I'm Mister Snow Miser

My buddy Whitney responded to yesterday's sentence with an interesting question: "If you could get rid of either the wicked humid heat of summer or the fiercely bitter cold of winter, which would you pick?" and while I must admit that the older I get, the less I like the bitter cold, there is the fact that when it gets cold, you can always put on more clothes-- or buy a really nice jacket and pair of gloves-- but there is no escaping the humid heat . . . no matter how much back hair my wife removes, it doesn't matter, it's inescapably awful, claustrophobic and oppressive, demoralizing and debilitating, and it just sucks to be a sweaty mess . . . so while it's more of a decision victory than a knockout, I'm awarding the win to the bitter cold of winter.

Summer Is Coming

The jury is out about how much the human mind remembers pain, but I know for certain that every winter, I forget how much I hate the heat . . . until it rears its humid head again.

What Is It Like to Be a Dog?

On this very special episode of We Defy Augury, I interview my good friend and fledgling author Rob Russell . . .we discuss his new book "JoJo the Small Town Hound: Volume 1, Leesburg, Virginia and the Curious Case of the Dog Money" and although the book is for children aged 7-10, Rob and I get into some fairly deep topics: the subjectivity of consciousness; structural racism and systemic prejudice towards black Americans, human and canine; the principles of drama; and the fleeting nature of our mortality-- and by the end of the episode, we develop an idea for the greatest children’s book that will never be written . . . Special Guests: Rob Russell, Method Man, and George Costanza.

Slurry Time!

No time to waste writing sentences, because I've got to mix the moss I scraped off a concrete block at the park with some yogurt and beer to make a "slurry" and then paint it on our concrete planter-- apparently in six weeks, the moss will flourish . . . I promise to keep you posted (although this project might not be great for blogging material-- the only thing more boring than watching grass grow is watching moss propagate).

A Riddle Wrapped in an Enigma That is Broadcasting Tomorrow is "Tuesday" Vibes

This week was so long and busy that it has inverted itself into an endless loop, turning my Friday energy into overwhelming Monday Mobius strip bewilderment.

So Many Steps, So Many Racket Sports

Another successful GMC Tennis Tourney-- everyone advanced through the first round except Theo, who was exhausted from Passover fasting (that's what you get for properly worshipping the lord) and we also had some fun in between matches playing pickleball . . . and then when I got home I went down to the park and played some more pickleball and now-- 25,000 steps later-- I am very very tired.

The Pathetic Fallacy, Pregnancy Edition

Today at work the ladies organized a "sprinkle" for a teacher who is very pregnant with her second child (and leaving at the end of the week) and it took me a couple hours to comprehend the term for the party . . . you have a baby "shower" for the first kid and then for the next kid, it's not as big a deal, so you tone the weather down a bit . . . and I guess for a third kid, you just get a "mist" or a "fog."

Sometimes, You Need To Strap Them On

Sometimes, when you're a homeowner, you need to strap on the ol' aerating shoes and march around on your lawn to make tiny holes for clover seed-- because you're trying to transform your shitty crabgrass lawn into a beautiful dog-urine proof clover lawn . . . but then someone mentions "moss" and you're like: should I be thinking about moss? should I have a moss lawn? should I have moss-covered stones to prevent erosion in the corner of my yard by the bike shed? and then you go down to the park and grab some river stones so that you can start propagating moss, by mixing some of your existing moss in a blender with yogurt and then painting the rocks with this slurry . . . and then you're like: does any of this shit even matter? which is a pretty common homeowner question-- when you stare at decay in its ugly, futile, desiccated face and realize that the whole thing, your house, your roof, your lawn, your deck, your siding, your interior and exterior paint, your wood floors, your carpets, your cabinets, and your furniture . . . it's all falling apart and there's no way to maintain it-- and this isn't even considering the appliances and planned obsolescence-- but anyway, I'm trying to grow some clover in my yard.

 

Did Jesus Tell Off-Color Jokes With His Bros? Probably Not . . .

