Another Ordeal at Eagle's Landing
Today, I refereed three games in Monroe with Bill-- a grouchy old codger who is still running centers at age 80!-- and while there were a few moments of conflict . . . some disputes about player passes, some toxic masculinity amongst the three dudes coaching the Brick team, and a guy coaching his team on the spectating side of the field-- who Bill excoriated and relocated-- but still, this was a walk in the park compared to my second game yesterday, out at Eagle's Landing in North Brunswick (the location of my first game as a ref and also the setting my first fan fistfight . . . perhaps this field is cursed for me) when, with thirty seconds left in the half of a U-13 game, the goalie, a girl, and a player in the box had a small collision-- which looked like nothing-- until the offensive player, who was lying prone, started shrieking-- and when I jogged over and saw the injury, for a moment my brain couldn't process it and then I nearly puked-- a compound fracture between the knee and the ankle-- so the kid's leg looked like it was turned askew and had an extra bend in it-- yikes-- we called 911 and it took fifteen long minutes for the ambulance and the police to arrive-- they drove out on the grass field while we milled around-- and both coaches agreed to abandon the match-- not that we could even restart because there was no moving this child-- he was a trooper after the initial yelling and shrieking, which occurred when he turned and saw the injury-- but he did NOT want the EMTs touching his leg or moving him, so then a second ambulance came and I think that's the one that administers pain meds and such, and the poor kid was on the away team so he lived all the way down in Manchester, over an hour away-- but I assume they were goign to take him to a local hospital-- though our work was done once the game was abandoned, I hung out for a while at the site, because the two home coaches were brothers who graduated from East Brunswick High School, where I work, so we chatted about the state of high school to kill time while watching the medical crew do their work . . . and I'll tell you: I could not get that image out of my head yesterday and ast night, when I went to sleep-- I don't think I've seen anything like that since I was a little kid.
Saturday Stuff
I just refereed a soccer match on a very large turf field, and the center ref-- Carlo-- is seventy-five years old! . . . I hate the phrase "seventy-five years young" but in this case, it might actually apply . . . and then I took the cash I made from the game and pretty much fed it into my car and then I returned home for a break between games and my son Ian, who I woke up this morning because I couldn't find any water bottles-- after searching and searching in the cabinets and the dishwasher-- my son Ian showed me that the two bottles I was looking for were sitting right in plain view on the counter-- pretty embarrassing-- but meanwhile, he's dealing with some sort of sitaution where he threw his blanket into his cactus and now his hands and his blanket are covered in cactus quills so we're all idiots (but I hope I can ref for another twnty years).
A Surreal and Mind Boggling Afternoon
My son graduated from Rutgers today —now we have an aerospace engineer in the family —and the last time I attended a Rutgers graduation was in 1995 . . . when my wife graduated.
There Are Rules Here
In the last weeks of school, my wife randomly selects a king/queen for the day in her fifth-grade class-- so every kid gets a turn to be a classroom monarch and as such, they are entitled to certain privileges . . . they get to sit in the teacher chair, they choose a prize from the prize box, they get to be first in line AND they get to make five rules for the day-- and these are the (quite impressive) rules that her first queen created:
1. Everyone had to adopt a food-based nickname (Tasty Taco, Ms. Sushi, Dr. Brownie, etcetera)
2. If you had to throw something out in the garbage, you had to moonwalk to get there;
3. If you left the room, when you re-entered, you received a "silent celebration"
4. If you had to sharpen your pencil, you had to proceed to the sharpener in slow motion . . . I really enjoyed this rule as it is reminiscent of "the lead game"
5. At the end of the day, there would be a paper airplane competition . . .
and my assessment: these are rules to live by, and I will be instituting them in my class (and from this time forward, please refer to me as Mole Poblano).
Dave Remembers What He Forgot
At some point after the summer, I totally forgot about my Big Weird Musical Project-- but no worries, now I have returned collecting and cataloging all my favorite albums (and other notable albums that come up in my research) in a Google Sheet, ostensibly to eventually print this spreadsheet out so I have a handy reference guide that I can peruse, the way we used to peruse shelves of CDs or albums, or racks of tapes . . . I'm up to 487 albums so perhaps when I hit 500 I'll print out a copy (and put it up on Gheorghe) but until then, if you've got any oddball albums you've been listening to that I might like, send them my way; lately, I've been grooving to "Last Nite" by Larry Carlton and "Street Dreams" by Lyle Mays (and everything by Roy Ayers).
End of an Era
Friday afternoon, my wife and I hustled over to Clydz in New Brunswick-- the grungy hipster basement martini bar with the excellent happy hour-- for perhaps the last time . . . or the last time in this location; this was the bar we went to after we got engaged (back in 1998) and a place where we have enjoyed many, many martinis and many good times-- I think it's being demolished in a week and then sometime this fall, Clydz will be resurrected in a much more modern venue up the street in the Helix-- but it won't be the same.
