First, people said that art imitates life, then Oscar Wilde flipped this idea around and said that more often, life imitates art-- very clever, Oscar-- but I am going to set the record straight, boring though it may be: life typically imitates life, and art typically imitates art, and rarely do the two meet.
Mysteriously Meta-Magical
If you're in the mood for something meta, you could certainly read Moonflower Murders by meta-mystery master Anthony Horowitz . . . or if you're in the mood for something metamagical (and you've already read the Hofstadter collection) you could watch Nathan Fielder's "reality" show The Rehearsal . . . but be warned: you're wife might not like it.
Fireworks Etiquette?
I am not as big on manners, etiquette, and calling out rudeness as my wife-- most of the time, breaches of decorum fascinate me more than annoy me-- but even I was at the end of my rope last night at the town fireworks display; my wife and I walked down the street with a couple of camping chairs and sat at the top of the hill overlooking the park-- they shoot off the fireworks from down by the river-- and a group of middle-aged ladies and a guy (and when I saw middled-aged I mean they seemed a little older than us . . . but who the hell knows anymore because we're old too) stood behind us-- very close to our chairs and they started having an insanely annoying and very loud conversation-- which is fine, it's Independence Day and we're celebrating free speech and the first amendment and all that-- but then they continued the conversation once the fireworks began-- but they had to talk even louder and motion even more vociferously, because they had to compete with the explosions-- and their discussion ranged from places they had traveled: Bar Harbor, Arizona, Duluth . . . with no theme-- just basically saying places-- to a long and tangential discussion of the speed of sound-- and they estimated the speed of sound for quite a while, never really getting close to the actual speed (approximately 761 mph/1100 feet per second) and its relation to the speed of light and how you see the fireworks before you hear them-- then they started estimating the distance of the mortars from the viewing area-- on and on and on, non-stop inane dialogue, right in our ears-- and I knew my wife was really getting pissed off and so was the guy standing in front of me-- I thought he was going to turn around and hit them with his cane, he kept giving them the evil eye-- but they didn't notice because they were yapping away-- and his daughter kept trying to calm him down so he didn't commit assault with an ambulatory assistive device-- and then those two finally moved and my wife and I followed suit . . . the loudest lady of the coven said, "YOU'RE GIVING UP THIS GOOD SPOT?" but we did not deign to talk to her and instead walked a bit up the hill and watched the finale with a neighbor and his daughter, with the proper amount of conversation for a firework display-- we said appropriate things like "ooh, that's a nice one" and "wow" and "that's a crowd favorite" and so while I am a proponent of freedom and liberty and do-what-you-want, I will say that these very annoying people were definitely pushing the boundaries of personal space and allowable noise during a visual display.
What's Better Than Dinosaurs? Genetically Engineered Hybrid Dinosaurs!
While I am sick of sequels and reboots and revivals and live-action remakes, there is always a special spot in my heart for dinosaurs (and any giant creature feature) so my wife and I went over to the Rutgers Cinema to see Jurassic World Rebirth today and while the movie is certainly more of the same-- the people who deserve to get eaten get eaten; we are warned not to tamper with mother nature; and science should benefit all of humanity-- there is also wonderful meta-element to the theme . . . in this film, we are in a post-dinosaurian future, where humans have become accustomed and even inured to the existence of these creatures-- and the dinosaurs are not faring well in zoos and parks and such, they are dying of disease and because the air is not oxygen rich enough and so they are really only thriving near the equator-- BUT because people were bored of typical dinosaurs, a lab in the tropics was engineering bizarre and scary genetic hybrid dinosaurs, to increase interest and demand in the creatures and revitalize the industry-- but the lab had a containment breach and was abandoned and this is the island where this cast of characters ends up-- so these genetically engineered dinosaurs, made ostensibly to revive public interest in dinosaurs, also revive public interest in the dinosaur movie-- Jurassic World Rebirth-- because these dinosaurs are even creepier and smarter and more dangerous than actual dinosaurs-- good fun-- and I also like the that the movie opens with monkeys observing dinosaurs and looking like "WTF" and ends with dolphins riding alongside the escape vessel-- the film is saying: THESE are the creatures we should be concerned with, the creatures we have and need to protect-- and we should stop mucking about with creatures that died off tens of millions of years ago.
Let Freedom Explode Loudly All Night
Most of my post-Independence Day was triumphant and celebratory: I returned to full force on the pickleball court, despite my sketchy hamstring and I celebrated my recovery with some beer and tequila at my friend's pool . . . but this celebration was interrupted by a phone call from Ian-- he found our dog panting and shaking in the bathroom and thought she was very sick, so I drove home to check her out but she was simply hiding from the bombs-- there's been fireworks goign off for days and she's losing her mind because of this-- she's getting more anxious about loud noises and she gets older-- and so am I -- last night I woke with a start and asked my wife who was knocking at our bedroom door, which is a scary thing to ask someone who is currently dreaming-- but it was just more fucking fireworks . . . maybe we should celebrate Independence Day with voter registration or a historical reenactment of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence . . . something less loud and more dog-friendly.
