And after the Third Week of PT, Dave's Calf Rose Again

On this fine Easter morning, my wife and I played some pickleball to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus . . . and even more miraculously-- the resurrection of my strained right calf.

You Can't Piss (or Serve) Into the Wind

I am sorry to say, but nobody learned nothin' at yesterday's tennis practice-- aside from the fact that you can't really play tennis when there are 30 mph wind gusts . . . although we tried our best and one group even played an entire set of doubles-- but it was ugly, very ugly . . . the wind is a bitch.

The Secret? You Should Be Hitting Lots of Overheads . . .

Time to go teach my second singles player how to beat a "pusher"-- and not a drug pusher-- a tennis player who likes to mimic a wall-- because he had a frustrating loss against a kid who barely looked like he was interested in hitting the ball-- the kid just kept bopping it back, with very little pace, until my guy would get frustrated and blast it deep or hit the net-- it's frustrating to play a wall-- you have to adjust your game radically--Mitch Hedberg said it best: "The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall."

Can Someone Drive Me to the House I Need to Paint?

Apparently, in the US, depending on the state you live in, you might need a license to paint nails but not to paint houses.

Earworm Exorcism!

I have finally finished my most ambitious audio project ever, the top secret project that I erased earlier in the week-- it is a new episode of We Defy Augury titled "Earworm Exorcism" and it is an obsessive, comprehensive, and digressive deep dive into how these insidious auditory creatures worm their way into our brains, wrap around our cerebral cortex, and make us susceptible to suggestion of the catchiest kind-- a veritable shitload of the sounds that capture our consciousness-- and the theory and philosophy of why and how they do this-- but be warned: your brain might not survive unscathed . . . this many earworms have NEVER been assembled in one place before; three fantastic podcast episodes inspired this project:

"The Case of the Missing Hit" (Reply All)

"Whomst Amongst Us Let the Dogs out" (99% Invisible)

"Louie Louie: The Strange Journey of the Dirtiest Song Never Written" (Lost Notes)

but I don't think anyone has ever assembled this many earworms in one place-- here's a visual of all the clips . . .

and while I'm happy to be done, people keep reminding me of earworms that I forgot to include-- so I either need to edit them into this episode or start working on a sequel.

The Animals Are Wild

Another crisp wildlife photo from yours truly (and possible good news on the alleged raccoon in the attic front . . . yesterday, I climbed into the attic crawl space-- which is not a fun thing to do, as it's filled with loose insulation-- and I saw that the wire guard around the roof vent had been dislodged and pushed in, forming an entry hole-- so Ian and I pushed the wire mesh back in place and reinforced the wire guard around the roof vent with some staples and then last night, I heard some critter on the roof-- trying to get in, scratching at the wire guard-- but I didn't hear any mewling of babies or any critters inside the attic-- so maybe the creatures-- which I believe are raccoons-- will give up and move on to some other poor soul's house and make a nest in their attic).

 

Spring Break?

Ian and I woke up at 5:10 AM to go for his ankle surgery, but when we arrived at University Orthopedics, the building was surrounded by fire and police vehicles and enough flashing lights to give you a seizure-- after waiting a few minutes at the edge of the parking lot, we were informed that there was smoke in the building and a generator blew, so there would be no appointments today-- which really sucks because we scheduled this to coincide with my Spring Break and my wife's Spring Break-- which is next week-- so that we could take care of Ian while he's incapacitated-- and though I went to bed early, I did NOT get a good night's sleep because it seems that a raccoon has broken into our attic (which happened once before-- quite a tale) and it was making noise through the night-- probably pregnant female making a nest-- and on our early morning drive, Ian and I saw two raccoons strolling along the sidewalk across the street from our house . . . perhaps they are the culprits-- so it seems my Spring Break will consist of scheduling the animal removal guy and the roof guy; grading all the essay I received right before break-- the quarter ends right when we get back; going to PT for my torn calf; rescheduling Ian's surgery, and coaching tennis . . . no wet t-shirt contests for me.

Top Secret Project Update

I am now past where I was before I erased what I had . . . home stretch.

Top-Secret Project Update

It is taking longer than I thought to get to where I was (before I erased my top-secret project off my external drive). 

