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.
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?
Follow the Link
Two things:
1) never drive to Queens (we went to the Hall of Science there today, which was nice, but the drive out of a Mad Max movie;
2) Celine made a fantastically disgusting typographical error on yesterday's sentence-- check it out.
Funny How?
One of Ian's absurdist knock-knock jokes: knock knock . . . who's there? . . . diaper apple . . . diaper apple who? . . . apple diaper poopy-head!!! . . . ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . . . repeat until bed-time.
Creative Gluttony
Someone put out a huge spread of goodies in the English office, but I had a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich to eat-- so to maximize my consumption I put a chocolate covered pretzel inside the peanut butter and jelly sandwich-- and it was delicious.
There's Nothing Better Than Not Shitting Your Pants
It's official: Ian has toilet-trained himself (and with no encouragement, charts, stars, prizes, or treats-- which Alex thinks is unfair, since we did a lot more to motivate him, but Ian's reward is obviously intrinsic-- he doesn't like to walk around with a load in his pants).
Is It So Wrong To Enjoy Refrigeration?
Last night I ate a big bowl of peanut butter gelato with sprinkles and chocolate chips on top and it tasted that much better because I was watching Christian Bale and his fellow captives slowly starve in Rescue Dawn.
Cold Choices
Precision
Dave Channels Carl Spackler
I was debating what to do with the squirrels in my attic after I catch them in the humane trap I'm going to purchase, but after the taunting minuet they did last night at 3 AM (right above my head), I have decided that I am going to kill them.
The Costs and Benefits of a Pus Filled Boil
Having my abscess infection scooped out was no bargain, but at least I'll be able to enjoy an episode of "Flight of the Conchords" tonight under the influence of Tylenol with codeine.
They're Building Something Big . . .
This morning I awoke alone in bed and found Catherine asleep downstairs on the couch; I hoped that it wasn't a bout of noxious flatulence in the night that drove her out of our bedroom, but it turns out it wasn't my fault . . . it was the squirrels in our attic keeping her awake (the other night she woke me up at midnight, she was banging our ceiling with a rubber rain boot to drive them out) and she claimed this morning, (half asleep) "They're building something up there, some kind of big thing . . . and I can't stand to think of them peeing and pooping up there, while they're building some kind of nest."
Our Phone Probably Doesn't Have Athlete's Foot
Catherine told me I couldn't write about this because she didn't want people to think we're dirty, filthy people, but then it broke, so now I'm allowed to say it: on Sunday, I was calling Catherine and helping Ian urinate at the same time, and I dropped the phone into the toilet-- but I wiped it off and put it outside to dry in the sun and the wind, and after that it worked-- I talked to someone on it (and that's when Catherine made me swear never to tell anyone) but it stopped working yesterday, so I'm going to buy a new one.
Gary Gygax is Dead
Way back in 1992, Whitney and I capitalized on the death of Dr. Seuss with our eponymous "tribute" song . . someone should do the the same for the King of the Dorks.
Justice is Served
For Sartre, "l'enfer, c'est les autres," but for me hell is a high school musical, and yesterday I was definitely in a circle that Dante designed especially for me: Catherine's nephew was in "Beauty and the Beast" and so we all went-- Catherine, me, Alex, Ian, Catherine's mom, Catherine's brothers and their significant others (I think the French have a more elegant word for this . . .) and I mention this only because there were a lot of people around to hear me complain, and complain I did, because it was hot as hell in the theater-- and those of you who know me know I have a low tolerance for heat, but this was ridiculous pumping death heat, rivulets of sweat rolling down my back heat, my buttocks floating in a pool of liquid heat, Ian getting red-faced and croaking "water" heat, and we were in the first row on the side (great for the kids, they loved it, and I must admit, it was an amazing production, hundreds of times better than what is put on at my high school-- but it was still insipid) which was right next to the speaker, and my ears are sensitive from years of listening to bad guitar rock, so I was miserable, and I took Ian out early before intermission because he was sweating so much, but Catherine guilted me into going back in after the break (and this thing was LONG) so I switched to sit back by her brother and his "le petite amie" but she tried to voice a concern but she was too nice to say it, and it was this: they were sitting next to an EXTREMELY obese woman who hadn't booked ahead of time and could only get one seat for her AND her two kids, so in my quest to finder a cooler, quieter place, I instead found myself punished for my complaining, and squashed against a mountain of flesh, with someone else's seven year old on my lap (and she kicked the thirteen year old girl in front of me and the girl thought that it was me that touched her head and kept looking back at me like I was some kind of child molester) and then we ended up waiting for pizza for over an hour at Pete and Elda's-- it was packed, so the kids went sort of nuts, and Catherine was mad at me because I thought that I should be able to drink beer at the restaurant because this was her idea and trip, and I didn't even bring up the rule of etiquette, which is this: the person whose family it is NOT gets to drink, but now is not the time to bring this up.