Eight Arms and Nine Brains
Ray Nayler's sci-fi novel The Mountain in the Sea is not an easy read, but contains plenty of (sea) food for thought-- the novel takes place in the near-ish future around the Con Dao archipelago in the South China Sea, where octopi have evolved the capability to use tools and a symbolic language-- and while there are some thriller and sci-fi tropes (there's an android, an AI powered fishing vessel, and plenty of international intrigue) the bulk of the narrative is philosophical, concentrating on trying to understand the perspective of a different, decentralized consciousness (Nagel's famous essay "What is it Like to Be a Bat?" is referenced) and really the book is like the film Arrival . . except that the aliens aren't from space, they are from a foreign watery place right here on earth, but the communication problem is just as intractable.
Happy Mother's Day!
Eleven years ago, the kids and I made a Mother's Day video called "A Day Without Mom" and then my wife and the kids made a derivative but even more ambitious video entitled "A Day Without Dad"-- so for this Mother's Day, the boys and I recreated the original video . . . it's not quite as cute, now that my children are taller than me (and we did have some filming difficulties, but we weathered the mishap-- the show must go on!-- and reshot the necessary footage).
I Hate Driving and I Hate Drivers
Today, on our drive to Avenel for a funeral service, it seemed like many of the people on the road operating motor vehicles had never done so before-- perhaps they were youngsters who had stolen these cars and were joyriding? . . . and, of course, I couldn't tell if these were underage drivers running stop signs, making illegal turns, changing lanes without warning, stopping in strange places, and tailgating because theses days, it seems everyone in New Jersey has tinted windows-- which also makes it very difficult to ride a bike, because you can never make eye-contact with the driver to see if they know you exist and are not going to run you over when you cross the road.
Dave Fully Commits
For the first time in months, I really hustled up and down the court at 6:30 AM basketball-- and my hamstring felt fine-- and not only did I really commit to running and getting back on D, but also (in true Nick fashion) I committed many fouls-- if they counted, I wouldn't have lasted past the first game.
I Am an Idiot
For Mother's Day, the boys and I are remaking a YouTube video that we filmed a decade ago called "A Day Without Mom"-- it's a hypothetical imagining of how rough our lives would be if Catherine weren't there . . . and while I still have to edit together the new clips, I'm lucky that there are new clips to edit-- when we had one more scene to film, the boys asked me to check the audio, and I realized I had not taken any video of the boys; I had pressed the photo button, not the record button-- so all I had were a few still pictures of each scene-- but the boys gamely redid every scene (once again) and hopefully the finished product will be a nostalgic and cute walk down memory lane for my wife.
What is Your Ween "Walk Out" Music
This was the question posed to me by my buddy Whitney while I was trying to cook dinner-- he's choosing "I'll Be Your Johnny on the Spot" while I would go with "Take Me Away" or "Awesome Sound"—but of course, there's no right answer here; it just depends on how you feel like walking out.
A Student Has a Good Idea!
These days, I feel like new and creative ideas rarely surface in class, but today a senior offered something worth thinking about: the British Monarchy is analogous to Fisher's runaway model of sexual selection-- essentially, an ornamental trait like the peacock's tail goes through two stages, one where the tail indicates health and vigor and then a coevolutionary spiral where the trait detaches from practicality and becomes unhinged from natural selection—and the monarchy fits this-- the monarchy was once the most effective way to rule and protect the country (Queen Elizabeth leading the British against the Spanish Armada) and the British saw this ruler as appointed by God-- and there was certainly an element of survival of the fittest among these monarchs, with much plotting and murder and intrigue, but slowly the monarchy detached from practicality and became more for show—an expensive and pompous and ornamental display that survives because of preference and popularity, not for any practical reason-- the peacock's tail of Britain, while the Prime Minister and Parliament are the actual genetic code of the country.
Certified Mail Part Two: A Satisfying and Ironic Resolution to a Genuine Cliff (Clavin) Hanger
I went to the post office and picked up the mysterious certified letter sent to me by the State of New Jersey, and it turns out I have NOT inherited millions from a long-lost dead relative-- in fact, it's the reverse: this letter is to inform me that my "spouse/civil union partner/domestic partner has selected the Maximum retirement allowance . . . under this choice, the monthly retirement allowance is payable for the lifetime of the member only"—which means that "in the event of death" of my wife, I will not receive any pension payments . . . we've both chosen to go this route with our pensions so that we can live it up while we are both among the living (and it is also now in my best interest to keep my wife alive: protect her from wild beasts and villains and falling steel girders and encourage her to eat healthy and stay off the meth) and so, of course, this letter is the exact opposite of a long-lost uncle giving me an inheritance . . . instead, it is a message informing me that someone very close to me will be giving me nothing.
