Lost and Foundering

Take a look at the picture above and see if you can find the bag of Kirkland brand ground coffee . . . and now imagine that you are me: I took a look at that tableau on Saturday morning, could not find the coffee, proceeded to search the house high and low for a bag of caffeinated coffee-- the pantry, the downstairs shelves, the lazy susan in the lower cupboard, etc.-- and then surmised that we had no more coffee (and I wasn't going to wake my wife up to ask if we did) and so I angrily went to the grocery store to buy some . . . when my wife woke up and she heard my tale of woe, she immediately pointed to the blue bag of Kirkland brand ground coffee, and this threw my brain into a cognitive fit, until I rationalized and realized that I was standing to the right of the coffeemaker when I looked at the counter and rashly decided we were out of coffee, so the big bag of ground coffee was behind the coffeemaker . . . and it's impossible to see something if it's behind something else, or so I convinced myself; after I drank my coffee, I went to Home Depot and bought a tree, three bags of topsoil and a canister of deer repellent granules, and it was really windy, which made it difficult to push my orange flatbed cart through the parking lot, because the tree kept falling over, but I finally made it to the car, loaded the tree in the back on top of the bags of soil and then drove away, only to have my path blocked by a large white canister, rolling along across the pavement, blown by the strong wind-- so I got out of the car to move this random obstruction and it turned out to be the deer repellent I had purchased-- I had not noticed it had fallen off my cart-- the wind was obviously the culprit-- and I had apparently forgotten all about my purchase in the three minutes between the check-out line and the loading of the car . . . so I considered myself lucky, because the canister was for my wife, and if I came home with it unaccounted for-- when I had obviously purchased it (it was on the receipt) after the whole coffee fiasco, she might have wondered about my ability to live a fruitful and independent life without her support.

I Feel Fine . . .

I had a salad for lunch today, but it was more exciting than usual because while I was ingesting aforementioned greens, my colleagues informed me that the romaine lettuce was most likely infected with E. coli.

Laura Roslin and Walter White: Separated at Birth?

We just finished watching Breaking Bad as a family and then we hyper-jumped right into Battlestar Galactica . . . these are two of my favorite shows and it's really fun to rewatch them with the kids, especially because they notice things that I missed (and the first time Catherine and I watched these shows, we were sleep deprived and logy because of these very same kids) and while I will claim responsibility for the juxtapostion of these two platinum era masterpieces, Ian is the one who first noticed that Walter White and Laura Roslin are two sides of the same coin, and I'd like to add my two cents as to why:

1) at the outset of each story, both characters are diagnosed with cancer;

2) they are both involved in education and both seem to have greater aspirations;

3) they are both thrown into positions of power far beyond their purview and they both adapt and become calculating and effective leaders;

4) the looming threat of imminent death from cancer makes them assume a different kind of logic when assessing problems-- because they know how to take themselves out of the picture;

5) both shows hinge on a yin-and-yang duality-- the Walter White/Jesse Pinkman rollercoaster relationship and the Laura Roslin/ Commander Adama philosophical and tactical discussions.

The Test 109: Girls, They Want to Have Guns

This week on The Test, I barrage the ladies with a battery of questions and assault them with a slew of incendiary statistics and they stand their ground . . . Cunningham and Stacey may not be much with numbers, but they sure as shit know their guns.

SoD Celebrates SOD!

Sentence of Dave (affectionately known as SoD) would like to take a moment on this lovely spring Saturday to applaud that lowly chunk of dirt and grass known as "sod" . . . we had a tree removed from the front lawn last year and the tree removal guys left a big hole filled with stump grindings, and this morning I fixed up our wheelbarrow, illegally dumped some stump grindings over the cliff at the park (thus clearing the hole a bit) and went to Home Depot to buy some topsoil and grass seed, but when I was at Home Depot, I noticed they had a big pile of sod slices ($4.48 a slice) and so I bought two of them and after I put some top soil down, I tossed two slices of sod atop the soil, and voila . . . instant grass!-- so though archetypal Western villain Liberty Valance uses the term "sodbuster" in vitriolic and derogatory manner, that's because he's the kind of guy that lives "wherever he hangs his hat," and obviously has never maintained a lawn . . . sod, Liberty, is the horticultural miracle that could keep you from pushing daisies at such a young age, sod.

Dave Kills It At Book Club

This afternoon I attended my first English department book club and it was all that I imagined and more; I got to share my literary opinions with the many beautiful ladies of our department and at first it was like a dream: they were absolutely smitten with my analysis of Fredrik Backman's Swedish hockey novel Beartown . . . I was the only man in the room and I'm very manly: I know a lot about coaching sports and the secret ways of men-- the ladies were properly fascinated with my perspicacity:


















then-- in honor of my first book club ever-- I performed some prop comedy-- when we were about to start our discussion in earnest, I said I had to go out to my car because I had forgotten my notes and when I returned, I was holding a manila folder thick with notes and Post-its, a palimpsest of papers that looked like they were written by a crazy person (think Carrie in Homeland) and Stacey said, "You have a folder of notes?" and I said, "Of course" and I started arranging all the notes and charts and post-its on the floor, while mumbling things like "Holy cow, I have so much to say about this book . . . what should I start with?" and after a minute of paper shuffling and manspreading of my notes, someone surmised that this was my version of a book-club-joke and we all laughed (I laughed the most) and I told them that I had my students create all the crazy notes and charts and post-its . . .  I put the names of the people in the book on the board, told them a few themes, suggested that they emulate my handwriting, and let them go to town . . . it was a lot of preparation for a two minute bit, but it was well worth it;

then we actually got into the meat of the discussion and it was a lot of fun but also a bit heated-- I determined that the novel was a well-crafted story about factions, groups, and their effect on the community but I thought the hockey stuff was heavy-handed and not particularly enlightening (Art of Fielding is a much better literary sports novel . . . the tone of Beartown reminds me of Any Given Sunday, which is a good movie, but not a good football movie) but then we got into a loud and vociferous debate about the resolution, which Backman left ambiguous on purpose-- which makes me think he is sort of douchey and annoying . . . and I wondered if this was a meta-book, designed to get people riled up at book club, which sent me to the place I did not want to go-- loud and didactic and refractory . . . and the ladies reacted accordingly:




but 

we worked it out in the end, and while I can't recommend this book wholeheartedly (I think it's a little contrived and manipulative, and it feels like it's written by someone who has researched a bit about hockey but has never played the sport-- which the end notes confirm) I will wholeheartedly recommend book club, it was fun and intellectually exhausting, and dialogue like this is the only way that we can avoid what Beartown is really about . . . the fact that it's easier to choose a side in a conflict and stick to that side no matter what . . . but book club makes you deal with the difficulty-- which is hard-- the difficulty of listening to other people's opinions and really considering them-- it would be easier to read the book in solitude "because that's easier than trying to hold two thoughts in our heads at the same time" and it would be easier to "seek out facts that conform to what we want to believe" but when you're at book club with a bunch of beautiful ladies, it's hard to "dehumanize our enemy" because they are so charming and lovely (and you work with them) and you have to really reconsider what your thoughts . . . so I can't wait for the next one (and I'm going to come up with another prop comedy bit to get a quick laugh . . . if anyone has an idea, send it to me in secret).

Noam Says It's Okay to be Anti-American

I've been chewing and chomping on Chomsky lately, and while his writings are spicy and might give you mental indigestion, they are also very very tasty; I just finished Requiem for the American Dream: The 10 Principles of Concentration of Wealth and Power, and in typical Chomsky fashion, he makes you reevaluate the established hierarchies and hegemonies and truly makes you wonder if we need to dismantle every structure of power before we can actually have a working democracy . . . here are a few of his thoughts on how the powers that be are keeping the electorate in line and preventing too much democracy, which would be a threat to richest and most politically connected constituency:

1) if someone in Italy criticizes the government or policy or Berlusconi, they're not considered anti-Italian, but if you criticize corporate power and/or state/corporate capture/capitalist politics, then you're against the society and you are "anti-American," which is a highly unusual term for a democratic country . . . usually terms like this are used in totalitarian regimes . . . anti-Soviet, for example;

2) Alan Greenspan has praised "worker insecurity" in keeping the economy humming, because insecure workers don't unionize or negotiate or ask for raises and benefits, and American salaries have been stagnant for a LONG time, despite the fact that corporations have tons of liquid assets; this insecurity can result in more and more borrowing . . . which is certainly a feature, not a bug, for the financial industries;

3) Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher were the original instigators of this global plutonomy, they were really good at enriching the very wealthy and letting everyone else suffer . . . those two leaders were much less concerned with looking out for American and British middle-class consumers and much more concerned with financialization rules (and lack thereof) that would allow the richest sector of the global economy to profit;

4) rich people make a lot of money through dividends and capital gains, the rest of the society does not...  and tax law has been written to favor making money through dividends and capital gains (and the estate tax has been revised to favor the wealthy as well . . .. more fodder for Chomsky)

5) joblessness is a far more devastating problem than any economic indicator or stock index, and workers have lost the ability to negotiate, form unions, and collectively bargain-- many many people in our country work in a job without benefits or security or a union . . . thank God I'm a teacher;

6) Reagan started this whole business of too big to fail and too big to jail-- he increased the size of the federal deficit by subsidizing and bailing out the banking and savings and loan industries after several financial crashes caused by deregulation-- if big business knows it will be bailed out by a business- friendly government, than it will take extra risks, of course, and taxpayers will foot the bill;

7) for every dollar spent by labor union lobbyists, corporations spend $34 . . . business lobbying is ubiquitous and has caused cronyism and undemocratic policy that even a conservative thinker can recognize;

8) Citizens United and corporate personhood give more rights to corporations in Mexico than it does to undocumented aliens that do work in the United States . . . the Supreme Court justices "are put in by reactionary presidents, who get in there because they're funded by business";

9) people should spend ten minutes thinking about presidential elections and decide which candidate's policy benefits them more and then vote accordingly- there should be no two-year media bonanza-- and then people should get back to what works: community programs, local programs and active dedicated popular movements;

10) running for office in the U.S. is "fabulously expensive" so only political positioned that can draw finance can be presented to voters . . . so much of the most important political discussion is ignored;

11) organized labor is the one force that can fight corporate and government tyranny, and the anti-labor and anti-union sentiment in America is strong, so the rich and powerful should have no trouble keeping the rabble in line;

12) one of the best ways to control people is by "fabricating consumers" and making sure everyone feels like they need something new . . . whether it's getting women to smoke in the 1930s or making you think you need a new phone, fabricating these wants is a great way to keep people from worrying about democracy and policy;

13) his last principle of how to concentrate wealth and power and destroy democracy is the scariest: marginalize the population-- he cites a Martin Gilens study that shows that policy is uncorrelated with public attitudes and that 70 percent of the population has no influence on policy and government . . . they might as well live in another country . . .

so it's hard to read this logic and be pro-American . . . but the one thing that we are tops at is freedom of speech, so maybe people need to start thinking that being anti-American is more American than being pro-American.

Will Dave Remain a Hero Once Dinner is Served?

I'd like to note for posterity that I've been fairly heroic on the homefront the past couple of days: today I planted my second apple tree, so not only am I saving the environment in that matter (trees are carbon sinks and help with particulate matter and global warming) but in three or four years time, I'll be abrogating the supply chain and eating local apples; in addition, last night I went grocery shopping and bought the ingredients for a recipe that Catherine once made that I really liked (Turkey Kofte with Apple Raita and Spinach)  and I'm in the middle of making it right now (sort of . . . I'm taking a well-deserved beer break) and I'm really cruising along (although I did screw up last night, I bought shitty spinach, so Catherine has to stop at the store today to buy good spinach, but to make up for that, I just mushed up the spices and oil and garlic and tomato paste and parsley with ground turkey in a big bowl with my bare hands, which is very heroic of me, because I don't like to get my hands moist) and all these chores are filler, because my most epic deed happened yesterday, when I broke the malevolent dish cycle that had us in it's evil suffocating taloned grip-- day after day, there were so many dirty dishes in our sink that even when we ran the dishwasher in the afternoon, there was still a sinkful of filthy, slimy dishes in the morning, and these morning dishes persevered until the next afternoon . . . so yesterday after school, the kids and I emptied and ran the dishwasher twice (and I cleaned some pots and pans) and this Herculean effort was enough to clean the stables, as they said in ancient Greece, and while I'm feeling quite proud about all this, I'm also considering the fact that this delicious recipe is going to be one of those meals that my kids try and then one of them is going to cavalierly say, "I don't really like it" and because I've done all this good stuff, I'm going to get all indignant and righteous and lose my shit and beat that child with my clogs (and the other child, seeing this violence, will eat the food, of course . . . but will he eat it because he likes it, or because he doesn't want to get beaten with a clog?)

Three Cheers for Tax Day? Not With This EPA

Noam Chomsky thinks our attitude about tax day is analogous to our attitude about our democracy; if we had a democracy that was in any way representative of what the general population wanted, then tax day would be celebratory, a day where we knew we were funding programs and activities that we generally agreed were going to make our country a better place-- but instead it is a "day of mourning" when an "alien power" steals your hard-earned money and uses it to further the interests of richest constituency; one of my favorite podcasts, The Indicator, falls right in line with this attitude . . . and I share this general anger-- I don't think we need to increase military spending and build more nuclear warheads-- and, like the vast majority of Americans (74%) I think the country should "do whatever it takes" to protect the environment, but the EPA, an agency that protects all Americans with its policies-- rich, poor, middle class-- is being dismantled and defunded; I know I sound like General Ripper in Dr. Strangelove, but this is the only air and water w ehave, and I don't want my precious bodily fluids polluted (I also don't want to start a shooting war, so I'm not exactly like General Ripper) and if you want to get angry about where are tax dollars are not going, then listen to this episode of The Daily  . . . Scott Pruitt and Trump are doing their best to aggressively roll back emissions standards (so much so that even the automakers are worried because it may make them need to make different, cleaner cars for California, which has strict emissions standards . . . even though, ironically, it was automakers that wanted less regulation on emissions and lobbied this administration to do so, despite the fact that we bailed the automakers out with our tax dollars and so own these industries as a country but have no say in how they proceed) and so you've got a real lack of democracy-- the majority of the people want clean air, but a small minority (businesses that pollute) want less regulations and the ability to pollute with impunity, and our tax dollars are going to the latter, to enrich a tiny segment while the externalities affect the masses . . . all you can do is vote for taxes on gas (hooray New Jersey!) and push for state emissions legislation like California, while we wait out this absurd EPA agenda (and plant trees).

The Birds and the Trees

I forgot to put up yesterday's post, which details all the tools I used to plant an apple tree in my front yard (I had to remove a weeping cherry first) and-- because of the monsoon-like rainstorm today-- I was a bit nervous at school that I would arrive home to find my tree floating in a neighbor's yard, but apparently I did a good job with my hole and my soil and my mulching, and the tree was still standing straight and tall; I did a little research and learned that I need to plant another apple tree in my front yard (I've got a spot picked out) and it will cross-pollinate with my Braeburn tree--  Fuji or Gala or Honeycrisp are compatible cross-pollinators, I went on some sort of Match.com for apple trees site-- and then under the cover of night, the trees will pull their roots from the ground and slowly walk towards each other and engage in sexual intercourse . . . with any luck, I should be eating front-yard apples in three or four years: I will keep you posted.

Game of Tools

I used five different tools for my gardening projects this weekend-- five!-- I wanted to remove an anemic weeping cherry tree from the ground and plant something new, and I wanted to transplant a fargesia clumping bamboo plant from one spot to another . . . here is my list of tools:

1) hedge clippers on the weeping cherry (because I couldn't get close enough to the tree to dig around it, so I had to clip off all the branches)

2) a pick-ax (to try to break up the soil and roots around the tree)

3) three different shovels . . . because I broke two of them trying to pry the bamboo plant out of the ground;

4) an ax . . . I couldn't cut through the weeping cherry roots with a shovel blade;

5) and the fifth tool, of course, is me!

The Test 108: Game of Names

This week on The Test, Stacey begins with some crystal clear instructions on how to play her name-game- mash-up, but Cunningham and I don't really follow  . . . until (ever so slowly) we figure it out; ultimately, in a brilliant reversal, I hijack the test . . . odd puppet!

Let's Continue What Henry Ford Started

Is there anyone who still thinks working five days in a row is a good idea?

