Miraculous Ironic Juxtaposition with Exceptional Significance

As I got in my 2001 green and tan Subaru Outback (this will be important later in the sentence) at the local Quikcheck, I noticed that a guy from my pick-up basketball game was sitting in the mini-van parked next to my car, and a fluffy little white dog was sitting on his lap-- and I took a look at my dog, who happened to be in the backseat of my Subaru, and I felt deep sympathy for this guy next to me, because my dog is excellent looking-- he's sleek and black and streamlined, like a sports car-- and I had a moment where I felt great pity for all dudes that have fluffy little white dogs, instead of super-cool muscular black dogs-- and then the moment passed and I pulled out of the Quikcheck and was nearly run off the road by an intimidating '70's era muscle car-- a Charger or a Mustang, I think-- it was wide and mean looking, blue, with a thick white stripe on the hood (it looked like the car from Saxondale)-- and I'm sure the dude driving it felt the same way about me and my lame Subaru Outback that I felt about the guy with the fluffy white dog; and there are two ways I might interpret this miracle of juxtaposition:

1) I should respect people's choices-- maybe some guys likes fluffy white dogs and it's none of my business to think otherwise, or . . . .

2) I need to purchase a vintage muscle car so that I can pity people driving Subarus and minivans (and I'm leaning towards #2 because in six years, I'll be fifty and then I get to have a mid-life crisis).

Hard Habit to Break

I commuted to work twice today; Catherine actually made me recite "take the Jeep, take the Jeep" because she needed to clean and pack the Subaru for out trip, but still, I took the Subaru . . . and I didn't realize it until I was half-way down Route 18, playing with the satellite radio (that's what clued me in, I remembered that the Jeep doesn't have satellite radio)-- so I had to turn around and do it again.

Fuck You, BB&T Banking

A proud moment: we received a post-card from BB&T Banking saying that we have only one more car payment on the Subaru . . . BUT if we are using "autodraft" then the final payment will not be drafted from our account-- we will have to initiate payment by mailing a check AND if it's not mailed on time then late fees will be assessed BUT there was no phone number or address specified on the postcard (nor was there a reason why they wouldn't "autodraft" the last payment) and so after some irate phone-calling-- where no reason was given by the customer service representative as to why BB&T refuses to "autodraft" the last payment, we got the information we needed-- but because of this underhanded and, quite frankly, despicable attempt by BB&T to incur late fees on their loyal and punctilious customers, I am calling for a jihad on all BB&T employees and products-- yella!

I've Had It With All You Damned Liberals (Conservatives)

I’ve had it. All you damned liberals (conservatives) need to curtail this partisan bickering.

Stop consuming NPR podcasts (conspiracy theories) and seek out some unbiased information. If you keep listening to Ira Glass (Alex Jones) then you’re going to end up a hot yoga enthusiast (right-wing militia-member) or worse.

The New York Times (FOX News) will convince you that Donald Trump (Nancy Pelosi) is Hitler (Satan). How can you be empathetic (patriotic) towards other Americans in that frame of mind?

The liberal media (right-wing talk radio empire) always accentuates the downside. It’s not healthy (bacon). Try to see the silver lining. Politicians like Bernie Sanders (Mitch McConnell) just want to free you from the burden of personal responsibility (financial and environmental regulations).

If you truly cared about American Exceptionalism (This Tract of Land We Stole From the Native Americans) then you would understand that we now tragically live in a system that privileges a culture of victimhood (wealthy white people).

You should want this to change (stay the same).

It would be nice to discuss these things with folks on the opposite end of the political spectrum, but unfortunately the vast majority of our citizens no longer value the First Amendment (civilized discourse) and so we can’t hold a reasonable debate without resorting to microaggressions (censorship).

Since we can’t hold a cooperative dialogue, people resort to extreme measures. This will never work. You can’t desecrate The American Flag (Gwyneth Paltrow’s modern lifestyle brand Goop) just to own (pwn) the rednecks and NASCAR fans (snowflakes and libtards).

Remember, your economic choices also feed into this. We can’t keep eating this much meat. It’s not sustainable. You need to go vegan (hunting). And we have to be realistic. You can’t buy all your produce from Wal-Mart (local farm markets). There’s got to be a balance.

Most importantly, we’ve got to live-and-let-live (contact trace). How can we be so concerned with Civil War statues (transgender bathroom issues) when the rest of the world is in dire need of mosquito netting (World Bank free-market policy incentives). These countries are stealing our precious intellectual property (dying from river blindness).

The horror.