Playground Illusions (and Allusions)
Alex and Ian were playing "pirate-ship" on the jungle gym with a bunch of kids the other day, and Alex started yelling, "sirens, sirens, watch out for the sirens!" and I thought he was talking about some sort of imaginary approaching police boat, but then he continued, "don't listen to the Sirens' singing! we're going to crash into the rocks!" and I realized that-- for better or worse-- that I am raising a nerd.
This IS Going to Hurt
You know it's trouble when the dentist actually tells you something is going to hurt-- but I did learn something: a pus-filled abscess infection can reverse the polarity of anesthetic, rendering it useless, unless the infection is irrigated and-- and this is the part that hurt-- the dentist gives you a shot of Novacaine in the roof of your mouth.
These Are My Demands
We're meeting with the architect today to tell him what we want our new kitchen to be like, and I want to give him a few unrealistic demands-- just to keep him sharp-- so I'm going to tell him that I need eight kegs of beer chilled at all times, that once or twice a year I like to roast a camel, and that I cultivate escargot and I need a large aquarium within reach of the stove-top.
Am I Some Kind of Dancing Monkey?
It's been a busy day (I had to sign Alex up for pre-school among other things) and I haven't been able to think of anything particularly clever for my sentence, but what am I?-- some kind of clown?-- some kind of talking monkey here to amuse you?-- do I look like your clown?-- your puppet?-- your marionette? your blow-up sex doll, to be treated like some piece of passive plastic?
How To Get to Leave Work Early
Yesterday, I had to leave school early because the zipper on my fly broke (I tried to fix it with a piece of double-sided tape because I was supposed to cover a class for my friend, but she said, "I can't even look at you. Go home.")
Anapestic Birthday Wishes
Today is the day-- now I'm thirty-eight!--
The Doctor and I share the same date--
If Seuss were alive, he'd be one-o-two,
And if I were like Horton, then I'd hear a Who!
(Actually, Seuss would be one-o-four,
but that is a fact that I choose to ignore).
The Doctor and I share the same date--
If Seuss were alive, he'd be one-o-two,
And if I were like Horton, then I'd hear a Who!
(Actually, Seuss would be one-o-four,
but that is a fact that I choose to ignore).
Other Minds
Alex turned four today, and he's he's having a few friends from school over, which is very weird-- that he has this life of his own separate from ours-- but then I guess I find it weird that anyone has a life of their own separate from mine; I generally think that when people I know aren't with me, then they're just hanging around thinking: "I wonder what Dave is doing?"
