Menacing Ladybugs?

Today is my favorite lesson in Creative Writing class: we read James Wright's lovely meditation on nature, "A Blessing," and then my students attempted to draw the scene:

two beautiful horses in a twilit pasture and a man so awed by their pastoral serenity that he feels he might "break into blossom," but the lesson is that it's not so easy to draw a beautiful horse (as evidenced by the student examples) 

and we read a few other poems that convey tone, including "The Second Coming" by Yeats-- and with this apocalyptic poem, I always ask them what animals would contribute to the arid anarchy of the rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, the giant Sphinx stomping across the desert surrounded by indignant desert birds-- so what animals would fit with this scene?-- snakes and spiders and crocodiles and vultures and ravens, creatures of that ilk-- 

and then I ask them to list animals that would ruin the tone-- bunnies and kittens and panda bears and such-- and this led to some interesting discussions from the students as to what animals they are scared of . . . one girl is petrified of ladybugs?-- and another girl said, "ants are attracted to me" and then launched into several ant-freak-out anecdotes, and another girl said she hides indoors whenever she sees a bee, and she is also scared of moths, butterflies, lanternflies, and mice . . . and this really led me to wonder how these children are going to survive in the world.

Dave is Well Appointed

I medically overbooked myself after school this week: I got my first hyaluronic acid shot in my knee yesterday—ouch; I went to the dentist today for a cleaning-- yuck; and tomorrow I'm getting acupuncture-- but perhaps all this preemptive medical care will pay off in the long run (or the medium run, in the long run, I'll have shuffled off this mortal coil, or-- more likely-- limped off it).

Can Chinese AI Predict American Madness?

I probably shouldn't reveal this, but I'm using DeepSeek—the cheap, knock-off AI—to craft the perfect NCAA bracket. However, I'm sure someone else is using it to cure cancer.

Pickleball Weekend

Two away Cross Club Pickleball matches in one weekend is one too many-- I played well yesterday at the Pickle House down in Robbinsville (I was lucky enough to have a fan club-- my brother and his buddy Craig came and drank beers and watched me play, and I always play better at any sport when my brother is around . . . family confidence) but today our team got spanked at the Pickle Palace up in Whippany-- I think we were a bit tired from yesterday's match (and we had a few subs playing, who were not ready for this level) but losing at pickleball is still more fun that not playing at all.

We Used to Hang Out in There!

The Corner Tavern—the bar in New Brunswick where I met my wife (actually, I met her just outside the bar, when I exited—because she was only 20 at the time—this was 1992, and I was with my best buddy Rob, and she was with her best buddy Tammy—and we married the two of them eight years later) and now this bar seems to be some kind of Superfund site, in a perpetual state of industrial decontamination.

Enough of This Shit

By the end of parent-teacher conference week, the contrast between the demeanor of the English teachers with the parents and the demeanor of the English teachers in the English Office had reached such a stark contradiction that if I detailed this phenomenon further, it might be detrimental to our employment.

March: In Like a Lamb, Out Like a Lion?

82°F earlier in the week, and now it's snowing-- when the fuck is the porridge going to be just right?

Will I Ever Escape From Stalingrad?

I thought it would be a good idea to read Vasily Grossman's epic WWII novel Stalingrad, but now that I'm 700 pages deep and trapped in the mines of the Donbass region of Eastern Ukraine, I'm wishing that I had decided to read something a bit shorter-- like another Tony Hillerman novel (we just finished watching two seasons of Dark Winds-- an adaption of Hillerman's Leaphorn and Chee novels: 1970s crime and mysticism on the Navaho lands in New Mexico . . . good stuff).

Into the Bath!

While I don't like the fact that it got THIS hot this quickly, the unseasonably warm weather is great for airing out smelly things, whether furry or footwear.

Let's Never Do the Time Warp Again

I was very happy yesterday, after the Knicks threw up another airball in a messy game against the Lakers, when the announcer blamed Daylight Saving Time for the poor, rhythmless play by both teams.

Time for a Nap

Great weekend: a lot of old friends; a lot of rugby on the telly; a lot of Guinness consumed; a fair amount of Z played; and a fabulous Hoboken get-together.

Meet Us at the Shepherd and the Knucklehead?

Yesterday,  after riding a slow local and very full train to Newark Penn, and then a crowded PATH train to Jersey City, I then walked over an hour to a bar with an absurd name in north Hoboken, The Shepherd and the Knucklehead, and despite the crowds on the way, the bar was empty aside from a bunch of knuckleheads watching rugby, and I believe a good time was had by all and we finished a keg of Guiness.

Epic Fury?

I'm not sure why we're calling this coordinated attack on Iran "Epic Fury"-- I thought Iran was epically furious with us-- not the other way around: we don't usually chant "Death to Iran," but the Iranians have certainly embraced the slogan "Death to America."

