Maybe these were parents with little children strapped into car seats? 

Nope. I walked around the building, creepily eyeing the back seats of these cars. While I'm sure there are occasionally parents with small children in the drive thru line, none were in line on either day that I checked. 

These are people who are not valuing their time appropriately. They are spending time in a drive thru line when there is a faster, more efficient option available.

It's a small thing, and it's admittedly not a lot of time wasted. Ten minutes at best. But when you start to value time appropriately, you realize that all time is valuable, regardless of its size.

For me, ten minutes could mean an extra ten minutes on a treadmill, which could equate to an extra 60 calories burned.

Ten minutes could mean an extra paragraph written in a novel, which brings me one paragraph closer to completion. 

Ten means could mean an extra ten minutes spent playing soccer with the kids on the front lawn.

Ten minutes could mean a dishwasher emptied, a load of laundry folded, a letter written, a cat cuddled, a permission slip completed, an email answered, a page read, a magazine article pitched, a phone call made, a photograph taken, or a banana eaten.

These ten minutes add up quickly. People don't believe it. They think tens minutes here and there are nothing. I know this because they roll their eyes and scoff at the ways I try to preserve tiny slivers of time every day. They think it's ridiculous that I practically run through the grocery store when shopping. They think that my deeply-held desire to identify the most efficient way to empty a dishwasher is ludicrous. They think it's silly that I try to keep my shower to under 100 seconds. They think it's insane that I eat the same thing for lunch almost every day.   

But this time matters. These minutes add up quickly, and the results of this time saved are extraordinary.

When you're on your death bed years from now, moments from the end, will you wish you'd spent more time in a Starbucks drive thru line? 

Or will be wishing that you could've written just one more letter to a loved one or eaten one more banana or spent just a few more minutes with your children when they were little? 

I know the answer to this question. I think about it constantly. This question is my guiding force. My ever-present mantra. 

I know the answer to this question. I think you do, too.  

Republican interns are white.

Look no further than the current crop of White House summer interns to understand precisely what hardline Republican immigration policies are all about. 

You need to aggressively disregard people of color to end up with the group of almost entirely white people. 

Lest you think this is an aberration, here is a photo of last year's White House interns. 

Note the striking similarity. 

And here is a photo of the Republican Congressional interns from last year. 

In case you're wondering what the Congressional interns for the Democrats looked like, here is their photo. 

Pretty much says it all. Don't you think?

Best and worst April Fools Day ever

It's a day late, but I thought I'd chronicle the two greatest April Fool's Day pranks ever played on me. 

On Sunday, April 1, 1990, I awoke before the crack of dawn. Despite staying up until the wee hours of the morning, enjoying another one of our keg parties, I needed to be at McDonald's at 5:00 AM to open the store. 

I exited my bedroom, carefully stepping over friends and total strangers scattered throughout the house in sleeping bags and under blankets. I scurried past piles of empty beer bottles and solitary popcorn bags that I hoped would be cleaned up before I returned home later that day. I quietly pushed open the front door and walked across the lawn to the parking lot, where I spotted some poor soul's car wrapped so completely in toilet paper that the shape of the car was no longer discernible. It looked like an enormous rectangle of toilet paper.

I laughed as I walked the length of the row to my own car. 

When I reached the end of the row, I stopped. "Where's my car?"

No.

But yes. That car, wrapped in what must have been hundreds of rolls of toilet paper, was mine. It was so buried in toilet tissue that I hadn't recognized it as my own. It took me 30 minutes to clear off the car, making me late for work for the first time in my life. When I finally clawed my way down to the windshield, I found a small block of wood stuck under one of the wipers. Written on it were the words, "Daughters of Triton." 

I still have that block of wood. 

Sherry Norton and Jennifer Cull, who were still sleeping somewhere in my house that morning, were were responsible for that April Fools Day prank, which ranks high in my book of pranks pulled on me. 

The following year, on Monday, April 1, 1991, my friend, Kate O'Hare, came over to our house and told me through tears that she was pregnant.  

She allowed me to believe this for a long, long time. Eventually, I was at a party with Kate, and I saw her drinking. I panicked.

"Does she know she's not supposed to be drinking?" I wondered. I went over to her and asked. 

She laughed. "You still think I'm pregnant?" 

My friend, Bengi, may or may not have been in on this prank. He remembers being aware of it, but he can't quite remember if he was also pranked or merely helped to keep it alive. 

The longevity of Kate's prank makes it the best ever pulled on me, but The Daughters of Triton was a close second. 

My worst April Fools Day moment came in 2004 when I met with my principal, Plato Karafelis, early one morning in the back of the auditorium to inform him that I was dating Elysha. I had previously been dating the school psychologist, and I thought he should know about the change in girlfriends.

Better to hear it from me than through the grapevine. 