Happy Fourth, Goldie Hawn!
The Sugarland Express, Steven Spielberg's theatrical directorial debut, is a fine film to watch on the Fourth of July-- as the movie seems to be set on July 3rd or 4th (because of the parade in Rodrigo) but the actual events that inspired the film did NOT happen during July . . . and the true story is equally as bizarre and compelling as the film: the 1969 kidnapping of Texas State Trooper Kenneth Crone by Robert and Ila Fae Dent . . . the Dents, on the run with the mission to reclaim their child from foster care, led police on a dramatic chase across Texa-- and while Robert Dent is shot to death by an FBI agent and a local Sheriff, Ila Fae Dent did her time and actually regained custody of her child.
Father of the Week!
Tuesday, I had to bring my son Alex a pair of pants so he could participate in his engineering lab (no shorts allowed! Alex said another student who wore shorts had to change into snow pants-- with suspenders-- that was all he had in his car) and today Alex needed me to print out his formula sheet for his fluid dynamics exam and drive it over to him because all the libraries are closed for July 4th weekend and he had no access to a printer-- good thing he goes to Rutgers and lives five minutes away . . . and the moral of the story is: it's great when your kids make you feel needed and you can actually solve the problem quickly and easilty, like when they were little tykes and they needed help getting something off a high shelf or needed a hand with some simple homework-- you rarely get to do that for adult sized children, their problems are usually more in the existential and financial and philosophical vein and much harder to solve in a jiffy.
Sometimes Your (Rather Large) Kid Needs a Pair of Pants
I thought my days of dropping off a fresh pair of pants for a child at school were long over, but my 21-year-old son Alex called me yesterday from Rutgers-Busch Campus and said he wasn't allowed into his engineering lab while wearing shorts, and so I procured a pair of pants from Ian, drove them over to engineering building, tossed them out the car window to him him in the parking lot, and recognized that this parenting shit is probably never going to end.
Trust No One . . . Especially Dave
My new episode of We Defy Augury: "Trust No One: Unreliable Narration in Life and Art" is (loosely) inspired by the novels of Jim Thompson and the Richard Russo essay "In Defense of Omniscience"-- and there is also a film quiz . . . see how you fare.
Jersey's Finest
Good thing it's summer (and I'm not working) because Bruce Springsteen just released "Tracks II: The Lost Albums," which includes 83 songs and 5 hours and 20 minutes of "new" Bruce music—unreleased tracks from 1983 to 2018... I've listened to some, and it seems to be high-quality material, not just a bunch of outtakes and B-sides... I'm especially impressed by the "Philadelphia Sessions"—which Bruce recorded in the early 1990s, after the success of his song "Streets of Philadelphia"—these tracks feature drum loops and synthesizer washes and sound much more modern than most Bruce songs—"Blind Spot" is particularly good... anyway, I hear there are more interesting songs deeper in, so I will slowly dig through and enjoy this treasure trove from the Boss.
To Live and Die in the 80s (wearing very tight blue jeans) in L.A.
My wife and I watched To Live and Die in L.A. last night — it's streaming for free on Amazon Prime and I don't know how we missed this one in the theater; it's from 1985! — directed by William Friedkin (who also directed The French Connection and The Exorcist) it's a fast-paced noir thriller that begins with a rogue U.S. Secret Service agent going on a reckless, unsanctioned mission; Richard Chance — played by a young William Petersen of later CSI fame — lives up to his name, he's a base jumper who drinks and smokes constantly and instead of a G-man suit, he wears a football jersey, a scarf, and tight jeans-- very Don Johnson-- and between all the cigarettes, booze, and tight jeans, I don't know how he chases down the bad guys, but he does; right at the start, a master counterfeiter, played by a very young and unwrinkled Willem Dafoe, kills Chance's partner (with only three days left to retirement! so classic) and Chance pulls his new partner into a seedy underworld of morally bankrupt behavior that may or may not result in justice-- it’s worth watching this film for the credits font and the 80s fashion alone — and the excellent soundtrack by Wang Chung-- but there’s also an epic car chase that actually makes sense in terms of plot, character, and setting . . . I don't know how they pulled off this chase without digital effects — it's masterful; anyway, Roger Ebert gave this film four stars, and it deserves them, it’s cocaine-fueled, artsy violence in a grittier, seedier L.A. that doesn't exist anymore-- every scene is frenetic and full of interesting extras and you’ll half-recognize nearly every main actor, including Jane Leeves (she was "the virgin" in Seinfeld, but she's certainly not that in this film) but be warned — there's some hardcore 80s violence, nudity, profanity, and drinking of Miller High Life.