One of the primary and profound questions that the play Hamlet explores is the opening line: "Who's there?" and so in class today we were examining how Shakespeare illustrates Hamlet's behavior in Act I Scene ii in quick succession with his family, alone, and with his friends-- and in each situation, Hamlet exhibits different personality traits-- with his family, he is sarcastic, passive-aggressive, and resentful; alone he is depressed, world-weary, and disgusted by the corruption in the world and particularly in his mother; and when he sees his buddy Horatio he is cordial and warm and even makes a couple of jokes . . . so my students were describing their different personalities in different situations-- at work, as captain of the baseball team, in Calculus, etcetera-- and we agreed that it is often the situation that determines our behavior, not our personality-- we don't seize the moment, the moment seizes us . . . but I did acknowledge that there are a very select group of folks that behave the same in every situation-- but the only examples I could think of were Jesus, Buddha, and Godzilla.

Amazon . . . When You Need 5 Pounds of White Dutch Clover Seed NOW!

Like many environmentally conscious lawn owners, I am converting my lawn to clover . . . clover doesn't require much maintenance or water; clover doesn't need any chemicals to thrive; clover attracts pollinating insects; and clover is resistant to dog urine-- and I'm having success with the seeds that I planted last week, they are starting to sprout, but I need more seeds to spread on the rest of the lawn-- not just the parts Lola killed with her urine, so I ordered a five-pound bag yesterday from Amazon before I went to play pickleball and when I returned from pickleball, there was a five-pound bag of white clover sitting on my porch-- which strikes me as nuts . . . is there a guy driving around with bags of clover in his car, waiting for the call? and honestly, I actually didn't want the seeds that quickly-- if I wanted them NOW I would have gone to Home Depot, but I didn't really feel like seeding the lawn yesterday because my legs were tired and first before I spread the seeds, I was going to walk around with these special spiked shoe attachments I borrowed from Stacey and aerate the lawn-- I'll get a picture of these things once I strap them on and use them and I also bailed today-- we were out late last night (not drinking and not dancing . . . we were at a Pakistani wedding) and I realized that sometimes you don't want things shipped to you that quickly because then you've actually got to do the chore, like seeding the lawn or fixing the toilet, and you envisioned doing the chore in a few days, not RIGHT NOW . . . so be careful when you order from Amazon because you might not get the lag time you were looking for.

Strange Winds: A Meditation on Contamination

A long podcast episode deserves a long title-- and my newest episode of We Defy Augury is my longest episode yet-- so I have titled it "Strange Winds: A Meditation on Contamination" and it also has a long sub-title . . . "Examining Our Fears of Infection, Infiltration, and Impurity . . . Ideological and Otherwise" and this epic piece of audio is based on a strange coincidence-- I read four books in a row that deal-- directly and indirectly-- with our everchanging fears and anxieties about impurity and contamination . . . these are the books which my thoughts are (loosely) based on: Nelson DeMille's Cold War spy novel The Charm School; Dean R. Koontz's 90s tech thriller Dark Rivers of the Heart; Jonathan Blitzer's stellar book on the border situation-- Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: The United States, Central America, and the Making of a Crisis-- and Silvia Moreno-Garcia's horror novel Mexican Gothic . . . and there are also plenty of special guests: Elizabeth and Philip Jennings, Dave Chapelle, John Cougar, Phil Connors, Bob Dylan, The Scorpions, Kansas, Sting, Long Duk Dong, General Ripper, General Turgidson, President Merkin Muffley, John Mulaney, Donald Trump, Marco Guttierez, Ivan Drago, and Tommy DeVito . . . so if you have a long car ride or you're training for a marathon, then give it a shot-- despite the length, I think it's got a fairly coherent argument.

Minor Expectations (by Edmund Wells)

Lowering the bar makes you less likely to trip over it.

Pickleball Rule #1

If it's your wife, don't give any advice.

Dave Almost Gets to Be Smart

I recently learned (when reading The New Analog: Listening and Reconnecting in a Digital World by Damon Krukowski) how noise-canceling headphones work . . . apparently they have microphones on the outside of the headphones that record the ambient noise around the headphone user-- then the headphones actively generate equal (but opposite) sound waves which reverse the polarity of the ambient noise . . . and I was excited to share this newfound knowledge with my Creative Writing class (after I told a girl to remove her giant noise-canceling headphones and enter reality) BUT I forgot something important-- so when I asked the class "Does anyone know how noise-canceling headphones actually work?" the majority of the class looked at me in bewilderment, aside from one girl, who raised her hand and reeled off the answer that I was so excited to tell the class . . . I had forgotten that the valedictorian is in my Creative Writing class-- she locked it up earlier in the year and so was slumming in an elective-- and becoming valedictorian of a giant high school like East Brunswick is no mean feat and it shows . . . she certainly took the wind out of my sails!

