Read Some Allie Brosh! No Excuses . . .

When I tell people to read some Allie Brosh-- a young lady who writes primitively illustrated memoirs that are so funny even Bill Gates laughs-- I get a lot of:

"I can't read things with pictures because I get confused and don't know when to look at the words and when to look at the pictures and I tried to read Watchmen and it was good but just too much stimulation"

and-- quite frankly-- I want to smack these people . . . I just finished her second book, Solutions and Other Problems, and it's funny and dark and weird and profound and full of Brosh's neuroses and her dogs and her existentially overly-energetic brain. . . you can read the words and/or look at the pictures or any combination of those two . . . but who doesn't like funny pictures?

The Tennis Season Wears On

Today I left for my Saturday morning tennis league looking like an athlete long past his prime-- I was wearing two knee braces: a neoprene sleeve on my left knee to keep my recently injured quadricep warm and a bulky thing with straps on my swollen right knee-- I'm not sure why it's swollen, probably a combination of tennis and hiking around with the dog in the slush (which I did repeatedly this week, despite knee pain) and I figured I wouldn't be mobile enough to beat Scott-- an accomplished regular at the club with a fast and whippy serve with a big kick, a killer down-the-line-backhand cut shot, a hard forehand, and good touch at the net . . . and though I was down three games at one point in the match, I leveled things at 8 games to 8 and then we played a tiebreaker and I beat him handily, 10 - 4 . . . this is a nice win for me, especially because I wasn't shifting my weight at the start of the math because of my knees, so I hit a bunch of unforced errors deep-- but I corrected things, backed up on his serve and hit a bunch of forehand winner to avoid having to run around like a maniac (which I did the first match, and I still lost by a game) and now I have to rest my knee for my snowboarding trip in a few days-- hopefully the swelling will go down just in time for me to aggravate it again.

More Behind the Scenes Stuff

I remembered a couple more chores that generally fall in my purview and aren't particularly lauded . . . I tend to fill the gas tanks of both our cars with fuel-- if you weren't aware, most cars need gasoline to power their internal combustion engines-- and I'm also the one who stocks the upstairs bathrooms with toilet paper (if you weren't aware, it's extraordinarily difficult to retrieve toile paper from the side-room once you've committed to a bowel movement in an upstairs bathroom . . . so it's imperative that the toilet paper is already within reach).

How to Clean a Bowl (if your wife rarely reads your blog)

I eat a bowl of Greek yogurt, peanut butter, and granola every morning-- and it's delicious-- but the down side is that it's very difficult to clean the bowl; even the dishwasher struggles to remove peanut butter and yogurt residue . . . so I've found the best, most environmentally copacetic way to remove this residue (without resorting to using a paper towel) is to let the dog lick the bowl clean . . . but my wife finds this gross-- luckily, she rarely reads this blog.

Sometimes Kids Learn Things Without My Help

 

I've taught my older son Alex many valuable things:

1) how to juggle a soccer ball;

2) how to serve a tennis ball;

3) how to throw a football

4) maybe something about writing an essay?

but I certainly didn't teach him how to run a Rocket Propulsion Club, use modeling software and 3-D printing technology, launch rockets into the stratosphere, assign teams to build the various components of these rockets, buy large amounts of rocketry and electronic equipment and get reimbursed for it, work in conjunction with the Rutgers Rocket Propulsion Club and use their facilities, and finally:

propose and win a two-thousand dollar grant (largely aided by him filming and painstakingly editing a really sharp video . . . though he doesn't wear glasses-- he just put some on so he would look smarter)

he learned this stuff all on his own, with no input or advice or help from me . . . crazy right?

How to Combat Winter Madness: A Video Tutorial

The weather just jumped the shark here in New Jersey-- the lovely blustery snowflakes transformed into large pellets of 33-degree rain-- so here a few suggestions for combatting Winter Madness:

1) Watch the "Winter Madness" 30 Rock episode . . . duh

2) watch Nomadland . . . it's streaming on Hulu and it's not as depressing as you might think; if you're feeling a little stir-crazy in your house, imagine if your house was a van . . . Frances McDormand isn't homeless, but she is houseless-- after her husband's death, she becomes untethered from all her social connections and there's only one way to go . . . down the road.

Behind the Scenes?