When I had started dating the school psychologist months before, I asked him if there was anything I should know in terms of staff members dating. His response:

"Don't let it end ugly."

I listened (though I've always ended relationships well). I'm still friends with that school psychologist today, and I was the DJ at her wedding two summers ago.

When I told Plato about Elysha, he said, "Yeah, right. I know it's April Fools Day."

"No," I said. "I'm serious. I'm dating Elysha."

Plato turned and walked away. "Like Elysha Green would ever date you!"

Three years later, Plato was the minister at our wedding ceremony.

It was an amusing moment. But it took about a week before he believed that we were dating, and his words stung a bit. 

"Like Elysha Green would ever date you?"

Admittedly I was a little surprised myself, but I really didn't need that level of astonishment reinforced so early in our relationship.   

Resolution update: March 2018

PERSONAL HEALTH

1. Don’t die.

Not even a near-death experience in March, which for me is saying something. 

2. Lose 20 pounds.

Two more pounds lost in March, bringing my total fo six. 

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 March. I also ate cabbage for the first time since I was a child (still tastes terrible) and quinoa (not a fruit or vegetable in some people's mind, but anything growing out of the ground is an accomplishment for me and should be counted).    

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.

6. Stop using the snooze button.

Done. And I must tell you, I feel so much better when I climb out of bed when that first alarm sounds or I simply wake up.

Science is right. Snoozing is a terrible practice that you must end immediately.   

WRITING CAREER

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

My agent and I have yet to settle on the next novel. The decision should be made soon. 

8. Complete my second middle grade/YA novel.

I've submitted my first middle grade novel to my editor and am awaiting word. 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 yet to decide upon which memoir to write. That decision should be made shortly. 

11. Write a new screenplay.

No progress.

12. Write a musical.

Initial talks for the plot, characters, number of songs, and deadlines have begun.

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

I've submitted one piece for consideration so far. It was rejected.

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.

Twenty-two subscribers added in March. A total of 89 added since January 1. At this pace, I will come close to hitting my goal by December.  

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 March, bringing my total to one. 

19. Write 100 letters in 2018.

Three letters written and mailed in March. Fifteen in total so far. 

20. Convert Greetings Little One into a book.

No progress.  

21. Record one thing learned every week in 2018.

Done! My favorite from March:

In July 1973 John Paul Getty III, grandson of wealthy tycoon John Paul Getty, was kidnapped. The whole story is fascinating, but here is one of the most fascinating parts:

In November 1973, an envelope containing a lock of red hair, a human ear, and a note was delivered to a daily newspaper with a threat of further mutilation of Paul unless $3.2 million was paid. The letter read, "This is Paul's first ear. If within ten days the family still believes that this is a joke mounted by him, then the other ear will arrive. In other words, he will arrive in little bits."

At this point, the reluctant tycoon Getty Sr. negotiated a deal to get his grandson back for about $2.9 million. Getty Sr. paid $2.2 million—the maximum amount that was tax deductible—and he loaned the remainder to his son, who was responsible for repaying the sum at 4% interest. 

STORYTELLING

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

We produced one show in March - a showcase featuring storytellers from Voices of Hope - bringing our 2018 total to two. 

23. Deliver a TEDx Talk.

Both of my TEDx Talks - at Wesleyan University and The Birch Wathen Lenox School in New York City - have been cancelled.

Annoying.

I've applied for two more TEDx conferences and await word. Suddenly this goal became a lot more challenging.    

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

I did not attend a Moth event in March. My work with other organizations in a storytelling capacity sucked away all my time. My total stands at two. 

25. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

I won my 35th StorySLAM in NYC in February. One down. Two to go. 

26. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

Done! I won my fifth GrandSLAM in Boston in February. I compete in another in April. 

27. Produce at least 25 episodes of our new podcast Storyworthy. 

Logo created.
Format decided.
Music is being chosen now.
I have every intention of recording in April.

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

No progress. I had to cancel my paid standup performance in March due to a snowstorm. That has been rescheduled to May, and I plan on doing an open-mic in April.

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

No progress.  

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, but I am frustrated, annoyed, and disappointed by developments with a local college in terms their curriculum for student teachers, so I'm doing a lot of thinking on this issue. 

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.

No progress. 

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

Done. I spent 20 days at the gym (including the locker room) in March, 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, in 2017 in an effort to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall. 

Done. Once you stop commenting on physical appearance, you quickly realize how pervasive it is in our culture. I don't think it's a good thing at all.    

38. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2018.

One down. Five to go.

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. 

I threw away another handful of items in March in preparation for a full cleaning later this year.  

41. Set a new personal best in golf.

I played my first round of golf yesterday morning. I scored bogies on the first two holes and played fairly well until the last two holes. No where close to a personal best.  

42. Play poker at least six times in 2018.

I was forced to cancel my March game because a lack of players. An April game is scheduled.   

