Dave vs. Squirrel
I was dreading it all day, but who am I to be afraid of a little squirrel?-- so I donned my goggles, a dust mask, and a rain jacket with the hood cinched tightly around my head and wriggled into the crawl space above our bedroom ceiling; although there were no rotting carcasses, the poison was eaten and there were signs of a struggle . . . a mangled glue trap and rodent droppings, but nothing attacked me, and I was able to staple screen around the venting fan and scatter repellent everywhere-- the result: our first squirrel free night of sleep in months!
Like Stanley Milgram, I Cross The Line (But It's For Science!)
I did an activity with my students today designed to replicate Stanley Milgram's infamous obedience experiment, and I found that students enjoy torturing a friend more than they do an acquaintance-- the worst punishment inflicted (I replaced Milgram's shocks with calisthenics) was twenty squat thrusts for one wrong answer . . . on a quiz the "teacher" knew was impossible-- I wish I could get away with this kind of positive punishment as an incentive . . . I'd have the smartest, fittest students in the school.
The Culprit? My Wife
Yesterday, the sports-watch I lost weeks ago reappeared on shelf where I keep my stuff, and my question was: how did it get there?-- but after a brief but successful interrogation of my wife, I discovered that she "hid it" when the alarm was going off while she was taking a nap, and just remembered yesterday where she put it-- in the kid's food cabinet-- but if I wouldn't have asked her, I don't think would have told me her role in the mystery/crime.
Ideas . . . Where Do They Come From?
I had an epiphany last night, and I'm annoyed that I didn't think of it sooner (but you can't really control when you think of an idea-- it took me seven months to realize that I can use the giant pull down movie screen in my classroom to cover a quiz on the board, so then I don't have to photo-copy it or dictate it-- and if I forget to write it on the whiteboard before class, then I can hide behind the screen and write the questions while the students are busy doing something else, which they find very amusing) and so when Alex stumbled in with his blanket at one in the morning and squeezed between Catherine and I, I went into to his room because now he has a full sized bed and I slept there-- but I was so comfortable that I was nervous I wouldn't wake up so I need to put an alarm clock in there for next time.
No More Mr. Nice Guy (to Squirrels)
Two things that shouldn't happen on a lazy hungover Saturday: 1) Alex hit Ian on the head with a metal shovel, ripping a gash in his scalp, and 2) a squirrel leaped over my head while I was wedged in a hole in the ceiling, standing on a ladder-- my lower body in our bedroom, my upper body in our attic-- with both hands occupied with a reciprocating saw, so that if the squirrel landed on my face and started biting my cheeks, I wouldn't be able to tear it off . . . and I was certainly running the risk that if I instinctively swatted the squirrel, I'd cut off my nose with the saw (my second trip up the ladder, with a lamp, the squirrel chuckled menacingly, and I think I'm going to purchase some poison today).
Courbet Foray
It was a long strange trip, including a detour to Queens, and we were definitely the most inebriated people in the gallery, but it was certainly worth it: Courbet is the king of dogs, trout, and fleshy nudes . . . and then there was the secret gallery, which I would have missed if it wasn't for Stacey, and that's where I saw "The Origin of the World"-- I was going to post a picture, but then I thought better of it-- Google it if you dare!
Jack Watches Everything
I knew that Sam Anders was reciting lyrics from "All Along the Watchtower" from the moment he said "No reason to get excited," and I don't think he's a Cylon-- instead I think the four of them are hearing music broadcast from Earth, but I don't have anyone to discuss this with because the only person that I know who likes to talk about Battlestar Galactica is in Turkey (but I guess there's always Jack-- Jack watches everything).
It's a Playground Not a Pee Ground
Conflict at the playground: Ian was involved in some kind of incident with a long-haired boy (who I mistakenly called a girl) but his mom and some other woman sorted it out so I didn't pay much attention (I was juggling a soccer ball) until three minutes later when I heard the woman loudly remarking to her friend "but that father just kept playing with his ball while his boy was blocking the step and when I said 'Excuse me, Nicholas wants to get through here' to him he grabbed both posts and wouldn't let go" and so I walked over and said, "You know I can hear you, and I don't like to intercede all the time with the kids, and if you've got something to say you can say it to me" and she said, "If I have something to say to you I will" and then went back to talking to her friend about the consequences of allowing "aggressive behavior" but I found an ally in the other mother that was there-- she came over and made a point to tell me how much she appreciated Alex playing with her son (who had some social problems because he was on the autistic side-- but, if pressed, Alex will socialize with a fence post) and I was starting to feel better about myself as a parent, until Alex ran over and yelled "Ian peed on the mulch" and I realized my rule about being able to pee on a tree if we're outside had backfired, because now Ian was peeing on the metal post of the jungle gym, and then minutes later, sensing weakness in the long-haired boy he had bullied (who I must say, was a head taller and probably a year older than him) Ian slid down the slide and knocked him into the mulch-- but I don't think it was the same mulch that he peed on . . . and while I was discipling Ian for sliding with malicious intent (which he is normally allowed to do, with is brother . . . but considering) Alex was introducing his new friend to tree-peeing, but they were not hidden in the woods-- they were only a couple yards off the playground, so I'm sure that all these moms think I'm raising savages.