The other day, I was explaining to my wife all the "behind-the-scenes" kind of stuff I do around the house to keep the show up-and-running . . . and while she had a good laugh about this, I was able to provide a couple of examples of these key-grip backstage-type chores:

1) I clean up the dogshit in the yard-- which is not an easy task when we've got so much snow and ice down on the ground-- and I also cover up the pee spots with fresh snow so that the view is pristine and snowy white when my wife looks out the window;

2) I frequently take out the trash and the recycling;

3) I tighten the cabinet door hinge screws, which seem to come loose every three days;

4) I make the coffee before she comes downstairs in the morning, and I often make her some afternoon coffee as well;

5) I put on music when we are preparing dinner;

6) I do the taxes;

7) I'm sure I do a bunch of other stuff as well-- stuff that's not as prominent and eye-catching as cooking a fantastic three-course meal or doing the grocery shopping or cleaning out the refrigerator . . . but don't you worry, I'm toiling away behind the scenes so that the house runs as smoothly as a seventeenth season Cats production.

Even More Tennis Notes

Today was the first day since I injured it that my leg felt 100% . . . which was a good thing as I had to play Uday, the best player in the league-- but I wasn't at full speed because I jammed my toe on a piece of molding and ripped the nail off, so I decided that I was going to play a power game and hit winners (since I've gained some weight and lost some mobility since I pulled my quad) and I went up 2-0 on him . . . but his net play, consistency, and big first serve were eventually too much for me-- I lost 9-7, a result I'm perfectly happy with (especially because last week I played Rey-- probably the second-best player- and he slaughtered me-- I hit the ball, okay but I was slow and stiff, and he punished me for it . . . this is what made me realize I've got to start hitting winners to hang in with these club players) and Uday showed me what I need to work on:  I need to hit a deeper two-handed backhand, I need to follow the ball to the net more-- not just get to the center of the court-- and I need to go for it on my first serve more (and I need to go for it whenever a hard first serve is in my wheelhouse).

It's Time For Everyone To Leave the House

Last night at 10:30 PM I was woken from a sound sleep by my older son-- who was on a Zoom call playing Monopoly with his friends and found it necessary to yell at the top of his lungs-- so I trudged downstairs and watched Serena Williams lose to Naomi Osaka in the Australian Open . . . then this morning around 10:30 AM, while I was teaching school in the study-- because of a winter storm I was remote today-- I heard my younger son Ian screaming bloody murder . . . it sounded like a bad burn or a broken bone, and I charged up from the study and my wife ran up from the basement-- where she was teaching-- and we found Ian shrieking on the floor in the aftermath of a fistfight that began over some gummy worms and a two-for-flinching-game, and ended in punching, biting, kicking, and a knee to the groin . . . I directed every expletive in the book towards my children-- who had an actual snow day . . . something which doesn't even exist in my district any longer . . . they had no responsibilities at all-- and luckily both my wife and I had ended our class meetings, or some student would have called DYFS; now the kids are doing chores all day and buying us dinner tomorrow night; the takeaway is that we all need to go back to school and get out of each other's hair . . . I have been back for a week or so and though everything is worse in school: the internet is bad, my room was 50 degrees, the technology is wonky, it's impossible to teach kids in the room and virtual kids simultaneously, etc etc. it's still better to be out of the house; I get way less work done and but I'm much happier, sharing my misery with my colleagues, and far from my children (they went back for a day this week and Catherine actually had the house to herself for a few hours!)

Fast Times at Action Park

Action Park: Fast Times, Wild Rides, and the Untold Story of America's Most Dangerous Amusement Park is a tribute to a bygone era-- a time when the United States was less litigious; a time when hazing, heckling, and ethnic slurs were still regarded as good fun; a time when New Yorkers were a good deal grittier than they are now; a time of freedom and individuality; and a time when a good-hearted but slightly demented man named Gene Mulvihill could single-handedly build a shrine to action, danger, adventure, drunkenness, good times and fun on a mountain in New Jersey; the story is told by his son and despite the broken bones, open wounds, electrocutions, drownings, paralysis, comas, and death-- or perhaps because of them-- Andy Mulvihill appreciated working at Action Park and taking part in the family business; the bonding that occurred between the lifeguards at the Wave Pool-- in between pulling out twenty to thirty idiots a day-- is legendary . . . Dazed and Confused, Fast Times at Ridgemont High type stuff . . . and the chapter by chapter description of the evolution of the park-- from the Alpine Slide to the Cannonball Loop to Motor World to the Wave Pool to an authentic German Beer Hall to Surf Hill-- is the weird history of the obverse Disney World, a place closer in tone to Jurassic Park than the Magic Kingdon . . . this is a book that will make you proud to be from Jersey-- I odn't remember ever going to Action Park itself-- but I did go on an Alpine Slide in the Poconos (which was also installed by Gene Mulvihill) and rode to fast and flew off the chute . . . which can happen, when YOU are in control of the ride . . . the book also reads like a theme park version of Zimbardo's Stanford Prison Experiment . . . there was something about this mix of New Yorkers and New Jerseyans-- many of whom couldn't swim well-- that made them want to ram speedboats into each other, jump off cliffs onto other people's heads, t-bone folks with Lola racers, get drunk, throw garbage everywhere, shit on the floor, race down dangerous slides (water and land-based) and basically ignore danger and forget to assess risk; a must read if ytiou are thinking about travelling back in time to the 80's and opening a shrine to personal autonomy.