How to (Rarely) Tie a Tie

 For the rest of my life, I am only getting dressed up if someone I know gets married or dies.

Brief Period of Mourning Followed Renewed Motivation

 I am working on a very special episode of We Defy Augury-- top secret . . . but it involves scores and scores of clips-- and I was more than halfway done with it but then this morning, I somehow erased the entire project on Logic-- and it was stored on the external drive and the Time Machine does NOT back up the drive that the back up is stored on- if that makes sense?-- so it is truly gone . . . and so I'm starting over and I am looking at this as a good thing-- the episode was getting a bit ponderous so hopefully now I will tighten things up (and finish it by the end of Spring Break).

Funny is Funny and That's Funny

I passed by the new liquor store on First Avenue this morning, noticed the lovely new sign, and then my eyes focused on one particular portion of the sign and I knew I had to stop and take a picture.

 

Both Are Better Than Badminton

High school tennis season has begun and I hadn't hit any balls since my son Ian got injured last summer-- it's been all pickleball since then-- and I forgot how enjoyable it is to hit a tennis ball, especially three particular shots: a topspin forehand, a low driving slice backhand, and an overhead smash-- while I love the frenetic nature of pickleball, I also love the grace, style, and thwack of a good tennis stroke.

Just Desserts

After a dinner party on Saturday night, my wife informed me that "dense" was not an appropriate way to describe a dessert, specifically a lemon bar that our friend made-- and that the term "dense" is derogatory in dessert-describing-terms . . . I honestly meant it as a compliment-- the lemon bar was very delicious-- but I was just informing folks that you could not eat two of these lemon bars in one sitting because they had some serious substance to them-- but my wife informed me that the word I was looking for was "rich."

Is This How You Spell "Sisyphean"?

So you clean all the bathrooms in the house-- and it's brutal and gross and exhausting-- and then by the time you're done, you need to go to the bathroom-- which ruins all your hard work . . . or you need to shave or clip your toe-nails or floss (which often flings food particles onto the mirror) or brush your teeth-- it's truly Sisyphean. 

Everything, Everywhere, All at Once?

I've listened to several interesting podcasts lately-- and I also can't help connecting them to the non-fiction texts we read in my College Writing synthesis class . . . I suppose this is because we're constantly teaching the kids to make connections between the texts and to everything else in the world, to support some kind of argument-- eventually, you start to see connections between everything, like the conspiracy theorist with all the diagrams, pictures, symbols, pins, and strings on his study wall . . . anyway, the podcasts are good even if you haven't read this year's College Writing texts, here they are:

1) The Billionaires’ Secret Plan to Solve California’s Housing Crisis (The Daily) is a fascinating conundrum that connects to Stephen Johnson's writing about organized complexity and emergence--the question is: can a bunch of tech billionaires build a model city in California that feels like a European city? a city that feels like it emerged from a culture that values public transportation, locality, walking, biking, and mixed housing-- and does NOT value traffic and automobiles-- usually these kinds of places are built from the bottom up- they emerge from millions of tiny individual decisions of the city dwellers, over time-- and reflect the evolving core values of the city . . . but these dudes want to do it from the top down-- and they are meeting some resistance . . . an interesting investigative journalistic foray into an ongoing story;

2) Lean In (If Books Could Kill) tells the story of Sheryl Sandberg-- who was an upper-level manager at Facebook-- and wrote a book explaining how to move up in a man's world-- but her version of feminism doesn't address systemic issues, it's just very specific (and often lousy or useless) advice for upper-middle-class women trying to make it in a hyper-accelerated capitalist culture . . . and this really connects to Anand Girdharadas's description of Amy Cuddy's journey from academic to thought leader and Jia Tolentino's chapter "Always Be Optimizing," which discusses how she grapples with the unending expectations of modern feminism;

