I am still basking in the glow of last night's epic Knicks victory over the Hawks-- the Knicks were up 51 points at halftime-- a margin large enough for us to watch an episode of West Wing before returning to the game--. I should tell you that West Wing is a very good show that we missed and still feels quite relevant (although also totally dated because it's a bunch of smart, talented, dedicated, clever, wonky folks running the White House) and this enormous early lead also assuaged my anxiety about missing game seven because I am scheduled to referee a soccer match on Saturday evening (also a fantastic Sixers win to stretch the Boston/Philadelphia series to seven games . . . things are looking up for the Knicks!)
Kids: Moving Fast, Taking Chances (A Very Special Sentisode)
Today, during passing time, I got knocked out of the way by a fast-moving student-- or I should say I got ushered aside by his white cane, because this student, who was moving faster than me through the hallway congestion, was blind.
Martha Wells Kills It With Murderbot
Network Effect, the fifth book in Martha Wells "Murderbot Diaries" series, is longer and more complicated than her earlier novellas-- it's definitely "hard" sci-fi, replete with malignant code, memory wipes, killware, infectious alien remnants, future legalese, hostage protocols, wormholes, surveillance drones, futuristic space-opera content, and many other specific and developed sci-fi tropes-- but none of that matters all that much . . . at it's heart it's another story of Murderbot, the rogue and existentially curious Security Unit cyborg, learning how to "network" and have relationships in a world not governed by its governor module-- and the relationhip between Murderbot and the AI that runs a deep-space research and survey ship-- nicknamed ART (Asshole Research Transport) by Murderbot, is especially poignant . . . and often awkward and humorous-- brilliant voice, brilliant sci-fi, brilliant Martha Wells.
Pickleball is the New Frisbee Golf?
Buccleuch Park-- which is adjacent to Rutgers College Avenue campus— now contains eighteen (count them!) pickleball courts, and the youngsters have discovered the game-- there were only two free courts left when all of us old folks got there today . . . the place was mobbed with college students, and they are, as a group: terrible at pickleball; they hit the ball all over the place; they walk behind courts while points are being played; they stand around in awkward places; they blast terrible music; and they don't wear nearly enough clothing for the weather . . . but I guess they are the future of the sport . . . the tennis courts are empty.
Adapting to Adaptive PE
I covered for an aide today in an Adaptive PE class, and my job was to help out a nonverbal autistic boy who likes to grab whatever he can get his hands on-- and we had quite a time convincing him to go down the stairs to the sub-gym . . . while I didn't get much grading done during this coverage, it was a good reminder of all the different levels of learning going on in my school and how many dedicated adults (and student helpers!) work with these kids each and every day.
Rocco Knows Best
Under the tutelage of Rocco the Assessor . . . The Assessor of Soccer Refs, I worked my first center, which I found quite enjoyable: the time goes fast, you have to really lock in and focus, you get plenty of cardio, and you have to realize that ten-year-olds fall down a lot, even when there is no foul . . . this was also my first time dealing with a build-out line, which is an excellent rule but does require a lot of reminding the offensive team to retreat on goal kicks and goalie possessions-- but it does encourage some passing and possession . . . and I got the hang of it, and the parents were well behaved, perhaps because I was in Metuchen, not North Brunswick.
Go Southampton (or whatever) but Go Knicks!
My friend organized a watch party at our local bar for the Southampton vs. Man City FA cup game earlier today--apparently, he's been rooting for Southampton for the last fifteen years and was hoping they could unseat mighty Man City . . . and while they came close to doing so, breaking a nil-nil tie in the 80th minute when Finn Azaz scored on a wonderful bending shot, the upset was not to be and Man City scored two quick goals in response-- but it was fun to get invested in a random team, root for them for one game, and then instantly forget about the result-- unlike the mood I'll be in at 6:30 PM tonight, when the Knicks play the Hawks . . . the Knicks are down a game in the series, they have lost the last two games by one point, and they are really struggling against the scrappy, fast, athletics Hawks team-- I think they should let Towns go to town all game, because the Hawsk lack a real center and this should put them in foul trouble-- but mainly they can't do the normal Towns and Brunson type baskets where they bang around and finally explode toward the hoop, scoring but falling to the floor-- because while they're getting back up off the floor, the Hawks have already zoomed down the court and scored-- in a five on four situation-- the Knicks also need to hit some threes early, so they can get back on defense quickly-- and Josh Hart and Mikal Bridges need to score some points tonight!
