Virtual School + Halloween Candy = Nap Time

Another wonderful day of online teaching-- accompanied by a proliferation of Halloween candy, which is an unavoidable temptation when you're talking to a screen-- but there was one highlight and I thank my colleagues (and the candid and comical WhatsApp English teacher chat) because they warned me that admin was popping into virtual classes . . . and they weren't popping in at the beginning of class, when they could catch us setting up creative lessons; making Channels and break-out rooms and other virtual groups; communicating instructions clearly, and all that good stuff-- they were popping in for the last five minutes to see if teachers were ending early or teaching online until the bitter end of class . . . so I was prepared and told my students, that had some work to do in the Channels, to come back to the General meeting with five minutes left and-- lo and behold-- an administrator showed up in the waiting room and I let him in while I was teaching the most English teacher thing in the universe in the chat-- MLA format citations and punctuation-- and kids were asking questions on how to cite oddball situations-- quotes within quotes and all that-- and I was demonstrating all this in the chat . . . it was a great moment in American education-- because generally, whenever an administrator walks in your room, virtual or not, even if you've just executed the best lesson in the world, they come in at some weird awkward moment and you get all pissed off that no one ever sees you teaching properly . . . anyway, virtual school still sucked but at least there was one nice moment, and once it was over, I ate a bunch of Halloween candy and took a nap, and now I'm off to the pickelball scouts for my third day in a row-- I miss early morning basketball and I can't believe we did this kind of shit for over a year, I think I've erased most of it from my memory (but luckily it lives on the blog!)

Seriously? Halloween on a Saturday? Combined With Daylight Saving Time? Who Let This Happen?

I never galvanized the adults in my community to form PAH! (Parents Against Halloween!) and now we're all paying for it, stuck at home on a perfect fall Saturday, beholden to the masses of grotesquely costumed children, serving them candy and treats-- like they don't get enough of those?-- while our own children rake in bags of processed sugar, which I don't have the fortitude to resist, so I'll spend the next month in the throes of diabetic shock, and if I do leave the house today, I'll have to drive very very carefully to avoid all the little trick-or-treating buggers--who will be all hopped up on sugar-- when they inevitably dart out in front of my car and the dog will be barking away all afternoon, because he thinks our home is being invaded by masked gremlins . . . and no one has officially told me when custom dictates that you should man the door when Halloween falls on a Saturday (in the same vein as how no one has officially told me why we participate in Daylight Saving Time) so maybe I'll just leave an empty bowl on my front porch with a post-it attached that says "Please Take One Item."

Dave Goes "All Out" for Halloween

While I generally do not partake in costume-wearing at work, I didn't want a repeat of this epic failure and so when Liz K. told me to dress as Hamlet for Halloween, I quickly and congenially agreed (aside from the cape she wanted time to wear-- like Edna says: No capes!) and I really went all-out, I purchased a "Get Thee to a Nunnery" t-shirt on Amazon (which is a big deal for me because I generally do not wear t-shirts with words or slogans on them . . . once my yellow "Mosquito Control" t-shirt disintegrated, I was done with that phase of my life) and so I was one of the "main characters" from the novels and plays we teach-- perhaps you can identify some of the others . . . my wife opted for something less educational, but right on the nose for her: "a rock star."

Blonde People Got No Reason To . . .

My son Alex -- who does not really look like my son, as he has a beautiful head of blonde hair -- noticed that all the protagonists of his favorite books and movies are NOT blonde: Harry Potter, Batman, Dr. Who, just about every anime character in existence, etc. and this led to him complaining about his lack of choice for Halloween (why he's thinking about Halloween in Februruary is beyond me) but he is right, his only options from his pantheon is Draco Malfoy or Luke Skywalker, neither of whom appeals to him.

This Halloween Goes to Eleven

I generally like to rant and rave about the idiocy of Halloween, but my son Ian made this year's sugar-laced festivities a bit more tolerable; we shaved his head Sunday night, so he could be Eleven from Stranger Things . . . I did have to bribe him with a small sum of cash, but it was worth it, because he really is the spitting image of Millie Bobby Brown, and I think he was just as excited to slip into the pink dress Catherine bought at the thrift store as I was to see him in it . . . and, he noted this was a one-shot opportunity: "I can only do this once because next year I'll probably have pimples and a mustache."