Dave is Foiled Again (by Computers and a Woman)

At our school, we have a number of chromebook carts-- they are incredibly cumbersome and heavy computer carts that house and charge 30 chromebooks-- and the etiquette is that the last person to have the cart needs to make sure all the chromebooks are in their proper slots and plugged in; this is a nightmare because high school students are animals, they just chuck them in any slot-- even if there's already a chromebook residing there-- and they rarely plug them in (and some teachers are vigilant about making the students sign out a particular chromebook and then monitoring that number, but I'm too lazy to deal with that kind of clerical work, so I just end up calling my students uncivilized animals and then I deal with the aftermath . . . in some ways it's easier and more fun than being vigilant) and almost all of the chromebook carts have been impressed into service for PARCC testing but I still have my special cart for the College Writing class, and my friend and colleague Stacey asked to borrow the cart this afternoon and I graciously agreed to bring it up to her room once my Creative Writing class was finished with the chromebooks; my students did their typical crappy job putting the chromebooks back in the cart, but I figured it didn't matter because I was bringing the cart up to Stacey and her students would have to get it organized at the end of the day; I was very proud of this clever ruse but at the end of period 10, when one of Stacey's students brought the cart back to my room, it was a total mess-- chromebooks unplugged, a couple of slots left empty, a couple of slots doubled up, cords all over the place . . . so I publicly shamed Stacey on a group text we had going and said she was "so rude" for not following the chromebook cart etiquette . . . but she retaliated by saying she ended up not using the chromebooks and simply returned the cart in the same state as when I had brought it to her . . . so in a cunning reversal, I ended up publicly shaming myself . . . but I still wonder about this case, which was a bit like a game of hot potato . . . because while she didn't technically use the chromebooks, the cart was in her possession last; I think this is one of those situations where the letter of the law and the spirit of the law don't quite jibe (and I'm pretty sure everyone else in the department is on Stacey's side in this instance, especially because I had malicious intent).

Juxtapostion That Foreshadows Something Bad

The literary term "juxtaposition" is a favorite of sophomores the world over, mainly because it applies to nearly any two things placed side-by-side that elicit some sort of irony or contrast . . . it's easy to identify, sounds smart, and-- along with foreshadowing-- it's the most popular term thrown about by wannabe high school literary scholars . . . but sometimes things are hackneyed and cliche for good reason, and a really excellent ironic juxtaposition is a wonderful thing: my wife and I are watching Breaking Bad with the kids and we finally got to season 5 and my two favorite episodes: "Dead Freight" and "Buyout"; during "Dead Freight," Walter, Mike, Pinkman and Todd engineer a methylamine train heist-- a heist that will occur unbeknowst to the train conductor-- and despite a few hiccups and a lot of stressful moments, they pull it off with great success-- until the last moments of the episode, when the gang pays a very heavy price for their actions . . . the next episode deals with the aftermath, and features the greatest dinner scene in TV history, the first time that Pinkman, Skyler and Walt really sit down together and interact-- the tension is so unbearable it's funny-- Pinkman tries to make small talk in an absolutely untenable situation . . . even if you've never seen Breaking Bad and don't want to commit to five seasons, you can watch these two episodes as a stand-alone unit, they are magical, awkward, and capture everything great about the show.

I Have to Stop Yelling at Republicans

At the high school, English teachers tend to be liberal and history teachers tend to be Republicans-- and once in a while a history teacher will come up to the English Office to take our pulse on the current political situation and I always end up ranting and raving about voodoo economics and Republican induced financial meltdowns and deficits and unprecedented spending and tax cuts for the Constituency and all that and today was one of those days and this time we got on the topic of is Trump behaving like a banana-republic dictator and everyone entrenched themselves-- the history teachers have the perspective that Trump isn't nearly as bad as people (liberals) thought it would be and he's really getting some great stuff done and the English teachers-- myself included-- think we're living under the regime of a madman, who likes to flaunt his nuclear capabilities, is https://player.fm/series/voxs-the-weeds/the-imprudent-scott-pruitt-- looking for ways to add lead in our environment, pollutants to our lakes streams, CO2 to our atmosphere, coal dust to our lungs and racing us to the precipice in regards to climate change-- and that our commander-in-chief changes his opinion in regards to his staff and policy daily . . . if you want more ammunition for the latter perspective, listen to the new episode of This American Life . . . it's the story of how Republican Senator Jeff Flake tries to get a popular DACA bill passed in an absolutely insane White House, or you could listen to the folks on The Weeds explain how Sinclair broadcasting is forcing local newscasters to spout right wing propaganda . . . the problem with this stuff is it's relatively boring, like Trump and Pruitt's attempt to repeal the Clean Water Act, but it's happening and obviously some folks either are unaware of it or think this is the stuff that makes America great, and some folks-- myself included-- are angry and annoyed; I remember feeling this way during the Bush administration too-- he was another enemy to the existential environmental threats that our species is facing-- but at least he was more of a bumbling knob, as opposed to our current windbag of Presidential flatulence.

O Lord, Dad Needs a Dog

I've been through the valley of the shadow of death and all I can say is that it was no fun-- but I'm starting to get over the loss of our family dog Sirius (and if anyone else is grieving over the loss of a pet, this movie will be more helpful than this awful poem . . . I can see why the author would want to remain anonymous) and I'm starting to recognize that I need a new loyal canine companion, so I don't drive my family batshit; case in point, when we were on vacation in Vermont last week, after we had gotten home from lunch-- which was a twenty minute car ride-- I unilaterally encouraged my family to take a constitutional stroll up the road to the waterfall, and I met some resistance from my two sons, but I told them this wasn't a choice-- everyone in the family was going for a walk and-- more important-- they were going to like it . . . Catherine gave me a look that said, "You are insane," but-- and I really respect her for this-- she didn't undermine my plan and she told the kids to listen to their father and get walking and then I reminded the little ingrates that taking a walk with the family was not a punishment and they'd better not refer to it as such and they should take pride and joy in the fact that they had ambulatory parents that could still hike up a mountain road and they were lucky we weren't crippled and in an old age home and then we took our walk-- Alex came around and enjoyed himself, but Ian shuffled sullenly sixty yards behind us the entire way (and never got to see the waterfall) and the consensus after this forced march was: Dad needs a dog . . . so we are browsing the rescue sites and maybe soon enough I'll have someone in the house that appreciates a communal stroll or a quick bike ride around the park, someone who doesn't mind going for a short car ride to run an errand, someone loyal and happy who might be a pain-in-the-ass to take care of but will earn it back with good attitude (we're thinking maybe a German shorthaired pointer . . . I don't want a dog that looks like Sirius because that would freak me out).

Some Chomsky to Chew On

I haven't read a Noam Chomsky book since we lived in Syria but I stumbled on a new one at the library and finished it in three days; Global Discontents: Conversations on the Rising Threats to Democracy is a fast read, though profoundly disturbing, and Chomsky hammers home his usual points with detail and precision;

1) America is a rogue state that has used its hegemonic military power to break countries and then does nothing to help fix them-- we don't take in the refugees caused by our policy; we continue sanctions and military occupations willy-nilly, without regard for the citizens of the countries we ruin; we support evil regimes in places like Saudi Arabia and Turkey and (once upon a time) in Iraq and Central America; we harbor ancient grievances against some countries, like Iran and Cuba; we use drones, proxy wars, arms-dealing, and oil to influence the neoliberal market driven power structures;

2) the book is oddly prescient about a couple of current events; Chomsky could have been writing about the migrant caravan that Donald Trump is so worried about when he said, "when people flee from Central America-- from the three countries that were devastated by Reagan atrocities-- El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras-- we expect Mexico to stop them from reaching our borders . . . that's their job" and he delineates the terrible problems in Syria and Lebanon-- fabricated countries drawn up by Western forces after WWI-- which could only lead to atrocities like the recent chemical attacks in Douma;

3) Chomsky doesn't give Obama or Bill Clinton a pass-- they are both part of the problem, both expanding state power for the neoliberal agenda; Obama increased drone attacks and continued to build our nuclear arsenal and Clinton worshipped the market and knew how to keep the rabble in line;

4) but the Republicans are much much worse . . . while attention is focused on the latest Trump tweets and his "latest mad doings, the Ryan gang and the executive branch are ramming through legislation and orders that undermine worker's rights, cripple consumer protections, and severely harm rural communities . . . they seek to devastate health programs, revoking taxes that pay for them in order to enrich their Constituency, and to eviscerate the Dodd-Frank Act which imposed some much-needed constraints on the predatory financial system that grew during the neoliberal period"

5) if you're getting used to the Sam Harris type liberals, who are logical but still very entrenched in the neoliberal techno-optimist dream, you need to read some Chomsky and refresh yourself with radical left ideas-- Chomsky is an anarcho-syndicalist and he thinks every power structure-- including our national government-- should be examined and probably dismantled; he sees the worship of the state and capitalist markets as far more dangerous than religion, and he believes the only power worth exploring and supporting is that of the community, small groups, activism, workers running and owning factories, communities under community control, institutions under direct control from galvanized voters that could enact immediate recall of their representatives, and this would lead to a fading of national boundaries-- as has started to happen in Europe-- and a global system based on mutual aid and support, with production for use rather than profit, and a concern for species survival;

6) while this is wild stuff, and I lean a little more towards a market-based economy with more incentives and rules than we have now (especially some things to stop this no health-care/benefits gig economy in its tracks, before my own children have to participate in it) but Chomsky's big takeaway in this book is that we are not discussing the two most important things, the two things that should be the ONLY things on the agenda-- climate change/environmental destruction and increased militarization and nuclear arsenals . . . it's like those problems are so huge that we're just sticking our head in the sand . . . Trump pulled us from the Paris climate accord and he's happily racing us to the brink of disaster, lowering mileage standards, bringing back coal, and denying that any of this is a problem; Trump is also flaunting our military and nuclear power like it's something to be proud of, when it really does contribute to us behaving very badly around the world . . . so if you've got your head in the sand about our weird and wonderful country, it's worth reading a little Chomsky as a wake-up call . . . I'd love to have the time and tenacity to read all his sources, but that's not going to happen, and I probably won't read another Chomsky book for a while-- it's too depressing-- but I still recommend you read something he's written, just so you can see things from a totally fresh perspective . . . plus, his name is really fun to say: Chomsky . . . Chomsky . . . Chomsky.