Trying to Illuminate Things

Today was dark, both weather-wise and literacy-wise . . . it was one of those days in class when you're fairly sure that nobody has read what they were supposed to read, or if they did read it, they didn't comprehend it-- and so you have to retreat and start from square one (also, I learned today that high school do not know about the Abu Ghraib prison travesty . . . so I explained it to them, because that knowledge might be relevant again: the dire costs and consequences of attempting a regime change in the Middle East and then determining how to treat various detainees).

I Did Not Know There Would Be Costumes

My friend and fellow English teacher Janson recommended the Canadian math rock duo Angine de Poitrine to me because he knew their music would be right up my alley-- and he was right: I listened to all their stuff on Spotify and thoroughly enjoyed it-- but then I learned that they perform this fast-paced, hypnotic, microtonal, riff-based music in surreal polka-dotted costumes, and this made me like them even more!

Dave: The Master

I am the master at cooking blackened salmon in a cast-iron pan: I coat the filets with melted butter and then I sprinkle a mixture of blackening spices and brown sugar onto the buttered fish (and the sugar and spices stick because of the butter) and then I cook the salmon, skin side down, in a blackening pan until the temperature is about 100°F, and then I place the salmon, still in the blackening pan, under the broiler for about three minutes, until the brown sugar/blackening mixture caramelizes with the butter . . . it's so good even my son Ian eats it, and he doesn't really like fish-- and our dog also loves when I cook this meal, because she loves to eat the charred skin.

The Good Doctor and I Celebrate Yet Another (Rhyming) Birthday

Dr. Seuss and his cat-- they knew some good tricks--

They made a big mess for rainy-day kicks.

Thing One and Thing Two ran wild-- yikes!

Like my two boys when they were young tykes.

Then the Cat in the Hat-- he cleaned up the mess--

with his high-tech machine, with panache and finesse.

But now Seuss is dead, and my kids are old.

They are tall and mature; they cannot be controlled.

Time is a force that we just cannot fix . . .

Seuss is long gone, and I'm fifty-six.

Lesson Learned

Last night, I drank four good beers, and we ate a bunch of delicious fried fish (black cod) and fried coconut shrimp at Wu's Fish House in the wild and chaotic H-Mart Plaza in Edison, and today my stomach is pretty sketchy, and I have a Cross Club Pickleball Match at 2 PM . . . but at least-- if the unspeakable happens-- we are all wearing black shorts.

Resilience

After gently digging it out, my bamboo—which was buried underneath two feet of snow-- has sprung back to life.

Look Before You Drink

You should look before you leap, and you should also look before you drink out of a cup in the bathroom in the middle of the night-- which I did not do last night (because I was being considerate and didn't want to wake my sleeping wife . . . but she was NOT considerate, and so I ended up drinking from a cup containing her floss pick . . . yuck).

Seniors . . . The End Is Nigh

A student that I know quite well was taking forever on a quiz, and so I said to him, jokingly, "Okay, Nico, finish it up . . . take your D like a man," and while I meant "D" as in a poor grade, he interpreted it another, much filthier way-- which I immediately realized and said, "or C-, you know what I meant," but it was still pretty funny (almost as funny as moments before, when Nico's friend Frankie shoved two apple slices into his ears, and instead of chastising him, I said, "What are you listening to, Apples in Stereo?" but of course, no one appreciated that joke because they had never heard of The Apples in Stereo-- and you just can't explain that kind of thing) and these are my seniors in February . . . what's going to happen in June?

Dave: Still Learning Stuff?

My students did presentations today about works of art that tackle "the establishment" or a particular system-- racism, colonialism, authoritarianism, capitalism, ageism, sexism, etcetera-- and so from one group I learned that Lababus are the quintessential symbol of rampant consumerism-- they are a collectible "ugly-cute" doll that you buy in a mystery blind box, and there are various rare and secret designs, fueling overconsumption wiht a sociopathic social media marketing campaign . . . and if you don't want to spring for an actual Labubu, then you can buy an ersatz version, a "Lafufu."

Pretty Good Day (Post Blizzard)

Most excellent snow day: did all the shoveling yesterday, and the roads were clear this morning, so I played pickleball and then met my wife and son Alex for lunch-- and tomorrow is already Wednesday!

Spring Break!

Judging by the table on my deck, we got more snow during this storm than we did during the last storm (the top photo is the last storm; the bottom is this one) but shoveling out of this one is more pleasant because it's not as frigid as it was during the last storm-- and we have another day off tomorrow, so I'm trying to enjoy myself . . . since we didn't budget any snow days, this is ostensibly our spring break . . . and I'd be able to enjoy myself more if my wife had told me she was going to the beer store on Sunday-- she bought herself some Asbury Park Blonde, but she did not buy me any Asbury Park Stout (we only drink beer that represents our physical characteristics, thus I can't have any of her Blonde and she does not drink my Stout).

