A Watched Pot Never Sprouts
Even More Thoughts on the Serendipitous Miracle of Creativity
My new episode of We Defy Augury-- "Weezer, Creativity, and the Nullity of Identity"-- is loosely inspired by the SNL Weezer sketch, Jonah Lehrer's article "Groupthink", Song Exploder episode 70: Weezer "Summer Elaine and Drunk Dory," the Atlantic article "Is This the Worst-Ever Era of American Pop Culture?" by Spencer Kornhaber and a bunch of other stuff . . . check it out if you're looking for inspiration and the ideas behind good ideas.
Feels Like Belfast in November Today
A bittersweet, cold, and rainy Father's Day-- the first one without my dad around-- but I certainly made good use of my gift: I read nearly half of Hang On, St. Christopher . . . it's the eighth novel in Adrian McKinty's Sean Duffy series, which is set during The Troubles in Northern Ireland . . . and I've enjoyed every one-- a perfect read for a damp wet day.
At Least It's A Rainy Day . . .
Even though I went to the gym and lifted some weights this morning, that wasn't enough exercise to quell my stir craziness-- this strained hamstring is really cramping my style-- I need to walk around at high speed several times a day or I get really grouchy and right now I can only shuffle along forwards or I feel it (although I can walk backwards fairly well) but at least I have Departmen Q to look forward to . . . if you're not watching this show, start now!
When You're Around Dave, The Learning Never Ends
Even though it's nearly summer and senior cut day, I actually taught a high school kid something today-- at bathroom duty, of all places . . . she didn't have her ID because she was coming from PE class and so she had to give me her ID number in order to check in and she recited it like this:
"one, four . . . triple five . . . one three"
and this was too many numbers and did not work, but then she clarified:
"I said that wrong-- just three-- I meant there was just one number three"
and so I told her that the generally acceptable way to give someone a long string of numbers was to do it in groups of three, and when she returned from the bathroom, she did just that, and we were both very pleased.
V/M (C/P) = $$$
Going to the vet is like going to the auto mechanic: cars and animals can't talk (unless perhaps your pet is a parrot with an extensive medical vocabulary?) and because they can't tell you what's wrong, you have to rely on this intermediary, and you hope the intermediary is an expert and understands the problems with the car/pet-- but you never know for sure . . . the only thing you do know for sure when you visit the auto mechanic or the vet is that it's going to be expensive.
Gone Fishin'
They say a bad day fishing is better than a good day at work, and a good day fishing is certainly better than a bad day at work . . . or something to that effect, anyway, Ian and I had a medium day fishing and a great day on the boat-- perfect weather and we caught numerous fish, pretty much every time we dropped the bait into the water, but most were slightly short of the requisite 12 and a half inches-- Ian caught a couple of keepers (and the mate gave us a bunch of extra sea bass filets) and I learned to grab the sea bass by the mouth, not the head, when removing the hook and I also nearly reinjured my healing hamstring when I slipped on a bucket of raw clams, but I was able to catch myself before I wiped out (and even though I showered and washed my hands, my fingers still smell like raw clams and sea bass).
Dave Goes on the IR
I pulled my hamstring this morning playing basketball-- it was kind of tight last week, so I sort of rested it . . . but not really-- and now I'm paying for it-- but I guess this is what you can expect when you play full court basketball at 6:30 in the morning on a humid day.
The Best Way to Teach Hamlet is NOT to Finish
I covered an extraordinary amount of Hamlet in my first two classes today-- the nunnery scene; the play-within-the-play; MY play-within-the-play-within-the-class; Hamlet's advice to the players . . . along with my acting stunt that mirrors his advice; and finally-- the Zefferelli-directed Oedipal Mel Gibson/Glen Close incestuous bedroom scene-- it was utterly exhausting but I'm trying to finish the play before the end of the year . . . alas, best laid plans: during my last period class we had an endless lockdown (because of a "swatting" incident at the elementary school across the road) and because of the delay, I didn't get very much done at all . . . and it was fine . . . because it's the end of the year with the seniors and it's Hamlet-- and who loves a delay more than Hamlet?
