Perp Walk? Poop Walk . . .

If you see me walking my dog, but I'm doing a strange shuffle, forwards, backwards, sideways . . . dragging my feet through the grass, exerting maximum friction, that means I'm doing the "poop walk" and that I previously stepped in dog poop and I'm trying to-- as the Rolling Stones sing in "Sweet Virginia"-- "scrape that shit right off" my shoes . . . this is my method: after I step in poop, I usually immediately take off the shoes and put them on my deck in the sun-- as it's no use trying to get the shit off when it's still moist and sticky, and then the next day I will go out on the porch and don the shoes and do the poop walk around the park and then I rinse and repeat for a few days and usually after three poop walks, the shoes are clean again.

No Kings, Just Queens Assigning Chores (from out of state!)

My wife is away on a ladies' trip to Rhode Island (but she's still assigning me chores from out of state: water my garden, take my car to the car-detailing place . . . is this legal?) but in between pickleball, lying on the couch, and doing my wife's remote bidding--  

I still managed to find time yesterday to ride up to Morristown with Stacey to visit Cunningham and her toddler Quinn and attend the "No Kings" protest, which was pretty tame, honestly: no antifa organized leftist terrorism, no counter-protest, not even any rock-throwing . . . just some speakers and a fairly large but very orderly crowd carrying a bunch of signs . . . the only conflict that we saw was a young Matt Walsh wannabe wandering around with his cellphone asking people "what is a woman?" but then he wouldn't stay and engage with anyone-- Stacey said, "Aww . . . you haven't been with one yet?" and I yelled: "Don't watch The Crying Game! Then you'll really be confused!" and then I realized my reference was from 1992 and no one got it (except Stacey and this old lady next to us who called the youngster "a piece of shit"-- she laughed) but apparently the proper, conservative answer is "an adult human female" and once you start differentiating between sex and gender or bring up x and y chromosomes and social constructs, then you're an antifa indoctrinator or something . . . anyway, it was good to see so many people out at the various protests, peacefully protesting our piece-of-shit, anti-democratic, norm-breaking, possibly pedophilic, certainly pussy-grabbing, tariff-loving, polarizing, nepotistic, emolument abusing, insurrection inciting, felony pardoning, crybaby election loser, golf cheater, justice department weaponizing, EPA and Education dismantling, conspiracy mongering, media manipulating, journalism oppressor, lying, dog-whistling, race-baiting, shithole country hating, tax evading, bankrupt businessman, crypto charlatan, transactionally moral, quid quo pro corrupter, appointee of quacks and incompetents, penis-breath of a President (and I could go on and on).

This Is What My Dog Says When She's Hungry

It's not quite English, but you get the gist.

 

Excremental Learning

They say an old dog cannot learn new tricks and that might be true, but an old man learned a new trick this morning-- my lower back has been hurting, and so I've been having some difficulty picking up and bagging my dog's stool . . . especially on our morning walk, when my body is not warmed up-- but this morning, I took a very wide stance-- that is the key, widening the stance-- and then I did a semi-lunge to pick up the yucky stuff and it was much easier: an old man learns a new trick!

Sandy Hook, The Mule Barn, Idioms, Lanternflies, Always Sunny . . .

My wife and I had no school on Tuesday (because of Rosh Hashanah) and so we drove our bikes to Sandy Hook and rode the multi-use trail through the old yellow brick army barracks (some of which have been renovated into beachfront rentals) and to the various beaches (one of which is clothing optional, we did not opt to stop) and finally to the new bar/restaurant, The Mule Barn-- which has a lovely patio, but we elected to have a beer indoors because it was hot as fuck out-- the Mule Barn is a great joint, on the water, all the way out on the end of the hook and it serves a variety of New Jersey beers (and apparently the food is good as well) and while we were there, my wife-- who is a mix-master of idioms-- described someone as "loud in the crowd" but then she did not possess the second half of this phrase she invented-- she wanted to say that this person is "loud in the crowd" but shy in smaller groups . . . so I enlisted AI to come up with a rhyming second half but the best it could muster was "loud in the crowd but a mouse in the house" and "loud in the crowd but a bore when it's four"-- I odn't think those are lexical masterpieces-- and then we drove back over the bridge to the Atlantic Highlands for lunch and a beer at The Proving Grounds, where we were swarmed by lanternflies-- I thought those things pretty much died out in New Jersey but apparently they all migrated to the beach to enjoy the waterfront views-- so though our food was great, we beat a hasty retreat once we finished and headed back to our lantern-fly-free but very humid hometown and I walked to New Brunswick with the guys and we went back to Harvest Moon for shitty beer-- why?-- and we sat outside in the humidity--why?-- but I did get to meet up with my son Alex, who had just gotten out of class and he walked back to Highland Park with us, to my friend's house and had a beer with us-- and then we watched two very funny episodes of Always Sunny in Philadelphia: "Mac and Dennis Become EMTs" and "The Gang Goes to a Dog Track"-- highly recommended . . . a fabulous day off from work.