Reffing Inside Plato's Cave
I am finally home and drinking a cold beer after a taxing weekend: I reffed six games-- three on Saturday and three today-- and I worked three games as the center ref and two games as AR where the home team was running a serious offside trap, so I got some good experience calling various infractions, from the center and from the side-- and while I'm really starting to get the hang of things-- checking players in, keeping order during substitutions, calling fouls and restarts, and the various organizational duties of the ref, but I still haven't given out a yellow or red card yet and I haven't called a penalty kick-- but I'm ready to do so-- and this weekend, i worked with some veteran refs, including Rocco, an older Italian gentleman who condemns Venmo and only operates with cash and our one-armed assignor, who told a youngster who was nervous about his performance "the best ability is AVAILability"-- which is a fucking great old man statement; anyway, I've noticed that the difference between being a ref and being a coach is that when you're coaching, you are looking for reasons the ref should call a foul, but when you are reffing, you are looking for reasons to NOT call a foul: advantage, there was no contact, the player tripped over his own feet, the player's hands were against his body, little kids are just generally spastic, the ball is stuck in a pack of seven children and there's going to be random bumping without malevolence, a player tripped over the ball, etcetera . . . and there's definitely no way to get it all correct-- reffing is an exercise in futility, an exercise in unreliable narration-- but you have to be confident with your calls-- you can't reveal to the crowd and the players and the coaches that your perspective is limited, that you are at the mercy of your angle and your eyes and your old legs, you can't reveal that we are all residing in Plato's metaphorical cave, only perceiving the shadows of reality, not the actual truth, and your calls are just one subjective view among many, from one particular view of the field, your calls are not biased by rooting for one team or another, your calls are biased because you are a human, living within the flow of time, unable to stop it, run it back, rewind it, slow it time, look at it frame by frame-- this isn't TV-- and there's something very excellent and fun about this, you make a call and sometimes you nail it, and sometimes you wonder, and sometimes you get it wrong (and sometimes your AR corrects you) but you are outside, in the sun, watching sports and listening to passionate fans and players-- so, as a retirement job, it sure beats tutoring kids for the SAT or helping them write a college essay (plus, I got a shitload of exercise-- my feet hurt . . . also, if you bring any of this up during a game, I'll give you a yellow card for dissent).
Certified Mail Part One: A Cliff (Clavin) Hanger
I received a postal notice yesterday that the postal service unsuccessfully attempted to deliver a piece of certified mail from the State of New Jersey . . . but I went to the post office today, and they don't have the letter—it's still out there somewhere, but they said I could come pick it up Monday: very mysterious . . . either I've inherited loads of money or I'm being subpoenaed for tax evasion . . . or perhaps something in between-- my pipes are lead-free? -- who knows-- I'll fill you in on Monday.
Knicks!
I am still basking in the glow of last night's epic Knicks victory over the Hawks-- the Knicks were up 51 points at halftime-- a margin large enough for us to watch an episode of West Wing before returning to the game--. I should tell you that West Wing is a very good show that we missed and still feels quite relevant (although also totally dated because it's a bunch of smart, talented, dedicated, clever, wonky folks running the White House) and this enormous early lead also assuaged my anxiety about missing game seven because I am scheduled to referee a soccer match on Saturday evening (also a fantastic Sixers win to stretch the Boston/Philadelphia series to seven games . . . things are looking up for the Knicks!)
Kids: Moving Fast, Taking Chances (A Very Special Sentisode)
Today, during passing time, I got knocked out of the way by a fast-moving student-- or I should say I got ushered aside by his white cane, because this student, who was moving faster than me through the hallway congestion, was blind.
Martha Wells Kills It With Murderbot
Network Effect, the fifth book in Martha Wells "Murderbot Diaries" series, is longer and more complicated than her earlier novellas-- it's definitely "hard" sci-fi, replete with malignant code, memory wipes, killware, infectious alien remnants, future legalese, hostage protocols, wormholes, surveillance drones, futuristic space-opera content, and many other specific and developed sci-fi tropes-- but none of that matters all that much . . . at it's heart it's another story of Murderbot, the rogue and existentially curious Security Unit cyborg, learning how to "network" and have relationships in a world not governed by its governor module-- and the relationhip between Murderbot and the AI that runs a deep-space research and survey ship-- nicknamed ART (Asshole Research Transport) by Murderbot, is especially poignant . . . and often awkward and humorous-- brilliant voice, brilliant sci-fi, brilliant Martha Wells.
Pickleball is the New Frisbee Golf?
Buccleuch Park-- which is adjacent to Rutgers College Avenue campus— now contains eighteen (count them!) pickleball courts, and the youngsters have discovered the game-- there were only two free courts left when all of us old folks got there today . . . the place was mobbed with college students, and they are, as a group: terrible at pickleball; they hit the ball all over the place; they walk behind courts while points are being played; they stand around in awkward places; they blast terrible music; and they don't wear nearly enough clothing for the weather . . . but I guess they are the future of the sport . . . the tennis courts are empty.