AI . . . So Intelligent But So Artificial

I spent nearly two hours this morning uploading images and prompting various AI models in an attempt to make a podcast logo-- I can't show you the logo yet because then I'd have to kill you, the podcast is still in the secret development phase-- but I was astounded by how powerful and also totally noncompliant and incompetent AI image-generation is-- I might have been able to do the task faster on my own (but probably not as well) but the inability of the AI to make things bigger or centered or parallel is wild-- the AI can come up with some pretty fantastic ideas but tweaking them is very very difficult . . . in fact, I might show a real artist what the AI came up with and let them have at it.

Three Things Dave Can't Avoid, So He'll Kill Two Birds With One Stone (But Not Three Birds)

Three things I can't avoid: death, taxes, and this impending snowstorm-- so I guess I'll do my taxes on Monday (because we're not going to have school) but I hope there's not so much snow that I die!

I Can't Explain What I'm Doing, But I Know I'm the Best

If there's one thing I know how to do better than my wife-- and perhaps everyone else in the world-- it's loading the dishwasher —there's an art to it . . . all the dirty plates, bowls, containers, and cutlery need to get maximum exposure to the streaming jets of water.

Finally, a Country Song to Which I Can Relate

My friend posted this in the English teacher group chat, and it worked-- I listened to it at the gym while on the rowing machine, and once the song was over, I immediately left the gym, went home, and poured myself cold one.

 

Five! That's Three, Sir.

We only have a three-day school week because of Presidents' Day and Lunar New Year, but because of the elasticity and relativity of time, this day feels 66.6 percent longer than a typical school day.

Almost on the Button

My wife-- who loves to distort idioms into new phrases that often make better sense than the original-- read the weather forecast and noticed that high winds were predicted, and so she remarked "button down the hatches," and I said "it's batten, not button . . . batten down the hatches," and then we had to check exactly what a batten is: 

a batten is a long, flat strip of wood or metal, used to secure something in place . . . such as the hatch on a sailboat.

(Don't) Send Help

The best part about Send Help-- a gory, over-the-top Sam Raimi survival thriller-- is that frumpy, nerdy Linda from accounting, played by Rachel McAdams, slowly becomes Regina George-- or an unhinged, even more deranged version of that character . . . and I should point out, before I incur her wrath, that it's actually Linda from Strategy and Planning.

Buggin' Out with Bugonia

Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons give riveting performances in the wacky Yorgos Lanthimos film Bugonia-- you won't be able to turn away; they are both eminently watchable-- but beware: the ending is insane, and while it might be a delusion or a dream, there are no clues to separate the surreal finale from reality . . . enjoy!

Schrödinger's Swordfish

Today, in preparation for a Valentine's Day dinner with my wife, I went to Archar Seafood in Somerset and bought some very expensive swordfish (the last time we got swordfish from there, it was exceptional) and placed it on the back driver-side seat and drove home, and then when I pulled into the driveway, I grabbed my gym bag and went into the house-- and I should point out that it was warm today, a balmy 46 degrees-- and then, when I was in the kitchen-- miracle of all miracles-- I remembered that I left the fish in the car, that I put it onto the back seat, and so I went out and retrieved it, no harm, no foul . . . but I came very close to turning that pricey swordfish steak into a warm, bacteria-laden, rotten mess, which would have ruined both dinner and the smell of my (relatively) odor-free car . . . but who knows how the mind works-- it's truly a black box, sometimes remembering things at the right time, sometimes minutes later, sometimes the next morning, and sometimes not at all.

A Gift More Meta Than the Matrix

Since I teach high school, I rarely get gifts from students-- occasionally, because of my last name, a kid gives me some sort of pelican totem (which I find pretty weird-- I've had students named "Bella" but I've had no desire to give them a bell . . . although this drawing of me AS a pelican is sick) and if I do get a gift, it's usually a Dunkin' Donuts gift card-- but a kid surprised me today with one of the best (and weirdest) gift I've ever received: an ink stamp-- made by VistaPrint-- which, when pressed, emblazons-- in black ink-- "David Approved" AND a picture of me as Cypher from the Matrix . . . he stumbled upon this picture of me as Cypher on this blog, and he found it highly amusing and thus made this stamp-- so now if something is REALLY REALLY good, but only then, I'll give it this bizarre stamp of approval.

But How Do You Run a Hotel?

My wife and I finished the first season of The Night Manager-- and while the show certainly delivers John le Carré-style espionage, corruption, and intrigue, it is also a bit of a bait-and-switch: Jonathan Pine spends a surprisingly short amount of time as a hotel night manager, and we learn very little of the inner workings of room booking, room service, room rotation, the effects of working the night shift, how to deal with unruly guests, noise complaints, soused folks at the bar, etcetera-- because it doesn't take long before Pine switches from late-night hotelier to undercover spy, infiltrating the inner circle of a ruthless arms dealer . . . so if you're looking for a show that actually teaches you how to run a hotel, my loyal fans have suggested Fawlty Towers and Schitt's Creek.