Dave's Calf Blooms Like a Spring Flower

This morning I made my triumphant return to 6:30 AM before school basketball-- we only had nine so we were playing full court four-on-four and my legs were NOT ready for this-- apparently PT and a bit of pickleball are not training for full court sprints with young people . . . but I survived, my calf felt good, and I even made a few shots (but missed far more than I made) and it was nice to get a work-out in before a long day of teaching Shakespeare and then riding in a van to Iselin to coach high school tennis.

The Gloves Will be Off

So exciting: my friend just published a children's book . . . even more exciting: in two days, I get to write a candid review of my friend's children's book!

Bring the Noise!

I just finished an excellent book on the financial, philosophical, and aesthetic implications of our collective move from analog audio to digital audio: The New Analog: Listening and Reconnecting in a Digital World by Damon Krukowski-- the drummer of the spacey alt-rock band Galaxie 500-- but I found it quite ironic that I was reading the book on my new Kindle Scribe-- because the book begins like this . . .

THANK YOU FOR READING this analog book. It requires no additional hardware, uses no power, and is 100 percent recyclable. You will find that it is possible to read, or not read, any of this book’s pages in any sequence. While its pages have been numbered sequentially to assist in navigation, there is no reason to consult these numbers if you do not wish. Should you like to highlight a passage, you will find that you can mark the page with most any implement at hand— even a fingernail will do. The paper of this book is also soft enough to be folded, torn, or even shredded if that gives you satisfaction, without special tools. You are free to share this book, resell it, or donate it to charity.

Backpack Vacuum!

I love our new Hoover Shoulder Vac backpack vacuum so much that I made a little home for it in my study-- vacuuming is so much better when you're not pushing around a clunky machine and instead, the apparatus resides on your back, making you nimble and agile-- and has this thing got suction?-- fuck yes it does.

All the Kids With Three Letter Names are Out Today

Our match got canceled today due to some fortuitous wind and rain-- fortuitous because one of our players (Kai) is at Model UN and the other (Udi) is "out of commission" because when he was riding his electric scooter in the rain yesterday, on his way home from our match in Johnson Park, he skidded out and hit the pavement, scraping up his hands and knees (but he's not completely injured-- he's my neighbor and I saw him today and he looked to be in decent shape-- although he was walking home from school, not riding his scooter) so we'll reset on Monday and hope for better weather (and not so fortuitously, we all had to evacuate my high school today during the rain storm because of an elevator malfunction-- the fire trucks had to come-- if the weather was decent it would have been the best delay of class ever, but because of the cold spitting drizzle and gusty winds, students and teachers alike wanted to get back to class and do some learning).

Fuzzy Wet Balls

Rain and tennis are not a good combination-- the court gets slick, the balls get wet and skip instead of bouncing, and the ink runs in the little book where you write down all the match information-- but I was impressed with the tenacity of my third singles player today, who was in close but meaningless match-- we had already lost-- but kept at it in the steady drizzle until we made him stop because the concrete was so slippery . . . but he's a hockey player so the surface probably seemed totally normal to him.

Your Butt, A Pizza, Same Difference . . .

I don't know if everyone does this, nor do I know if it actually makes a difference-- but when I get take-out food such as pizza or burgers and I'm using my wife's car to pick up the food-- a Mazda CX-5-- I place the food on the passenger seat and I use the seat warmer to keep the food warm while I drive home.

Post-modern Medicine (YouTube It!)

I won't go into gory detail, so as not to disconcert the more squeamish readers (like myself) but my wife and my son successfully removed the AmbIT pain control pump catheters this morning from my son's leg-- and more difficult and painful than sliding the long black-tipped needle from under his skin was pulling and cutting off all the tape and dressing-- he definitely lost some leg hair on the way . . . I played the role of the first assistant, handing my wife scissors and alcohol swabs and such-- and we watched a YouTube video before we attempted this very post-modern procedure-- where our healthcare system entrusts a bunch of amateurs to do the work, offloading some of the insane insurance costs of a hospital stay or another doctor's visit-- and then, once you remove the catheters and the tubes, you pack up the pumps in postage-paid envelopes and send them back to the surgical clinic-- and while doing this seemed kind of sketchy, it did save us a difficult car ride-- it's hard for Ian to get in and out and certainly not good for his ankle.