Adapting to Adaptive PE
I covered for an aide today in an Adaptive PE class, and my job was to help out a nonverbal autistic boy who likes to grab whatever he can get his hands on-- and we had quite a time convincing him to go down the stairs to the sub-gym . . . while I didn't get much grading done during this coverage, it was a good reminder of all the different levels of learning going on in my school and how many dedicated adults (and student helpers!) work with these kids each and every day.
Rocco Knows Best
Under the tutelage of Rocco the Assessor . . . The Assessor of Soccer Refs, I worked my first center, which I found quite enjoyable: the time goes fast, you have to really lock in and focus, you get plenty of cardio, and you have to realize that ten-year-olds fall down a lot, even when there is no foul . . . this was also my first time dealing with a build-out line, which is an excellent rule but does require a lot of reminding the offensive team to retreat on goal kicks and goalie possessions-- but it does encourage some passing and possession . . . and I got the hang of it, and the parents were well behaved, perhaps because I was in Metuchen, not North Brunswick.
Go Southampton (or whatever) but Go Knicks!
My friend organized a watch party at our local bar for the Southampton vs. Man City FA cup game earlier today--apparently, he's been rooting for Southampton for the last fifteen years and was hoping they could unseat mighty Man City . . . and while they came close to doing so, breaking a nil-nil tie in the 80th minute when Finn Azaz scored on a wonderful bending shot, the upset was not to be and Man City scored two quick goals in response-- but it was fun to get invested in a random team, root for them for one game, and then instantly forget about the result-- unlike the mood I'll be in at 6:30 PM tonight, when the Knicks play the Hawks . . . the Knicks are down a game in the series, they have lost the last two games by one point, and they are really struggling against the scrappy, fast, athletics Hawks team-- I think they should let Towns go to town all game, because the Hawsk lack a real center and this should put them in foul trouble-- but mainly they can't do the normal Towns and Brunson type baskets where they bang around and finally explode toward the hoop, scoring but falling to the floor-- because while they're getting back up off the floor, the Hawks have already zoomed down the court and scored-- in a five on four situation-- the Knicks also need to hit some threes early, so they can get back on defense quickly-- and Josh Hart and Mikal Bridges need to score some points tonight!
Wait Up!
Made a semi-triumphant return to 6:30 AM basketball this morning-- basically the reverse of the Knicks last night-- nailed my first three-point attempt in months but then missed the next three . . . most importantly, my knee and hamstring held up, although I am moving slowly now-- I couldn't keep up with my wife and the dog when we took a walk in the park-- and I certainly couldn't keep up with the old man we saw running in the park, and not only was he running at a brisk clip, into the wind, but he was also holding an umbrella to block the sun-- you don't see that everyday.
Caffeine Regrets
It is right about now-- 6:30 PM-- that I wish I had my usual post-work cup of coffee.
Tuesday Zemblanity
Yesterday-- even though it was Tuesday, the stupidest day of the week—I tried to start my day with some purpose, and I started cleaning out my file cabinets: stacking folders everywhere; tossing old photocopies that I knew I would never use; organizing photocopies that I needed for the fourth quarter-- I had folders and stacks of papers all over the room-- and I was doing this because I have first period off on B days and so I have 83 minutes to plan, grade, and get organized-- but then I went upstairs to the office for a moment, to chat with a colleague, and when I came back downstairs, I was surprised to find my room was full to the brim with teenagers and a gym teacher . . . and he informed me that my room was going to be used for Health Class for the fourth quarter-- so all my folders and photocopies were on the floor and my first period B Day sanctuary was corrupted . . then I spent a typical day with the seniors-- laziness, lateness, narcolepsy, etcetera-- but the weather turned nice after school so I biked over to Bucheuh Park to play pickleball with some friends-- and it only took me fifteen minutes to bike over there, which was wonderful-- and the courts were full of half-naked college kids and are one group of old people (the dudes next to us asked if we could give them some lessons) but after an hour-and-a-half of fantastic play, we were beset by gale-force winds-- and it's nearly impossible to play pickleball in high winds-- so we called it and I started biking home, into a serious headwind-- perhaps that's why I arrived so quickly; I must have had a tailwind-- and by the time I got over the bridge, I was wiped out and decided to walk my bike across the crazy intersection with the stairs, instead of attempting some dangerous uphill mountain biking tactics-- and this was unfortunate because as I was walking my bike across the intersection, my old acupuncturist spotted me from her car-- and I have happily switched to a new, much more sane acupuncturist, as I thought this lady stopped practicing-- but apparently not-- and she started yelling at me that I should text her or she would text me and she wanted to get me back on the table-- and I was walking my bike so I couldn't make a quick escape and it was very awkward-- I don't want to get into the whole thing but I was hoping to make a clean break of things . . . I thought I HAD made a clean break of things . . . but, you know, Tuesday zemblanity.