Scott Pruitt Wants to Bring Back Wilding

Trump's egregiously biased EPA appointee Scott Pruitt is determined to roll back as many regulations as possible-- and while some regulations certainly inhibit business, at times regulation is a good thing-- regulations can incentivize behavior that will help the country and the economy as a whole, and regulations can limit externalities that are paid for by society at large; the real cost of leaded gasoline was probably an unprecedented crime wave that culminated in the early '90's, when the young brains affected by lead-- a potent neurotoxin-- came of age . . . Reagan and his version of the EPA attempted to relax or even eliminate the lead phase-out, but apparently public outcry and Doonesbury came to the rescue . . . anyway, that's a lot to digest-- it's far more fun to read some Trump tweets and wonder why the President hates Amazon and loves Sinclair news-- but it's all happening again, Pruitt wants to roll back lead paint regulations-- why?-- and he wants to lower mileage standards for cars, because climate change is a hoax and the United States loves Saudi Arabia-- despite the terrorists and the religious rule and the civil rights abuses, they are compliant, sell us oil, and buy our weapons-- so we might as well make giants cars that guzzle up their gasoline . . . and this is an issue where you can make a difference as an individual: drive less, buy a smaller car, and keep an eye out on what's going on in your area, it seems Pruitt and his staff are doing a shoddy job and a lot of his anti-regulatory attempts are getting mired in court . . . anyway, beware of externalities, because with Trump and Pruitt in charge, the externalities are coming for you (and your children and your grandchildren).

Real News and Fake Vacations

I took this picture with my phone a couple days ago when we were at the top of Okemo Mountain-- it was snowing and the conditions were beautiful-- and then I pressed a button and my phone sent it over to my blog, and let's be honest, the reason I did all this hard work was to contribute to your depression, because your spring break probably wasn't as glamorous and awesome as my spring break and now you're going to see this picture and feel really bad . . . of course, you could strike back with an even better picture of even cuter kids in an even more glamorous locale and then I'd feel depressed and we could go back and forth like this ad nauseum until we started creating "fake vacations," which appears to be easy enough to do (if you've got photoshop skills).

Let's Get Political, Political . . . Let Me Hear Your Party Talk

Since the topic has generated some interesting commentary, here are some final thoughts on Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion:

1) while there are more than two kinds of people, our political system breaks us down that way-- unfortunately, there should be room for libertarians (who give even less of a shit about things than liberals do, but really care about liberty/oppression and have even less empathy than conservatives)

2) you can tell someone's political beliefs by the kind of dog breed they prefer: gentle and independent versus loyal, protective and wary of strangers;

3) Haidt admits that liberals go too far sometimes in their reflexive anti-business stance, and they could endorse the wonders of the free market to solve problems-- he makes a great analogy with food and the silliness of having food insurance, instead of knowing the prices for items and shopping around and buying what works, versus health insurance, where we have no clue what anything costs and so want to be insured for everything-- he brings up the case of lasix, which went on the free market and the price adjusted accordingly  . . . we've gone so far in the care/harm department with health care that the spending is utterly bonkers;

4) on the other hand, regulation can also have benefits-- the regulation of leaded gasoline in the late 70's and early 80's, despite Ronald Reagan's attempt to cripple the EPA and its ability to make that change (sound familiar, Scott Pruitt, bringer of asthma and global warming) was ill-founded . . . as are Trump's trade tariffs (it's Smoot-Hawley all over again . . . Smoot-Hawley! anyone? Bueller?)

5) the tug of war between these two groups is significant and important-- the debate between those that are primarily concerned with care/harm and making the world fair and free for as many people as possible-- and those that are concerned with groups and loyalty and liberty and authority and sanctity, as well as the former principles . . . and that's the most important thing that many liberals need to understand, that conservatives es still care about care/harm and fairness, just in slightly different ways;

6) Haidt's final advice is that if you want to truly understand another perspective, follow the sacredness-- I've had conservatives tell me that I don't actually care about endangered species and the environment, because they can't believe that someone would be sincere about that-- and I have trouble truly believing that people are sincere about religion or truly care if gay people get married . . . but we have to try to see why people believe these things, which all make sense in the context of what is sacred . . . and we have to remember that though there are more than two types of people, "once people join a political team, they get ensnared in its moral matrix" and follow the grand narrative of that party . . . but liberals are conservatives are yin and yang and both necessary for the health of a political system;

7) he ends by saying that libertarians and conservatives certainly provide a valuable counterweight to "liberal reform movements" but he sees two liberal points which are profoundly important to the health of society:

"governments can and should restrain corporate superorganisms"

and

"some big problems CAN be solved by regulation"

and I think these are the two points that we need to all come together about, we are rapidly destroying our environment and our resources, and we are rapidly being consumed by larger and larger corporate entities, which have captured the government, making all this tug-of-war and debating utterly useless, if the people no longer have any say in what happens to our country.

A Book to Help Liberals Understand Conservatives

If you're reading this blog, then you are probably a secular liberal like me (and you're most definitely WEIRD like me: Western and educated, from an industrialized, rich, democratic nation) and you probably need to read Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion . . . I've written about Haidt's basic ideas here in previous posts, but his book goes into much greater detail and also describes the experiments and readings that helped him to understand the different moral matrices that liberals and conservatives use to understand the world; essentially, conservatives care about more stuff than liberals-- while liberals tend to base their morality on the principles of fairness and harm, conservatives-- who do care about those values-- are also concerned with authority, purity and loyalty . . . so conservatives tend to understand how liberals view things better than liberals understand how conservatives view things; most of these moral characteristics are due to deep-seated personality traits, which are mainly genetic-- things like being open to new experiences and agreeable and neurotic, so there seem to be differences in liberals and conservatives at the most basic level; the book really enlightened me about the benefits of religion-- I wish I were religious, but like a typical liberal, I consider it a bunch of supernatural mumbo-jumbo that wastes your time and money-- but while religion may have started because we have a natural proclivity to see agency everywhere, whether it's a face in the tree or gods behind the thunder-- it has become a valuable asset for members, who experience happiness and social capital, give more to charity, belong to an in group, and have costly rules of purity and sanctity which bond them to other members of the group . . . while it will never work for me, I can see how groups of humans that had religion could have outcompeted groups that did not have religion (and Haidt presents an argument against the principles of the Sam Harris/Richard Dawkins new-atheist crowd, who see religion as a parasite that takes over human brain and eventually leads to things like suicide bombers-- Haidt makes a compelling argument that suicide bombers, who might need insipration from an in-group, are historically only in response to boots on the ground appression and more of a military tactic from a tribe than a radical response based on belief) anyway, the WEIRDER you are the more you see the world as individual objects and not groups until you might eventually try to boil everything down to one set of utilitarian rules, as Jeremy Bentham did . . . Haidt speculates that Bentham might have been autistic, a high-functioning systemizer with very little empathy that made morality into a formulaic algorithm which computes the greater good but does not think about the individual moral emotions within the context of the decision-- while this method might be a decent way to formulate policy, it's often political suicide (economists know that immigrants lead to a net gain in the economy, but apparently many conservatives don't care-- they are more considered with the rule of law and the sanctity of our borders) and it took a long trip to India for Haidt to recognize that other people and cultures place a much greater value on group morality, while everyone cares about liberty/oppression and fairness/cheating and care/harm, only conservatives truly care about loyalty/betrayal and authority/subversion and sanctity/degradation . . . and these are all more important to the group . . . at first, Haidt had a typical WEIRD view of India-- it had rigid social classes and gender roles, it was a sexist society that had limited mobility and a lot of unnecessary rules about eating and prayer, but then he saw that though things weren't as fair as in the West, the connections and order between groups was strong and that was what was valued . . . it's really hard, as a liberal, to put yourself into a conservative's shoes . . . it's hard to feel sanctity towards a religious text or a symbol or an institution that you think is silly, it's hard to find a love for authority when your deepest desire is to see authority subverted, and it's hard to value loyalty when you think it leads to racism and oppression, but if the liberals in our country don't come to understand this, then they are going to destroy their chances of making utilitarian policy changes that can lead to the greater good and instead will remain mired in partisan ugliness . . . Trump is easily explained in this context-- he wants to make America pure and great again, and return us to rule of law, he's an authoritarian figure, totally loyal to our country and nothing else . . . Haidt gives liberals a tool to understand that conservatives are not all insane racist lunatics, and are quite sincere in the things that they care about, things which often do increase social capital, especially in groups . . . it's not my cup of tea, but at least I understand things a bit more after reading this book and can empathize with the conservative point of view . . . and I can see the roots of my genetics in my children, who are open to experience and care about fairness and harm, but couldn't give two shits about loyalty, sanctity, and authority . . . even though my wife and I sort of try to value these virtues, as most parents do, even at the basic level of don't cheat, respect your teachers, and stop picking your nose . . . but none of it is working with them and they're going to end up as WEIRD secular liberals just like their mom and dad.

