I took my last personal day today, and it's been a pretty good day, pretty pretty good . . . I walked the dog-- no barkin', no smog-- and then worked on my podcast, ate some leftover pizza for breakfast, went to Ace and played several hours of indoor pickleball-- where I'm trouble-- and then drove straight from pickleball to the pool and swam a few laps, came home and took a two-hour nap, roused myself and went out to Shanghai Dumpling for Ian's birthday-- he turns twenty-one tomorrow-- and now I'm settling in to watch the USA vs. Paraguay World Cup game, and I've got the brew and the chronic, and I didn't have to use my AK-- I don't even own an AK-- so I gotta say, it was a good day.
OG!OG!OG! Hustling From the Inbound Pass!
I went out and had a couple of beers for the first half of the Knicks game last night-- 3 dollar Miller Lights at our local bar!-- then I walked home, morose and pessimistic, at halftime and fell asleep-- the Knicks were down 29 points, so I didn't think they had a chance in hell, and I was exhausted from watching all this late-night basketball-- luckily, my son woke me up when he got home from New Brunswick, and I watched the final minutes with him, his girlfriend, and his buddy Gary-- and when the Knicks completed the largest comeback in NBA playoff history, sealing the game with OG Anunoby's tip-in off a long Brunson three-point attempt, we all screamed so loudly we woke up my wife (and scared the dog) but the real issue here is this: what are we going to call this monumental, life-changing basket? . . . The Perfect Putback? The Hand of OG? The Timely Tip? . . . or just "The Tip" . . . scratch that one, that doesn't sound right . . . but it needs to be called something, I'm sure the internet will figure it out.
Getting in Shape for the Battle of Zela
Today, after a soupy day at school, I went to the YMCA pool to swim laps, and I would like to say "I came, I swam, I conquered," but I haven't swum all that much lately, so it was more like "I came, I swam, I did not drown."
Focus This
Our principal sat my friend and colleague Stacey down at the prom and asked her if I was returning to teach next year or if I was perhaps secretly retiring-- and Stacey assured him that I WAS returning for another year of fun and chaos-- but the reason he was asking is that I somehow missed and did not respond to FIVE emails asking me to sign my letter of intent and contract . . . this was very embarrassing, as I have been on the ol' email several times in the past month (I'm not a diligent emailer, but I do check it occasionally) and there's proof in my inbox and sent messages that I've read emails and responded to emails recently, but I somehow missed these-- despite the double red exclamation points and all caps-- and I first blamed the FOCUSED and OTHER tabs but I think the real reason is I pinned too many important messages to the top and I wasn't really seeing many new emails . . . whatever the reason, it certainly wasn't my fault-- but I had to drive over to the Board of Ed building on my off period and sign my letter because the high school secretary had sent them all back over there and so I met another very nice secretary with an Irish accent and she said that I "wasn't the only one" but my colleagues insist she said this just tto make me feel better.
Dave . . . Not Only Does He LOOK Like an Old Man . . .
I heard an excellent Built to Spill song a couple of weeks ago on my buddy Whitney's radio show, and since then, I've been playing the band's catalog nonstop on Spotify-- and so I got very excited today when I was walking down the English hallway, and I heard "The Plan" emanating from my friend Denise's classroom-- I was like: Holy shit! Built to Spill! What are the odds! I wonder why she's playing this song? and so I popped in and started rambling on about how excited I was to hear a song from the 1999 album "Keep It Like a Secret," an album I just started listening to in its entirety, an album full of sprawling, catchy, slightly experimental guitar-driven prog rock-- reminiscent of "The Soft Bulletin" by The Flaming Lips-- and then, in the midst of my musical monologue, I realized that "The Plan" was not emanating from her classroom; it was emanating from MY phone, which was in my pocket, and my soliloquy and my consciousness just sort of fizzled out, and Denise said, "You're acting like a crazy person," and I agreed with her, pulled out my phone, shut off the music, and rambled on, singing my song, round the world . . . you get the picture.
Sunday, Day of Running Around?
No rest for the wicked today (or the good, as my wife got a lot of shit done as well) but I went to bed early last night; awoke early; finished Act 4, scene 6, of my Hamlet podcast-- one more scene to go and then Act IV is done, hooray-- then reffed a game in Metuchen; met my wife for lunch at the Metuchen Corner Deli; reffed another game in Metuchen-- which was delayed because of thunder so our third ref took off early to Monroe, where our last game was located, and we finished the second game with just the two of us (and it got a little out of hand; one team was particularly obnoxious) and then Carlo and I drove from Metuchen to Monroe, where our third game had already started, and we took our AR positions, finished that, split the cash, and then I stopped at my mom's place in Monroe and jumped in the pool, and then I drove home and walked the dog and then loaded up my wife's car with the rest of the disassembled bed and dumped that in the park dumpster, and then I finally headed home to shower and eat-- Mexican lasagna-- and I don't even want to get into all the stuff my wife got done today, but maybe we should become Puritans and actually rest on Sunday.