Wait Up!
Made a semi-triumphant return to 6:30 AM basketball this morning-- basically the reverse of the Knicks last night-- nailed my first three-point attempt in months but then missed the next three . . . most importantly, my knee and hamstring held up, although I am moving slowly now-- I couldn't keep up with my wife and the dog when we took a walk in the park-- and I certainly couldn't keep up with the old man we saw running in the park, and not only was he running at a brisk clip, into the wind, but he was also holding an umbrella to block the sun-- you don't see that everyday.
Caffeine Regrets
It is right about now-- 6:30 PM-- that I wish I had my usual post-work cup of coffee.
Tuesday Zemblanity
Yesterday-- even though it was Tuesday, the stupidest day of the week—I tried to start my day with some purpose, and I started cleaning out my file cabinets: stacking folders everywhere; tossing old photocopies that I knew I would never use; organizing photocopies that I needed for the fourth quarter-- I had folders and stacks of papers all over the room-- and I was doing this because I have first period off on B days and so I have 83 minutes to plan, grade, and get organized-- but then I went upstairs to the office for a moment, to chat with a colleague, and when I came back downstairs, I was surprised to find my room was full to the brim with teenagers and a gym teacher . . . and he informed me that my room was going to be used for Health Class for the fourth quarter-- so all my folders and photocopies were on the floor and my first period B Day sanctuary was corrupted . . then I spent a typical day with the seniors-- laziness, lateness, narcolepsy, etcetera-- but the weather turned nice after school so I biked over to Bucheuh Park to play pickleball with some friends-- and it only took me fifteen minutes to bike over there, which was wonderful-- and the courts were full of half-naked college kids and are one group of old people (the dudes next to us asked if we could give them some lessons) but after an hour-and-a-half of fantastic play, we were beset by gale-force winds-- and it's nearly impossible to play pickleball in high winds-- so we called it and I started biking home, into a serious headwind-- perhaps that's why I arrived so quickly; I must have had a tailwind-- and by the time I got over the bridge, I was wiped out and decided to walk my bike across the crazy intersection with the stairs, instead of attempting some dangerous uphill mountain biking tactics-- and this was unfortunate because as I was walking my bike across the intersection, my old acupuncturist spotted me from her car-- and I have happily switched to a new, much more sane acupuncturist, as I thought this lady stopped practicing-- but apparently not-- and she started yelling at me that I should text her or she would text me and she wanted to get me back on the table-- and I was walking my bike so I couldn't make a quick escape and it was very awkward-- I don't want to get into the whole thing but I was hoping to make a clean break of things . . . I thought I HAD made a clean break of things . . . but, you know, Tuesday zemblanity.
New Things Get Old
When I see a "New Driver, Please Be Patient" bumper sticker, my first thought is "how long has this fucking thing been on that car?"
No Merging For You
While I try not to be racist or sexist, I am definitely (and deliberately) automobilist-- if I have the choice, I'll let a small fuel-efficient car merge in front of me, but I'll box out one of those behemoth pick-up trucks or a fancy sports car or an Escalade or anything that I deem too big and wide to be driven by a civilian on a run to the store for some Cheetos.
Go Knicks!