Winter Is Coming for Whitney
Whitney came to visit last night, but he was woefully unprepared for the cold weather-- he had his work shoes, thin socks, a light jacket, stylish but useless leather gloves, and he actually had to borrow my bomber hat (he refused a Yankees ski hat); this wasn't a problem, however, as we decided to skip the curling and instead meet the usual suspects at Charlie Brown's-- inside-- and, then while we were planning our next move-- to walk to New Brunswick-- Whitney caught a break and Mose gave us a ride to New Brunswick (I got shafted and had to ride in the back seat atop many layers of flattened cardboard boxes), but after a good time in the Corner Tavern and a better time at Giovanelli's (Whitney has learned something since his last visit-- though he ordered two sandwiches, he only ate a half of each one) Mose offered to drive us home-- another break for ill dressed Whitney, but then his luck came to an end and Mose got a flat (this was 2:30 AM and it was cold) and it took a while to wrench the lug nuts loose and an even longer while to get the jack to work and old man winter finally got his revenge on the poorly prepared man from Norfolk.
You Hugged My Fart
Some primitive attempts at humor last night from the kids: when Cat's mom said "See you in the morning" to Alex, he replied back, "See you at night!" and laughed like a lunatic; Ian kept it scatological, when he farted while I was holding him he said, "You hugged my fart," and then when the two of them were taking a bath, Alex asked, "Who farted?" and Ian held up a plastic shark and said "this fish."
Funny When?
I watched "Trailer Park Boys" last night, after a long hiatus from them; they weren't as funny as I remembered-- but I'm going to keep at it-- maybe I'm not as funny as I remembered?
Anyone Can Draw and Amoeba
I've been creating some poorly drawn animation on my tablet: if anyone has any easy-to-draw plot ideas for my amoeba sitcom, send them my way.
Dave Does Coz
Went with Catherine to see Bill Cosby last night, with the MAN and the woman . . . and if it wasn't for the BEER . . . well, then you youngzzzsterrs . . . if you are . . . NEWLY married-- let ME tell YOU whatzzit, if the, and he HAD . . . no not that, I KNOW what he had . . . I was THERE-- he had a certain way of . . . it's the THING with the . . . smokezz, yebbit, therebit izza smokezzinby mouf . . . FIRE . . . yes, riiiiight . . . the THING about it is therezzz pages left OUT-- when the GOD and the EVE in the GARDEN . . . you hideth from Godeth?-- and Mr. Clean did a twenty minute routine about Viagra and his "johnson" and falling to the FLOOR and you stick there . . .
Winter Fun!
Like Father, Like Son
It was only Alex and me at the breakfast table this morning; he looked at me and said "We're both picking our noses!" and it was true, and then he burped and asked to be excused.
Amoeba Love
Today, instead of using my snow day wisely and doing my taxes while the children napped, I wrote a short love song about amoebas and animated it on my tablet laptop. . . my rationale: anyone can draw an amoeba.
Dave Controls the Weather
To celebrate the 100th Sentence of Dave I have arranged for a snow day; please show your appreciation by clicking on the ads.
Is This Normal?
Yesterday I consumed (in chronological order): two packs of oatmeal, an apple, a yogurt, five Munchkin Donuts, a cobb salad and jalapeno chips from Wawa, some coffee, chicken nachos, three beers, some chocolate, chicken sausage and peppers and pasta, and some more chocolate.
How Can You Remember If You Forgot?
I realized on Monday that I've been driving without my license since early December-- I needed to show my ID at the Philadelphia Zoo because I hadn't signed my credit card, but I couldn't find my license in my wallet-- but the funny thing is, I forgot that I didn't have my license by the end of the zoo visit, and so I drove home from Philly with no license and it wasn't until yesterday when Catherine reminded me that it was missing (she remembered at school and put her wedding ring on the opposite hand so she would remember to tell me to continue my search) and I found it in my little wallet, which I carry when I want to travel light, and the last time I used it was when we went to the city in December.
Acting! Is Very Silly . . .
I suffered through hours of Kate Blanchett pretending to be Queen Elizabeth because I wanted to see the Spanish Armada battle scene, and it turned out to be cheesy, but it serves me right for wanting Elizabeth to be a different kind of movie than it was (and I should have followed my own rule-- which is that I don't watch movies that are all about acting-- especially when someone is trying to act like a historical figure or a famous person because this film begins with doting 360-degree camera shots of the Queen in every possible setting and outfit).
2/18/2008
The warm weather made the animals extremely active at the zoo today-- polar bears wrestled underwater, penguins breached, the lions were actually roaring, a tiger cub tackled his mother, and the rattlesnakes and cobras slithered in their tanks (it was also the first time I've ever seen a Gila monster move)-- but my most exciting animal encounter occurred at this 6:30 this morning, while I was recording some music: I was wearing headphones, the house was quiet, and I was immersed in the sound of the drum machine and backing guitar, when a large black bug fell from the ceiling and landed on my pick-hand; it was either a spider or some kind of beetle, but I flung it off so quickly that I didn't identify it, and I'm very proud that I didn't shriek loudly enough to wake the house (completely unrelated: on the way home from the zoo we passed a nursery and their placard read Pot Sale . . . Not that Kind!)
2/17/2008
Yesterday, my two sons and I formed a short lived rock'n'roll band, and my son Alex came up with our name: The Junior States (he had a rationale for this but I missed it because Ian had just jammed Legos into the keyboard and it was making a lot of noise).
THAT'S Fresh
I listened to 8 Diagrams on my eight-mile run this morning, and the Wu-Tang is still "keeping it fresh like Tupperware."
This Sounds Stupid (And Maybe It Is)
I hate it when actors have to act: for example, Catherine and I were watching an entertaining thriller called Primal Fear and the part requires Edward Norton, the alleged killer, to stutter-- some idiot wrote that in the script as part of his "character"-- and it's torture, because instead of enjoying the movie and speculating about who really did it, I'm thinking about how weird it must be for Edward Norton to have to pretend to have a speech impediment.
2/14/2008
A few weeks ago, I challeneged Alex to rub his belly and pat his head at the same time, but he was unable to do it and never mentioned it again until last night, when, just before bed, he said, "Look what I can do" and then he did it-- soI guess he was practicing in secret until he felt the time was right . . .
2/13/2008
A bittersweet day: Alex conquered the sled hill by our house for the first time, but Ian was sick with a fever and had to stay inside.
2/10/2008
The new kitchen is always the topic around our house: yesterday's topic was why does a stone floor feel colder than a wood floor when either one is going to be the same temperature as the rest of the house-- and I found the answer on-line; it is because stone is more dense and thus a better conductor of heat or cold and since the floor will generally be cooler than 98.7, it's going to make you feel colder (which leads one to wonder how cold Viggo Mortensen was during the filming of the naked knife fight in Eastern Promises-- he spends a lot of time crawling around on a stone floor.)
No Context, No Reward
I learned two things last night: God is a giant ear, and a "hook-up" is when you smuggle prison food out of the dining hall and back to your room, where you then try to make it a serviceable meal with whatever other materials you have on hand (for example, you take noodle soup and pour it into a bag of crushed cheese puffs and then put it under your pillow for ten minutes-- it congeals into a jail-house "burrito").
2/8/2008
Alex approached me with another "drawing" of his and I got ready to channel my time spent in the Uffizi (I use the Stanislavski method when I pretend that the scribbles my children produce are actually representative of something) but the person he drew had two arms, two legs, a face, two eyes and a mouth!
http://www.thebestpageintheuniverse.net/c.cgi?u=irule
Emu Farm
A new song by Greasetruck, but it's the same old story: boy meets girl, boy tries to impress girl by purchasing an emu farm, boy neglects security at said farm, emus escape, chaos ensues, stray emu kicks boy's girlfriend in the shin, and boy leaves town (I recorded the song on a Zoom Mrs-8, a tiny portable digital recorder and stuck the audio over a couple of random Youtube videos with some free Windows MovieMaker software).
Fourteen Words That Will Kill Your Buzz
I was having fun writing my trilogy of aphorisms about time, until I read this last night in Nabokov's Speak, Memory: "our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness."
2/5/2008
Living in the present is an impossible dream: one part of the mind is always anticipating the future, while another constantly assesses the past.