The Mailman Bringeth the Shame

I had a generally lovely day off today . . . until this afternoon: I went and got an X-ray on my knee (including the extra-special "sunrise" view) so that I can get approved for the gel shots, and-- miraculously-- I was in and out of the radiology place in fifteen minutes; so then I went to the gym; then I picked up my son Alex in New Brunswick and we got some lunch-- he's an absurd figure because he burned himself with kitchen oil on his left hand: his hand is all bandaged up with gauze, so it's gigantic, a lollipop and he can't really wear a jacket because he can't get his hand through the sleeve and he also can't put the hand down because his fingers hurt, so he just holds it up at an angle while he's talking to you, which is disconcerting until you get used to it-- but he was still able to eat sushi with his right hand (though he's lefty) but no chopsticks-- and then I took a long nap and woke up refreshed and did some work on my top secret audio project and then I took my dog for a walk on the snowfields at the park, and you can actually walk now because the snow has softened up-- so a wonderful day-- UNTIL I opened our PSE&G bill and was properly chastised: we spent $64 more on electricity than the average household in our area and we've spent $1,119 more on electricity this year than the most energy-efficient household in our area-- so obviously, all our computer use and space heaters and Ian's massive stereo and computer and the bathroom electric baseboard heater are eating up a lot of current-- but mainly I want to punch those energy-efficient fuckers for making me feel guilty.

It's All Relative?

It's a balmy 36 degrees Fahrenheit today, so I suppose I'll take my dog for a walk on the ice fields in the park.

If Only My Right Knee Felt as Mediocre as My Left Knee

Another visit to Dr. Navia (and yet another cute young intern) for my right knee, which has been hurting pretty much whenever I'm not moving, so now I am headed for an X-ray on Wednesday, and then as soon as our insurance sees the X-ray and approves them, some hyaluronic acid gel shots that will hopefully lubricate this fucked up, worn out, overused leg hinge that I rely on for important and essential activities, e.g. basketball, soccer, snowboarding, and pickleball.

The Best Place to Be a Regular

We braved the cold with our old friends Mel, Ed, Rob, and Julie in Princeton yesterday: after lunch, we explored the recently opened Princeton University Art Museum-- Princeton University has always had an incredible art collection, but it was crammed into a smaller building-- but now everything is on display in an enormous 146,000-square-foot modernist building with 32 galleries stocked with incredibly art and history, Monet's "Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge" and a Manet and a Pisarro and a Van Gogh and a Rodin and an unfinished studio version of Jaques-Louis David's "The Death of Socrates" and several detailed Roman mosaics from Antioch, Turkey and much ancient ceramics and sculpture . . . and it's free! you just wander in! and then we went over to the newly renovated Triumph Brewery, which has the nicest lounge and the best jazz around (and the beer is great too) and we also noticed that Princeton did a much better job with snow removal and street and sidewalk shoveling than New Brunswick (and especially the no man's land between Highland Park and New Brunswick . . . Princeton, that's where the money is . . . and the endowment money . . . 36 billion dollars of it).

Not the Best Place to Be a Regular

My son Alex, who lives with his girlfriend in a studio apartment in New Brunswick, burned his hands with cooking oil while cleaning up last night, so my wife drove him and Ava to the ER-- once again-- Alex forgot his wallet, but because he is a "regular" there, they had all his information-- and while the burns aren't too bad, and they wrapped both his hands in gauze and told him he should be better in a day or two, there were some weird happenings . . . the ER doctor used the cream that Alex brought with him from his last cooking burn, which seems odd: sort of like a BYOB restaurant, this was BYOM hospital? and then, once Alex had been treated, my wife had to drive the two of them fifteen minutes to the 24-hour Walgreens in East Brunswick to get medicine because the pharmacy in the hospital was closed? this makes no sense-- what if you didn't have a car?-- and shouldn't you be able to get the medicine you need at the hospital in the city and not have to drive out to the suburbs? our health care system is byzantine.

Dave is Put on the Spot and Answers the Ultimate Question (with a Question)

I was reviewing the structure of a synthesis body paragraph in my College Writing class, and I told them they really needed to explain the connection between the different texts, between the different sources they are using to support their argument-- because kids like to just say "similarly" and leave it at that-- and so I reminded them to look at the sample paragraph that I wrote and how it took me 25-plus words to get from one text to the next:

"The Citadel, a self-designated military academy once known for violent hazing traditions, followed a similar historical pattern, adopting a system that seems absurd from the outside but resists mitigation"

and one of my most diligent students, who loves to pepper me with questions, asked, "Well, which words should I use?" and this struck me as a funny thing to ask, because that's essentially the ultimate question not only in English class but also in life-- I said to her, "Use the best words to say what you need to say . . . think of it this way: maybe you're going to ask a special someone on a date for Valentine's Day . . . which words should you use to ask them out? . . . I don't know the answer to that; every situation is different-- you just have to try some words and see if they work!"

Although . . . There Are a Lot of Days Off in December

February . . . the best month if you get paid bimonthly, because it has fewer days, and therefore, you get paid more per hour!