My wife returns from Florida tomorrow morning, and then life will regain its usual rhythm-- not that I did anything wild while she was gone, it was mainly business as usual-- but I tried to do a bit of socializing even though my instinct when I am left to my own devices is to hole up and read and get high and strum my guitar: I went to Happy Hour yesterday at B2 Bistro, but I only had one beer (and then a Coke, which Cunningham roundly insulted for drinking) because I had pickleball practice at 7 PM and needed my wits about me (Terry also only had one beer because he was reffing a soccer match at 7 PM but he had a Diet Coke after his beer) and pickleball practice was fun-- my calf is healed and my new paddle seems to be functional (Vatic Pro V-sol Power) but because my friend Ann wasn't there-- her knee hurt-- there was only one other non-Mandarin speaker at practice and so I really did not understand exactly what was happening-- and then this morning I substituted for Catherine and had coffee at her friend Johanna's house (Connell and Adrian were there too, so I wasn't the only guy crashing) and I talked to my neighbor Pernille quite a bit about the state of education and AI (she's a Rutgers professor) and tonight I'm hanging out with Ian and his friend (and possibly Alex) for the Knicks game-- I'm buying sandwiches so that the youngsters will socialize with me-- but I will be very glad when Cat is back in Jersey.
So Hard to Find Good Help . . .
I recognize that this Study Hall bathroom duty is a very easy job-- but it's also interminably boring . . . class should not be 83 minutes long: I've read, I've graded, I've planned, I've paced, I've stretched, and now I've even written this sentence-- I've done everything except fall asleep, which is what I feel like doing.
Dave as a Bachelor is No Gourmand
My mom had heart surgery yesterday, and she is already checked out of the hospital-- the miracles of modern medicine . . . and she didn't even need Donald Trump to lay hands on her!-- meanwhile, back at the ranch, I miss my wife-- she went down to Naples with my brother to help my mom out . . . Ian and I have been eating the baked ziti she made before she left, but we're nearly at the end of it, so we got some sandwiches from Park Deli for dinner tonight-- and I did cut up some peppers and lettuce and cucumbers and eat a salad with the ziti last night, to get some roughage-- but it seems that if my wife leaves town, the menu mainly consists of pasta and beer (and takeout) and so I will be glad when she returns.
Summer in April . . .
I took off work today to monitor my mom's progress during surgery-- she's getting a cow valve to replace a valve in her heart?-- and things are looking good-- she's through the surgery and in recovery now, and my brother and my wife are down in Naples, Florida to help her out-- although the recovery is supposed to be very fast . . . and, oddly, it's hotter here in central Jersey than it is in Florida-- I was just soaking my wife's garden so that the spring flowers don't shrivel up and die-- school is going to be very, very hot tomorrow (they had the heat on over the weekend).
Some Things That Need to Be Said
Dave With an Idea To Help the Youth
In the newest Plain English episode, "The Job Market for Young People is Brutal," Derek Thompson talks to Rogé Karma about the reasons for the terrible job prospects for young people and how this is NOT all to be blamed on AI . . . the job market is bad for young people with college degrees and possibly worse for people without degrees and this stems from inflation and consequent higher interest rates, and the Great Resignation, and Trump caused ecosnomic volatility-- tariffs, trade wars, the Iran debacle-- and also certainly the ageing of our workforce, the fact that people are working longer, and the gigantic age wage gap . . . old people make so much more than young people now and it pushes adulthood back-- the ability of young people to buy a house, get married, move-out, and start a business or start-up-- and this leads me to believe that a job like mine-- a teacher-- and also police, firemen, and probably a lot of other state jobs-- the salaries should be on a bell curve-- so that you make your highest salary when you are around 50 years old and then your salary starts to decline-- so that there's an incentive for you to leave and take you pension and not hang around forever and block young people from getting jobs.
Planned Pickleball Obsolescence?
No time to write a coherent sentence because I'm shopping for a new pickleball paddle-- which is a completely incoherent experience . . . there are too many types . . . and the stupid things wear out in six to nine months, and I've had mine for over a year.
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