You sit at home, anxious over the Honduran migrant caravan (Russian meddling in the election) and nothing comes of it. It all fades away. Like Charlton Heston (Robert Redford).

The same goes for COVID. Stop worrying! Soon enough, we’ll have herd immunity (a death count over a million). If we could all just work together and wear masks (open bars and gyms) then we’d be able to move on to the next challenge . . .

Developing a plan to combat global warming (illegal immigrants).

The important thing is that we use the tenets of science (Christian morality) to make our decisions.

There are some things beyond our control. The proliferation of guns (gay marriage) isn’t going away. The genie is out of the bottle. You just have to hope your children don’t end up massacred in a school shooting (LGBTTQQIAAP).

We can’t reproduce (dwell on) the past. What’s done is done. This nation was once great (built by slaves) and we need to make it great again (reduce income inequality). Until that wonderful (rapturous) day comes, the best thing to do is chillax (go on a journey of self-reflection). Loosen up (check your privilege).

Throw your coonhound (Golden-doodle) into the back of your Dodge Ram pick-up (Subaru Outback) and head to the nearest BLM land (dog park). Stop on the way and grab some Chick-fil-A (Mamoun’s falafel). Don’t forget the extra mayo (tahini sauce).

When you finish drinking your Coke (bottled water) go ahead and toss it out the window (recycle it). Not that it matters anyway.

Once you arrive at your nearest city park (loosely regulated state land) enjoy the calls of the starlings (drone of the ATVs). Find a bench (deer blind) and pull out your NYT Sunday crossword (recurve compound crossbow). Grab a bolt (pen) from your quiver (manpurse) and kill it.

Breath in the fresh air. Forget about all the unborn children (elephant tusks) being aborted (poached) at this very moment. Think happy thoughts. This polarization can’t continue. We’re all God’s creatures (common ancestors of apelike hominids).

We need to learn to get along, as we’re going to share the same space for a long time — unless gerrymandering (the boogaloo) separates us permanently. Until then, enough of this. It’s counter-productive (essential to obstructing interlopers into our corrupt two-party system).

Full disclosure, I’m an A.I. bot developed by Russian meddlers (an agent of the deep state).

Early Morning Date with a Dead Dog

You never know where the adventure of parenthood is going to take you . . . this morning I woke up my son Ian at 5:45 AM and we drove over to Carolyn's house-- Ian does odd jobs, outdoor work, and dog sitting for her-- and Carolyn's dogs are old, one is deaf and blind and the other had severe problems with his back legs and needed to be put down yesterday . . . poor Huckleberry . . . anyway, the vet came to her house and put the dog down last night and Carolyn needed a couple of people to carry the dog to her car this morning so she could drive the dog to the crematorium . . . so Ian and I started our day by lugging a seventy-pound carcass out of Carolyn's living room and wresting it into the back of her Subaru and then Ian went back to bed and I got ready for work . . . dogs-- they just don't live long enough.

Dave's Community Service Finally Pays Off!

Once again this morning, I did my community service shopping and delivery for my old dude. Pineapple chunks, Italian Wedding soup, chicken franks, bananas, apple sauce, two-liter diet lemon/lime soda, etc. I'm getting pretty good at his list. As I loaded the bags into the car, it started to drizzle.

When I pulled into the apartment driveway, there was something new. A cute blonde woman-- wearing lasses and probably in her late twenties- sat in the trunk space of her Subaru. She was working on a computer, using the hatchback as an umbrella. I had seen her briefly in the apartment once before. I asked her if she was related to my old dude and she said, "No, just a roommate. Apparently, there are a couple of small apartments on the top floor." Then she complimented me on my good deed and we talked for a good thirty minutes. She once was an elementary teacher in Arkansas and now she's on a research grant at Rutgers. She was in the midst of collecting data from schools in Brooklyn when the virus hit. Now she's busy finishing up her research and applying for new grants. We talked a lot about how school might look in the future, the way this pandemic will pull back the curtain on income inequality and its effect on education, prom, graduation, my wife trying to teach math to elementary students remotely . . . all sorts of topics.

I think she found me charming and funny, though I was dressed like a homeless person and I haven't shaved in a while. And we were far enough apart that she couldn't smell my morning coffee breath, which wasn't particularly pleasant (I know this because I was wearing a mask in the Stop&Shop, which amplifies and exacerbates coffee breath). This is the kind of credit you should get when you do community service-- I think this would make a great commercial for the program, a guy drops off he groceries for an old dude and then gets to chat with a cute, intelligent chick. 

I'm sure she will tell her cute graduate school friends about me, and they will all be there next Friday to laud my good deeds.