2/4/2008
Thinking about the past is a trap: remembering the bad times is depressing, and reminiscing about the good times is depressing as well, because inevitably, things have changed.
2/3/2008
Alex's swim lesson will be ten minutes longer today, to make up for the time that was lost last week because some kid upchucked in the pool.
2/2/2008
On Google Trends you can observe the top 100 web searches for the day-- it's a window to the consciousness of the world; on the day Heath Ledger died his name was the top search-- and number two was "Keith Ledger."
Homeless Elbow
Two days ago in Boulder, my friend Ryan and his wife Cat were attacked by a homeless man with a club-- Ryan took a shot to the head before Cat wrested the club from the attacker and beat him with it-- she reported in the paper that her arm was sore from bludgeoning the itinerant . . . seriously!
Finned and Defused
I'm reading Marvin Minsky's The Society of the Mind (his treatise on intelligence, artificial and otherwise) and Neil Shubin's Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5 Billion Year History of the Human Body at the same time: I don't know whether I'm a very complicated robot or a very hairy shark.
It's Hard to Start Hamlet With A Hangover
If you have plans for the Super Bowl, make sure they're flexible-- because I sent an e-mail to the President of the Fox Network asking him to move the game to Saturday evening (I'm starting Hamlet on Monday and I don't want either myself or my students to be tired from watching the game).
I'm Above This Kind of Gossip
Apparently, the story that Mark Hamill got into a car accident and had reconstuctive surgery on his face between filming The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi is an urban legend . . . not that I care or anything . . . but his face does look kind of different . . . but what do I care?
How Much Does a Coffee Filter Filter?
This morning I spilled the entire canister of coffee beans onto the kitchen floor (which isn't terribly clean, Alex and Ian are slobs) , but I swept up the scattered beans and salvaged them; a coffee filter strains out dirt and old food, right?
The Hassler
Eighteen consecutive missed pool shots (including a break that flew off the table and into the wall) are erased by one lucky jump shot.
Dave Rationalizes Violence in the Office
I'm starting to feel less guilty about punching Brady in the leg yesterday-- in fact, because of his history of madcap pranks, I'm starting to think that maybe he even deserved to get punched in the leg-- as just desserts for past mischief . . . despite his innocence in this particular shenanigan.
I Punch a Colleague For No Good Reason
Unfortunately, the title of this post is accurate, but there were donuts involved so I think you'll understand how it happened and empathize with me . . . I walked into the English office yesterday, ravenous, and I saw a full box of donuts on the table-- so I grabbed a Boston Creme and pulled up a chair-- pulled the chair right up to the table, in front of the box of donuts, as I wasn't planning on eating just one donut . . . I planned on sitting down and eating several donuts-- and the office was crowded so I wanted to be as near as possible to the donuts-- and then I went to sit down on my chair-- the chair I had just pulled up to the table-- but there was no chair . . . I had sat down on air-- the chair was gone-- and as I was falling I looked over my shoulder and saw my friend and colleague Kevin laughing hysterically and in that split second I decided that he had pulled the chair away (if you knew him, you'd know that kind of prank would be right up his alley) and instead of breaking my fall with my hand, I lunged and punched him in the leg-- hard-- and then I hit the ground; Kevin said, "Why'd you hit me?" and most people in the office were appalled by the violence, but my friend Eric approved-- because pulling a chair out from someone as they sit down to eat a donut is not only low-class but also dangerous . . . but as it turns out, he didn't pull the chair away-- the chair was never there in the first place-- in my excitement to eat the donut, I thought I pulled a chair up to the table but, apparently, I didn't . . . so Kevin was laughing hysterically because he had never seen a grown man sit on a non-existent chair, not because he had pulled it away, and so not only did I fall awkwardly in front of eight colleagues, but I also punched one of them in the leg for no good reason.
I'm Not Superstitious Anyway
If the Giants lose, I'll shoulder the blame (I was growing a Giants good-luck victory beard, but it got really itchy so I shaved it.)