3) How Do We Survive the Media Apocalypse (Search Engine) is Ezra Klein's generally depressing take on the direction journalism, the internet, and the media are heading-- this episode gets into the costs of market-based competition, the unbundling of advertisements and your local newspaper, the benefits of inefficiency and local media monopolies and the idea that news worked much better when car ads and movie ads were paying for war reporting-- these ideas really complement Anand Giridhaardas's book "Winners Takes All" and Steven Johnson's ideas in "Emergence"-- we've collectively created a system that is incredibly and perfectly competitive-- the online world-- where Netflix competes with the best journalism and Pitchfork and Buzzfeed and YouTube videos about losing your belly fat--  and the result is that a bunch of social media companies make money; AI might cannibalize journalistic sources and therefore destroy the ecosystem that it relies on for information; ideas that are bite-sized, palatable, and digestible win out over the truth; and whatever you direct your attention to on the internet-- and in media in general-- is going to survive and what you neglect will die . . . so read some real books, magazines, and local news-- get off those social media sites, support longform investigative journalism, and recognize that the only reason that many of the fun sites that are now going extinct-- Gawker, Pitchfork, Vox, Buzzfeed-- were often supported by venture capitalists and had no real model to make money in this awful media environment . . . what is slowly emerging on the internet is exactly what we asked for and deserve, a bunch of bullshit.

Your Child (yawn) Is Failing . . .

I am amping myself up (with some coffee and candy) to survive the second half of my second long-ass day of this long-ass week-- in a few minutes I will leave for tennis practice and teach the youth how to behave like gentlemen while eviscerating their opponent (or maybe not . . . our team is not very strong this year-- so I'll teach them to behave like gentlemen while being eviscerated by their opponents) and then I will fight through rush hour traffic to get back to school for the 5 PM - 8 PM session of parent-teacher conferences . . . and while I legally can't go into details, I've got some doozies tonight and I'm sure there will be some interesting parent/teacher interactions-- when I'm not yawning in the parents' faces.

The Road to Recovery: Don't Stop in the Middle of It

I attended the first Physical Therapy session of my life today and it was very productive-- once I completed, by hand, that damned paperwork that I've filled out a thousand times before . . . isn't the fact that I'm allergic to penicillin in some database-- and if the Russians know this, am I in danger?-- anyway, once I got done scribbling, I learned some stretches and some strengthening exercises, had some heat applied to my calf, and a nice lady massaged the muscle until it loosened up a bit (while we chatted about East Brunswick schools-- she lives where I teach) but I do have some advice for the woman driving the Honda in the parking lot-- and this advice applies to many more drivers than this particular woman: if you need to do something in your car that requires you to stop driving-- find some paperwork; text your daughter; count the change in your ashtray-- please, please pull over to the side of the road or into a parking spot, don't just stop in the middle of the road until someone beeps at you . . . is this a new thing or have people always done this?

Dave Fights Through His Day Like Mike Tyson Will Fight Jake Paul

I am home and I have survived the longest day of the school year: I got up early, despite Daylight Sucking Time, to work on my podcast; went to school and taught; drove back to Highland Park and coached tennis (first day of practice!) and then drove back to East Brunswick, fighting the rush hour traffic, for 5 PM to 8 PM parent/teacher conferences . . . and now I am home once again-- counting down the days until Spring Break (and retirement . . . this shit is for young people).

Daylight Sucking Time

Everything always feels topsy-turvy the first Monday after Daylight Fucking Saving Time (otherwise known as I Had a Vivid Nightmare Saturday Night That the Government Stole Time From Me and Sunday Morning It Turned Out It Wasn't a Nightmare Day) and so while I was at school and then the gym, I watched the latest political polarized shitshow in reverse chronological order and I think it made more sense that way: first-- in the English Office-- I watched Scarlett Johanssen's SNL send-up of Senator Katie Britt's absurdly melodramatic SOTU response; next, while riding the bike at the gym I actually watched Katie Britt's entire seventeen-minute oddly unhinged, trad-wife, transitionless, tone-deaf kitchen-centric monologue; and then I watched President Biden's fairly energetic and topical SOTU address . . . and I've decided to cryogenically freeze myself until next December so I don't have to live through this stupid rematch.