I Am NOT Eating This Chicken! (of the Woods?) or Will I?

This morning, while walking the dog, I encountered this weird brain-like fungus-- and I am proud to say that Lola did NOT eat this thing-- even though I later learned that this fleshy bracket fungus, Laetiporus, is also commonly known as "Chicken of the Woods" because-- if cooked properly-- it tastes like chicken? or chicken brains?-- not sure if that's true and I'm not going to cook this mess and find out . . . I noticed this mound yesterday in an incipient stage, and I hope that by tomorrow morning, it will disintegrate (or that it turns into some sort of "Last of Us" style humanoid creature-- THEN I will kill it and eat it because that means that the shit is going down and I'm going to have to learn to eat and survivie in a fungified world.

Tail-gating?

Yesterday afternoon, I was walking our dog back from the dog park, and just before I reached my block, I noticed that a dude was walking a white poodle up ahead of me, maybe twenty yards in front of me-- and my block only has sidewalk on one side of the road, so I was forced to trail behind him but I figured as long as he kept up the pace, it wouldn't be a problem-- I keep an appropriate distance behind him until I got to my house . . . but his dog sensed my dog and turned and looked at her, and then the guy just stopped and stared at me, all pissed off and he yelled at me for "coming up behind him" and told me that wasn't cool and so I said, "this is my block, my house is right up there . . . I have to go this way" and he was all distraught and hot and bothered and so I attempted to walk around him-- but I wasn't taking my dog all the way out on the road becuase I never take her out on the road because I don't want her to think that's ever an option and-- of course, because regular dogs hate poodles-- the two dogs growled and barked at each other while I passed him and the guy, all vindicated, yelled "SEE!" and at that point I wanted to beat the fuck out of him but I was the bigger person and said nothing and just kept on walking, listening to him yell "INCONSIDERATE!" at the back of me-- and my wife said I should have made more of an effort to go around him and that I ought to have taken Lola into the street, but fuck that, this is Jersey and if you can't deal with a little tail-gating, then keep up your speed and if you want everyone to remain fifty-paces away from you then move to Wyoming, don't walk down a road with only one sidewalk in the most densely populated state in the union-- don't stop all miffed and block traffic . . . hopefully this douche will never walk his magisterial white poodle on our block again.

Dave Returns to Central Jersey (with very little fanfare)

My wife and I packed up our little pad in Ocean Grove this morning-- after another great beach day with friends on Friday-- and we drove back to Central Jersey . . . and we were pleasantly surprised to enter a clean house . . . Ian completed all his chores (he even put up a new magnetic screen on our back porch slider, so our dog can go in and out at will) and so my wife and I were able to get down to the rest of it: we put away all the beach stuff; my wife went down to her garden and planted seeds and harvested vegetables; I went to the gym for the first time in a month; I gave the dog a bath . . . also for the first time in a month; and while I loved living at the beach, it does feel good to be home-- while we definitely do not live in a large house, it seems like a mansion, after existing in a tiny space for a while-- it was also nice to use my big foam roller to sraighten out my back . . . the vacation bed was very mushy and my spine is out of whack . . . this was a fantastic summer (aside from when Ian totalled my wife's car-- but, luckily, I was at the beach with my college buddies for that hydroplaning escapade, and my family didn't tell me what happened until I got home) wherin I spent over a month close to the ocean-- but now it's time for school . . . and a visit to the dermatologist, I took a lot of sun over the last two months.

My Dog is NOT a Valiant and Courageous Leader (but she plays one on TV)

This moment on the jetty at the dog beach in Asbury Park is probably the most epic and badass and commanding our pooch Lola has ever been depicted-- she is one regal beagle! she could run for president!-- you should see the other photos I took, they are trash: several of her yawning and the rest she is looking the wrong direction-- but perhaps she knew that this was her last trip to the dog beach for a while, as our beach vacation is winding down, and so she had to produce one singular image so she could remember the good times fondly (and fictitiously, as nothing is more meretricious than a portrait).