Broken and Bad Memories

Catherine and I are rewatching Breaking Bad with the kids and we've made it to Season 5; we are recognizing that the odd nostalgia we had for Walter White was unwarranted, distorted by time, and probably caused by our fondness for Hal on Malcolm in the Middle.

Where the Beer Really Flows Like Wine

The slopes were a little choppy today and Alex and I did one run too many . . . luckily this barn apartment has a hot tub down on the lower level-- the three of us took a soak after banging around the mountain all morning and then we all fell asleep and now I'm drinking a Lost Nation Mosaic IPA, which a reviewer on BeerAdvocate describes as having a "crackery malt base" and "earthy berry notes" to go with its "lemony citrus" notes . . . best Spring Break ever (aside from the lack of dog) because in Vermont, the beer actually does flow like wine (and people describe it as such).

Tamiflu + Beer = The Inevitable

Last night's beer drinking didn't go so well-- apparently, Tamiflu and Hermit Thrush Po Tweet sour pale ale do NOT mix well . . . my stomach turned into a bubbling cauldron for thirty minutes or so, until the inevitable happened . . . but I felt better today so I didn't take any sort of medicine and we had a great day on the Jackson Gore side of the mountain, now both my kids are navigating black diamond slopes, so I'm going to have to up my skills to stay with them; my wife and I also took a lovely hike to Buttermilk Falls-- the stupid ingrate children didn't want to go and this made me really miss the dog . . . he would go anywhere with me, happily, and he never gave me any lip-- anyway, I'm off the meds and successfully drinking two of the best beers I've ever tasted:

Foley Brothers Prospect

Lost Nation Lost Galaxy IPA

if you're real nice to me, when I get back to Jersey, I might let you try some.

Ups and Downs on the Mountain

Warm and slushy on the slopes today-- Ian didn't last very long because he slipped and fell on some ice and bruised his knee on the edge of the cast iron firepit-- ouch!-- but Alex and I took an extra trip to the top of the mountain (despite my recent bout of flu) and we went down a steep lift line trail under the Okemo Bubble Quad . . . this is the first time Alex bombed down a real Vermont black diamond run, with no slowing up and no wipeouts: so a banner day for him that I want to commemorate here (and I am sore and feel like an old man . . . my banner is sagging pretty low, but a few delicious local beers should pump some air into it).

Spring Break in a Barn (Loft)!

According to this new episode of Invisibilia, the patterns of your past don't predict your future-- or at least they can't program a computer to accurately predict how well students will do depending on past events (although a white upper-middle-class upbringing seems to give you somewhat of a shock absorber) and I'm definitely feeling the breaking of patterns and randomness today, because we've been playing board games and gin rummy in a converted barn-loft apartment in Vermont, and not only do the outcomes of the games seem unpatterned and random, but so does the setting (lots of kitsch from around the word inside the rambling apartment space, snowy property, a stream, and a hot tub down below in the actual barn . . . perhaps I'll describe more details later but for now, I'm going to enter Spring Break mode and try to put an end to my prolixity for a couple of days).

Mulvaney and Trump Screw Over the Forgotten Men and Women

If you want to get politically indignant about something more substantial than stupid Trump tweets, listen to the newest episode of Planet Money: Mulvaney vs the CFPB . . . it's the story of how Trump completely forgot about the "forgotten men and women" and gutted the agency that could do a great deal to protect them: the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau; Trump chose Republican Mick Mulvaney-- who sponsored a bill to get rid of the CFPB-- to head the CFPB and Mulvaney did exactly what was expected . . . it would be akin to putting me in charge of Disneyworld, I would utterly wreck that joint-- I would let kids buy beer while waiting on line for Space Mountain, I'd let people get out of their seats and take any one item from the Carousel of Progress,  I'd put a bounty of the head of a different costumed character each day, I'd add several "shithole countries" to Epcot, etc. etc. . . anway, this is that kind of story and it features some crack investigative reporting, showcases a government that could care less about shady predatory lenders charging interest rates above 900%, and there's an odd ending that adds another layer of pathos . . . this is Ron Swanson writ large, but not as cute because instead of defunding a local Parks and Rec Department, it's declawing an agency that could help vulnerable people being financially destroyed that no recourse, because the government agency that's supposed to enforce the rules and bring suit against these folks in a court of law is dropping cases like mad . . . and for you Trumpists in regards to regulations, there is a case to be made, but there's also the inverse: no regulations are another type of regulation, and Mulvaney took money from the payday loan lobby, possibly to create this environment.

Flu Day . . .

My fever is down . . . the Tamiflu seems to be working, but more importantly, I did some valuable things on my flu day:

1) watched the Netflix documentary Take Your Pills . . . makes me wonder how the hell I get so many things done without taking any pills . . .

2) finished the comic book series Saga . . . I highly recommend it: a whacked out fantastical space opera that tackles adult themes and uses utterly bizarre imagery-- BattleStar Galactica meets Star Wars with a bit of The Fifth Element thrown in for good measure;

3) watched the first few episodes of Better Call Saul . . . I didn't want to tarnish my memories of Breaking Bad with a schlocky spin-off, but Saul seems to be more along the lines of Frasier than Joanie Loves Chachi.

There's No Shooting This Elephant (Without Giving Yourself a Lobotomy)

If you read Simler and Hanson's book The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life, you're going to have to get introspective (because you can't go around calling out other people's hidden signalling . . . you don't know exactly what they are thinking and you'll be labeled an asshole . . . except for this one instance with Rick Santorum, where he is so obviously and stupidly signalling to his base that he should have avoided the idea entirely and just chanted "Guns!Guns! Guns!") and you're going to have to recognize-- as Marvin Minsky pointed out in his classic Society of the Mind-- that your brain is a committee and you don't know what all the different sub-groups are plotting and planning (nor do you want to) and whether you are dividing your head into Freud's "id, ego, and superego" or Michael Kendrick's "Night Watchman, Compulsive Hypochondriac, Team Player, Go-getter, Swinging Single, Good Spouse and Nurturing Parent" or the five emotions in Inside Out, you are simplifying and slicing up a complex system of various higher and lower level modules and so it's very hard to decode what's going on because of the interplay between consciously chosen words and actions, unconscious body language, and reactions to social cues . . . Joe Navarro, FBI interrogator, says that "presidents often go to Camp David to accomplish  in polo shirts what they can't seem to accomplish in business suits forty miles away in the White House . . . by revealing themselves ventrally (with the removal of coats) they are saying:

I am open to you;

one of my favorite ways that we think we're immune to "persuasive mass media" and it's rather cheesy "hidden" signalling is the "third person effect": while we believe the media doesn't influence us, we do believe it influences other people . . . and this is how lifestyle advertising works . . . I'm never going to buy Corona beer for myself-- it's well-marketed cheap swill-- but if I'm going to a certain kind of summertime backyard bbq, I might bring Corona and some limes because I know those silly other people associate Corona  and limes with the image of that kind of party and I want to make them happy;

it seems we spend to much on medical care as well, especially in end of life scenarios and situations where people are very sick and their time can only be extended slightly . . . but again, the signalling is important, not the quality of care (we still can't get the majority of doctors to wash their hands) and that's the signal we want to give . . . if you are in dire straits, people, family friends, the government, your job, etcetera will take care of you;

the end of the book concentrates on politics, and this is where you'll be the most frustrated and need to be the most introspective; people tend to signal that they belong to a certain political group-- and this makes sense from a community and friendship and family and religious point of view-- it's much easier to adopt the same politics as the people around you . . . if you live in a small conservative religious town then you're going to get married young, not use birth control, look to your husband as the breadwinner, and not seek abortions . . .  not necessarily because you believe strongly in this suite of behaviors, but if you were to break the norms-- use birth control, stay focused on your career, avoid marriage and pregnancy, then you're an outlier and a cheater and a bad example to the others . . . the converse is true if you grow up in a liberal urban area, but either way, you're going to associate yourself with a bunch of other policies that you may or may not feel strongly about (environmental regulations, gun control, transgender rights, racism, welfare, disability, slavery, tariffs, public land etc.) and that's how political coalitions work-- you tend to choose a side and then work backwards and adopt the policies of that side and rationalize your allegiance to them, which makes sense from a signalling and social sense, but is a total logical mess, despite the fact that these norms have shifted some over time . . . and it's quite scary when people are asked some basic questions about what is happening policy wise in our country . . . but this does make perfect sense: why waste your time learning all these facts and figures when all you really want to do is signal to your tribe that you are on the same team( and I'm going to do an obvious humblebrag here . . . I wrote this while running a fever-- I just tested positive for strain B of the flu).

The Eternal Bronchial Return

The search bar on this blog allows me to look back on my life and see if The History of Dave is repeating itself . . . and in regards to two topics, I certainly am on a loop: plantar fasciitis and bronchitis . . . but I am getting a little smarter each year (at least in regards to the bronchitis) because now that I know the symptoms, I'm getting to the doctor before I actually get a full blown case and getting some meds (and avoiding scenarios like this one) but I'm not that smart . . . I still went out and coached our travel game yesterday, though my assistant coach did all the talking-- it was weird, watching the game, unable to speak above a croak-- just letting the kids do their thing; we played a team that was better organized than us and could knock it around fairly well and we were missing our starting goalie, so we settled back on defense and gave them nothing, played a 4-4-2 for the counter, and ran a number of give-and goes through to breakaways and won handily, 4 - 0 . . . if I wasn't shivering so hard, it would have been delightful to watch them figure it all out on their own.

Bring Back the Boom Box!

I am making my way through Kevin Simler and Robin Hanson's book The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life . . . the thesis is that not only is our rational mind a "slave to the passions" but that it is beneficial to not recognize this . . . we have a purposeful evolutionary blind spot in our brain that makes us not only hide our true motivations from others but also hide them from ourselves; Simler and Hanson claim that at the root of many of our seemingly altruistic and pure motives are much more self-serving ends, often to show our fitness to the opposite sex and society at large . . . you gave to charity to help the children, of course, but also to show that you have excess funds and are willing to use them to help the community at large . . . but admitting the latter is in poor taste; while you know that a consistent bedtime is great for your children's health, it also really nice to get the little buggers out of you and your wife's hair at the end of the day; you enjoy playing an instrument and don't mind the tedious practicing, but your skill and confidence is also signalling that you have extra time and energy and cognitive ability and manual dexterity to pursue something aesthetic in your spare time; you recently decided that gun control is a good thing and attended the march in Washington, but you also want to signal to your team just how much you despise Trump and the Republicans . . . the book is a light read (with no solutions to this hole in our cognition) but it will get you thinking about what people are possibly signalling with their actions; here are two things that came to my mind:

1) I've been really broken up about the loss of our dog-- I've been listless and cranky and out of sort since we put him down-- and we had off on Thursday for a "slush day" and I went for a run in the snow in Donaldson Park and this made me sad, because Sirius would always accompany me around the park when it snowed . . . and I recognized that part of this sadness was missing the companionship of my trusty pet and part of it is missing the signalling; when you walk or run or bike with a well-trained athletic dog, you are showing the world that you like animals, that you have a purpose, that you have spent much quality time with this happy creature-- and Sirius was especially well-behaved and friendly . . . in a very real sense, he would attract people (sometimes even good looking people of the opposite sex) because a friendly well-trained dog signals something very particular to the world that we often don't think about, especially if there's a routine about it . . . so I miss that signalling as much as I miss my dog, the hefty responsibility of having a dog is actually part of the attraction: you are saying, on top of my wife and kids and job and all that, I can also take care of an animal and train it properly and exercise with it and take it on adventures . . . and now if I take a walk in the park, I'm just a lonely middle-aged man out for a stroll;

2) I've had a number of people tell me they've essentially stopped listening to music-- they've moved to podcasts and audiobooks-- and I'm wondering if this is a result of cell-phones and headphones and air-conditioning and the ubiquity and accessibility of all content; there's much less communal listening because of digital technology; everybody has everything right inside their phone so you don't need to hang out with your friend who bought the newest CD and sit and listen with them . . . when you are listening communally, music is a real signal-- whether it be on a boom box or a car with all the windows open-- then you need to blast stuff for your tribe: hip hop or alternative or jazz or whatever-- and if people of your tribe are listening, then the signals can get really precise: alt-country is very different than hot country, the type of hip-hop indicates whether you are a wannabe gangsta or a cerebral proponent of multiculturalism  but there's much less of this now, people are ensconced in their own private sonic worlds, so they can listen to whatever music they want and no one will know but they can still signal to the outside world with their audio consumption, it's just more about the residue . . . I certainly like to listen to podcasts, but I also like the after-effect: I know some new stuff that might contribute to the next conversation I participate in . . . and an audiobook is similar, not as much fun to listen to in the moment, but the aftereffect is significant, you've read a book and can discuss this and review it and show off your cognitive ability and your allegiance to particular ideas and people . . . music is a much more powerful signal in the moment, when there's a number of people listening and I think it's sad that we've moved away from this, so the only solution is to buy some giant C batteries and bring back the boom box.

The Test 107: Cunningham Has the Best Words

This week on The Test, the very highly educated Cunningham has the best words, the most beautiful words . . . and you'll have to figure out the rest (as a bonus, Dave and Stacey do tasteless impressions).

Dave Becomes Even More Insufferable (Thanks Charles C. Mann!)

I just finished the new Charles C. Mann book The Wizard and the Prophet (including both appendices) and now I'm chock full of facts and leaking whole lot of half-assed opinions; the Wizard is represented by the so-called father of the Green Revolution, Norman Borlaug, and the Prophet is symbolized by conservationist and ecologist William Vogt . . . Prophets prophesy doom unless we "cut back! cut back!" and Prophets preach conserving wetlands and open spaces, reducing consumption, utilizing bottom up energy solutions, and basically halting constant economic growth and development, which comes at the cost of the earth's resources; Wizards are the "techno-optimists" and they are sure that we will think our way through all these problems, often with large scale projects-- whether they be to harness wind, sun, and tide, desalinate the oceans, or curb global warming by putting sulfur-dioxide in the air; there's also a lot about wheat in the book, Norman Borlaug painstakingly bred super-wheat in order to feed the starving masses (a fun fact, wheat is incredibly diverse genetically and thus there are infinite variations to breed, while humans are incredibly similar genetically-- chew on that, racists!-- and two humans who look nothing alike are more similar genetically than two chimpanzees from the same troop) and Mann describes this wheat breeding in great detail . . . I definitely skimmed this portion of the book-- it's more intense than the corn section of The Omnivore's Dilemma-- but I'm certain that if you select for extra rubisco, throw in a little Haber-Bosch, then you're feeding the billions . . . but a planet with ten billion humans will not resemble our current conception of earth (although we are rapidly approaching this future as far as biodiversity is concerned, see various posts on The Sixth Extinction) and the Prophets worry that super-wheat will simply exacerbate the population bomb . . . and there's a chance that both the Wizards and the Prophets are wrong and Lynn Margulis is right; Margulis, one of the most prominent researchers in the field of microorganisms, believes our planet is a Petri dish, and like most other species, we will breed and exceed-- we will use up all our resources until calamity strikes . . . there are a few indications that she could be wrong-- but nothing to write home about-- violence is at an all time low, in an exponential sense, and there have been some bottom-up successes in Burkina Faso that indicate that we could reforest the desert, creating a giant carbon sink, reinvigorated soil, and a more humid landscape . . . anyway, the conflict in the book, between the Wizard's desire to create technology "to soar beyond natural constraints" and the Prophets hope that we can learn to live in a "steady state" negotiation with our planet, is going to come to a head in our lifetime and Charles C. Mann does a fantastic job with an even-handed look on how things might change (I also highly recommend his two other noted books, 1491 and 1493, which describe the Americas before and after the Columbian exchange).