Dave Loves a 6 PM Comedy Show

My wife and I took a one night vacation to Manhattan yesterday, and despite the weather we had a great time: we took the train to Penn Station; dropped our backpack at the Ace Hotel-- we got a good deal on Hotwire and I heartily recommend this place, it's funky and weird and has an enormous and dark bar and lounge on the ground floor reminiscent of the speakeasy in Sleep No More-- and then we walked up to the MoMA, where we saw a number of new and wacky modern art exhibit (Shana Moulton's strange surreal film Meta/Physical Therapy was awesome, as was Montien Boonma's "The Shape of Hope" and the Michael Smoth's "Government Approved  Home Fallout Shelter Snack Bar-- plus the usual "classic' modern art that lives there permanently) and we met Stacey at the museum . . . she was whiling away some time while her husband got an elaborate tattoo-- then we had some lunch and a few drinks at the Judge Roy Bean Public House, great little dive bar with good food-- and then we walked back down to the Ace Hotel-- it was starting to rain at the point, but not the weather hadn't turned awful-- though that would occur soon enough; we got soaked on our walk over to the 6 PM show at the Gotham Comedy Club-- which was raucous, filthy, and very funny-- going to comedy clubs is my favorite thing to do in the city . . . it's relatively cheap, the drinks are generally good, and the 6 PM "let's get this shit over with and go to dinner and then get to bed by ten" show is right up my alley . . . after the show it was really coming down in sheets, cold sideways sheets of water-- but the silver lining is all the rain erased the pungent smells of the city streets-- and we ate some incredible Mexican food at Casa Carmen-- the empanadas made of plantains and filled with black beans with the rich, chocolate black dipping sauce were astounding, as was the rest of the meal-- and then we trudged back through the rain and flood to the Ace Hotel, warmed up and went to bed . . . the next morning we decided to brave the line at Best Bagel & Coffee-- and it was worth the wait, my jalapeno/everything bagel was indeed the best bagel I've ever eaten (but the coffee was nothing special . . . I guess the "best" only modifies the word "bagel" in the title of the place . . . the next time I'm in Manhattan, I'd like to find a place named "Best Bagel and Best Coffee").

Anxieties of the '90s

If you're looking for an ambitious thriller that brings you back to the anxieties of the 1990s: hackers, secret government agencies, X Files-type conspiracies, the beginnings of web-based technology, Hannibal Lecter-esque "civilized" serial killers, and a time when the government seemed more powerful than corporations, a time when you could still disappear into the ether, and time when it still seemed possible to resist Big State Surveillance-- then check out the 1994 novel Dark Rivers of the Heart by Dean Koontz.

Professor G. Truck and Doctor C. Morton

I'm proud to say that I stopped reading random articles on the web and I went to see an actual doctor today-- Kinshasa C. Morton MD, to be precise: he's an excellent sports medicine specialist (I've seen him before for my shoulder and my knee) and he was much more authoritative and knowledgeable than the internet . . . he lubed up my leg and used an ultrasound machine to locate a tear in my right gastrocnemius-- which I believe is my upper calf muscle-- and while he said I'm going to need some physical therapy to help heal, he was also very positive and said I could continue to walk and cycle and row-- I should just avoid all the fun stuff: soccer, basketball, tennis, and pickleball-- until after a few weeks of PT . . . so it will be a weird start to tennis season next week-- I can't really hit with the kids-- but hopefully I'll be on the mend soon enough.

Massage the Kale! Fold in the Cheese!

Today in Creative Writing class, we were investigating the power of carefully selected adjectives (this episode of We Defy Augury describes the lesson) and our free-writing prompt at the start of class was to use several sentences to describe a scene, object, or person-- but you could only use one or two adjectives, which you had to underline-- and I had never done this prompt before so I was quite proud of what I produced; I described helping my wife cook our meal last night and how she trimmed and pounded the chicken and sliced and baked the carrots, while I was tasked with putting the kale in a bowl with some salt and olive oil and then "massaging" the kale . . . and I explained that I did not like massaging the kale because this activity made my hands moist and greasy-- two visceral adjectives I am not particularly fond of.

The Home Stretch is Uphill

I'm almost finished grading the third College Writing essay-- but then we have to collect one more and grade it before the end of March so we can submit the grades to Rutgers; I'm about to collect the synthesis essays in English 12 class; several teachers have come down with some crippling stuff-is-coming-out-both-ends norovirus (which shut down an elementary school in town two weeks ago, apparently the nurse was traumatized from all the shitting and puking) and tennis season starts next week-- so it is full-on survival mode until Spring Break.  