Doggelganger

I am currently reading Tana French's murder mystery The Likeness-- which begins with Detective Cassie Maddox encountering a murder victim that looks exactly like her and has also assumed her undercover identity from years previous . . . it's super-creepy-- and then this morning, when my wife and I were walking the Asbury Boardwalk with her family, we stumbled upon this mural which is a likeness of our dog Lola: we're going to have to get her over there and take a photo with her in front of it, but it's definitely her doggelganger . . . pretty weird (and I thought of the word "doggelganger" on my own, when I typed the word "doppelganger" it came to me but of course the internet already thought of it . . . stupid fucking internet).

 

Meta-Debate Tempered by Alcohol

You don't want to go down this road with your wife: arguing about who is more argumentative (although the Bradley Beach bar crawl with the Dom and Michelle Moccio is mollifying the debate-- we went to The Little Dog Brewery (Gretchen is the first female brewmaster/brewery owner in New Jersey and she is very nice and knowledgeable and her beer is amazing) and Wheelhouse Distilling (a cute young newly married couple-- a fireman and an accountant-- own this with another couple . . . best mixed drink I've had in a long time: in-house spicy watermelon mixer and their bourbon-- delicious) and then we went to the Bradley Brew Project and I drank a very hazy pale ale called "Unicorn Girls."

Salt Life

A cool, cloudy day here at the beach so I'm back at the coffee shop-- but this time, taking some advice from my wife, I have ordered my coffee "for here," and so I get it in a little blue mug, and then I can get a refill . . . anyway, lots of adventures in the past two days-- I oculd really get used to living down here:

1) yesterday, Stacey came to visit, and we spent some time at the beach, and then we went out for drinks and food in Asbury Park;

2) we visited the Black Swan for all-day Tuesday happy hour-- all alcohol is half off-- so we had some fancy drinks and apps . . . get this, in ANOTHER refurbished bank-- so I'm writing this sentence in a refurbished bank in Ocean Grove and we had drinks in a refurbished bank in Asbury-- fucking wild-- and while the food and drinks were great, Stacey and I did feel a strange and very random tapping on the metal foot rail but we couldn't exactly figure out which bar patron had the nervous feet;

3) then we went to Barrio Costero, the upscale Mexican joint, for Taco Tuesday-- three tacos and a spicy margarite for $15-- which is a deal at this place-- and there was no room at the bar so the hostess seated us at the "chef's counter" and we watched the kitchen in action-- it was quite impressive and I certainly got my money's worth-- I asked the head chef a lot of questions (she was saying "hands!" not "hits!" and the spritzer was full of lime juice) and we noticed that EVERYTHING was prepped and labeled, so they were really just assembling and cooking, for the most part-- an excellent experience;

4)  this morning, I shook off the alcohol and took Lola to the Asbury dog beach-- she enjoyed that . . .

5) after the dog park, I geared up and made the short drive to Wardell Park for some pickleball-- as usual, everything was organized and there were some decent players-- I ended up playing for nearly three hours;

6) post-pickleball, I cooked up some leftovers, collapsed on the couch and I read my Tana French novel until I fell asleep-- 

7) Catherine got home from her book club outing in Bradley Beach, and she's making some eggplant parm in our tiny kitchen-- she made the sauce yesterday with tomatoes from her garden and now she's prepping the white eggplants (also homegrown) and I took a lovely picture of this-- it's not easy to work in this little kitchen so that's why I cleared out (too many cooks=no good) and I did get a free coffee refill (but the AC in this old bank sucks).

It's Not the Humidity, It's the Not Working

I got a lot done today: went to the gym, gave the dog a bath, moved two heavy air-conditioners-- one to a dumpster, the other to a storage space, mowed the lawn, returned a pair of knock-off Birkenstocks, watched a bunch of videos on how to purchase a car-- but I still had time to take a nap and go out drinking with my friends . . . because it is summer.

Bad News/Good News

So we found out some bad news and some good news today . . . bad news first, of course: the bad news is that when my son Ian hydroplaned the other night in my wife's car—just down the street from our house—he ran over the curb and smacked into a concrete barrier by the public works building; while he was not injured, my wife's sporty Mazda CX-5 was not so lucky: because the airbags deployed, the car was totaled, and we will be doing some car shopping this summer—but we also found out some good news at the vet today—the weird, strong antibiotics I administered for two weeks (I was supposed to handle them with gloves) cured our dog Lola's UTI and her new expensive food has dissolved all her struvite bladder stones, so she is totally in the clear—a miracle!— and so while it sucks to have to shop for a car, we are lucky that both our dog and our son are healthy.