Zunis and Hippies and Navahos . . . and Murder
If I learned one thing from reading Tony Hillerman's mystery novel Dance Hall of the Dead-- and I learned a lot of things, about archaeology and Zuni and Navaho beliefs and Folsom Man and fluted arrowheads and the various jurisdictions in New Mexico-- but the one takeaway is this: don't mess with the Zuni kachina Shalako mask ritual or Shuwalitsi might get you.
Nice Job Seth . . . Now Just Keep Doing It Until You Are Old
If you haven't seen Seth Rogen's show The Studio yet, watch it-- it's fucking great-- and episode six, "The Pediatric Oncologist," achieves Curb Your Enthusiasm-level awkward humor-- looks like Larry David is passing the baton to Seth Rogen (and since Curb ran-- intermittently-- from 1999 to 2024, Rogen should aspire to make The Studio for the next 25 years).
No Ass Tattoos . . .
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Unfortunately, my wife and I did not read yesterday's comments so we celebrated our 25th Anniversary in a fairly traditional manner-- we caught the train to Newark, took the PATH to Jersey City, walked along the Hudson and took in the views of the city, and then sat outside and ate at Battelo-- which was delicious (prosciutto wrapped zeppoles!) while we watched the yachts, ferries, and sailboats navigate the river . . . then we walked our way through Jersey City-- which is a vey different place than it was thirty years ago-- gentrification!-- got back on the PATH and, of course, missed our connecting train in Newark Penn Station-- which is a disorganized shitshow and has NOT gentrified one bit-- you'd think they'd sync the PATH and the Jersey Transit train, but even though we sprinted up and down several staircases to get to the track, we still missed it by a minute, so then we had to wait in the very very hot waiting area-- not even a trickle of A/C-- because there were no benches up near the actual track (and everything smelled like urine) and so while Cat and I are big proponents of public transportation, I can see why everyone in America is driving everywhere-- our train system is a shitshow-- so thirty minutes later, we caught the next train to New Brunswick, and we ended up sitting in a very old train car with very little A/C) but I did get to hear a delightful, Lebowski-esque conversation between two old Jewish ladies sitting behind us:
Do you swim on Shabbos?
Yes, I swim on Shabbos.
Got to Catch the Train!
No time for a complete sentence, the wife and I are off to Jersey City to celebrate our
Dumb But True
While America's "A Horse With No Name" is one of the sillier songs to survive the early 70s, I must concur, now that the weather has shifted here-- and this is something I always forget-- that "the heat was hot."
Twenty-Five Years for Dave and Cat!
Today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of our wild wedding (I ended up taking a forced swim in the Lawrence Brook, thanks to my fraternity brothers and high school buddies) and an incredible journey with my beloved wife-- we traveled the world, educated the masses, raised a couple of children, refurbished a kitchen, fought a stubborn racoon in the attic, and we maintained our good looks and our even better sense of humor . . . I can't wait to see what the future brings!
The Me Detonate a Bomb Generation
If you've forgotten-- or are not familiar-- with the spate of terroristic bombings that beset the United States in the early 1970s and instead you think of the 70s as an age of disco, drugs, and glam rock, then you are suffering from a case of misinformation or rose-tinted nostalgia and need to read the Bryan Burrough book Days of Rage: America's Radical Underground, the FBI, and the Forgotten Age of Revolutionary Violence . . . I don't remember any of this, but apparently I was born into a political maelstrom of protest against racism and the Vietnam War.
See You in 25 Years?
A good run for the New York Knickerbockers, including a solid 4-2 victory over the reigning champs, the Celtics, but the Pacers' pace proved to be too much for them-- so there's always next year (or, judging by the last time the Knicks went deep into the play-offs, there's always 2050 . . . and I might still be alive then!)
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