I'm still a little groggy today, due to Daylight Savings Time-- and so I can't figure out this conundrum: if Trump dismantles the Department of Education, how will he ensure that deviant leftist teachers don't propagate critical race theory, condone perverse sexual identities, bring systemic injustice to light, and disseminate Marxist propaganda?
Someone Save Me From Daylight Savings Time
Rough Monday morning: our dog heard a smoke detector chirping in the kitchen at 4 AM-- the battery had run out and it was making that little distress signal, and while it was responsible and conscientious canine behavior, it was still hard to get back to sleep once the issue had been resolved-- and then when my alarm DID go off, it felt way too early-- because it WAS way too early . . . due to motherfucking Daylight Savings Time-- and then I stuck my toe in some dog vomit on the edge of the step . . . Lola ate too many cucumber slices last night (she loves cucumber slices) and must have upchucked them when she was fretting about the chirping noise and then I went through the day like a zombie and to add insult to injury, we had a meeting.
Francis Ellis and Lil Sasquatch at the Stress Factory
Great show at the Stress Factory last night-- as always-- and we had no clue what to expect from the comics because Stacey unloaded the tickets on us and went to Seaside for a St. Patrick's Day Parade; after a forgettable opener (I even forgot his name) then Lil Sasquatch took the stage and did a great bit about being an oddly sexual suit-fitting session by a little European man that could fit in his pocket and another about dolphin rape and then he critiqued the "Stop Human Trafficking" sign he saw at the airport, he felt he needed more methodology and advice on exactly how to follow those orders, and then the opener, Francis Ellis, who seemed to good-looking and too smart to be a stand-up-comedian-- he attended Harvard-- talked his membership in the exclusive Delta Diamond Medallion Club and about terrorists having trouble collecting points for their one way flights and about his first (and only?) fight which happened to be with a guy who had a mouthguard and absolutely lived for that kind of shit; then he criticized people who abuse the "Sophie's choice" metaphor and use it for frivolous circumstances and then he discussed how he liked kids "just the right amount" and how he was recently divorced and so he bought a Costco 144 pack of toothbrushes for any ladies that slept over-- but this made him look like a serial killer and then he talked about trying to impress the workmen on his block, the real men, but how it was hard to do while walking a French bulldog and then he really got into it with the aduience-- he wanted to know if anyone had a union job and he had a discussion with a guy who worked for Dupont, making printing plates and using monomers and polymers and then he asked if there were more union workers in the crowd and my wife yelled out and so he got to discuss teachers and the teacher's union and how he loved teachers but wow they get a lot of time off and then he gathered some more audience material from a couple of guys who lost chain necklaces (and when he was "ambushed" by a high school sophomore) and he wrapped all this up on his keyboard (which we did not know was on the stage or a part of the exact) when he first sang a romantic song about jizz and then sang a song that included all the audience participation specifics-- gold chains and teachers, and polymers, and all the other odd stuff he pulled from the audience that I can't remember-- so if Francis Ellis is coming to a small comedy club in your town, check him out, he's a fun, smart, and energetic entertainer.
No Handles (Except Love Handles)
First time I played morning hoops twice in one week in a few months-- and, strangely, though my legs were tired, my knee felt fine-- it still took me some time (and profanity) to warm-up, but in the end it was worth it all: the getting up extra early; the packing of clothing and towel the night before; the double knee braces; the rapid and rather perfunctory shower in the moldy coach's room; the race to class; the ridicule and derision from the students because of my open-toed sandals (which are much easier to don after a fast shower) and the general hangriness while teaching the first two periods-- because I made a game-winning three in the last two games-- and that's all you really remember, that last shot (although I also remember a couple of out-of-control dribbling escapades and those episodes were pretty traumatic . . . I really shouldn't be handling the ball unless I'm going to immediately shoot it).
Four Albums and a Lager
Things I have been enjoying lately:
1) pianist McCoy Tyner's exotic sounding jazz albums, especially Extensions and Sahara;
2) saxophonist Cannonball Adderley's swinging bluesy jazz album Somethin' Else;
3) trumpeter Freddie Hubbard's jazz fusion classic Red Clay;
4) the dark and (barely) smoky Smoke & Dagger lager brewed by Jack's Abby.