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

No progress.   

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

Done.

Traffic might make me a little crazy

I'm obsessed with this video, but I'm worried that I might be the only person in the world obsessed with this video, and that may say something not-so-great about me as a human being. 

It's always strange when state-run TV and the President aren't totally in sync

When state-run television Fox News publishes poll data like this, there should be absolutely no question about the will of the American people. 

Yet not a single one of these measures have been put into place. 

When the American people overwhelming support legislation, and that legislation does not happen, there is only one reason:

Money. 

Republican donors, including and especially the NRA, are blocking this legislation with threats to withdraw campaign donations, and politicians who favor dollars over the will and safety of constituents are allowing it to continue.  

Even more important, we must remember that when it comes to issues related to guns, America is not nearly as divided as Republicans and the NRA would have you believe. This poll - commissioned and published by Fox News - shows enormous consensus amongst Americans related to these basic, common sense measures.  

A large majority of Americans want gun reform. Reasonable, rationale, sensible gun reform. It's only a loud, political active minority with money to burn and the gutless, useless politicians who take their money who are preventing  it from happening. 

International Night: A reminder of what our country can and should be

Last night my family attended my school's first ever International Night.

I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't involved in the planning of this event, so when I arrived, I was blown away by all that we experienced. Lining the walls of the cafeteria and the hallway were booths featuring countries from around the world, each managed by students and families who originated from those countries. 

My school is filled with immigrants from all over the world:

Nepal, Israel, Peru, China, India, Germany, Sweden, Poland, Ireland, Vietnam, Mexico, Korea, Columbia and many, many more. 

Each one of these booths featured foods, information, and artifacts from the country, and it was staffed by adults and children who were excited to tell us all about their homeland.

Later, there were performances in a packed auditorium. We watched a Chinese yoyo demonstration, a martial arts demonstration, and lots and lots of dancing and music from all around the world. 

Elysha and the kids sat between a Nepalese family and two children from Vietnam. I watched one of my colleagues perform an Irish step dance. I chatted with folks from Poland, Peru, Columbia, and Mexico. 

Best of all, I didn't sit with my family. I chose to stand, partially because I wanted to be ready to take photos and videos of some of my student performers, but also because I wanted to watch my children's faces as they watched the performances. I love to see the wonder in Clara and Charlie's eyes as they watch something new and exciting, and these performances did not disappoint.

The little girl who loves learning about new countries and cultures was enthralled by every moment, and the boy who can't sit still for a single second sat still for nearly the entire time. It was as much fun to watch them as it was to watch the action taking place onstage.

It was a beautiful celebration of the many cultures that come together within our schoolhouse walls every day. 

We live in a country of immigrants, and this is one of our greatest blessings. My daughter ate Chinese moon cake and Irish cheese. She chatted with a student from China and asked questions from an immigrant of Sweden. Charlie was awestruck by the model of the Taj Mahal and stared in fascination at the Chinese yoyo. He "might want to learn to Irish step dance."  

What a remarkable evening of learning, connection, and understanding.

There are people in our country today who truly believe that America is a white, Anglo-Saxon, Christian nation, despite everything that our Funding Father's wrote and the long and storied history of the people who built this country. There are people in this country who would have us close our borders to the world, even when every economic study published states clearly and unequivocally that immigration strengthens a nation's economy. 

We have a President who would build a wall on our Southern border. We have a President who seeks to reduce immigration in our country to its lowest levels ever by removing family reunification systems and threatening DACA recipients by eliminating their protections. 

We have a President who routinely lies about the rate of illegal immigration and characterizes immigrants - documented and undocumented - in the most vile terms. 

We have a President who has been routinely deporting US military veterans because of their immigration status. They are good enough to risk their lives for us in Afghanistan and Iraq but not good enough to continue to reside in this country.    

Their country. 

Last night was a bold reminder about how beautiful our country can be when people of different cultures come together for a common cause. My heart and spirit were lifted last night as I looked across an auditorium that was awash in every color under the rainbow and saw nothing but smiling, happy faces.

Three continents in a single day

There is something to be said about the golden age of literature:

The time when television, film, video games, and the internet did not steal away eyeballs of potential readers.

Authors like Fitzgerald, Hughes, and Austin had enormous audiences of readers just waiting for their next books, aching for a new story or poem, because reading was one of the primary sources of entertainment in the world.

Today we have to shout and flail just to be noticed above the noise. More than a quarter of Americans report not having read a book within the past year. And more books are published today than ever before.

It ain't easy finding an audience. 

But there are some distinct advantages to publishing books in today's world. Yesterday was a fine example: 

It started with an email from a teenage girl in Columbia, who wanted to know if my upcoming book, Storyworthy, was going to be translated into Spanish. She's read Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend and The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (both available in Spanish) and was hoping for the same from my next book. 