A Suggestion So Rational It's Spooky

While I can't figure out exactly where America's stands in the World Obesity Rankings, it's certainly near the top, and so I have simple suggestion that will change the cultural zeitgeist and propel us down the path of national leanness and meanness: on Halloween, kids should have to earn their candy, instead of saying "trick or treat," they should be required to do ten push-ups or a few squat thrusts, or perhaps something more athletic -- like a baby freeze; I'm not sure how to initiate this new Halloween requirement, but I think an added benefit will be that Mischief Night will return with a vengeance (as lately, I haven't seen much mischief at all on Mischief Night . . . I'm going to try to get my boys to bring it back).

Trick and Treat

Despite being exhausted from non-stop soccer events, I decided to so something fun and ambitious at my son Ian's Thursday night soccer practice: Soccer Olympics! with prizes for the winning team! . . . I figured it was the day before Halloween and the kids would enjoy some friendly competition-- and I had a funny joke planned; I was going to award the winning team oranges and then give the losing team candy, though my wife said this was a bad idea and the kids wouldn't get the joke and might kill each other and/or me-- but she was wrong, the kids tried to kill before the prizes were awarded-- the friendly competition wasn't so friendly: there was an actual fight, kids were cheating, bickering, etc. and my son got busted for an f-word violation, and so it turns out you shouldn't have Soccer Olympics the day before Halloween, but once we sorted out the mayhem and announced a winner, I forged ahead with my joke and said, "Okay, for the winners, who did so well at all the events and are such great athletes, we have something healthy and delicious: oranges!" and the kids were happy to have them-- for a moment-- but then when I said, "Okay, and we should punish the losing team and give them something bad for them . . . candy!" and then there was a fun moment of cheering and complaining, from the losers and winners, respectively, but there was no outright fighting, and then I gave the winners candy and the losers the rest of the oranges and everyone was happy.

Ironic Kid Holiday Collision

My son Alex lost his tooth at school on Halloween, but the Tooth Fairy must have been working overtime because she forgot to take it and leave some cash (and you can see why Halloween would be an extremely busy time for the Tooth Fairy, because of all the Tootsie Roll consumption . . . also, The Tooth Fairy and her spouse stayed up late binge-watching The Walking Dead, which was totally in the spirit of one kid holiday, but made it difficult to remember TWO kid holidays in one day; as an unrelated addendum, I would like to add that I would be way more careful than the people on The Walking Dead . . . they're constantly splitting up, investigating insignificant tight spaces, and holing up in spots with no good exit . . . if there's a zombie apocalypse, stick with me).

Best Halloween Treat Ever

My dog Sirius provided me with a delectable Halloween treat-- two engorged ticks-- each the size, color and consistency of a plump blueberry (I had to pry them from his stumpy tail with a forked stick . . . yuck).

PAH!!!!!!

It is odd that adults don't get together and ban Halloween-- I can't even begin to imagine a more annoying holiday and it all hinges on the complicity of adults: if we didn't buy the candy, create the costumes, and man our houses with free sugary treats, then we wouldn't have to put up with the melt-downs, the pedophiles, the razor blades, the sugar high, the weight gain (because who actually eats all that candy?) and the inconvenience . . . and really, isn't Christmas enough . . . and so I am starting a new organization, named PAH!!!! (Parents Against Halloween).

Another Scary Poem

 This one is a bit shorter than my Halloween 2020 special . . .

Two Four Six Eight

Trump is gonna litigate!

Seven Eight Nine Ten

We will count the votes again!

Eleven Twelve

I tire of this.

What Happens to Those Final Girls After the Movie Ends?

The new Grady Hendrix horror novel, The Final Girl Support Group, is both more surreal and meta than his previous novels but also more profound and serious-- the conceit of this fictional world is that the events depicted in the classic slasher flicks of the '80s and '90s actually happened-- Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, etc-- and then the stories were bought by film studios and made into movie franchises-- but the actual girls who survived these horrific events exist long after the slasher genre's popularity-- and these "final girls" have to deal with the trauma of their own lives, and the trauma of seeing their stories used as a disposable art form with (mostly) disposable women being murdered by monstrous men . . . and the book is also a thriller, with plot twists and wild violence and an unreliable narrator and interesting characters, but it's also a take on the objectification of women and the veneration of violence . . . nine axe-splintered doors out of ten.

Dave Begrudgingly (and Apathetically) Participates . . .