Duh

If your electric toothbrush runs out of juice, you can still use it manually (I think this goes for an electric blank as well . . . but not for an electric car).

More Dishes?

Sometimes surviving the pandemic feels like working in a restaurant . . . a diner, in particular-- open for breakfast, lunch dinner, and late-night snacks (with a menu that's WAY too expansive for the expertise of most of the cooks).

He's Fleeing the Interview . . .

I've been walking Lola exclusively in the snowy fields in the large park adjacent to my house-- because of salt-covered roads and icy sidewalks-- and I generally just let her loose so she can romp in the snow and then we make our way over to the dog park . . . this way she never has to expose her paws to the road salt (which burns her paws and allows liquid water to descend below the normal freezing point, freezing her pads) but the other day while I was tramping through the snow, watching her frolic, I heard a single "WHOOP" from the road-- the Park Ranger had observed a dog off-leash, which is forbidden, and was alerting me of my infraction from his vehicle; the last time I had an off-leash run-in with the ranger he REALLY wanted to give me a ticket (and Lola was hundreds of yards away from me-- she was chasing squirrels-- so I didn't have a leg to stand on) but, fortunately, I was walking with a nice lady and her nice dog and I think my company saved me from an expensive fine; this time, I was a couple hundred yards away from the ranger, across a a soccer field covered in a foot and a half of snow, so I decided not to look in the direction of the ranger and instead slowly wander towards the dog park . . . Lola was ahead of me and it took me a while to get her back on the leash, meanwhile the ranger was driving slowly, parallel to us, on the road-- we were going to intersect at the dog park-- so I had to decide if I was going to head in the opposite direction, into the trees, and actually flee the possible interview . . . but I waited out the ranger in the snow, he drove the loop by the dog park and headed back the way he came and that's when I darted through the gate and into the fenced confine full of canines-- and I'm pretty sure that once you are inside the dog park fence, it's some kind of sanctified ground (this might not be legally correct, but it's morally sound) and now we've got another walking alternative: Lola has her own hiking booties, so she can walk on the roads-- she took a little while to adjust to them, but then she started trotting along in them, sounding like a little horse.

Snowmark Day?

I know it's a big deal when your progeny graduate high school or go off to college or get married or get their first full-time job and while my kids haven't reached any of those milestones, today is some kind of landmark: this afternoon, my son Alex-- a sixteen-year-old high school junior-- went snowboarding with his friends, the first time he's ever gone off to the mountain without me . . . and I certainly put in a lot more work teaching him to snowboard than I did explaining to him how to woo women or helping him navigate school, so I'm very proud and happy-- and I'll also be a lot less anxious when he gets home tonight.

What Happens to a Ship Once it Reaches Its Destination?

The third book in Becky Chambers' Wayfarer series, Record of a Spaceborn Few, is slower and more philosophical than the first two in the series; the Exodans left earth, traversed the galaxy, encountered various alien races, and were admitted into the GC (Galactic Commons) and while most humans have colonized planets and assimilated into the galactic community as best they can (despite the rank smell that humans emit) there are still folks living on the generational ships that sheltered the earthlings on their long voyage-- they maintain the ships as a tribute to the journey but sometimes life seems futile to these people, as they when live onboard something that has already fulfilled its purpose-- this is a slice of life type of sci-fi novel that covers a number of characters in various circumstances aboard an Exodan ship-- it's smart and well-written but not as funny as the first two in the series.

Dave's Triumphant Return to Hybrid

I heroically returned back to the classroom today-- as I am deemed essential . . . but not quite essential enough to rate a vaccination-- but my classroom was NOT deemed essential enough to heat over our hiatus; my thermometer read 53 degrees at the start of first period (and perhaps it was colder than that . . . the thermostat on the air conditioner read 47 degrees) so the three intrepid students that decided to attend hybrid school and I sought a warmer room-- and found one, for a moment, but then another teacher-- who was covering for a teacher with a child awaiting a covid test-- claimed that room so we went on the move once again (this could end up a contact tracing nightmare!) and settled into a third room; my other two periods I had zero in-person students, so I elected to teach in the cold with my mask off; I must admit it was fun to see my friends again and although I won't be as productive a teacher in hybrid mode, I will be more relaxed (and chill) because the wifi is slow, the building is deserted, and summer is coming.