Several Surefire Strategies

My wife is in the home stretch of a "Biggest Loser" style weight loss gambling ring with a bunch of other women in town, and she's got a shot to win the cash but final weigh-in is this Friday . . . I've cooked up a couple of strategies for her to bring home the bacon-- check them out:

1) she could do some serious sweating: either put on layers and layers of clothing, turn the heat up, and do some Zumba or she could head over to Island Spa . . . the Korean super-spa down the road (I went for the first time today; it's weird and relaxing and a lot of fun; warning: there's certainly a lot of same-sex nudity in the hot-tub room and you wear odd cultish brown uniforms, but the massage was great--if painful-- and they've got all these little themed sweat lodges with temperatures ranging from 122 F to 160 F, perfect for sweating off a bunch of pounds) but

2) if she really wants it, there's one certain path to victory: earlier in the week, Alex had a killer stomach virus which gave him the shits for four days-- he couldn't eat a thing-- so if she licks his toothbrush, she's golden.

Tigger Dad (Tigger is Scottish, Right?)

If you want some ideas on how to get your son to excel in academics, read the first couple chapters of John Stuart Mill's Autobiography.

One More Sad Tale

Yesterday when my wife got home from the grocery store, she saw Ian in the kitchen and asked him where I was and he said, "Dad is out walking the dog" and when she came back in with the next load of groceries, Ian was bawling because for a moment he had forgotten that the dog was dead and gone and then reality hit him like a ton of bricks.

Falling to Pieces (Central Jersey Style)

I feel like I'm living in some tri-state, upper-middle class version of a country song: yesterday we put the dog down; while I was digging his grave in the backyard, I ran into some drainage pipes and an old slate patio-- making the excavation far more difficult than I imagined; my oldest son has had the shits for three days, my youngest son can barely walk (due to a Sunday afternoon soccer collision) and while I was rushing home from work today to check on my sick son and then drive him to the orthodontist (despite his stomach ailment) I got a text from a colleague that read: "Did you leave? We have a meeting and you are presenting."

March Badness

R.I.P. Sirius Black . . . a good boy until the end.

And Thus the Whirligig of Time Brings in His Revenges (Upon Dave and Many Many Others)

I got my just desserts for stripping the joy from NCAA gambling bracketology-- a couple of days ago, I decided filling out brackets for a NCAA tournament pool is akin to a very very slow lottery drawing-- but that's not entirely true, because if you had Virginia to win it all (as I did in one of my brackets . . . thanks Rob) then the tournament just became a very very fast lottery drawing  . . . and, as expected, you lost (did anyone pick UMBC?)

My Wife is No Mantis Shrimp (or is she?)

The mantis shrimp has the most sophisticated visual system in the animal kingdom-- they have from 12 to 16 different kinds of rods and cones (dogs have two kinds of photoreceptors and we have a measly three) but paradoxically, they are absolutely awful at differentiating between colors . . . I'm not even going to attempt to explain why, other than to point out that it might have something to do with communication between mantis shrimp . . . very specific colors might mean things to them but the shades in between certainly do not . . . you can read this or listen to the new Radiolab to get the some of the details (scientific investigation is still underway on the root cause of this contradiction) but I will offer an analogy: while my wife is much better than me at seeing, perceiving, and visually assessing nearly everything in the real and/or aesthetic universe, she did think the shirt I was wearing this morning was green (when it was clearly blue) so I sent her a picture to clear things up.

A March Metaphor

The lottery has been often labeled a "tax on dumb people" and while picking brackets for the NCAA tournament is akin to this kind of gambling, the very important difference is that it's a very very slow lottery drawing . . . it's as if they did one of those old-fashioned ping-pong ball style drawings over the course of two weeks instead of two minutes, so that you have to time to develop all kinds of emotions and feelings about the balls drawn and the numbers on them, your mental state experiencing ups and downs, highs and lows, before you are (almost inevitably) eliminated along with everyone else.

What About Dad?

When I catch kids using cell-phones in class, why are they always texting their mother?

March Sadness

My dog-- ailing from Lymes-- still likes to walk, but he no longer wants to kill cats.

Talking to Women is Damn Near Impossible (for Dave)

Last night during dinner preparation, I noticed something out of the ordinary: my wife was listening to some decent music (Andrew Bird) and she had consciously selected this music, so I wanted to compliment her on her choice, but apparently when you compliment someone, not only is the sentiment itself important but you also have to watch your tone . . . she decided there was some sarcasm in my amazement at her great leap forward in musical taste, but when I vociferously insisted that this was not the case, she still thought the compliment was backhanded-- she inverted the statement and considered it a general condemnation of all the other music she listens to (and while she may have been right in this assumption, I readily admit I'm not crafty enough to couch my true intentions with lies and deception) and so then I tried to ameliorate the situation by discussing this nifty chart correlating SAT scores and musical predilection . . . on Google Play Music, if you play Andrew Bird, then the #1 suggestion is Sufjan Stevens, who is associated with high SAT scores . . . I think this tangential internet foray may have blunted the impact of my failed compliment, but the moral here is when you're talking to women about music, you have to watch your step.

Why? Why Why Why Why Why?

Insert Daylight Saving Time rant here (and also, I really hate these people, who obviously don't have a clue about the most important and-- in modern times-- the most neglected element on Maslow's hierarchy: sleep).

Once You Get In, You Never Get Out

Canceling a gym membership is like trying to retire from the mafia.

Sometimes You Eat the Toe, and Sometimes the Toe Eats You

While The Big Leboswki is hands down my favorite movie, I still don't pretend to understand the plot . . . like Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, the joy of the story is within the strands . . . the ins, the outs, the complicated what-have-you's and the new shit that eventually comes to light . . . but one thing I thought I knew was that Bunny Lebowski had all ten of her toes . . . until I watched the movie with my kids on Wednesday night; when Bunny drives by in her red convertible and you realize she has definitely not been abducted by nihilists, the camera pans across her feet and I always assumed it was to show all ten of her toes-- and that's because you later learn that the nihilist played by musician Aimee Mann has given her toe to abet the ransom scheme-- but Ian noticed that in the red convertible scene, Bunny's little toe on her right foot appears to be missing-- and if you review the clip, it's really hard to tell, it's a very ambiguous little toe-- and while there is a Reddit strand on this topic, it provides no definite answers . . . so it's time to draw a line in the sand and unravel the truth: is Bunny missing a toe?

Preparing For St. Patrick's Day (and the End of the Anthropocene)

Long after the human race has wound down and gone extinct-- the last of the fossil fuels extracted and burnt; the last of the plastics catalyzed and extruded; the rivers and wetlands polluted and poisoned; the oceans barren and static; the soil-- dry and spent-- blowing in the hot wind; roaches, crows, pigeons, rats, and raccoons the only creatures left to roam the depleted biosphere-- long after this, when some other civilization arises (or visits, from the far reaches of the galaxy) and they examine our digital detritus, they will recognize exactly when the humans stepped off the precipice and plunged into the abyss of frivolity and utter disaster and this moment is when Terry, Cunningham and Liz were in the English Office, looking at someone's phone, and vocalizing superlatives about an Inflatable Irish Pub . . .  for a moment I got sucked into the fun, but then I thought twice-- a difficult action in the time of tweets and and snaps-- and I took a look inside the inflatable pub and I recognized the pub for what it was . . . a waste of plastic, a fruitless endeavor, a giant scam, and a vivid and rubbery air-filled symbol that portends the inevitable fall of man . . . here's why:

1) there is no inflatable floor, so it's not even a bouncy inflatable Irish pub . . . if it were bouncy, you could get some exercise, mosh to The Pogues, perhaps "inadvertently" bounce into that special lass or lad you've had your eye on . . . but nope, this is just a shed made of polymers, similar to the one in my backyard, which I never try to foist off as an Irish pub;

2) there's an inflatable fireplace inside, which is patently stupid because

a) it obviously can't hold a real fire;

b) no one wants to look at a fake fireplace while they're sweating their ass off in an unventilated polyethylene kiln;

3) every Irish pub should have a dart board and this pub does not-- I recognize why it does not have a dart board, as pointed objects would endanger the inflatable nature of the pub . . . but that's the moment when the inflatable Irish pub designers should have stepped back and recognized the idiocy of their project;

4) there are no inflatable leprechauns inside this pub, and while I don't expect leprechauns in a real Irish pub (I am 48 years old) there's absolutely no reason not to have a few blow-up leprechauns in this inflatable abortion, leprechauns you could toss around, punt into the rafters, pretend to hump . . . whatever, in order to differentiate this product from a big plastic lawn tent, which is all it is . . . and so I've decided NOT to attend any parties that host one of these contraptions, in a quixotic (and probably misguided) attempt to take a stand for something, anything, in this absurd economy of ours, and I hope you will do the same.