We exchanged emails throughout the day. She asked me questions about my novels and my writing process, and I asked her about the town where she lived and what she wanted to do for a living when she was finished with school. Despite the fact that we lived on two different continents and spoke two different languages, we connected in a way that would've been impossible just 20 years ago. 

I ended my day with an interview via Skype with an Australian-based podcast. The host of the show and I discussed Storyworthy and my storytelling career. Specifically, we talked about the teaching of storytelling, the components of an effective story, the best means of delivering presentations, keynote speeches, and the like.

I was able to engage in a face-to-face conversation with a woman on the other side of the world, and that conversation will be turned into a podcast that can be listened to by anyone in the world. 

Remarkable.    

But the moment that best illustrates the good fortune I feel about being alive today came in the middle of the day, when I received a Facebook mention from a reader in India.

He wrote:

"Awestruck seeing how the basic human emotions n stories are the same across continents and time zones and developed and developing countries.. one of my favourite author Matthew Dicks feeling the same in America which I sit and feel here in a corner in India.. Nostalgia is universal..."

This says everything.

A reader in India is reading my blog.

A reader in India is reading my books.

I'm the favorite author of a man in India. 

Best of all, thanks to the internet, enormous distances, multiple time zones, and countless cultural boundaries are pierced rather easily, bringing two people together in both thought and sentiment in a way that could've never happened before the twenty-first century.

I can't tell you how excited and surprised I was to see this appear on Facebook. Thrilled, even. 

Fitzgerald and Hughes and Austin had larger, more attentive audiences for sure. There were far fewer books being published in their day.  

But none of them could've connected with readers on three different continents, in two different languages, in a single day. If given the choice, I would absolutely take a larger, more attentive, more voracious audience of readers, but if that can't happen, I'll take days like yesterday and consider myself blessed. 

Memorizing phone numbers: An artifact of bygone days

My aunt sent a text message to the family this week informing us that her landline phone number was no more. 

It was a phone number that I have known since I was a boy (41 years according to her), and it's one of the last phone numbers that I know by heart

I know Elysha's phone number. 

I know our own landline number.

I know my father's phone number, which is also a landline (as far as I know, he has never owned a cell phone).

I don't actually know my phone number most of the time without looking at my phone. 

I know my friend Jeff's phone number, only because I use his name and number whenever I take out a golf cart. In the event that something goes wrong, they will come after Jeff instead of me.

I know my friend Bengi's landline and his parent's landline numbers, if those landlines still exist. I haven't called either one in more than a decade. 

I know the phone number of the parents of my high school girlfriend, though I'm not sure if that landline still exists, and she and her father have since passed away (and it kills me all over again just to write those words).  

I know the phone number of the school where I have worked for 20 years, and I can recall the number of two of the McDonald's restaurants where I once worked (one in Milford, MA and one in Hartford, CT), though I can't confirm that those landlines still exist.  

That's it, I think. 

Twenty years ago, I knew dozens of numbers. As a teenager and young adult, I probably knew well over 100 phone numbers by heart. Friends, family, and businesses that we called often.  

I remember loving my grandparent's phone number: 883-8642. So simple to remember. As a boy, I wondered how they tricked the phone company into giving them such a good number.  

I remember memorizing my own childhood phone number, 883-8309, at a table just outside Mrs. Dubois's kindergarten classroom with Mrs. Carroll, the woman who also taught me to tie my shoes.

Back then, area codes existed by were largely irrelevant, used only if you were calling a distant number. 

I still have old phone books filled with the phone numbers of my friends. One of these books contains close to 200 phone numbers. Friends who I called all the time, back in a day when plans were made and then executed without any adjustments because once you had left the home, communication was impossible until you were face-to-face with your friends. 

Back then, "Meet me at 7:15 in the parking lot of the Stop & Shop" meant something.  

I'm guessing that not a single one of those numbers in those books still exists today. 

It's not that I'd prefer to go back to a day when phone numbers were written in books and memorized. While that time feels nostalgic and lovely to me, there's nothing advantageous to the nostalgia. There's nothing positive about filling your mind with seven digit numbers. 

Even talking on the damn phone can be a pain in the ass. 

Conversely, I can see a multitude of benefits to a childhood spent without cellphones (a fact about my childhood for which I will be eternally grateful), but if human beings are going to have phones in our pockets, we might as well have a means of storing phone numbers by name.   

Still, I'm saddened by the news that my aunt's phone number is no more. It was a tiny piece of my childhood that still existed in today's world: a pristine artifact from a time long gone that has now succumbed to the relentless wheel of progress. 

Goodbye 883-8120. My aunt says she had that number for 41 years, and I probably knew that number for most of them. 

I suspect that it's a number I will always remember, even if dialing it will no longer cause a phone on the wall of my aunt's kitchen to ring.