Over the (Metaphorical) Hump

Today was our last midterm, and tomorrow begins the third quarter, so though it seems we are in the dead of winter and there is no end to school in sight, if you think of the school year as a work week we are "over the hump" -- and I do indeed thinko f the school year as a work week-- so therefore we are trudging through the snow towards Spring Break, which represents Thursday night (and when I was hiking around th epark yesterday witht he dog, literally trudging through the snow, I realized that what I needed were a pair of snow shoes).

Definitely NOT the Bee's Knees

My right knee hurts-- pretty much all the time-- so either the cortisone shot has worn off, or the cold weather has made my synovial fluid less viscous and thus less able to lubricate my knee joint . . . but whatever the reason, my knee has been hurting, and it does hurt and I'm pretty sure it's going to hurt in the future-- whether I'm exercising or not exercising, sedentary or walking, on naproxen or off naproxen-- and especially when I'm driving-- so I think I have to suck it up and get the gel shots.

Dave Gets It Done in the (Relatively) Balmy Weather

I didn't have to proctor any midterms today-- which is a wonderful day to take off from school because you don't have to leave any plans-- and I am proud to say that I've had a fairly productive day, here are the things I've ALREADY accomplished . . . and it's only 3:30 PM:

1) I went to TWO, count them, TWO grocery stores— SuperFresh for cheap produce and ShopRite for everything else, including some weird shit that my wife requested: protein pancake mix? coconut water coffee creamer?

2) I got some audio recorded for my top secret audio project;

3) I took Lola, who was going stir crazy, for a hike in the Ecological Preserve-- I now realize the key is to drive her to wherever we want to walk; she can't walk on the salt-covered roads-- the salt, or whatever chemical is used to melt the ice-- lowers the temperature of water below freezing and then it gets into her paws, even if they are waxed, and makes them hurt (plus I heard from a couple people that when your dog licks this stuff off their paws, it can give them the liquid squirting shits)

4) I shoveled off our back porch and liberated our grill from a snowbank;

5) I went to FedEx and shipped my son's broken laptop somewhere for reapirs;

6) I took a nap;

7) I made lunch instead of going out for food because . . .

8) I've started Vasily Grossman's epic masterpiece, Stalingrad, and I was trying to read the paperback, but the font is too small, so instead of getting a massage today or going out to lunch, I treated myself and bought the Kindle version of the book so I can enlarge the font . . . this is a good book to read in the cold weather, but not the paperback version (which is all the library had).

 

Crokinole!

Last night, I introduced the Canadian game "crokinole" to some friends, and while much fun was had by all, there was also some complaints of finger soreness and lack of flicking power, which kind of boggled my mind-- but I guess I've been training my pointer finger for over a month and now it's got crokinole strength . . . which I'm taking for granted.

The Dog Days of Winter

My dog Lola is growing bored-- this cold snap has prevented her from walking the trails, paths, and sidewalks, and she hasn't visited the dog park in over a week . . . and on the one hand, she's catching her frisbee again and playing tug-of-war, activities which she abandoned in her middle age, so it's fun to resume them, but on the other hand, she's obsessed with eating the frozen rabbit feces in our backyard (which are, oddly, identical in shape, size, and color to dog treats) so I'm really looking forward to when it gets into the thrities next week and we can go for a hike again without her paws freezing (even Musher's Secret wax doesn't work when it's near zero!).

Miraculous Coincidental Serendipity Does NOT Save Dave Ten Dollars

 

So it turns out that I DO have the powers of precognitive vocifery and psionic verbal manifestation because when Brady, Strachan, and I were out walking the other day, and we had to dodge a couple of snowplows, and I said: "We'd better be careful we don't get Jeremy Rennered" and then we got back to the school and I noticed that my ID was gone and I said: "I'll bet it got Jeremy Rennered" and it turns out that a college student found my ID on the side of the road while he was sledding and, looking at the state of it, the ID certainly got Jeremy Rennered . . . and, both because it looks to be irreparable and because I already called in the lost ID, I still had to go to the Board Office and pay ten dollars and pick up my new one.

Old Man, New Shit . . .

Not only did I lose my ID and scan-in card yesterday, which caused me difficulty getting in and out of the building and making photocopies (although it shouldn't have caused me so much difficulty making photocopies-- apparently I could have typed my school ID number into the copier, and it would have released and printed my files but I didn't learn this until I had walked back-and-forth from my classroom to the copy room several times) but I also dealt with a new disciplinary issue-- which is saying something because I thought I had dealt with it all-- but I have a student with long dreadlocks, which he likes to hang like a curtain in front of his face and eyes, Cousin It's style—and then sleep in class-- and after months of repeatedly waking him up, I finally got annoyed enough to write him up-- because he slept through a lockdown drill—and then we got into a debate about whether he was allowed to cover his eyes with his hair-- his perspective was "it's my hair," and my perspective was: I need to see your eyes to see if you're sleeping or not and that's why we have a no-hat rule and sometimes you have to deal with hair, such as in shop class you need to tie it back-- and though he complied yesterday and moved his hair out of his face but I have a feeling this is going to be contentious . . . we shall see.