New Things Get Old
When I see a "New Driver, Please Be Patient" bumper sticker, my first thought is "how long has this fucking thing been on that car?"
No Merging For You
While I try not to be racist or sexist, I am definitely (and deliberately) automobilist-- if I have the choice, I'll let a small fuel-efficient car merge in front of me, but I'll box out one of those behemoth pick-up trucks or a fancy sports car or an Escalade or anything that I deem too big and wide to be driven by a civilian on a run to the store for some Cheetos.
Go Knicks!
My wife returns from Florida tomorrow morning, and then life will regain its usual rhythm-- not that I did anything wild while she was gone, it was mainly business as usual-- but I tried to do a bit of socializing even though my instinct when I am left to my own devices is to hole up and read and get high and strum my guitar: I went to Happy Hour yesterday at B2 Bistro, but I only had one beer (and then a Coke, which Cunningham roundly insulted for drinking) because I had pickleball practice at 7 PM and needed my wits about me (Terry also only had one beer because he was reffing a soccer match at 7 PM but he had a Diet Coke after his beer) and pickleball practice was fun-- my calf is healed and my new paddle seems to be functional (Vatic Pro V-sol Power) but because my friend Ann wasn't there-- her knee hurt-- there was only one other non-Mandarin speaker at practice and so I really did not understand exactly what was happening-- and then this morning I substituted for Catherine and had coffee at her friend Johanna's house (Connell and Adrian were there too, so I wasn't the only guy crashing) and I talked to my neighbor Pernille quite a bit about the state of education and AI (she's a Rutgers professor) and tonight I'm hanging out with Ian and his friend (and possibly Alex) for the Knicks game-- I'm buying sandwiches so that the youngsters will socialize with me-- but I will be very glad when Cat is back in Jersey.
So Hard to Find Good Help . . .
I recognize that this Study Hall bathroom duty is a very easy job-- but it's also interminably boring . . . class should not be 83 minutes long: I've read, I've graded, I've planned, I've paced, I've stretched, and now I've even written this sentence-- I've done everything except fall asleep, which is what I feel like doing.
Dave as a Bachelor is No Gourmand
My mom had heart surgery yesterday, and she is already checked out of the hospital-- the miracles of modern medicine . . . and she didn't even need Donald Trump to lay hands on her!-- meanwhile, back at the ranch, I miss my wife-- she went down to Naples with my brother to help my mom out . . . Ian and I have been eating the baked ziti she made before she left, but we're nearly at the end of it, so we got some sandwiches from Park Deli for dinner tonight-- and I did cut up some peppers and lettuce and cucumbers and eat a salad with the ziti last night, to get some roughage-- but it seems that if my wife leaves town, the menu mainly consists of pasta and beer (and takeout) and so I will be glad when she returns.
Summer in April . . .
I took off work today to monitor my mom's progress during surgery-- she's getting a cow valve to replace a valve in her heart?-- and things are looking good-- she's through the surgery and in recovery now, and my brother and my wife are down in Naples, Florida to help her out-- although the recovery is supposed to be very fast . . . and, oddly, it's hotter here in central Jersey than it is in Florida-- I was just soaking my wife's garden so that the spring flowers don't shrivel up and die-- school is going to be very, very hot tomorrow (they had the heat on over the weekend).
Some Things That Need to Be Said
Dave With an Idea To Help the Youth
In the newest Plain English episode, "The Job Market for Young People is Brutal," Derek Thompson talks to Rogé Karma about the reasons for the terrible job prospects for young people and how this is NOT all to be blamed on AI . . . the job market is bad for young people with college degrees and possibly worse for people without degrees and this stems from inflation and consequent higher interest rates, and the Great Resignation, and Trump caused ecosnomic volatility-- tariffs, trade wars, the Iran debacle-- and also certainly the ageing of our workforce, the fact that people are working longer, and the gigantic age wage gap . . . old people make so much more than young people now and it pushes adulthood back-- the ability of young people to buy a house, get married, move-out, and start a business or start-up-- and this leads me to believe that a job like mine-- a teacher-- and also police, firemen, and probably a lot of other state jobs-- the salaries should be on a bell curve-- so that you make your highest salary when you are around 50 years old and then your salary starts to decline-- so that there's an incentive for you to leave and take you pension and not hang around forever and block young people from getting jobs.
Planned Pickleball Obsolescence?
No time to write a coherent sentence because I'm shopping for a new pickleball paddle-- which is a completely incoherent experience . . . there are too many types . . . and the stupid things wear out in six to nine months, and I've had mine for over a year.
Fan Fistfight in My First Game . . .