To Drool or Not to Drool
I have to stop bringing such good sandwiches to work (e.g. ham, mozzarella, fried peppers, onion, lettuce, and balsamic dressing-- Catherine made me one yesterday and I replicated it today) because it's all I think while I'm teaching my morning classes, and when I think about food I salivate profusely, and salivating profusely is no way to teach literature.
Personification Poisons Dave's Mind
I am so pissed off at my new USB hard drive that I can't think coherently enough to write a meaningful sentence.
Do Not Be Tempted By The Plethora of Signs
Don't stop at Lake George if you need fuel and also need fast access to a bathroom-- the amenities are a long way off the exit!
If Bruce Were in Futurama
Tonight, we'll be racing the storm up Route 87-- it almost sounds like a Bruce Springsteen song, aside from the kids in the back watching "The Incredibles" on their miniature video screens.
Te ves sexy en ese bikini de metal . . .
I finally got my comeuppance for illegally burning DVD's I get from the library-- we sat down to watch "Return of the Jedi" only to find that the dialogue was dubbed in Spanish (not that it made much difference, I think the boys understood it just as well, and Princess Leia is still just as hot in her metal bikini).
Weather.com: Do They KNOW What 100% Means?
Despite the one-hundred percent chance of snow Weather.com promised, we are going to school today-- but I guess a Giants victory over Dallas and a snow-day would be too much to ask for.
Where the Fuck Do You Get Lunch on a Saturday in Princeton?
Who knew that both Conte's and Tortuga's Mexican Village are both closed for lunch on Saturdays?
Can We Get A Replay On That?
Ours was a house of vomit and and worse last night (but Catherine did make an amazing play at the vegetable market-- she saw Ian's mouth watering, and in one motion she grabbed a plastic bag, tore it off the roll, opened it, positioned it . . . and he upchucked into that instead of all over the avocados).
1/11/2008
Finally, relief from the worm that's been gnawing at my brain: the ramp for the new crawl space can go inside the basement!
1/10/2008
Last night, spellbound by his first viewing of the Star Wars Trilogy, Alex insisted that "The Empire Strikes Back" should actually be called "Darth Vader on the Loose!" (exclamation point his).
1/9/2008
I'd like to thank the U.S. Postal Service for getting me my movie on time-- "Street Fight" arrived today and now the rest of my week will be smooth and easy.
1/8/2007
I'm really counting on Blockbuster to mail me "Street Fight" -- if it doesn't arrive by Friday I'm going to have to teach.
1/5/2008
We met with the kitchen design lady the other night, and she showed us some very nice kitchens she designed-- but they were TOO nice, it made nervous-- if our kitchen is that nice, then do we have to start making the rest of our house nice?-- and where does it end?-- do I have to start dressing nice?-- driving a nice car?-- saying nice things to people?-- do I have to get that little skin flap cut off my eye-lid so I look nice? do I have to eat better food so my flatulence smells nice?-- where do you draw the line in the sand?
1/3/2008
Last night, Catherine asked Alex to turn down the volume on the stereo, but he turned the knob the wrong way and turned the volume WAY up; he then clapped his hand over his ears, screamed, and ran into the kitchen-- it was really really funny.
Why Are There So Many Televisions At The Gym?
Catherine and I went to the gym together on New Year's Day, and we put Alex and Ian in the kid's play area while we worked out-- it's a large open space with a indoor jungle gym and some of those big red and yellow cars that you sit in-- they were very excited, but when we returned, the lady had turned the TV on and this annoyed me because I wanted my kids to get some exercise, not watch TV, and because we never let them watch any TV, they get mesmerized by it, and essentially can do nothing else but watch the screen-- even if it's crap-- so the question is: if we do this again, can I ask the lady not to turn the TV on?
1/1/2008
My sentence per day completion rate is now one hundred percent for 2008, as compared to a pitiful 10.4 percent for 2007-- I'm also one hundred percent in 2008 for not losing my temper at the kids . . . as compared to a pitiful 6 percent in 2007.
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