One Tiny Step For Dave . . . and Zero Significance for Mankind.

I'm seriously thinking about thinking seriously about purchasing a mini-van . . . no that's not true: I am thinking seriously about seriously thinking about the purchase of a mini-van (but not in the near future-- I was going to try to buy a van before Spring Break, but since we're only headed to the Catskills, I've figured out a way to stall the purchase-- we're going to drive both the Subaru and the Jeep to the cabin so we can bring everything and the kitchen sink . . . I've been shopping for a new car for over five years, and so I don't want to rush the process at the end . . . and now I'm far more excited about buying a new bike, anyway . . . especially since I could buy thirty new bikes for the price of one used Toyota mini-van).

Damned Child Locks!

After a fantastic day of snowboarding yesterday, Terry, Kim, Stacy and I hopped in my Subaru to head home, but on the way out of town I spotted the Shawnee General Store and stopped to get a cup of coffee; Terry was riding shotgun, and he got out as well, but Kim was eating animal crackers and Stacy was texting Ed, so they didn't get out and we went in and browsed what they had and ended up talking to the proprietor for a bit (he grew up in New Brunswick and was a Rutgers football fan) and then, finally, we went back to the car and Stacy and Kim were laughing when we opened the door, because we had locked them in (child locks on the back doors) and Stacy had even gone so far as to text Terry a message (we are locked in the car) but he didn't have his phone, and oddly enough, though we felt bad that they were trapped in the car for the duration, we never let them go into the store or asked if they wanted to-- we just got back in and took off (although I did share my chocolate bar-- Stacy took a piece, and then Terry took a piece, which made no sense, because he actually got to go into the store).

My Wife and I Agree on How Not To Lose Your Shit

When I go to the gym, I leave my wallet and cell-phone in the glove compartment of my car because I think that there is a greater chance of my gym locker being broken into rather than my run-of-the-mill gray Toyota min-van, and I asked my wife what she does, and she uses the same strategy . . . for the same exact reason (though she drives our run-of-the-mill Subaru) and since my wife and I rarely agree on questions of logic, I am guessing that we are doing the smart thing for this scenario.

The Doppelgangers is a Bad Name for a Sitcom

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree . . . Alex likes to use the right word for things, a fairly useless and frustrating characteristic; yesterday in the stroller, we passed by the house that has the same model and color Subaru as we do, and Alex reminded me of his fantasy about the family that lives there: that they are our twins in most every way-- number, age, appearance, etc.-- and then he asked me what we called them and I said, "I don't know" and made up a nonsensical rhyme of our last name and he said "No, not that kind of name" and then I remembered what word he was looking for . . . "our doppelgangers?" and he said, "Yeah, doppelgangers, they're our doppelgangers!" and I'm hoping he doesn't bring this up at pre-school because he's already weird enough.

Looking Through My Mechanic's Son's Eyes

One of the most important things in modern life is to know of a good car mechanic, which I do . . . but he's getting older . . . luckily, his son is taking over the business; when my wife and I dropped off the Subaru the other morning we met the heir-apparent and then when my wife picked up the car later in the day, she got to hear-- secondhand from his dad-- the son's impression of our drop-off; apparently the youngster was amused by the fact that:

1) I didn't know how to work my phone and my wife showed me that if you hit the volume button it turns the ringer on;

2) I didn't understand why my wife was hanging around, I thought she was on her way to work, but she was there to give me a ride back home;

3) I chastised my wife for nearly hitting her brother's truck when she backed out of the driveway and she pointed out that she didn't hit his car and that the two dents in the car were both my fault.

If You're Dave, You Need to Know This Shit

Just in case there's some kind of Freaky Friday type incident, and your mind suddenly inhabits my body, here is my mnemonic for remembering which side of each car the fuel tank valve is on: Subaru has an "R" in it and the tank valve is on the right (which also has an "R" in it) and JEEP is spelled with four letters and so is the word "left," and this mnemonic also works with the nautical direction "port," which also has four letters and also means left (so if my JEEP were an amphibious vehicle when it was in the water and I was pulling up to a dockside gas station, I would pull up with the port-side facing the dock).

It's Gotta Be the Shoes, Right?

The power of brands is fascinating . . . if I say the words "Dolce Gabbana" to a high school class, it doesn't make much of an impression on most of the kids, but several students (usually female) will have an instant and visceral reaction-- it's like they just ate something amazingly satisfying and delicious-- and I find it odd that I don't know exactly why they have this reaction; I know that Dolce & Gabbana makes high end shoes, but I don't know what the brand means (the way I know what it means to own a Subaru) but apparently that doesn't matter, just uttering the syllables in a passionate voice can elicit sighs and moans from a select few-- which is a testament to the product, the advertising, or a combination of both.