Dave's School ID Does a Jeremy Renner

On "A" days, I usually walk outside during my off period with a couple of other English teachers, and though it was cold today, we decided to brave the elements and get some steps in-- we walked out the back gate and into the neighborhood and hiked through the icy and slushy suburban streets, avoiding several snowplows (we discussed Jeremy Renner's snowplow mishap while doing this) and then, once we made it back into the warmth of the school, I noticed that I lost my school ID and swipe card . . . it must have slipped off my body while we were walking, and I did NOT retrace my steps and try to find it (it probably met a similar fate to Jeremy Renner) so my reward for getting some fresh air is going to be a trip to the Board Office and a ten dollar fee.

Thanks! For Blowing People Up and Perpetuating the Human Race, So We Have More People to Blow Up!

I'm nearly finished with Patrick Ryan's small-town Ohio saga, Buckeye-- and the book features both harrowing tales from WWII and harrowing tales of pregnancy and child-rearing . . . so perhaps we should say "thank you for your service" to both soldiers and moms.

Hey Trump, We're Throwing the Red Flag

A sad and ironic state of affairs: when there is a questionable play during a professional football game, the NFL has a comprehensive Instant Replay Policy, with extensive protocols in place for various scenarios-- and this includes a replay Command Center in New York, with rules experts at the ready-- the goal being to be objective and make the correct call; but when ICE agents shot citizens in Minneapolis (e.g. Renee Good and Alex Pretti) and there was plenty of controversial footage damning the agents involved, the Trump administration refuses to acknowledge the possibility that the film needs review and instead prefers to create a subjective version of reality . . . football fans wouldn't stand for this kind of irrational behavior from a referee but when an FBI supervisor tried to investigate Renee Good's execution, she ended up resigning-- apparently, that film will never go to the Booth for review.

A Cold Day in Jersey is a Temperate Day in Minnesota

It's freezing cold here, and we got slammed with snow all day, but after three shoveling sessions, we have removed most of it-- the only problem is that now (because New Jersey sucks) it's sleeting or something and it's supposed to continue for hours, and it's 14 degrees-- so we're not going back to school for a couple days . . . but it's all relative: I'm drinking hot coffee, there's chili in the crockpot, we haven't lost power yet (fingers crossed) and there's football on TV, so it could be worse . . . I could be in Minneapolis, protesting in the freezing cold, because our government has become a dystopian shitshow.

Crokinole , Primetime

My wife and I were watching the wonderful Australian show Colin from Accounts, and Gordon and Gene were having some incomprehensible, awkward conversation that we couldn't quite parse because of the Aussie accent, but then we realized that they were saying "crokinole," the fantastic Canadian game that I bought our household for Christmas-- apparently, the game is growing more popular by the minute!

 

Little Girl With a Big Voice

 Last night's "battle of the bands' was very entertaining, but I did not realize that part of the responsibility of judging the contest was that I had to offer feedback to the bands after each song, American Idol style-- luckily, though there were three judges, I was the first to speak each time so I could grab the low hanging fruit and comment on it . . . and while all the bands were talented and fun, it wasn't really a contest, because the sophomore who was on The Voice had assembled an incredible band and she can REALLY sing, she just belted out her songs-- including Toto's "Hold the Line"-- very impressive, so much sound coming out of a little kid!

The Opera Isn't Over Until Dave Says a Bunch of Annoying Shit

I am judging a "battle of the bands" tonight at my high school, and apparently, there is a rubric to help us judge each band, but as the official English 12: Music and the Arts teacher, I feel it might be necessary to point out to whoever is running this event that musical taste is extremely subjective and depends upon how you perceive and value certain musical elements-- such as rhythm, melody, lyrics, authenticity, and timbre-- I'm all about timbre . . . but someone else might not value timbre the way I value timbre-- and then there's is how much novelty you can tolerate-- Ornette Coleman's free jazz isn't for everyone-- so in a sense it's almost impossible to judge music from a variety of genres-- you've got a better chance of making a qualified aesthetic assessment if you are only focusing on one particular genre: prog rock or hip-hop or boom-bap or UK trap . . . but I'm probably just going to keep my mouth shut and just check off the boxes.

Looming Precipative Dread

How can I concentrate on writing a sentence when an impending cataclysmic snowpocalypse is headed our way?-- especially when my wife's district budgeted ZERO snow days into the Edison school calendar (someone needs to tell her school board that the mandatory SEC warning applies for winter weather as well as stocks: past performance is not indicative of future results) and so she will most certainly lose days off her Spring Break-- and my district budgeted one measly snow day . . . I'll go out on a limb here (out on an icicle) and predict we will have three days off due to this storm . . . and it's not even February.

Headlines Fit for the Onion (If Only They Were Fictitious)

I don't know whether to laugh or cry lately when I read the Times . . . absurdity is hard to reckon with-- but I'm going to record a few actual updates and headlines for posterity:

Six Prosecutors Quit Over Push to Investigate ICE Shooting Victim's Widow

U.S. Stocks and Bonds Fall as Trump Ramps Up His Threats Over Greenland

Trump Wanted a Nobel, Now It's Greenland

and, of course, the only fitting place for our dickweed of a POTUS in Greenland . . . unemployed.