Tales of Vinnie the Roofer
Apparently, back when he lived in Youngstown, Ohio, Vinnie the Roofer was friends with Ray "Boom Boom" Mancini's brother, and he would often watch "Boom Boom" in his amateur fights; Vinnie was telling me about this while my son Ian ran around the house in a diarrhea filled pull-up diaper, so it was hard for me to pay close attention to the details because I was thinking about fecal leakage-- but I didn't want to interrupt Vinnie because he had just removed a squirrel's nest from my attic and I didn't want to seem ungrateful.
Dave Throws in the Sentence Writing Towel
After over a hundred posts, I think it's time to hang it up: I'm having trouble coming up with new ideas, I'm losing time with my family, and I've finally realized that if I could channel the energy I spend on this blog towards just one needy child, I 'd be doing the world a great service-- in short this blog is trivial, frivolous, and in no way contributes to the betterment of man; in fact, not only am I ashamed of myself for perpetuating this self-serving, egotistical waste of time and bandwith, but I'm also ashamed of you, my fans, who could be taking more initiative at work, spending more time with your own family or pets, or simply planting trees and cleaning up litter in your neighborhood instead of reading these long-winded and often grammatically suspect sentences from a small-minded man.
Alex Tries to Bar the Door
This morning, Alex decided that he loved my company so much that he was going to bar the door so that I couldn't leave for work-- but after thirty seconds, he looked at me and said in his toughest voice, "I'm going to pee really fast, don't you dare leave" and then he sprinted to the bathroom.
Can't We All Just Remain Polarized?
As far as I can tell, any policy or strategy that is bi-partisan is doubly dumb; e.g. Big Corn, ethanol, energy independence, the War on Terror, the War on Drugs, etcetera (as for how dumb ethanol is: we get taxed on it three times-- we pay billions in subsidies to grow the corn, billions in subsidies to turn the corn into ethanol, and billions in higher food prices because there is more "demand" for corn to make into a fuel that pollutes as much or more than gasoline and uses more water and energy to create than gasoline-- McCain and Clinton both used to be against these subsidies, but since they started running for President they have changed their tune-- because of Iowa . . . I don't know why I bother to read about this stuff because it makes me angry for days).
How Do You Spell The Plural of Mississippi?
I had to urinate for the majority of our hellish ninety minute ride to Queens last weekend, and by the time I got into the bathroom my bladder was ready to rupture, so I decided to count how long the stream lasted (without trying to extend the time by constricting the flow) and I urinated for 63 "Mississippis"-- and to put that in perspective, I had to whiz pretty badly yesterday after teaching three classes in a row and it lasted 20 "Mississippis."
Chads! Chads! Chads!
I was pleased with the last minute name I thought of for our faculty band's "Rock the Vote" performance: "The Hanging Chads"-- it has it all, an allusion to voting, a vaguely phallic sound, and a "the" at the beginning (Jimmy Rabbit says that all the great band names start with a "the")-- but my fellow band-members didn't know what I was talking about, and even though we rocked to a packed auditorium, I think only one nerdy kid got the joke; I also think I had the best "look" in the band (my typical school outfit, but black, sunglasses, my school ID, a pencil in my pocket, and a FILA hat) though I needed to be cued to do my guitar solo (Bob said, "Mr. Pellicane on the guitar" to remind me and we had to backtrack to it-- other highlights included Bob and I singing different words to the chorus of "American Idiot" and what felt like ten minutes of fumbling around on stage before we found the right cords to plug in) and I also had the most rabid fans-- Alex and Ian-- in fact, Alex told me I was the "greatest rock guitar guy in the world" and that when he was big he "wanted to get up on a stage a play a guitar" so I'm sure that this stunt will cost me in the end.
Dave's Fortune: The Future Will Be Stupid
Randomly reading recommendations that Amazon selected for me, I found this gem of a sentence-- if you're wondering about the future of popular music, here it is: "Thanks to the overwelming popularity of his Drumma Boi single Umma Do Me, Rocko is now at the forefront of the new Southern movement in hip-hop where business acumen and consumer awareness reign supreme."
You Shouldn't Feed My Ego
We All Love to Ignore Our Parents
After I took a plastic dagger and sheath away from the boys because it cracked and needed gluing, Ian tried to sneak behind my back-- walking on tip-toes and carrying the stool from the bathroom-- in order to retrieve the toy from the counter; even though he knew I was staring at him, he ignored me and set the stool up and climbed up so he could reach -- it was as if he believed that if he was quiet and didn't acknowledge that I was watching him, then I wouldn't stop him (then I put the broken weapon on top of the refrigerator and he moved the stool over to there, climbed up, and pathetically waved his arms-- a good four feet short of his target).
Bunny Logic
My parents took Alex and Ian to their church yesterday for an Easter egg hunt and to meet the bunny himself, but Alex was not duped: he said, "That's not a bunny, it's a man in a bunny suit, rabbits hop on four legs, but he walks on two-- he's more like Bugs Bunny."
Arr?
Piracy has been so romanticized that I'm having a hard time explaining to my kids that pirates are thieves-- and often ruthless and sanguinary as well (there were actual instances of plank walking) and I'm having further difficulties explaining that some piracy is okay-- like when Daddy uses BitTorrent to download hundreds of albums he'll probably never be able to listen to, because they have explicit lyrics and you can't have your kids swearing like sailors when they're playing pirates, right?
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