A Good Trade

Last Saturday morning-- like clockwork-- the cold weather worked its black magic on the driver-side door of my Jeep, and so once again-- if you want to drive-- you have to get into the car through the passenger side and then crawl across the center console to the driver's side (and, of course, Saturday morning, was the rare occasion when my wife was driving the Jeep because she had a work-shop for school and I had to cart the kids around all day to their various activities, but even though I offered the Subaru-- which has four working doors-- she gamely agreed to crawl across the console and drive the Jeep, because she didn't want me doing that nonsense all day with the kids in the car) and then-- miraculously-- ten minutes after she gamely got into the Jeep on the passenger side and crawled across the center console and drove away, she called me and yelled "Listen!" over the sound of music-- music!-- from the Jeep stereo! . . . which hadn't worked since before the summer, but I guess the cold weather taketh and the cold weather giveth, and I'll trade a driver side door for music any day of the week (and the fact of the matter is that Catherine might have actually fixed the stereo, because she took the face off the receiver and then put it back on, which I never did, and then it started working again).

Irony Noted

I was stuck at the crowded intersection of Plainfield Ave and Route 27, by the Tastee Sub and amidst the plethora of bumper stickers on the Subaru in front of me, I noticed one that read "Abuse an animal, go to jail" and then the light changed and I drove past the Burger King and the irony was not lost on me that we live in a country where many people profess progressive attitudes about animal rights/animal consciousness, yet fast food franchises dot the landscape (though it may have been lost on all the factory-farmed beef patties and ground-up nugget sized chunks of battery-caged, debeaked chickens inside the Burger King deep freeze).

I am an Idiot, My Wife is a Saint

Friday, as I was pulling into the school parking lot, I felt my cell phone buzz and I instantly remembered what I had neglected to do . . . and then my phone started ringing and I realized that I wasn't going to escape this transgression with a mere text . . . my wife was going to talk to me about this, and so I accepted my guilt, accepted the call, and braced myself for the oncoming tirade . . . "What is wrong with you?" she began and I immediately started apologizing, because there was no excuse-- for the third time in two weeks, I had driven the wrong car to work-- we were trying to take my Jeep to the shop to get the brake lights fixed, but every time she made an appointment (and you need an appointment because our mechanic is so good) I forgot to drive the Subaru to work and instead took the very car that my wife needed to drop off at the garage . . . forcing her to call our mechanic and report to him that her husband was a complete idiot and she would need to reschedule . . . so this time she wasn't going to do that, and so she devised a plan whereby I would drive the car to her school and we would swap cars and I would be able to do this because I had a half day of classes and my parent conference schedule was light in the afternoon-- but there was only one problem, which I explained to her: "The only problem is that I'm supposed to go to lunch with Terry . . . if I drive all the way over there then he won't have anyone to go out to lunch with," and right after I explained the "problem" I realized that it wasn't really a "problem," and more just my concern with eating, but it was too late and so I braced myself once again for a deserved angry rejoinder: "I think it's more important that you get the brake lights fixed on the car that you drive both your children around in, rather than get a slice of pizza with Terry!" and I couldn't agree more and told my wife that I would meet her, and then went into the school and while I was summarizing this book in the English office, and explaining how I was in a System 1 mood, because my wife made me a chart for what I had to accomplish in the mornings (the kids have a chart and I have a chart, and my wife is on the chart, but I don't actually think she needs the chart) and I was very happy that I completed my Friday morning duty (walk the dog) and so I blithely walked out the door and hopped into my car, not thinking that I wasn't supposed to drive my car, and went straight to work . . . and while I was summarizing System 1 and System 2 to a colleague, my phone rang again and my wife told me that she was driving to my school right then, to swap the cars, so that I wouldn't have to drive all over during my lunch, and while I was extraordinarily happy that I was going to be able to have lunch with Terry, I also realized that it might be my last meal on earth and immediately decided that I would send my wife some flowers or perhaps place them in her car at work . . . but then I couldn't even get credit for that, as while I was recounting this story to my first period class, I felt another text arrive on my phone and it was from my wife and it said, "You better send me flowers" and the text also included her school address and the name and phone number of our local flower place, so not only did I know she was serious, but also that she thought I was an incapable idiot . . . but I managed to successfully send the flowers and I have smoothed things over . . . for now.