Winter Verse

It is cold (and growing colder) and I have a cold (which is growing bolder).

Teenagers, They're (Coco) Nuts

Last Tuesday night, just before bed-- after a long day of fitness: I played basketball in the morning and then went to PT for my hamstring in the afternoon-- I suffered something new, a hamstring cramp-- I've had calf cramps in the night, but never a hamstring cramp-- it was a painful and frightening two minutes-- and when I told my senior English this news, two bros, Frankie and Nico-- a wrestler and a weight-lifter-- insisted that I needed to drink Vita Coco coconut water because it contains lots of potassium and keeps you from cramping-- and I always like to take the advice of teenagers, more for the humor than the sagacity, so I bought a bottle and drank some today before playing pickleball and I am going to give those two students a firm talking-to because Vita Coco is disgusting in both consistency and flavor (and I love coconut) so I guess I'll have to stick to eating bananas (and this incident, as zman cleverly pointed out, is nearly a mirror image of a previous, rather awkward moment of Dave).

Picaresque Pairing

We finished a picaresque TV show last night-- The Lowdown-- which is about Lee Raybon, a rogue journalist (played in masterful Lebowski-esque fashion by Ethan Hawke) who tries to uncover the sordid truth about Tulsa . . . and I just finished a picaresque novel today-- Tim O'Brien's America Fantastica, which is also about a journalist, but a washed-up, ruined compulsive liar of a journalist, who travels through conspiratorial America, trying to make sense of nothing, O'Brien narrating the tale in the manner of Charles Portis, hurtling from one location to the next, one character to the next, in broadly derisive but always entertaining absurdist satire.

Hot and Cold

Saturday night, my son left the oven baking at 450 degrees all night-- he heated up some late-night pizza and then forgot to turn it off, so I awoke to a very warm kitchen (but luckily, the house did not burn down) and then two days ago, my wife came downstairs for breakfast, and it was freezing cold-- because my son left the sliding door open all night . . . perhaps his next mistake will make things just right.

Magical Micrographia

I have taught for a long time, and this is a record: the smallest legible handwriting I have ever seen (the student was creating Art History flashcards on 3 x 5 notecards).

We Exist in an Afterthought

Today, after we watched a TED Talk about how bad architecture has ruined American cities, suburbs, and public spaces, I took my students on a "field trip" the the English Office, the cramped, claustrophobic, cluttered, and windowless space designated for the twenty English and Special Ed teachers that live upstairs in our high school to eat, socialize, plan, and rest between teaching class-- it's truly a soulless and ugly space and the fact that some paid adult with an architectural degree actually designed this space as an office for teachers is mind-boggling and very sad.

Out of My Depth

After attending morning basketball for the first time in a few weeks (the steroid shot in my knee seems ot be working) I am covering a Senior Health class today-- a number of students and teachers are out of school because the service for the student that got shot and killed is in Paterson today-- and I'm not sure if I could actyually teach this class with a straight face:  there's a handout on the teacher's desk and the first words on it are "fetus" and "semen" and the kids are doing some project about contraception-- my only advice was that children are very expensive, especially if they drive a car or go to college.

Quite a Monday

Today was a long and emotionally taxing day at school—but there were emotional support dogs.

Ugly Monday Looming . . .

Not looking forward to going to school tomorrow: apparently, an East Brunswick senior was shot and killed yesterday by another teenager in Sayreville-- it's going to be a sad day, not sure how the seniors are going to react to this.

To Prepare, I Took a Long Nap

My friend is having a 60th birthday party tonight, and it starts at 8 PM . . . that's nearly past my bedtime, and I'm only 55!

Some Good TV

Some high-quality TV recommendations:

1) if you're looking for something dark and artsy (and filmed in Italy in beautifully rendered black and white) and you don't want a ton of unnecessarily loud special effects (e.g., Stranger Things), then check out Andrew Scott as Ripley;

2) if you're looking for a different kind of alien apocalypse and some phenomenal acting from Rhea Seehorn, check out Pluribus;

3) if you love The Big Lebowski, then check out Ethan Hawke playing a shambolic character loosely based on the Tulsa citizen journalist Lee Roy Chapman in The Lowdown.

GoldiDave

As I get older, I like the cold less and less-- I used to love it, but now it makes my knee ache and my body stiff-- but because it was unseasonably warm today and our school building's heating system is ancient and defective, the English Office was HOT . . . roasting hot, hot enough that we were sweating while eating lunch-- and thusly I remembered that I don't like the heat either . . . I'm only happy when the temperature is just right.

Poem of Dave

When I get old and pass away,

this is all I want them to say:

there was a guy named Dave

and he wrote a sentence every single fucking day.