This year for Halloween, the English Department decided to dress as various book titles-- e.g. Rachel wore a catcher's mask and carried a loaf of rye bread for The Catcher in the Rye-- and while I do not like to dress up in any kind of costume . . . or generally be festive in any way other than drinking alcohol and eating good food, I didn't want to suffer the ire of the department and last year I managed to skate by with a minimalistic "costume" and avoid public shaming, so I tried the same tactic this year-- I dressed as I often dress: khaki pants, a light-weight short-sleeved button down shirt, and knock-off Birkenstocks BUT I also brought in a cowbell-- and I told people I was dressed as Ernest Hemingway (close enough) and I was portraying For Whom the (Cow) Bell Tolls and while I was mildly shamed for lack of effort, once I explained myself, the ladies pretty much left me alone-- which is all you can ask for in this kind of situation.

(Ooh) That Smell

I lent my car to my seventeen year old son Sunday night, so he could drive some friends to get Halloween costumes-- but instead they got pho and I think someone spilled some (or they were very sweaty and were rubbing their stinky feet all over my van's upholstery) because Monday morning, there was a heinous odor emanating from the interior of the car, like vomit and chlorine and footstink all mixed together-- I've been driving with the windows open since then and the smell is finally dissipating but then today at the dentist I was punished with an even worse odor/flavor-- the cement that they used to affix my bridge made me gag over and over and over . . . I'm glad I didn't puke on the hygienist because she was very nice (not that I would punish a rude hygienist by puking on her) but I hope that the rest of my week is odor free.

 

Fuck Driving

My wife and I don't drive much-- we both work close to where we live; we bought a house in a walking town; and we hate being in the car . . . but the past few days have given us a taste of what many Americans do on a daily basis-- my wife drove out to Muhlenberg and back on Thursday evening, so Ian could see his friends and go to some Halloween parties with his girlfriend (apparently kids now wear a different costume for each party . . . I'll try to post some pics, but Alex and his girlfriend were Elvis and Priscilla and then characters from Ratatouille and Ian and Layla were a deer and a hunter, two superheroes, and then Shaggy and Scooby . . . absurd) and then on Friday, Cat and I drove out past Trenton to go to an Italian place for my brother's birthday-- it took an hour to get there-- and then we drove Ian back to school on Saturday (with Layla) and we all did some parent's weekend stuff-- saw some football-- going to a Muhlenberg football game is very low key-- and we watched some Sex Education style a capella singing and then we went to a really good restaurant (Union and Fitch) with Layla and Ian for dinner and then they went out and Cat and I crashed at the Holiday Inn, then I took Ian for an x-ray on his weird ankle injury-- no information, he needs an MRI-- and then we drove the hour-plus home . . . way too much fucking driving, I hate being in the car, it stresses me out, makes me sick--I have to drive and chew gum-- and when I get out my knees and hips hurt . . . but I don't even have to do my twelve-minute commute this week because I'm on virtual school because of the water main break in my high school, so I won't have to drive anywhere this week, which will be wonderful.

Scary Story Contest 2020: The Safety Dance vs. The Chinese Curse

Yesterday afternoon, the EB English Department held our 9th Annual Scary Story Contest. Thanks to the Soders for hosting! They had a stand-up propane heater, a fire, and a few well-placed umbrellas to shield us from the rain. We will certainly remember the Covid Scary Story Contest for time immemorial-- as the stories were great and the mood was spooky.

To summarize the contest: we write scary stories on a theme, throw in twenty bucks, read them anonymously, and then vote and award prizes.

This year's theme was "It's Perfectly Safe" and I had no desire to write anything, let alone a fully developed short story. I was sick of screen time because of the technological soul-sucking abyss of hybrid school. Stacey and I usually collaborate, but we couldn't find time to flesh out her idea.

So instead of a story, I wrote a scary poem. I framed it as a Facebook post, ostensibly written by a woman who thought she might have some magical powers and wanted to use them to change the course of this fucked up year. Over the course of the post, she descends into madness (of course).

It was fun to write, but, I didn't realize how hard it would be to read. The poor lady who was randomly assigned my piece (Cunningham) nearly descended into madness trying to perform it. I snagged third place, which was an accomplishment-- the stories were really good this year.

Here it is-- I think it's both appropriate for Halloween and the looming thing which may not be spoken of. If you like it, post it on Facebook . . . maybe it will work.