Hello Humans!
Now that we've entered the AI revolution, it's highly improbable that anyone other than my good friends will end up in the godforsaken corner of the internet-- there's no reason to follow a trail of digital breadcrumbs to a weird space like this, as Google now provides a linkless AI answer to any query-- the internet is becoming more like Walmart and less like a digital version of the Route 1 Flea Market and while this is convenient, it's also sad-- because there are amazing human stories of resilience and perseverance out in the world . . . I've been writing this blog with a pulled hamstring, which now seems to be recovered enough for me to play pickleball tomorrow-- I tested it out at the gym today with a variety of sprints and starts and stops, and now I'm writing this blog, tired and sweaty and a bit sore, something AI will never be able to claim . . . unless it sometimes feels its heatsink getting hotter and hotter and impairing its computing abilities?
First Day of Summer!
I managed to shake off the cobwebs this morning (after yesterday's long day of celebratory drinking) and Cat and I hiked up Baldpate Mountain in the unseasonably cool weather and then walked across the bridge from Lambertville to New Hope and had lunch at the Ferry Market-- New Hope has really cleaned up its act (and gentrified-- it's no longer full of head shops and junk stores) since we last visited.
School's Out Forever . . . or at least for a while.
Another end of the school year . . . and another end of the school year mural-- and goodbye to Jess-- the centerpiece to this mural-- a great boss who got totally screwed over by our district.
Entrepreneurial Kids Are the Worst
Nothing turns my stomach more than happening upon a cute little kid running a ramshackle lemonade stand-- a moment before, I had no desire to purchase lemonade-- lemonade wasn't even in my consciousness-- in fact, most of the time, I'm trying to avoid anything equivalent to lemonade, any kind of artificially sweetened drink loaded with high fructose corn syrup-- and now suddenly, because we live in a capitalist economy that encourages this kind of thing, I feel guilty about NOT purchasing a sugary drink I didn't want to begin with, from an unlicensed, uninspected, ungraded drink stand that's in violation of multiple health codes and child labor laws-- I hate to be the bad guy here, but the local police force needs to make an example of one of these ambitious little lawbreakers and toss them-- and their parents-- in the clink.
Heat is Relative
It's 100 degrees today in New Jersey-- as hot as it gets-- and when I got in my car to leave the school parking lot, I burned my hands on the steering wheel . . . but it's going to be 114 degrees in Phoenix next week-- that seems incomprehensibly hot . . . do you have to turn your car on and let the A/C run for a while before you can actually drive-- or do people in Phoenix wear sylish leather driving gloves?
Il Gattopardo
The Leopard is the best novel by a Sicilian I have ever read . . . it is also the only novel by a Sicilian that I have ever read, I think-- which is shameful because my grandfather was from Sicily . . . anyway, it's never to late to start learning-- and this novel by Sicilian writer Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa detail the social and political changes in Sicily during the Risorgimento, and Garabaldi's expedition to unify Sicily with the rest of Italy-- and it really gets into what living in a hot, desolate, drought-ridden, volcanic, craggy and isolated place like Sicily does to the character of one's citizens and it certainly makes me want to visit (but I know not to go in against any Sicilians, especially when death is on the line).
Severed (from the Humidity)
My wife and I visited Bell Works in Holmdel today-- the mixed-use facility built within the old Bell Labs building and the site where some of the show Severance was filmed-- and while we were not severed from our consciousness when we entered the vast and beautifully designed indoor space, we were severed from the disgusting humid weather . . . the air-conditioning in the massive atrium is top-notch (and there were people doing laps and walking dogs in there, enjoying the cool air) and on the way home we stopped at the Source Brewery for a beer and Delicious Orchards for some bread and cheese, a decent way to kill a very hot and muggy Sunday afternoon.
Wax On, Wax Off
I just applied Musher's Secret paw wax on my dog's little feet-- this stuff helps protect your dog's paw pads when it's extremely cold, and the combination of salt and ice can make the pavement and sidewalk feel like it is below freezing-- and it also helps when the weather gets unreasonably hot, which is happening right now in New Jersey-- I just walked her and it was damned hot and apparently in the next several days it's going to get more than ten degrees hotter than this hotness, which will be godamned hot.
Karaoke in the Daylight is Weird
Another school year, another end-of-the-year party . . . and a new addition in the diversions-- besides cornhole, this year there was also karoake . . . yikes . . . and the party was comprised mainly of history, English, and gym teachers-- not the music department-- and I got bullied into singing a song with very few lyrics: "Don't Come Around Here No More" . . . which is more awkward to sing than a song with a lot of lyrics-- because there's not much to do during the music (unless you can dance, which . . . nope).
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