I refereed my first soccer match today-- a U-15 game in North Brunswick-- and I was certainly nervous before I left the house-- checking my equipment, reviewing all the rules, making a cheat sheet of various fouls, but my wife said not to worry, that the assignor wouldn't "throw me to the wolves" for my first game, he'd put me with some experienced refs . . . and then I arrived and met one of the other refs and he was technically experienced—but not very-- he had done five games so far-- and then we waited for the third ref to show up, hoping it was someone with more experience than us-- and luckily the third ref, though only 21 years old, was more experienced than us-- he had been reffing for six years-- and then we ran into a hitch checking players and coaches in-- the coach for one team didn't have a game card and the coach and all the players need to have a game card-- but, after some doing, he was able to produce one electronically-- and then the game was fairly slow-paced for the most part, the players weren't that big and it was very windy and the field was kind of bumpy and lousy, so there weren't that many fast-paced attacks or brutal contact-- but with about ten minutes left, something happened in the far corner, so I couldn't see or hear it but I guess a mom claimed that a player grabbed his crotch or something similar, and then parents started chirping at each other and before we knew it, there was a fistfight on the sideline and other altercations were brewing and so the young center ref crossed his arms and ended the game-- and he was really out of sorts and upset-- he said nothing quite like this had ever happened to him before and he'd never had to end the game early-- so it was quite a mess and hopefully not indicative of future games (tomorrow I do a U-9 game, so it should be chillaxed).
Dave . . . Teaching Words
Our district pretty much told us to pause instruction this week because so many kids have religious holidays (Orthodox Easter-- and we have a lot of Coptic Christians in our school . . . not sure why we didn't have this week off? but I guess the borard wanted Spring Break to coincide with Passover? it's impossible to please everyone) and so I decided to show a movie that fit with our current text: "Always Be Optimizing" by Gia Tolentino-- and show the kids what happened around the time when they were born and give them an explanation as to why they might not be able to afford a house or get a mortgage and might be living in their parents' basement for the near future—and so I reviewed the terms of when various agents in the marketplace optimized mortgages, mortgage rates, adjustable mortgages, mortgage-backed securities, collateral debt obligations, credit default swaps, and lots of other financial tools and this led to the real estate bubble of 2008-- so I taught them lots of words and then showed them "The Big Short" because I was also looking for an example of "the cyborg" in Donna Haraway's "A Cyborg Manifesto"—which is alluded to in the Tolentino text-- and this is a person that embraces the artificiality of the technological world that we live in and both works within the system and rebels against it, sometimes violently-- and there's no better example of this than Michael Burry . . . the the Michael Burry that Christian Bale portrays in the film.
Dave . . . Learning Words
A kid in my class proudly showed me her new Driver's License, and I said, "Nice . . . and even the picture looks pretty good!" and then Frankie, the boy sitting next to her said, "I'm mogging in mine"-- which means he's looking even BETTER in his picture (I needed this explained to me . . . and apparently it's a bastardization of the acronym AMOG . . . Alpha Male in the Group?)
Referee Imposter Syndrome
I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to write something, but I'm too distracted to focus: apparently, I'm refereeing my first soccer matches this weekend, and I took the course back in November, so I need to review my notes, my pre-game checklist, practice my flag-pointing techniques, and check my whistle.
You Can't Control How You Sleep
I slept funny last night . . . but my neck doesn't think it's funny at all.
Back to School (without Rodney Dangerfield)
A LONG day after a short Spring Break . . . the first day back to school is always shocking and exhausting-- but I still managed to teach three senior English classes, walk a few laps around the track with Brady, attend the faculty meeting, and run to the library during my off period (I took out an absurd book-- the 1300 page comprehensive account Capitalism: A Global History by Sven Beckert-- perhaps because I finally finished Stalingrad . . . I did read a regular book between epic historical tomes, Liz Moore's Long Bright River-- which I read in two days, a gripping page-turner-- highly recommended).
Pathetic Pathetic Fallacy
My short Spring Break is over-- a measly five days long (because our district did not budget any snow days) and the weather is appropriately rainy, dark, and glum: mirroring my emotions about returning to school, and the long stretch of five-day weeks where I will (futilely) try to educate fourth-quarter seniors-- and while normally, in reality, the weather does not give a shit about human emotions, in literature the weather often mirrors the themes of the situation (for example, the oppressive heat at the end of the Great Gatsby-- Tom is sweating like a pig, but Gatsby remains cool and perspiration-free) and it seems the weather is doing me this service today-- perhaps because I teach English and have oft-mentioned the "pathetic fallacy" to my students-- but whatever, the reason, this is the perfect way to end a short (but quite fun) Spring Break-- with the weather showing fallacious empathy towards my returning to work.
Over the Hamlet Hump!