Totally the Latter

Which is more fun-- looking at the eclipse or looking at the people wearing the silly glasses used to view the eclipse?

Tomorrow, Keep the Ball Low

Tennis practice tomorrow is during the eclipse's maximum solar obscuration . . . so we will not be practicing overheads.

Traction . . . So Classic

Yesterday, when Ian's ankle was really hurting him, he wanted me to hook up a rope to the ceiling to hold his leg up-- and I knew exactly what he meant: classic hospital traction-- but I didn't have the equipment for it . . . and the way health care is now, instead of keeping you in the hospital for a few days after surgery, in traction, which would be helpful and ensure that your limb healed properly-- instead-- because hospital stays are way too expensive and inefficient-- they send you home with a couple of ambIT electronic pain control system pumps connected to catheters in your leg (sorry Rob) which deliver numbing medicine on a regular schedule and then in three days, you remove the catheters yourself . . . which seems fucking crazy, but I'll tell you how it goes on Tuesday when we remove unfasten from Ian's left leg (which is especially skinny, and perhaps the reason why they were leaking yesterday).

Prediction? Pain

Long day for Ian-- he woke up in postoperative pain at 3 AM and it got so bad we had to go to the ER, where they drugged him up until he finally stopped writhing and spewing profanity, and thus slept through the rumbling earthquake that shook the hospital as well as the rest of New Jersey; then at noon we were able to take him from the ER to the surgical clinic where, the day before, they operated on his ankle and the head anesthesiologist came in and fixed his numbing catheter pumps and redid the nerve block and now he seems to be doing better (and anything is better than puking in a vomit bag in the waiting room of the surgical clinic because you had too many meds and car rides in succession).

Ankle Surgery Part II

Ian survived his rescheduled ankle surgery-- although apparently, he was in some serious pain right afterward . . . which was remedied by a couple doses of fentanyl-- and now his ligaments and tendons are repaired and his ankle contains a screw and wedge that will hold things in place . . . and hopefully he will heal quickly and be back on the basketball/tennis court soon.

Brian Selznick

Two days ago our acting principal (our actual principal just retired) came to me and asked if I wanted to take my English class to meet the author/illustrator Brian Selznick-- he was being inducted into the EBHS Hall of Fame and then he was going to speak to a small audience in the media center-- of course, I said "yes," because anything is better than teaching seniors the last period of the day-- especially when it's been training for four days straight-- and while I wasn't 100% certain who Brian Selznick was when the principal invited my class, I figured he was the guy who wrote and illustrated The Invention of Hugo Cabret because I knew that author was from East Brunswick and it turns out I was right-- and what a treat, Selznick is an excellent speaker, compelling, smart, and funny-- and he uses lots of gesticulations-- first he summarized his weird and wild career . . . illustrating books; writing books with illustrations; doing surreal puppetry that reminded me of Being John Malkovich; writing screenplays; seeing one of his creations turned into a Scorcese film; etcetera . . . but it was no fairy tale story-- he spent fifteen years illustrating small-time children's books before he took three years off from that gig to write and draw The Invention of Hugo Cabret-- which was a real favorite in my house . . . and we got the book before we knew the author graduated from East Brunswick-- Selznick also spoke on creativity, where good ideas come from, his constant desire to change things up artistically, what it was like to be gay in high school in the '80s (very different than now-- he was impressed by all the rainbow flag posters around the school promoting LGBTQ+ clubs-- back when he was in high school it was like The Replacements album . . . Don't Tell a Soul) and the fact that when you are in high school, you are focused on the present and it all seems normal, but when you look back at it, it's always kind of strange . . . and he mentioned the casual homophobic slurs and racial stereotypes in Sixteen Candles as an example-- anyway, it was a good time-- and the fact that one of my student's dad graduated with Selznick, and Selznick remembered hanging out with him back in the day sort of brought the whole shebang full circle.

Rain or Shine, the Mail Gets Delivered and the Dog Gets Walked

Long as I remember the rain been coming down-- clouds of mystery pouring confusion on the ground- good men through the ages trying to find the sun and I wonder, still, I wonder who'll stop the rain . . . and more importantly, who will walk the dog in this rain-- and the answer to that question is: me.

I Prefer Mary Anne

 I do not like (nor am I competent at) peeling ginger.