Let Freedom Explode Loudly All Night

Most of my post-Independence Day was triumphant and celebratory: I returned to full force on the pickleball court, despite my sketchy hamstring and I celebrated my recovery with some beer and tequila at my friend's pool . . . but this celebration was interrupted by a phone call from Ian-- he found our dog panting and shaking in the bathroom and thought she was very sick, so I drove home to check her out but she was simply hiding from the bombs-- there's been fireworks goign off for days and she's losing her mind because of this-- she's getting more anxious about loud noises and she gets older-- and so am I -- last night I woke with a start and asked my wife who was knocking at our bedroom door, which is a scary thing to ask someone who is currently dreaming-- but it was just more fucking fireworks . . . maybe we should celebrate Independence Day with voter registration or a historical reenactment of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence . . . something less loud and more dog-friendly.

Wax On, Wax Off

I just applied Musher's Secret paw wax on my dog's little feet-- this stuff helps protect your dog's paw pads when it's extremely cold, and the combination of salt and ice can make the pavement and sidewalk feel like it is below freezing-- and it also helps when the weather gets unreasonably hot, which is happening right now in New Jersey-- I just walked her and it was damned hot and apparently in the next several days it's going to get more than ten degrees hotter than this hotness, which will be godamned hot.

Note to Self: They Are Called Samaras and I Hate Them

Every spring, I am shocked by the amount of maple tree helicopter whiriligig things that accumulate in my backyard and on my porch and, consequently, in my home-- either I track them in on my shoes or they slip in because we keep the sliding glass door open most of the time (we have a magnetic screen, which keeps the bugs out and allows the dog free reign of the porch and yard) and every year I am also shocked that there is a technical name for these whirligig helicopter thingies: samaras-- but I guess they eventually disappear-- where the fuck do they go?-- and I eventually forget the name for them . . . until spring inevitably returns.

The Animals are Acting Like Animals

Yesterday, I was walking the dog in the park, along the treeline, and an old dude with a white beard approached me and said I shouldn't continue in the direction I was headed because there was a rabid skunk over there-- it was reeling and stumbling and out in the daytime and definitely ill . . . meanwhile, at school, most mornings this spring, an angry male robin who lives in the courtyard bordering my room alights on the windowsill near my desk and attacks his reflection in the window, often disrupting the learning with his incessant pecking on the window-- and apparently this is quite common, a territorial maneuver instinctually designed to fend off other male rivals-- and sometimes birds do this to side-view car mirrors and break the glass-- but even though I've explained this to my Creative Writing class, they are kind souls and think the bird is asking to come inside and they want to let him in and feed him, an idea which I have rejected soundly . . . but I did offer a student the option of sitting outside in the courtyard near the window and attending class that way, because I would love to see the bird attack this silly little sophomore.

Fuzzy Wildlife/ Fuzzy Wildlife Photography

We decided just to trim the dead material off the hollowed-out disaster-of-a-tree that resides in the back corner of our (tiny) backyard instead of taking it down entirely-- even though the price was right-- because we figured if a raccoon was living in the hollow, it would try to move into our attic if it's home were cut down . . . and days later, we realized we made the right decision, despite the bargain, when we saw this masked bandit peering down at us (although Lola our dog, despite our coaxing and entreaties, would not look up and notice who she shares the yard with).

Strange Things Afoot All Over the Place

My stomach hurt, and I had a low fever on Sunday night into Monday, but I suffered through the school day and then collapsed on the couch after school-- and after eating nothing but plain noodles and oatmeal, I finally felt better by lunchtime today (and ate a chocolate donut to break my bland food fast) and then I went to acupuncture and Dana crushed my traps and neck and shoulder-- they were incredibly tight from an extended pickleball session on Sunday-- and even though I was sort of sick, I also graded a bunch of essays Monday and today, which means I was hunched over my computer screen (and to add to the pain and suffering, the underclassmen are nuts lately: I think they're finally coming out of their shells, which is annoying-- I preferred when they were quiet and awkward . . . and soon enough the seniors will go berserk) and then this afternoon when I was walking the dog in the park and I let her off leash, she raced over to a large object and then jumped away from it-- for good reason-- as it was a giant fishhead, perhaps a monstrous carp or some other riparian behemoth, that some animal must have dragged into the middle of the grass field, several hundred yards from the riverbank.