I am past the halfway point in my insane podcasting project: a thorough analysis of Shakespeare's Hamlet with a myriad of embedded clips from various productions-- it's close to breaking me because not only am I producing all this carefully edited content, but I'm also trying to achieve professional sound quality and loudness (-16 LUFS? should I normalize, compress, or use a limiter-- or do all three? it's nuts) but I'm over the Act III hump, so it's clear sailing from here (aside from the pirates) and while Act Three, Part One is elegant and professional, Act Three, Part Two is much more akin to what it's like to be in my classroom-- at times, things get a bit weird and meta . . . I hope you enjoy it.
New Stuff at the New Museum
Took the train back from the Big Apple today . . . though we only spent one night, we did quite a bit: we got a great deal on Hotwire for the Sheraton Tribeca (probably because it's under serious construction, it doesn't really seem safe to have patrons, but they did let us check in early, and there's a lovely rooftop bar, and they gave us two drink vouchers!) and we did lunch in Chinatown at Shanghai 21 (cash only) and then went to the New Museum, which has just reopened-- it's a fantastic sci-fi space and all the exhibits are on the theme of "New Humans: Memories of the Future," so surreal modern art and sci-fi exhibits (including the original "Alien" sculpture that inspired the creatures in the film and the original animatronic E.T. robot) and then we did something new-- we couldn't secure tickets for the Comedy Cellar or Village Underground so we stood on the waitlist line-- which was really easy because once they take your name, you're free to wander until right before the show-- and they called our name right at showtime and we got to see five outstanding comics (Erin Jackson, Dan Soder, Greer Barnes, Daniel Simonsen, and Adndrew Schulz) and today, before checking out, we got some excellent bagels at Leon's and then-- miracle beyond miracles-- we caught the subway just as it was leaving and THEN we caught the Northeast Corridor Jersey Transit just before it was leaving . . . public transportation working the way it always should!
A Short Sentence about a Long Book
I am on a train so I will keep this brief, to avoid getting trainsick: I just finished Vadily Grossman's epic and enormous novel Stalingrad . . . and I will be taking a break before I tackle Life and Fate.
Bipolar Beach Day
Ahh . . . Spring Break . . . finally: Cat and I headed to the beach, and while the water was very, very cold, the air was alternatively very very warm and randomly-- if the breeze shifted-- quite chilly; we ate amazing sandwiches at the Speakeatery in Asbury and then stopped for some beer at the Source Farmhouse Brewery (I had the nitro-conditioned Irish Red Ale . . . it took several minutes to pour and had the character of Guinness but with a malty flavor: delicious) and then we got some bread and cheese at Delicious Orchards . . . a good day (aside from the traffic and construction on Route 18 . . . will it ever end?)
Dave is Brave
I have completed my course of three hyaluronic acid injections into my right knee, so now my knee is full of this gel-like substance, which is supposed to lubricate the joint and reduce arthritic inflammation-- which it seems to be doing-- but I also pulled some muscle behind this knee and down into my calf-- so while my knee feels better, I'm still limping around . . . and I don't think this kind of bullshit is going to end until I'm pushing daisies (and I should point out that I valiantly let interns deliver two of the three shots, so I consider myself responsible for fostering the next generation of medical science).
Dave Defeats the Youth
Spring "Fake" has begun-- I headed off to school today, rather glumly, because this was supposed to be Spring Break, but we used too many snow days, and so we have school today and tomorrow-- and the day was something of a waste but we made the best of it-- I oly had six students first period (in a class of 28) and my two other classes were less than half full, so instead of doing my planned lesson, we did a REAL test of intelligence: we played Scattergories-- which is an incredibly stressful word game and good way to ward off dementia-- and I'm proud to say that I crushed these teenagers (and I'm sincerely proud of this-- even though their brains are atrophied from cell phones, social media, and AI, Scattergories is a game where you can lose to a twelve-year-old if you lapse in focus).
Dave Implements a Solution!
I was getting stressed about saving the enormous audio files for my new podcast (Pig on the Wall) on my very old computer and rather old external hard drive-- and I was starting to back things up on a little SSD drive that I use for school, but that wasn't going to hold everything, so I finally solved the problem today and backed everything up in IDrive . . . it cost a few dollars-- but far less than buying a new computer!
If a Toilet Gets Cleaned, But My Wife Doesn't See It-- Did It Happen?
I did a bunch of chores around the house this afternoon: vacuumed, cleaned a bathroom, did some laundry, put the mattress cover and sheets on the bed, did the dishes . . . but accomplishing these tasks doesn't really make me happy-- I won't feel any satisfaction until my wife gets home from my cousin's baby shower and acknowledges my industry.