Another Winter Day in the Pandemic

Despite our superintendent's best efforts, today was another all-remote school day . . . too much snow and ice to get hybrid started; this afternoon, my son Ian was bored enough to accompany me to Costco-- and when a fifteen-year-old volunteers to go to bulk shopping (actually, I think it was his idea) then you know we are all close to madness; our first stop was the pet store, to buy some booties for Lola because her feet froze this morning (and were also burned by excessive road salt) but they didn't have her size; then we ventured into Costco, which I assumed would be barren because it was so cold out and it was the day after the SuperBowl, but the usual crowd was there, blocking the aisles and milling around-- but having a skinny and agile teenager as a shopping partner was a real benefit-- he found the dishwasher pods and the mixed nuts (unsalted) while I braved the crowd around the rotisserie chickens and searched for seltzer (they love to move shit at Costco) and then-- once we had all our stuff-- we tried the new self-check-out line . . . but we failed at self-checking-out because we had a case of wine and an employee came over and pretty much scanned all of our items-- so we were in and out quickly; then I took Lola to the park, avoiding the salty roads and we trekked through the snow to the dog park, which was full of people and dogs-- a nice surprise-- and she romped around for a bit, did her business, and now we are home-- I'll work out after I write this sentence and then we'll prepare yet another home-cooked meal and I'll pack for school and see if I end up there tomorrow (although it's supposed to snow again tonight).

Ahh . . . Denim Days

My buddy sent me this picture yesterday . . . I think it's circa 1990 but we are celebrating some romanticized version of the 70's that we cooked up at Pi Lam-- but now this photo just evokes nostalgia for getting together with a bunch of people in a poorly ventilated space (although we were sick in college all the time) especially because I got so bored this afternoon that I actually sorted out my sock drawer and searched for mates for all my single socks . . . mainly to no avail.

A Wattersonian Ending to an Epic Week . . .

I will be brief because I have exceeded my screentime limits this week and my brain is fried, but things were fairly epic this week:

1) we got a massive amount of snow;

2) my school is slated to go back to the trainwreck that is hybrid school-- the snow delayed us until Monday-- but the day of reckoning is coming and the majority of teachers are not happy about it;

3) we had the craziest faculty meeting I've ever witnessed . . . teachers are very nervous about covid and feel very betrayed about the not particularly reassuring quarantining, sick day, paid and unpaid leave policies (but our union did get some concessions)

4) the message seems to be: if you get covid, you better prove you got covid at work, or you could be in for a rough ride (or maybe you should lie)

5) I'm less worried about covid and more worried that I'm not going to be able to do as good a job in hybrid-- I've been crushing remote, I've got everything figured out and my students are really doing quite well-- but hybrid is a lot of juggling and multi-tasking and glitchy internet and fogged glasses and muffled voices;

6) the new mask rules are Draconian (15-minute break per school day . . . fifteen minutes total . . . and you can't  take your mask off even if your classroom is empty-- this defies all logic and science but seems to be coming from the state level) and I hate teaching in a mask;

7) I reeled off a couple of crazy letters, one to the union and another to the superintendent . . . I can't believe I pressed send on that one: I assigned the superintendent a podcast and gave him a link to a covid room calculator . . . things are not as dangerous as people think (unless this new variant is an ass-kicker) but I don't think I'll get fired as no one wants to become a teacher right now;

8) I erased an entire semester of student work (some of which I had to grade) trying to switch my content from one semester to the next-- we really didn't get much training on this-- and it took three days for the people from Canvas to retrieve this data . . . which they finally did after many chats and emails (and now I still have to grade the stuff!)

9) I started the new semester, in which I teach four preps . . . and I thought I had everything in order so I went out drinking in New Brunswick last night-- the walk home was pretty crazy as no one shoveled the hill after the bridge-- it's no man's land . . . but I made it up and watched Rutgers win again;

10) I woke up this morning with a bit of a headache and found that nothing was in order-- I hadn't merged my Creative Writing and Philosophy classes and they were much larger than I thought and I hadn't invited all these kids into the proper Microsoft Teams . . . it was quite a circus but everyone eventually got where they needed to be;

11) I finished grading the Rutgers essays-- in the nick of time-- grades are due Tuesday;

12) I went out hiking in the snow with Lola after school today and it erased all the stress from the rest of the week because dogs and snow are the best (almost as epic as stuffed tigers and snow).

St. Thiswhere?

I shoveled three times today, to no avail . . . it's like we're living in a snow globe-- you get rid of the stuff and it keeps coming back.