Dave Almost Gets to Be Smart

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

Dave's Calf Blooms Like a Spring Flower

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

The Gloves Will be Off

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

Bring the Noise!

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

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

Backpack Vacuum!

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

All the Kids With Three Letter Names are Out Today

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

Fuzzy Wet Balls

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

Your Butt, A Pizza, Same Difference . . .

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

Post-modern Medicine (YouTube It!)

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

Totally the Latter

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

Tomorrow, Keep the Ball Low

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

Traction . . . So Classic

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

Prediction? Pain

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

Ankle Surgery Part II

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

Brian Selznick

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

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

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

I Prefer Mary Anne

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

And after the Third Week of PT, Dave's Calf Rose Again

On this fine Easter morning, my wife and I played some pickleball to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus . . . and even more miraculously-- the resurrection of my strained right calf.

You Can't Piss (or Serve) Into the Wind

I am sorry to say, but nobody learned nothin' at yesterday's tennis practice-- aside from the fact that you can't really play tennis when there are 30 mph wind gusts . . . although we tried our best and one group even played an entire set of doubles-- but it was ugly, very ugly . . . the wind is a bitch.

The Secret? You Should Be Hitting Lots of Overheads . . .

Time to go teach my second singles player how to beat a "pusher"-- and not a drug pusher-- a tennis player who likes to mimic a wall-- because he had a frustrating loss against a kid who barely looked like he was interested in hitting the ball-- the kid just kept bopping it back, with very little pace, until my guy would get frustrated and blast it deep or hit the net-- it's frustrating to play a wall-- you have to adjust your game radically--Mitch Hedberg said it best: "The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall."