I Thought Last Year Was Well Organized?

 

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.

Hot and Cold

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

Automobiles, Automobiles, Automobiles (and The Cult)

A very un-Dave weekend, but I survived and had a pretty damned good time, despite all the traffic: Saturday morning, I drove my Kia Sportage forty minutes through typical New Jersey traffic to Zman's house-- there's no good way to get there from Highland Park-- and then after listening to a few tales of Zwife's driving misadventures, we got into Zman's Alfa Romeo and headed up to Hopkinton-- home of Gormley and also the town where the Boston Marathon starts-- but we had to wade into epic traffic on the Hutchinson or the Cross Bronx or the Merritt-- who the fuck knows the difference between those roads?-- so we stopped for lunch at Zuppardi's Apizza in West Haven, which was delicious-- and then fought through a bunch more traffic on the way to Gormley's lovely abode, in the piney, fern gullied, rock-walled suburbs of Hopkinton-- and then we took a walk through the hood, where we did NOT encounter a beach ball (fucking AI is destroying reality) and then got ready to head to the show, which was in Boston city center, at the Orpheum-- and Gormley's wife drove us in, through even more traffic (thanks Liz!) and we hopped out at a traffic light and then I had to chase down the car because I left my phone charging in the backseat . . . I caught up to Liz as she was turning right, knocked on the window, jumped in and grabbed my phone, and then jumped out of the car before anyone could even beep at her-- a random middle-aged white dude was impressed by my alacrity and he said, "nice move!" and I held up my phone and told him "my ticket to the show is on here!" and he said, "Are you going to see The Cult?" and I said, "Yes I am!" and then we went to jm Curley's for drinks and food and then walked to the Orpheum for the show-- the opening act was a noisy duo called The Patriarchy-- but the lead singer was a lady . . . ironic!-- and then The Cult came out as The Death Cult, the goth-punk band that preceded The Cult-- and Ian Astbury was in some sort of Native American dress-robe and they played all the old stuff from Dreamtime and before (e.g. "Gods Zoo") and then the curtain went down, we restocked our beer, and then The Cult came out as The Cult and played all the old favorites, from "Wildflower" to "She Sells Sanctuary"-- I especially enjoyed a stripped-down double time version of "Fire Woman" . . . I guess they were like: we're required to play this but we're going to do it quickly . . . anyway, it was a great show, the band seemed especially energized and invigorated playing the old goth-punk stuff-- Billy Duffy had to actually pay attention to what he was doing instead of cranking out the power chords and the drummer, John Tempesta, is exceptional and really laid down those culturally appropriated tribal beats-- I did have to tell the guy in front of me to lower his phone-- he seemed to think he was filming a documentary-- but once I said something, he stopped holding it up without any conflict-- and in general, the crowd was very pleasant-- it was essentially a convention of burly middle-aged white males, a few still sporting long hair but most bald or balding-- and everyone looked like they were trouble thirty years ago but had since more-or-less assimilated into normal society-- it made me think of how long a history I have with this band-- I first saw them on the Electric tour in July of 1987 at the Felt Forum-- so 38 years ago-- it was an insane show-- they opened with "Bad Fun" and the moshing was actually violent and Ian got stuck on top of a amplifier at one point and roadies had to help him down . . . there's not many bands that I saw in high school that are still touring (The Who are probably the only other band that fits into this category, although I think they are done now) and then after the show we went back to jm Curley's for a nightcap and caught a ride back to Hopkinton (thanks for arranging that ride, Gormley!) where I finished the leftover pizza and hit the sack and then Zman and I got on the road early and hauled it back to Jersey-- that's more car-time than I prefer to do but I chewed some gum and enjoyed the good craik (as they say in Scotland) and Zman's flawless driving and now I'm home andd getting ready for school tomorrow . . . a whirlwind weekend.

The Boys of Summer Have Gone

We leave the beach tomorrow, and the reality of work is rearing its ugly head- but Catherine and I had a great Thursday night out: we went to the R Bar for dollar oysters and sat upstairs-- very festive-- and then we saw my buddy bob play music at Mutiney Beach-- he plays bass in a band with an incredible uke player . . . they did reggae versions of several Pink Floyd songs-- and then we had one last sourdough pizza at Talula's; this morning we went stand-up paddleboarding in Manasquan-- we paddled past Fisherman's Cove and across the Glimmer Glass Lake to the train bridge . . . no wind and it was lovely and it really made me want to get another paddleboard-- I think mine deflated in 2019?--  it was a relaxing way to spend our last full morning . . . and I am now about to drag the wagon to the beach for one last beach day of summer-- and there are limited lifeguards because the kids have left for college or started high school sports . . . it's the beginning of the end.

Last Taco Tuesday!

Next Tuesday is looming in the minds of teachers everywhere . . . first comes Labor Day Weekend, then comes labor-- but there's still some summer left (as Soder explained last night, we still have TWO Thanksgiving breaks worth of summer before school begins) and so we celebrated our last "taco Tuesday" at Barrio Costero-- Styacey, Chantal, Soder, and Terry and his family joined us for the finale-- Catherine and I attended every taco Tuesday in August (and Stacey made it to three of them) and they saved the best for last-- and apparently they have a chef's meeting on Monday about what tacos to serve on Tuesday-- we had, in order: steak, black bean and corn masa, chicken in some kind of birria sauce and last night was pork carnitas-- delicious-- and after tacos we went to the Black Swan to take advantage of all-day happy hour and then we tried to go to Johnny Mac's for free pizza but they wouldn't let Stacey and Chantal in- no ID-- we were like WTF? we're all over forty here-- but no dice-- so we went to the Bond Street bar for a final beverage and a discussion of how weird feet are (and how weird people who are into feet are) and then we wandered the streets of Ocean Grove, looking at the Victorian architecture and the Methodist tent city-- and the next time I will see those folks, our lives will be dictated by bells.

Dueling Cheesesteaks (and other gastronomic notes)

Some notes on food and drink in the Asbury Park/Ocean Grove/Bradley Beach area:

1) the cheesesteak at the hipster sandwich joint The Speakeatery is better than the cheesesteak from Palmer's Quality Meats in Neptune City, although both these cheesesteaks are exceptional (and both contain chopped-up hot cherry peppers) the Speakeatery version is more steak-like, featuring chopped top round, while the Palmer's Meats version is more like a think-sliced Philly version . . . and I want to try more things from both these places;

2) The Asbury Park Distilling Co has happy hour-- 10-dollar highballs-- and the aquavit is very tasty, just a hint of licorice/anise flavor;

3) The R Bar has jazz and dollar oysters on Thursday night, and it's quite the hipster joint-- the drinks are excellent, and the bartender is very very attractive;

4) the deal at Johnny Mac's House of Spirits is that if you order drinks you are entitled to one free mini-pizza-- but if it's crowded, then you have to wait in line to get your pizza, so take advantage of this deal early-- and they also have ping-pong, skeeball, and cornhole;

5) the mussels in coconut curry are excellent at Catbird in Asbury, as is the sourdough crust pizza-- the size and taste is similar to Talula's . . . but Catbird is BYOB, so though it's a bit pricey, you can save some of your dough and that way, when the bill comes,  you won't be sour.

OBFT XXXII

I just completed the long drive home from the Outer Banks, and I can attest that OBFT XXXII did indeed occur in a newly renovated Martha Wood cottage (at least the outside), and beers were drank—though not as many as usual—and at one point the bartender at Tortuga's shamed us into ordering another round, I also took some flak for ordering coffee after I tried to order an espresso martini but was denied, and plenty of seafood and pizza was eaten, music was played, Whit and I finished a pertinent song—which his wife claimed was vain (I'll post it and you can decide)—and we played cornhole and swam (avoiding seaweed and jellyfish at first, then the water improved), and in general a good time was had by all, and now it's time to dry out—thanks Whit, for another great weekend at the beach.

Pizzagaina Resurrection

My cousins haven't gotten together to make pizzagaina since before COVID-- for the uninitiated, pizzagaina is a particular type of pizza rustica made with flaky pastry and stuffed with prosciutto, several kinds of ham, ricotta and various Italians cheese, and boiled eggs . . . and they are informally known to my family as "Easter pizza"-- but I am happy to say that we resurrected the tradition this year, at my cousin Geoff's house in North Brunswick and the Easter pizzas have risen again . . . we made ninety of them (and they are NOT easy to make . . . but my cousin Kim is a stern taskmaster and whipped the amateurs into shape, advising us and criticizing us on the amount of stuffing-- it always seems to be too much or too little-- the symmetry of the "toes" that seal the crust, the pressure of the "forking" the forgetting of the "fork-holes" and the ratio of boiled eggs to meat/cheese filling) and I can't explain how delicious I find these things, they are a true delicacy and it's very rare to see them in an Italian deli or market-- it seems like with pizzagaina, it's homemade or nothing (although some places sell a quiche-like pie shaped pizza rustica, but it's not the same) and I've got a bunch more in the freezer, so if you're at my house and very nice to me, maybe I'll share.

Kim, Eileen, Linda, and Cat

We Escaped the Room, but My Wife Did Not Escape the Inevitable March of Time

My wife figured out that the best way to celebrate her birthday with larger-sized children (and their smaller-sized girlfriends) is to do an activity-- last year we went to Top Golf-- and this year we navigated a fairly tricky escape room set in a comic shop and the hostess chick said we "crushed it"-- we only needed one clue-- and she said we were fun to watch because we actually cooperated and most families bicker and fight quite a bit-- and then we went and got some thin crust pizza at Frankie Fed's, a very Jersey pizza place where the apostrophe is optional . . . and when we got to Frankie Fed's, we enacted the escape room in reverse-- we circled the restaurant twice, trying every door but not finding our way in -- first we entered the kitchen, then a backroom with a take-out counter, but we finally found the actual entry door, which was obscured by a large Christmas bow.

 

Hot Town, Summer in the City

My wife and I went into "town" yesterday, which is how Tom Buchanan refers to New York City in The Great Gatsby, and both the hot and humid pathetic fallacy in Gatsby and The Lovin' Spoonful certainly came to mind-- though the weather yesterday was even worse than both works of art imagined-- we certainly got dirty and gritty, walking from the train station to our hotel to store our backpack (The Gallivant . . . the first room we were assigned was already occupied-- luckily the guests were out of the room and not in flagrante delicto when we stormed in; the second room had a broken floor unit AC and was broiling, but the third room had a window AC and was quite chilly-- third time was a charm) and then we continued walking around, through throngs of people, clouds of humidity, and wafting billows of strange odors-- we went to lunch at Bonsaii Tapas and Wine Bar-- delicious-- and then we trekked up to the Museum of Arts and Design and enjoyed their exhibits and AC and then we went and checked in at The Gallivant-- a long process involving three elevator trips-- and then we showered off the grit and grime, read for a few minutes, and then headed back out-- we needed to get to the Beacon Theater, which was uptown, Central Park West, and it was still steamy outside, so after getting caffeinated at Tiny Dancer coffee-- which was located underground, in a little warren of shops near the subway station (including See No Evil Pizza, which is rumored to be fantastic) and then we walked a bit and stopped at a bar, Tanner Smith's on 55th Street-- but it was loud as fuck, so we had a beer and then walked on, and we ended up at Ella Social, another tapas bar-- and we just caught the tail end of Happy Hour-- they took away the Happy Hour menus just after we sat down, so we lucked out and were able to get an order in, and then we sat there for a while and ordered various delicious tapas and then we went to the show: the opening band, Woods, had a great sound-- psychedelic alt country?-- but the singer couldn't quite pull off what he was going for (Jeff Mangum? Mark Coyne?) so it was more enjoyable when they got deep into instrumental and then Katie Crutchfield and her band Waxahatchee took the stage-- and Katie Crutchfield really took over the show: she has the best voice I've ever heard in person . . . I felt like I was seeing Alabama's version of Celine Dion or something-- and my wife and I could really see, because we were in the second row in the balcony and the three people in front of us were SO SHORT -- score!-- they were like five foot nothing, so we had an unobstrcuted view-- more on this tomorrow-- anyway, Crutchfield played almost every song from her new album, Tiger's Blood, which is fantastic and a couple of songs from St. Cloud, but none of her older straight ahead rock stuff or the indie stuff that sounds like Liz Phair-- she's really doing the alt-country thing full tilt-- a great show and her voice is awe-inspiring (and I think her bass player also does some amazing backing vocals as well) and then when we got out of the Beacon, at 11:30 PM, it was still very fucking hot-- unlike the Lovin' Spoonful song-- and we started walking back to the hotel and I suggested an Uber but my wife said it wouldn't take that long-- which was NOT true . . . it took so long that I had to stop for a slice of pizza-- but we finally made it back to The Gallivant-- over 12 miles of walking in the hot hot city-- even though were trying to keep things concentrated-- but the Big Apple is a very big fucking apple-- and then we got a nice breakfast and caught the train back to New Brunswick-- which was free! as was the train to the city . . . all Jersey Transit trains are free this week, for some reason, so they are quite packed . . . but now we're home again and the house is in one piece and the Appliance Doctor just fixed our stove door and the weather has improved and become seasonable and calm, but I must say, there's nothing like the overstimulus of Manhattan, especially on a hot day when everyone is out on the streets instead of in their apartments.

That's a Wrap!

Successful pickleball and pizza party to end the tennis season-- and everyone got a very special award, in categories such as: "Most Likely to Be Singing a Catchy Song From the 90s on the Bus" and "Best Taste in Sci-fi" and "Most Food Consumed Within 30 Minutes of a Match (without Puking)"-- and my buddy Craig (the AD) and I defended our honor and beat the first, second, and third singles players in various doubles matches, but it won't be long before they figure out the game and start beating us . . . a fun season, a fun party, and while I'm normally not a soda drinker, there's nothing like a mini can of Coke after a long hot day with a bunch of teenagers.

The Fat Lady Has Sung

That's it: tennis season is officially over (aside from the pickleball/pizza/uniform collection party next week) and we put in a good showing against the Group 1 powerhouse Edison Academy . . . my guess is that they will win it all-- and it's always nice to lose the to the ultimate winner-- but my kids played great today, probably because they were such underdogs that there was no pressure; our final hands-in we said "Henry" on three, as that's our only senior and he's the best dude around-- so now that season has concluded, I will have the time to pursue random activities after school, such as utilizing my upright weed-puller on my moss and clover back lawn, trimming the bamboo, digging a dry well, and attending Friday happy hour. 

Whitney, Elaine, Zoom, Schwartz, Profigliano, etcetera

Catherine and I made the long haul home today from Virginia Beach-- we were down there for my buddy Whitney's third wedding (or the third wedding Cat and I have attended . . . maybe he's also had a few secret weddings) but, as they say, third time is a charm and his new wife Elaine is totally charming-- it's the Goldilocks magic of threes-- too hot, too cold, just right . . . so this one is going to last-- anyway, too tired to write a coherent sentence but some quick recollections: the wedding band was amazing . . . they are called Full Moon Fever and they are a Tom Petty Tribute Band-- I could never stray too far from the dance floor because they managed to play several hours of Tom Petty, each song better than the last . . . and we went from the wedding venue-- Whitney's dad's place on a gold course (or more like IN a golf course) to Aloha Snacks in downtown Virginia Beach-- the shuttle ride was chaotic and claustrophobic but the shuttle did have two stripper poles inside-- people were definitely three sheets to the wind at the afterparty but we did rustle up a game of "Zoom" -- Cat took some video because she had never seen it live . . . it's the reason girls didn't really talk to us in college-- then we took a LONG and SLOW walk back with Zman to our Airbnb on 19th Street-- Catherine's feet were killing her because she had been in heels for seven hours-- the next day, yesterday, was lovely-- we went to the beach twice, in the morning after walking through the ViBe Creative district-- which is full of colorful painted murals and eating some delicious breakfast treats from Prosperity Kitchen and Pantry-- highly recommended . . . especially the pizza and the Vegan chocolate chip cookie, which was suggested to us by the yoga girl in the peach Lululemon outfit-- and then we met Stu and a few others at Atlantic on Pacific for the best happy hour I've ever been to-- it's every day from 3 PM to 6 PM and the deals are fantastic-- then we met the gang on the beach at 58th Street, had a few beers, and walked to the lawn at the Cavalier Hotel before saying good-bye and taking the long walk back to 17th Street, where we got some excellent ice cream at Lolly's Creamery and then went to bed so we could arise early today and beat the traffic . . . and excellent weekend, amazing wedding, congrats to Whitney and Elaine, and it was awesome to catch up with all the folks at the party.

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.

I Have a Wife Who Makes Her Own Naan

Last night my wife whipped up some Indian food-- chicken tikka masala and daal tarka and some other lentil thing-- and then she realized we didn't have enough naan in the freezer and so I suggested we use some tortillas-- chicken tikka tacos!-- and then, satisfied that I had really helped out with dinner, I went back to drinking my beer and listening to music and watching her cook . . . and then Ian got home and I talked to him for a bit and then I saw that Catherine was doing something weird with flour on the counter and I asked her what she was doing and she said, "I'm making some homemade naan from scratch" and I was like WTF? and a Troy Barnes moment from Community popped into my head: after behaving abominably in the video game competition for the inheritance, Pierce's half-brother Gilbert says "Family can make a person do a lot of crazy things" and Troy answers: "I understand . . . I have an uncle who makes his own pizza."

When the Cat is Away, Dave Gets Sleepy

Catherine is away on a lady-hiking-trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains, so it's just me, Ian, and Lola in the house . . . Ian is eating pizza and watching "The Regular Show" and I'm drinking a beer, and writing this sentence and then I'm going to play a game of online chess and fall asleep at 7:30 PM, most likely (I've been staying up late all week watching the second season of "Fargo" with my wife, that is one intense show).

Dave Redefines Refrigerator Blindness

Like many men, I have difficulty finding things in the refrigerator and on our pantry shelves and I often require assistance from my wife to locate what I'm looking for-- but today at school, I took "refrigerator blindness" to an unprecedented level-- on my off period, I drove over to Mancini's and got two slices of pizza to-go and by the time I had driven back to the school-- the two slices riding shotgun, filling my car with delicious scents of brick-oven baked crust and sweet marinara sauce-- I was salivating and ravenous (I played 6:30 AM pickleball this morning and probably showered in raw sewage-- because did they really flush out the shower in the coach's room?) and so I entered the school with my slices and made a beeline for the English Office, grabbed a seat, and inhaled my pizza-- and then I heard someone mention the word "fridge," which is a sore subject because the administration confiscated all of our department mini-fridges and microwaves over the summer (because of a toaster fire) and I said, "Are we getting a fridge soon?" and the other five teachers in the room stared at me in disbelief and then I followed their collective stare to the utterly gigantic white refrigerator looming right next to the doorway that I had recently barged through with my pizza slices and my boss Jess said: "You know how men can't find stuff in the refrigerator? Dave can't even find the refrigerator!" and she was right.

Things I Learned After It Was Too Late Volume 427

When you're making a pizza, you need to inspect the cheese for mold before you enthusiastically toss it all over the sauce-covered crust-- tragic loss of a pizza-- but here's something I learned late in life (today, actually) but not too late . . . I just read on the internet that when you have a light coating of dry fallen leaves on your lawn, you should mulch them with the lawnmower instead of raking them-- and shredding leaves with an electric mower is far more fun than raking and bagging them.

Central Jersey: We Exist!

Governor Phil Murphy recently signed Bill S3206, which requires the New Jersey "Division of Travel and Tourism to re-draw the tourism map to promote Central Jersey" and also "requires promotion of overnight stays" in the newly created Central Jersey region-- so the folks in Middlesex, Hunterdon, Mercer, Middlesex, and Somerset counties now officially exist as full-fledged denizens of the Garden State . . . and now we've got to work on a slogan to promote Central Jersey so that I can AirBnB my house for lots of cash; here are a few ideas:

1) Central Jersey: no beaches but plenty of humidity;

2) Central Jersey: come for the pizza, stay for the poison ivy;

3) Central Jersey: we've got strip clubs AND strip malls;

4) Central Jersey: we'd love you to visit-- but there's enough fucking traffic so please take the train;

5) Central Jersey: we ain't Pennsylvania.

Real Friday Continued . . .

So . . . I finally had a real Friday without tennis and I certainly made use of it (to the chagrin of Saturday) because after happy hour with the ladies at B2 Bistro, I headed home and Catherine and I went to our friends' house for some drinks and corn-hole . . . first corn-hole of the season!-- and we had a good time-- especially since our friends' 23 year old daughter Liz played-- she's a great athlete and very competitive so I took great joy in kicking her butt-- but the drinking continued for a while, along with some gossip, which I will not repeat-- but it led to a walk, led by the youngster, over to this party on our side of town-- and our goal was to crash the party-- really? it seems we're a bit old for that but we were fairly hammered and while Ann and Craig turned back at the last possible moment, they saw their daughter walk in and decided they'd hightail it home, but Liz saw her friend tending bar at the shindig-- a vast and very well-stocked bar-- and Catherine and I wandered in with Liz and got some drinks from her friend-- who we also knew-- and then we saw some people we knew and integrated ourselves into the crowd and then eventually we met the host-- who Catherine had some connection with so we were not asked to leave-- plus I think everyone was drunk-- and then we did some dancing? and then we wandered home-- where I passed out on the couch eating pizza-- and then the kids got home at some later time period and they said I didn't even rouse a bit when they walked in and out of the living room, turned the lights on, etc etc . . . so quite a real Friday but a very fuzzy, uneventful, and unreal Saturday-- I'm too old for that kind of nonsense.