Sometimes, You SHOULDN'T Try . . .
The end of my plumbing saga is both disheartening and instructive-- I called my buddy the plumber on Friday afternoon, and he had just gotten to the bar, so he made an emergency visit because I told him it wouldn't take long-- I just needed him to hook up this sink properly so it didn't leak and I had done the bulk of the work, but then when he took a look at it, he was like, "This is a mess, we've got to take this off the wall . . . how did you hook this to the wall?" and he undid my pathetic and sloppy wire job and then they disassembled the entire sink-- which was a pain in the ass-- and when I told him, "I had the instructions so I figured I'd give it a try" he said, "I wish you hadn't-- we'd be done by now if you didn't try" and then they did everything differently than the instructions-- because they're professionals-- and assembled the whol thing outside the bathroom, the siliconed the sink to the wall-- nobody told me I could do that-- and then they ran some hot water to expand the gaskets (one of which I put in backwards-- it happens, they said) and then they tightened things a bit more and then I gave them 200 bucks-- which probably would have been 100 bucks if I did nothing at all-- and we called it a day—but now I know with plumbing, I'm not even going to try . . . because even though I am an English teacher and I can read instructions in English, the instructions are bullshit and you need a plumber to do plumbing.
Movies, Making a Comeback?
Today was a weird half-day at school-- it's prom night, but the powers-that-be also thought it would be a great day for the After the Fire presentation-- a documentary and Q&A given by survivors from the Seton Hall dorm room fire-- and while the presentation was moving, prom day might not be the right vibe for it . . . the seniors were pre-occupied and anxious and frantic about prom houses and nails and hair and all that and so cramming them all in the auditorium for two hours didn't work all that well-- and I was outside the auditorium doing bathroom duty for two hours and then I had a random class, so I brought my cornhole board and we played, but the most fun I had was discussing the awesome low-budget indie horror phenomenon Obsession with all the students that saw it-- this felt like the old days, when students actually went to the movies and got obsessed with certain films-- and Obsession is a great one to talk about-- it has a Gremlins meets Fatal Attraction feel and there's plenty to unpack: whose fault is it; why doesn't Bear know the "Aladdin rules" about wishes; why does she cook the cat? is Nikki the cat? is this indicative of Millennials and how they express their feelings?. . . I talked about every scary and funny moment with both the students and my own kids and their friends-- it's really excellent that young people are going back to the movies--and not just movies about folks people already know, like Iron Man-- my wife and I saw Obsession in a crowded college movie theater, and people were laughing and gasping and screaming-- so catch this one in the theater; it's very good, scary, gory, disturbing fun.
How Did I Miss This Stuff?
I'm not sure how Dave Martsch's indie project/band "Built to Spill" flew under my radar for so many years-- but I am enjoying their music now (and it's always nice to discover some music from the past you now like but totally missed in the moment, probably because we had to buy CDs back then so if you didn't own it or your friend didn't own it, and it wasn't on the radio, then you didn't hear it) especially the album "Keep It Like a Secret"-- sounds like Flaming Lips meets Modest Mouse with a touch of Jane's Addiction and Pavement.
I Give Up
I went to Home Depot, bought some threaded tape and gaskets, hooked everything up, twisted a bunch of knobs, tightened some shit, and then gave it a try, and it leaked-- so I'm giving up and calling a professional . . . but at least I tried.
Plumbing Sucks
I did some work on the sink today, but I'm stuck on step five (of sixteen?) because I need to go to Home Depot and buy some rubber gaskets and some thread seal tape (and I probably need to undo some of the shit I've done . . . because plumbing sucks).
Dave Keeps His Mouth Shut and Reaps the Rewards
Over the past few days, I've been killing it with the lies and half-truths-- essentially refraining from saying my actual opinion: on Saturday night, my wife realized she lost her engagement ring and I immediately thought this was because she never zips up her purse-- I'm always zipping it for her . . . she leaves it unzipped ALL THE TIME, and shit is always falling out of it and hanging out of it—but I refrained from saying this and I remained totally positive and optimistic that she would find it-- even though I figured it fell out of where she put it (her sunglass case?) at some random moment and was lost forever-- because she leaves her purse unzipped-- and then, miracle, she found it under her desk at school today and all was well and I did not get in trouble for blaming the loss on her poor zipping habits or being pessimistic; then today, I made a RADICAL move to amend her poor sandwich roll selection-- she bought some smallish, rather stale rolls when she went grocery shopping Sunday but instead of complaining this morning, I made my sandwich on this lousy stale roll and remained stoic and silent, knowing that complaining about these rolls would NOT be a good idea for the health of my marriage-- because grocery shopping sucks-- and then third period— - just before lunch-- when I walked into the English office, there was a loaf of sourdough bread and butter on the table and I took a slice and slathered it with butter and ate it and it was delicious and then I was struck by a bolt of lightning, the lightbulb went off-- and I was alone in the office-- so I hacked two slices of bread off this loaf (consuming most of it) and TRANSFERRED my sandwich from the shitty stale roll to this amazing flavorful chewy sourdough bread, and when people returned to the office, there was a complaint or two that I had sorely depleted the sourdough, but it was worth it because my sandwich was much improved (and I did not provoke my wife's wrath by complaining about her roll selection) and so this just goes to show that sometimes Dave should keep his mouth shut and he will be rewarded by fortune's good favors.