This Episode is More Fun Than It Sounds

While the title of the new episode of We Defy Augury sounds a bit bleak-- "Looming Existential Dread: Robotic and Real"-- there is fun to be had with these thoughts (loosely) based on Kate Christensen's novel Welcome Home, Stranger, the first two installments of The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, and Hamlet . . . and there are a plethora of Special Guests, including but not limited to: Billy Joel, Ween, David Tennant, Kenneth Branagh, Greta Thunberg, Marvin the Paranoid Android, Brother Maynard, William Shatner, Woody Allen, Amy Poehler, Phyllis Smith, Queen, and The Prodigy.

Post-Birthday-Blues

Yesterday's birthday-get-together at Jersey Cyclone was very fun-- a perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon: the brewery is located in an industrial park and it's spacious inside, plus you can bring your own food-- Catherine made some of her incredible special sandwiches; we had a good crowd, and the beer was delicious, and we pretty much had the place to ourselves . . . and the bartender was an EBHS alumni, so Chantal and I had fun remembered folks from high school in the mid-aughts . . . and while all the varieties of beer were very delicious, and so were the sandwiches and the desserts-- my body can no longer handle that kind of stuff in large quantities-- luckily we stopped drinking around 6:30 PM so I suffered through my hangover around four hours later and then slept soundly . . . but today I re-tweaked my calf muscle playing pickleball-- I think I really need to let it heal for a couple weeks and it is HOT outside, which is kind of fun, but also reminds me just how much I hate the heat . . . Donaldson Park is still swamped and muddy, but today it is packed with people, all kinds of yahoos, and most of them drove int and are parked all over the place, in the mud, etcetera . . . and I have turned into a very aggressive walker-- if I see a car coming, I get myself and the dog into the croswalk, don't make eye-contact with whoever is driving and then I amble across the street-- hoping the car will stop-- and I know this isn't mentally healthy or physically safe but I'm sick of people in enromous cars ignoring stop signs near my house and in my park, so the least I can do is fuck with them . . . and if I get hit, I'll miss a few days of work and maybe some idiot will feel guilty about their shitty driving and realize cars are destroying this once great nation.

What Do Theodore Geisel, Dave, and Daniel Craig Have in Common?

It's here once again,

it comes without fail--

for rich and for poor,

the next coffin nail . . .

for Bryce Dallas Howard,

for the Wu's Method Man,

for me and Bon Jovi--

the occasional is grand:

We are still alive!

our lifetime rolls on!

and one year from now

we may well be gone . . .

But perhaps these trite rhymes

will outlive my frame--

The Good Doctor is dead

yet you still know his name . . .

and the folks he invented,

that lived in his books:

Yertle the Turtle, 

Thing One and Thing Two,

The Grinch and the Lorax

and, of course, Cindy Lou Who--

you know all those souls,

though they never lived--

you might know them much better

than your very own kids!

So here's to creation--

to birthdays and rhymes--

to writing it down,

before there's no time.

Local Recs to Treat Yo Self

Yesterday, in honor of my upcoming birthday, I took the day off from teaching the youth and I got a massage at Lucid in Metuchen-- they have an incredible deal going: five hour-long massages for 200 dollars -- my calf is still sketchy and I strained it a bit playing pickleball on Tuesday and the massage really helped . . . plus, my acupuncturist broke her arm and so she's been on the IR and now I realize how much those needles keep me loose-- and then Ian and I met Alex for lunch in New Brunswick-- he turned twenty today (and I turn 54 tomorrow) and so it was his choice of food for a birthday lunch-- he wanted Mexican food so we perused the plethora of Mexican places in New Brunswick-- oh yes, there are a plethora of authentic Mexican places in New Brunswick, some filled with pinatas-- and since La Catrina was closed until four PM and Taqueria Maria's transformed into a bakery (without informing us) we ended up at a place called La Placita-- which does NOT translate into The Place . . . placita is a little square-- and we loved it . . . I had chorizo enchiladas with mole sauce and the kids had al pastor tacos and everything was superb-- so if you're looking for a cheap "treat yo self day" there you go.