                                                 The Chinese Curse

What’s on your mind, Blair?

video photo feeling

What’s on my mind? Do you really want to know, Face-suck? 

Or do you just want to mine my data? 

What’s on my mind?

The Chinese Curse, that’s what. May you live in interesting times. 

October 31st, 2020. Interesting times. Four more days until the election. Two more months left in this mess of a year.

Interesting times suck. I can't get them off of my mind. Or out of my mind.

But maybe, I can change things. Have some control. Do some lexical magic. 

At least over you, my so-called Facebook friends . . . in my so-called life during this so-called pandemic. Maybe you’ll pass my incantation along and this year will turn itself inside out.

What if I could cast a spell?

Dissipate this weary hell?

I should at least give it a try. My mom used to do tarot readings. I might have some kind of gift.

Hocus-pocus, maybe I can learn to focus?

Zuckerberg’s clairvoyant vision

Find this with your algorithm:

Make my post go super-viral

Pull us from this deadly spiral.

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It is the year of twenty-twenty . . .

Twenty-twenty, twenty-twenty

Why do you rub me

in this way?

Why can’t you love me?

You push and shove me

Day by fretful day by day.

Boil and bubble, Trump is trouble, 

O Lord don't let him win the double

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

If he were dead, if he were dead.

Banish these thoughts from my head!

My busy brain should not be fed

By such bitter vengeful bread.

Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies 

covid covid we all fall down . . .

Safety, safety, safety first

Safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

But is it better than the hearse?

Lady liberty not Trump tower

Used to give our country power.

Hippies filled their hair with flowers.

Now . . .

abortion makes Coney Barrett sour.

Blues and reds, they all glower--

Children at the border cower.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

But what if the Populus is polarized and bored?

Pandemic, plan-demic

A fiction Democratic.

You have my word 

November third

It disappears like magic.

Meatpackers work, shoulder to shoulder

The policy gets colder and colder.

Carcass, virus, 

virus, carcass . . .  

Cut that meat or they will fire us.

Covid covid, we all fall down.

Black lives matter, blue lives matter,

George Floyd’s ashes we must scatter.

Pitter-patter pitter-patter

The blood of Rayshard Brooks did spatter--

Tasers, guns I’ll take the latter.

Breonna Taylor’s door got battered.

Some say the world will end in fire,

But for migrant workers, 

ICE will suffice.

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake,

Birds and snakes and aeroplanes,

Dave Chapelle is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn

While the outback burns and burns.

It’s the end of the world as we know it,

Grandma don’t feel fine at all.

Covid covid, we all fall 

down.

Fly of Pence, tongue of Stone,

Bannon’s nose hair

Kushner’s throne

Ivanka’s fabric

Mnuchin’s money

Tongue of Miller

Pompeo’s arm

Mix these for a deadly charm.

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

I make this bargain readily,

Like Faustus with Mephistopheles . . .

I wear my mask and then I sneeze

Don’t stare at me, pretty please.

Here we are now, entertain us.

TV shows to make us famous,

Social feeds will try to change us

We bare our souls, can you blame us?

Bail out the airlines and the banks,

To Donald Trump we give our thanks.

The rest of us must share the wealth--

And hope he subsidizes health.

Plumes of smoke, tear-gas, fire

Men in armor, guns for hire

We're all so very very tired

But am I preaching to the choir?

Twenty-twenty when you end

Will our fractured country mend?

Or have we gone around the bend?

I see two paths, both portend.

Yes, two roads diverged in yellow wood . . . 

One repulsive, one not so good

Three roads, four roads, five roads, six,

There will be no easy fix

Epstein’s minors turn their tricks.

Safety dance, safety first

Safety is the Chinese curse

Will November make it worse?

What rough beast slouches towards Washington to be reborn?

Once I pondered weak and weary, on a scientific theory

Then I learned of QAnon and thought: “Fuck yeah! IT IS ON!”

Now I fight the pedophiles,

Me and Trump, we do battle

The rest of you are sheep and cattle

Do your research on Seattle

Protesters, they mass and gather

Law or chaos, would you rather?

Widening on the turning gyre, 

the center cannot hold

Things fall apart, it’s getting cold

The virus once again grows bold

Airborne particles

Fake news articles,

Winter is coming, enjoy the carnival.