Too Much Music For One Sentence: Prog Rock vs. The Cars
I just finished the highly entertaining The Show That Never Ends: The Rise and Fall of Prog Rock by David Weigel-- or I found it highly entertaining; it might not be a book for general audiences-- and while the start of the book covers bands that you might know, from Procol Harum to King Crimson to Yes, Genesis, Soft Machine, and-- of course: Emerson, Lake, and Palmer-- you might be surprised by the extent of the cross-pollination within the scene and the extent to which record companies funded and allowed for absolutely wild, bombastic, innovative music to be made and published-- including lots of solo efforts (Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman made a 40-minute progressive synth rock opera based on Jules Verne's novel Journey to the Center of the Earth? and it was a commercial success?) and then the book moves along to Rush and Marillion and Dream Theater, and finally to the remnants of prog rock-- how the old bands fell apart (or learned how to craft singles like Genesis) and how there are some remnants of prog rock in bands like Porcupine Tree and The Mars Volta-- and the book certainly got me to listen to some "new" music from long ago (or rather recent music, such as Porcupine Tree) but Weigel also details how punk rock and new wave put an end to prog rock as the darling of the critics and ended any radio play that these epic songs were getting . . . and I am also reading The Cars: Let the Stories Be Told by Bill Janovitz and you can see why people were so excited for this new music-- it's tight and catchy and skillful but also forward-facing and progressive, and The Cars first album is a perfect example of this-- 1978 was when prog rock was starting to decline and artists like Blondie and Elvis Costello and The Talking Heads and Devo and The Police released great albums (and there was also a slew of great rock albums: Van Halen, Some Girls, Darkness on the Edge of Town, Dire Straits, Shakedown Street) and while Rush did release "Hemispheres" in 1978, a prog rock classic-- pop music was trending toward shorter songs-- and this was partly fueled by punk rock, which gained popularity in this same time frame . . . "Never Mind the Bollocks" came out in 1977 . . . anyway, I prefer the new wave stuff and what it spawned to most prog rock (although "Close to the Edge" by Yes is a masterpiece) but Weigel's book got me to listen to some pretentious but exciting musical experiments, and it's usually good to open your mind to new music (except when Hitler got really into Wagner).
Teaching: Not the Job I Signed Up For . . .
I have been pretty down about education and teaching English lately: the majority of kids don't read; if possible, kids use AI to offload critical thinking; kids are not as interactive as they once were; it's impossible to tell when kids are cheating; any time a kid has a computer, they might be distracted by 1000 things other than what they are supposed to be doing; teachers are just interrupting kids digital lives-- they can't wait to get back on their cell-phones; etcetera, etcetera . . . so I just ordered one hundred composition notebooks from Amazon and-- with my seniors at least-- I'm going to go back to basics . . . I'm going to give them a notebook at the start of class, they're going to write shit down in the notebook, and then I'm going to collect it at the end of class-- and I guess I'll occasionally check if they're writing things down-- and then if I do want them to type something (handwriting is generally abysmal these days) then they can type it from the notebook and make basic revisions-- but if it turns into a professionally written piece loaded with odd metaphors and parallel structure, I'll knwo they used AI because it won't resemble what's in the notebook . . . it's not foolproof, but I don't know what else to do.
The Winds are Dark
My wife and I just finished the third season of Dark Winds, the AMC show based on the Tony Hillerman novels, and the show lives up to the title.
A Physicist Would Think Those Wings Need to Be Bigger, But It Was the 1970s and Everyone Was on Drugs
You may be familiar with Roger Dean's artwork from the various Yes album covers, but I also learned (from the fabulous book The Show That Never Ends: The Rise and Fall of Prog Rock by David Weigel) that Dean designed album covers for the Caribbean-African funk band Osibisa, and Dean's flying elephants are much groovier than Dumbo.
Feeling Like Garfield
There are Mondays, and then there are dark, damp, rainy Mondays when your lunch consists of two hard-boiled eggs and some honey-roasted peanuts.
A Bad Day at Pickleball is Better than a Good Day at Work
I suppose getting thumped in a pickleball match is better than not playing at all (but at least we won a few games this time —last week against this team, they shut us out).
I Thought Last Year Was Well Organized?
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My cousin Kim pronounced last year's Easter Pizza resurrection as "total chaos" with no "quality control," and so this year things were much more organized, and generally the experts did the delicate work of folding dough and making the "toes"-- so my wife had to work all afternoon (and so did some small children) while I only had to cut some sausage and then got to watch basketball and drink beer-- and this year's pizzagaina were notably more uniform and delicious than last year's batch-- and I am certainly better at eating them than making them.
Daddy Needs a New Computer for Audio Processing
My iMac-- which is now over a decade old-- is laboring under the duress of the large audio project I am working on . . . but VCU gutted it out in overtime last night, netting me 11 points in the "select 8 and get the points for the seed" pool and Kentucky pulled it out in overtime today (7 points my way!) and Louisville and Illinois and Vanderbilt all won . . . so if Hofstra steals a miracle win over Alabama and St John's wins tonight, I might have the cash to buy myself a new-ish Mac Mini.
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:
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--
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
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.