The Machine Is Not Green

Green activist Paul Kingsnorth has given up, and he explains why in his rather grim, beautifully written, and occasionally cabalistic collection Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays . . . this is a heavy read, bordering on a manifesto, and Kingsnorth does not see a traditionally Green future for our planet; he has no regard for the techno-optimists, who very well might solve the major human environmental problems in our future-- climate change and floods and famines and disasters and feeding the burgeoning population-- but he sees very little hope for the things that used to matter to traditional conservationists: biodiversity and wild places and an appreciation for ecology . . . he doesn't even think education is the answer; many people know the facts and most of those people would still rather escape into sleek digitized worlds of their own creation . . . he does have a few lists of what you can do, if you don't want to jump on the techno-optimism bandwagon, if you feel like you are living inside a giant machine, a machine built to drain your data and your bank account; a machine built to convince you to consume more than you need; a machine that persuades you to spend time in front of screens for more and more hours of the day; a machine that throws off your circadian rhythms, creates endless desires and constant jealousies, makes you care about things that you wouldn't ordinarily care about and makes you lose sight of what is important in life, a machine that keeps you from getting outdoors and enjoying what is left of the natural world . . . here are some things you can do:

1) withdraw . . . withdraw as a moral position and refuse to help the machine advance, withdraw "to examine your worldview"

2) preserve non-human life, in any local way shape or method you can 

3) get your hands dirty and do some physical work 

4) insist that nature has value beyond utility, beyond aiding and assisting the economic growth of mankind . . . and tell everyone this

5) build refuges from the oncoming storm;

and then at the end of the book he has eight principles of "uncivilisation" . . . here is a summary:

1) face the oncoming ecological unravelling with honesty and learn how to live within it

2) reject the paradigm of "problems" and solutions

3) change the modern story of progress we have been telling ourselves, because that has separated us from nature

4) make storytelling more than entertainment

5) recognize that humans are not the point of the planet

6) celebrate art and writing that is grounded in place and time, and not symbolic of the "cosmopolitan citadel"

7) no theories and ideologies, write with dirt under your fingernails

8) "the end of the world as we know it is not the end of the world full stop"

p.s. moments after I finished this post, the snowstorm disconnected our house from the machine and we spent an hour in darkness, contemplating "uncivilisation," which means my writing possesses miraculous powers (while I'm probably not the God, I'm certainly a god).

Twelve Fourteen Split

Alex turned 14 last week, while his younger brother is still 12 (they are 14 months apart) and we saw the age gap in action this weekend: Alex went to an afternoon party at a girl's house-- and before he left he fixed the back of his hair so it wasn't all messy, on the advice of his friend's girlfriend; meanwhile, Ian went to his friend's house to play "Nerf" with some guys, a game of warfare, ever-changing rules, and the shooting of enemy combatants with Nerf bullets (and Ian was annoyed that Alex did not attend and instead chose to spend his time at a party with girls).

Is This Normal Small Town Stuff?

Does every town have a crazy white-haired lady with two little white dogs that yells "SLOW DOWN!" when you're driving 27 miles-per-hour in a 25 miles-per-hour zone and-- God forbid-- if you make a rolling stop at a stop sign (because you're creeping up so you can see around the parked cars) then this lady might walk into the middle of the road, creating a barricade because she is flanked by her two little white dogs, and then she might slowly, menacingly stomp toward your car, screaming vehicular epithets and instructions, while your son (who is the front seat) laughs at her?

A Couple of Books That the Unabomber Would Enjoy

Jonathan Moore's The Night Market is a sci-fi crime thriller that blends the byzantine plotting and tone of Raymond Chandler with some William Gibson/Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind type near future technology, and there's also plenty of Philip K. Dick-style paranoia (which is fully deserved) but the real impact of this post-noir San Francisco crime drama is that it is all too real-- the city is a burned out husk, as are most of the people who walk through it, because rampant consumption and a sinister form of advertisement has invaded the consciousness of the city and its inhabitants . . . the conspiracy is far-reaching and just and shallow and greedy as it should be . . . this is a book about giving up and giving in: the apocalypse is here and we are living in it-- and the fact that there is not much difference between the San Francisco in the novel and the world right now is beyond frightening . . . I was already primed for this novel because I've been reading Paul Kingsnorth's new collection of essays, Collections of a Recovering Environmentalist, in which he announces the death of the conservation movement and the promulgation of a new form of neo-liberal economic environmentalism, concerned with carbon sinks, global warming, eco-tourism, and market-based technological solutions for ecological problems, which is in contrast to the old school Green movement, which found intrinsic and sacred value in the beauty of biodiversity and wild landscapes, and celebrated the primal human attachment for natural spaces and places free of human subjugation . . . Moore's The Night Market is the end result of this shift towards data-driven market-based solutions, there is complete consumerism, complete consumption, and a world completely dictated by brands, corporations, markets, and the desire to replace the things that are important with things.

Poetry Birthday Week!

Yesterday, we went to happy hour at the Golden Lion in Milltown to celebrate my birthday and the gang from work gave me some lovely presents, including a laminated original poem in my honor which contains all my favorite allusions . . .  I have hyperlinked them for your perusal:

All who know you, know you've got grit,
you always try your best to stay fit;
you teach your students with cunning and wit,
even Brady admits that your podcast is lit;
and even though you're hairy as shit
some might say you look like a homeless Brad Pitt--

so when you're old and grumbling about the difference between lie and lay
just comfort yourself with the butter you spray!

and they also presented me with my very own bottle of spray butter and a framed photo of faceswap Dave and Stacey where we look like Brad Pitt . . . the best gift was going to the Golden Lion in Milltown for the first time-- it's quite the dive, and has darts, two full sized shuffleboard tables, a nice back room pool table, and fantastic wings . . . I also learned an interesting piece of information: I knew the wings at the Golden Lion were fantastic because years ago, a regular used to bring them to the Park Pub all the time and we would feast on them-- I said as much to the bartender at the Golden Lion and she said, "Yeah, he was stealing those wings . . . that's why he got fired" and then she gave me a high five because I had eaten so many of those stolen wings; anyway, I'd like to thank all that attended, I had a great time and obviously left with my wife at the right moment: I was happily lubricated but not sloshed, and so Alex, Cat and I watched Fargo and went to bed early . . . meanwhile, the ladies closed the place (and we got there at 3 PM) but I guess once you turn 48, if you haven't learned something about alcohol consumption, then you're in serious trouble (the other thing I learned is the worst place to keep a valuable jewel is on a drunk woman's finger . . . why is that a thing?)

Dave and Dr. Seuss Pontificate on the Meaning of Shared Birthdays (in a Universe That May be Experiencing the Nietzschean Eternal Return)

Me and the Seuss,
we share the same date:
coincidence . . .
or an act of fate?
I tend to lean
towards the stochastic
but perhaps our world
is finitely elastic,
so we run the same path
after every big bang
and the Doctor and I
share our groove thang.

Sirius Gives Alex a Birthday Gift

Rollercoaster week for the dog: Monday we had "the talk" with the kids, as Sirius's health appeared to be headed downhill-- he had a couple urination incidents in the house (which never happened before . . . what a dog!) and he was totally lethargic and miserable; after we discussed the reality of his situation, Ian curled into a ball and cried, then he went upstairs to take a nap, I cried when I tried to console him, Catherine cried and hugged me and told me that we'd never have another dog like him (she's had a lot of dogs) and I had a couple of sleepless nights trying to figure out when to put him down (I was hoping he would make it through the week, because today is Alex's birthday and tomorrow is my birthday . . . that's no present) but Sirius must have heard us planning to shuffle him off his mortal coil and decided he'd rather be than not be, because yesterday he started wagging his tail, he greeted me like normal when I got home from work, and he actually ate some dog food, today he properly pooped and actually jumped up when I was getting ready to walk him-- his usual behavior-- and then he wouldn't let me bring him home-- he just wanted to keep walking around the park . . . the vet said that some of these medicines might take a while to work, so we are now cautiously optimistic that something good is happening inside his body and perhaps the kidney infection is abating . . . but at the very least he's not going to head into that undiscovered country on my son's birthday (or mine, I hope).