Sunday: Day of Ref
I reffed five matches this weekend (well, actually I got paid to ref five matches, but one match was a forfeit . . . ) and I now consider myself a real referee, as yesterday's U-14 Boys match gave me a wealth of experience-- one guy didn't show up, so I was the center, and I only had one AR, and the game was a little wild-- I had to take control of things, as the scrappy Plainfield team had some giant children on it and while there's a penalty for being big, there IS a penalty for clearing a player out without playing the ball-- but it's a fine line and when one kid is five foot-nine and 180 pounds and the other player is four foot-eleven and eighty-three pounds, strange things happen-- anyway, I had to give out my first yellow card (for a two-handed push from behind) and I also had to call my first penalty kick (and the goalie came off the line so we had to do it a second time . . . neither shot resulted in a goal) and then there was some kind of altercation after the game-- one team was accusing the other of cursing at them in the handshake line and then stealing their game ball-- but then today's games were much more calm (and the U-14 girls game was downright civilized) but now I've got to get to work on this stupid sink-- I've got to attach the vanity to the wall and put down some silicone and drop the sink onto it-- BOO!
Thus Endeth an Absurd Week
It's finally Friday of an oddball week-- we had Monday off for Memorial Day; I went to school Tuesday, but there weren't many students or teachers present, so it was something of a wash-- then we had Wednesday off for Eid al-Adha; Thursday was fairly normal and then today was supposed to be "senior skip day" but some influential student (Regina George?) put the kibosh on today and recheduled it-- but not everyone got the message and so I had five out of twenty present in my senior class, and then I actually taught some Creative Writing, for half the class, and then we went out and saw the open pit ceramic firing for the second half of the period and now I'm languishing at study hall bathroom duty, a duty that I'm very very bad at-- the kids always escape because I'm generally distracted grading papers, chatting with other students, or writing this stupid blog.
Job Well Done?
This morning, I thanked my wife for cleaning out the fridge-- I get nervous and overwhelmed when there's too much stuff inside it, and I can't see what's what-- but she said, "I didn't clean out the fridge . . . both boys are home and they eat everything."
No Running Water, But Looking Good
I had to do some light demolition and use some heavy profanity, but I figured out how to remove a vanity and sink with a broken faucet from our half bathroom today-- this stuff is always harder to execute than how the nice man does it on YouTube-- the vanity was attached to the tile wall, and it was REALLY hard to access the screws, so I had to pry the sink off the wood cabinet, and it was attached with very stubborn silicone . . . now all I have to do is attach the NEW vanity to the wall-- but of course shit doesn't line up with the old holes and the stud—and then I have to attach all the various tubes and knobs and pipes and S-traps and drain apparatus to the new faucet (which hasn't arrived yet) but still, things are looking pretty good.
The Ten Year "Affair"
The Ten Year Affair by Eron Somers is not for everyone-- as with many books that I like, the Goodreads reviews are split-- which I find a better indicator of something interesting than if the vast majority of people like the book . . . and this book was well-reviewed by actual literary reviewers, so fuck gate-keepers and all that, but sometimes they know what they're talking about . . . anyway, the novel is about a millenial couple who move to a suburban town in the Hudson Valley and have various millenial child-rearing problems and social interactions, and the narrator-- Cora-- is in a mainly sexless marriage witha depressed but very nice husband, begins to imagine an affair and splits her life into two timelines, very Sliding Doors, until it gets messier . . . the tone reminds me a bit of Halle Butler . . . but not quite as futile-- anyway, give it a shot, you'll know if you like it by page two.
Full House . . .
We spent this wet Memorial Day Weekend moving my son Alex out of his New Brunswick apartment and cleaning the place up-- and I made the requisite drive today with a box spring and mattress roped to the top of the car, and now our basement, study, and storage area is full of his crap-- but it's nice to have him home for a while (although he's doing job interviews so maybe not for long) and the dog is very very happy to have the whole family under one roof.
Knicks! Knicks?
Alec, Catherine, and I went to the River Road Tavern last night for cheap beer, fairly cheap Blanton's, and great cheesesteaks . . . and to watch the Knicks (because there's no dedicated sports bar in New Brunswick right now-- annoying) and the crowd in this joint was comically diverse-- all the ethnicities of central Jersey in one small dive bar-- mainly there to watch the Knicks dominate once again . . . this is an absurd run, ten wins in a row and a +225 point differential over that stretch-- but my son tells me that the teams from the West are very, very good, and if the Knicks make the finals, things won't be as easy.
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