My thoughts grow wild, I can’t control them, 

I wish that I could turn them off,

I wish I were allowed to cough 

I wish that I could turn them off 

I wish I were allowed to cough 

until my lungs come out my ears and throat

The devil is inside a goat

Bubble, bubble Trump is trouble

Will he be elected double?

Twenty-twenty, a dozen more?

Will he change the terms to four?

Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan

Let’s enact a travel ban!

Illhan Omar and AOC

Want us all to work for free.

Socialism . . . not for me . . .

We mourn the mighty RBG.

Twenty-twenty, you have offended,

But in a year, will all be mended?

Perhaps we have just slumbered here

While these visions did appear?

No . . . this is no idle theme--

It’s not a dream, it’s not a dream

I give you full consent to scream.

Stop these thoughts, away begone!

Yet they continue on and on . . .

What’s on my mind, Facebook feed?

I can’t choose which way to proceed.

I cannot do a single deed.

I’m paralyzed and by booze and weed

Safety safety, safety first

The safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

My brain won’t stop until it bursts.

I poke and scroll on my phone

There’s no such thing as home alone.

O lord I feel so weak and weary, fatigued and futile, eyes so bleary,

My mask lies soiled and forgotten, dirty, dusty smelling rotten

Fallen from the special spot on my car mirror to the floor--

Now I need it, I must retrieve it, I’m on an errand to the store.

But can I enter? Dare I enter? I do not want to touch the door--

The doorway entrance, a deadly sentence, full of germs I can’t ignore.

What’s on my mind?

Only this and nothing more.

Facebook-- make this post go super-viral,

Release me from this deadly spiral,

I’m feeling mad, my mind is wild,

Like a surly red-faced child--

I want to stomp and throw a tantrum--

Redrum, redrum! REDRUM!

Murder mayhem bloody-mary

Twenty-twenty, you shock and scare me

Like some spider black and hairy.

I can’t sleep my way through this disaster

Twenty-twenty: you are the master

Of my whirling anxious brain--

Release me from this grisly reign.

Dash these thoughts against the stones,

Let them live among your phones,

Free me from these dreadful times

Cast this spell, release these rhymes.

What’s on my mind, what’s on my mind?

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It IS the year of twenty-twenty.

Only this and nothing more.

Post                                 

There is Intelligent Life on Earth

Though Sam Harris often comes off as a pretentious douche (and his podcast has absurdly bombastic theme music) but despite this shortcoming of charm, I really like him and appreciate what he's doing for intellectual discourse; his 100th episode (he makes the Spock-like claim that the number has no special inherent meaning to him, of course) is fantastic-- Harris doesn't speak much, instead he lets Nicholas Christakis do the talking-- Christakis directs the Human Nature Lab at Yale, and he attained some viral video prominence because he was at the center of the Yale Halloween videos with the shrieking African-American girl who had some serious misunderstandings about free speech in America . . . Christakis discusses the current attacks on the first amendment that are happening on college campuses, mob mentality, and some of the clever AI research they are doing at his lab and he comes off as rational, extremely intelligent, empathetic, and compelling . . . so much so that Sam Harris makes an orgy joke!

At a Loss to Avoid a Gain

If anyone knows how to avoid eating Halloween candy-- which now resides in giant bowls in my kitchen and is a very attractive nuisance-- without tossing it in the trash, since it does belong to my children (though I'm the one consuming the bulk of it) then please let me know.

Rorschach is a Rorschach Test (or perhaps a Litmus Test)

Last year my son Ian was the star of Halloween, when he went viral as Eleven from Stranger Things, but this year props go to Alex, whose costume is literally a pop cultural Rorschach test . . . because he is dressed as Rorschach, the anti-hero from the greatest graphic novel ever written (Watchmen) and while his costume is a bit obscure, people who recognize him feel hip and in-the-know and have all kinds of good associations and perceptions, while those who don't will have their own unfounded and weird reactions to his inkblot mask . . . so maybe it's more of a litmus test for pop cultural literacy, not a Rorschach test . . . but my apologies for the imprecision, I'm writing this sentence quickly and under duress because it's Friday afternoon and my kids are going to a sleepover to binge on Stranger Things and my wife is encouraging me to mention the fact that Alex's mask changes shapes when he breathes and that she is responsible for not only this special mask but also the rest of the ensemble.

Scary and Thrifty

Yesterday, Alex told me that he's practicing scary faces so that next Halloween he won't need to wear a mask.