American Art Forms and More Dated Allusions
Today in Grade 10 Honors English class, I charged my students to make the best possible argument for the "most American art form"-- I was doing this because we just finished Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass and, unfortunately, the slave narrative was very popular and powerful American literary genre-- so I told them to choose another art form that embodied America-- and after some prompting, the five groups chose these topics: jazz, country music, hip-hop, reality TV, and motor vehicle culture . . . and the reality TV group was working right next to my desk, so I could hear their sophomoric logic and often needed to guide them towards rationality and at one point I said, "You've got to mention our president if you want to win this debate!" and they were like: "Wha?" and I then realized that these sophomore girls had never heard of The Apprentice and did not know Donald Trump's trademark phrase "You're fired" so I polled the class of twenty-five and only one student knew this . . . but then, after more prompting-- the sophomores require a lot of prompting-- they recognized the connection between the fantasy of reality TV and actual political reality-- the fact that Donald Trump was now actually firing federal employees-- and other than this youthful oversight, the presentations were quite persuasive-- hip-hop and car/motorcyle design and culture were probably the best-- but then I synthesized those and said that the MOST American art form is playing hip-hop from a monster stereo system in your tricked out low-rider . . . and then I informed them that though they did a good job, they all neglected to remember that we were still in the 1800s in the chronological progression of the class (which is not actually how the curriculum progresses but I like to teach the kids some history along the way so I like to do things chronologically) and so next class I will make my case for the Western as the most American art form-- or at least for the 1800s . . . as the Western features guns and freedom and taking the law into your own hands and treating Native American poorly and manifesting destiny westward and horses and trains . . . and I'm going to introduce this genre and how it operates with a clip from Malcolm Gladwell on Joe Rogan's podcast-- and this is two hours and twenty-six minutes in and Gladwell is starting to get wacky, as anyone would-- just before this segment he says some sexist things about women who love Law and Order and then he explains his compass-point theory on Westerns . . . and all the other compass points-- here are his categories of thrillers:
A Western takes place in “a world in which there is no law and order, and a man shows up and imposes, personally, law and order on the territory, the community”
An Eastern is “a story where there is law and order, so there are institutions of justice, but they have been subverted by people from within”
In a Northern, “law and order exists, and law and order is morally righteous, the system works.” (A prime example is, of course, Law and Order.)
A Southern is “where the entire apparatus is corrupt, and where the reformer is not an insider but an outsider.”
My Allusions Grow (Even More) Dated
The Week Begins, as Literacy Ends
It is Monday, it's butt-ass cold, the double birthday weekend is over, Donald Trump is aligning himself with Vladimir Putin's vision of the new world order, and apparently-- according to the new episode of Derek Thompson's podcast Plain English-- reading an entire book is a dying art.
I Can't Drive 55 (or at Night)
Me and the Seuss, we share birthday fun--
If the doc were alive, he'd be one-twenty-one!
I'm not quite that old, but D. Boon would be proud--
there's no shame in saying it, so I'll say it loud,
fuck all those youngsters, growing old is no crime--
I'll revel in my age: double nickels on the dime.
Champagne is Gross
We had a lovely pre-birthday celebration for Alex (and myself) last night-- we all went to Shanghai Dumpling and stuffed ourselves on noodles and various kinds of dumplings-- mainly soup-- and scallion pancakes and mochi sesame balls and then, though we didn't save room, we went back to our house and ate some birthday cheesecake and then Cat and I entertained the girlfriends with various photo albums and pictures of the boys when they were young and adorable and very silly . . . and Alex and Ian were great sports about all this, they really are getting to be actual normal people-- and Alex and I agreed that champagne is absolutely horrible (although Layla and my wife like the bubbles) and we're going to save the real drinking for our big birthday outing, we're going to see the Knicks in a couple weeks-- and then Ian drove the whole young crew back to New Brunswick and they went to a frat party or something, while the old folks collapsed on the couch to watch Mythic Quest and digest.
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