Dave Mans Up in Front of the Ladies

I'm hoping that this doesn't become more frequent than an annual tradition, but I once again went to the sports medicine doctor-- Dr. Navia-- and (once again) she said that the best way to fix my knee was to stick a giant needle in it, full of some kind of steroid (cortisone? I didn't ask) and once again, she had an intern with her-- and while Dr. Navia is young, her intern appeared much younger-- childlike, a female Doogie Howser-- and, on a positive note, things were better than last winter, when my knee was full of fluid and also needed to be drained-- this time, I was more proactive-- and (once again) because it was two young ladies diagnosing me, I agreed to let them stick a large needle in my knee (I didn't want to look like a coward in front of them, but I think if it were a dude, I would have passed) and then Dr. Navia asked if it would be okay for the intern to administer the giant needle, and while my brain was saying "NO!" my mouth said, "sure," and then they talked some shop about where to stick this big needle-- I'm not sure if the intern ever did this before-- and my hands were sweating, as I gripped the examination table, and I looked at the wall instead of at the big needle-- but they numbed me up pretty good, so all I felt was a bunch of pressure-- not all that much shooting pain-- and then it was over and I limped back to the car and went home and fell asleep early and then woke up in the middle of the night, totally amped and hyper-- that's one of the side effects of getting a steroid injection-- but miraculously, today my knee feels great and I can run again and I'll be playing pickleball this Friday and basketball next week . . . so it looks like a I won't need gel shots for a couple of years, unless I really fuck it up.

Elite Summer Camp, Elite Apartment Building . . . Same Difference

Liz Moore's fantastic novel The God of the Woods is both an excellent thriller and a multi-generational family saga; it feels a bit like a Donna Tartt novel-- although not quite as expansive-- and has something in common with another book I read recently and loved: The Doorman by Chris Pavone-- in both there is the conflict and collaboration between social classes, especially the relationship between the uber-rich and the service industry class that often caters to these privileged rich folk . . . here's what Judy, a female state police investigator-- a real rarity in the 1970s—thinks about the dynamic between these two classes of people: 

What will she do now, wonders Judy, if the Hewitts lose the camp? If the Van Laars cut them out entirely, as they’ll no doubt do, snapping the thin thread that has stretched for decades between the Hewitts and Peter the First? And she answers her question herself: They’ll be fine. The Hewitts—like Judy, like Louise Donnadieu, like Denny Hayes, even—don’t need to rely on anyone but themselves. It’s the Van Laars, and families like them, who have always depended on others.

anyway, The Doorman and The God of the Woods are the two best novels I've read in quite a while, chekc them out . . . I've got to head to the sports medicine doctor to get my knee checked out.

But He Deserved It . . .

Yesterday, in the YMCA locker room, an older guy next to me was whistling Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire"-- the chorus AND the verse-- and I'm proud to say that I did not punch him in the face.

Do Dogs Understand Phase Transition?

Yesterday, in an attempt to get some vitamin D and dispel the cold and dark winter blues, my wife and I tried to take a hike at the Rutgers Ecological Preserve-- but the trail was coated in a layer of ice covered by a dusting of snow: it was way too slippery to traverse hills and navigate cliffs-- and so we changed plans and drove over to the Raritan Canal Path, which runs between the river and tow road; we figured even if it was icy, at least the trail is flat-- but there is a small hill at the start of the trail, which leads down to where the first lock used to be-- now it's a stone dam-- and the hill was a sheet of ice, so I let Lola off her leash so she wouldn't pull me over and further destroy my bad knee and she hurtled down the hill and onto the thin ice covering the canal and promptly fell through the ice-- but luckily she managed to get her front paws on the stone of the dam and I quickly skated and slid my way down the hill and pulled her out of the freezing water before she fell all the way in . . . though it all happened very quickly, it was a hairy couple of moments where we thought she might plunge under the ice, never to be seen again-- but she was lucky and hopefully learned her lesson about thin ice (though I did keep her on the leash for the rest of the walk).

Capitalism Undone . . . by Mutants

To kick off 2026, I finished yet another Clifford D. Simak classic sci-fi novel, Ring Around the Sun, and this one is full of big ideas: pristine parallel earths; mutant humans--who may or may not know they are mutants; telepathy with alien races; corporeal temporal stasis; consciousness transfers-- it's too much for one book (from 1952!) but it is mainly a story of scarcity and abundance and how to break our capitalist, materialist consumer society with "forever" products engineered by mutant humans and imported from various parallel earths, to break the supply-and-demand system and allow humans to progress to something transcendent-- but at what cost, at what cost?

There's More to Life Than Table Tennis, Right?

My wife and I rang in the New Year with a trip to the Rutgers Cinema to see Marty Supreme, which was a highly entertaining way to start 2026-- the film is packed with fast-paced dialogue, chaotic action scenes, and plenty of scams and hustles, plus a concatenation of Safdie-style bad decisions . . . and as a bonus, the table tennis feels authentic (although not as authentic as this clip of the actual Marty Reisman defeating Victor Barna in 1949) and though most of the movie is a wild and messy ride, the story has a lovely resolution and moral: there's more to life than table tennis.