I Have to Stop Yelling at Republicans
At the high school, English teachers tend to be liberal and history teachers tend to be Republicans-- and once in a while a history teacher will come up to the English Office to take our pulse on the current political situation and I always end up ranting and raving about voodoo economics and Republican induced financial meltdowns and deficits and unprecedented spending and tax cuts for the Constituency and all that and today was one of those days and this time we got on the topic of is Trump behaving like a banana-republic dictator and everyone entrenched themselves-- the history teachers have the perspective that Trump isn't nearly as bad as people (liberals) thought it would be and he's really getting some great stuff done and the English teachers-- myself included-- think we're living under the regime of a madman, who likes to flaunt his nuclear capabilities, is https://player.fm/series/voxs-the-weeds/the-imprudent-scott-pruitt-- looking for ways to add lead in our environment, pollutants to our lakes streams, CO2 to our atmosphere, coal dust to our lungs and racing us to the precipice in regards to climate change-- and that our commander-in-chief changes his opinion in regards to his staff and policy daily . . . if you want more ammunition for the latter perspective, listen to the new episode of This American Life . . . it's the story of how Republican Senator Jeff Flake tries to get a popular DACA bill passed in an absolutely insane White House, or you could listen to the folks on The Weeds explain how Sinclair broadcasting is forcing local newscasters to spout right wing propaganda . . . the problem with this stuff is it's relatively boring, like Trump and Pruitt's attempt to repeal the Clean Water Act, but it's happening and obviously some folks either are unaware of it or think this is the stuff that makes America great, and some folks-- myself included-- are angry and annoyed; I remember feeling this way during the Bush administration too-- he was another enemy to the existential environmental threats that our species is facing-- but at least he was more of a bumbling knob, as opposed to our current windbag of Presidential flatulence.
O Lord, Dad Needs a Dog
I've been through the valley of the shadow of death and all I can say is that it was no fun-- but I'm starting to get over the loss of our family dog Sirius (and if anyone else is grieving over the loss of a pet, this movie will be more helpful than this awful poem . . . I can see why the author would want to remain anonymous) and I'm starting to recognize that I need a new loyal canine companion, so I don't drive my family batshit; case in point, when we were on vacation in Vermont last week, after we had gotten home from lunch-- which was a twenty minute car ride-- I unilaterally encouraged my family to take a constitutional stroll up the road to the waterfall, and I met some resistance from my two sons, but I told them this wasn't a choice-- everyone in the family was going for a walk and-- more important-- they were going to like it . . . Catherine gave me a look that said, "You are insane," but-- and I really respect her for this-- she didn't undermine my plan and she told the kids to listen to their father and get walking and then I reminded the little ingrates that taking a walk with the family was not a punishment and they'd better not refer to it as such and they should take pride and joy in the fact that they had ambulatory parents that could still hike up a mountain road and they were lucky we weren't crippled and in an old age home and then we took our walk-- Alex came around and enjoyed himself, but Ian shuffled sullenly sixty yards behind us the entire way (and never got to see the waterfall) and the consensus after this forced march was: Dad needs a dog . . . so we are browsing the rescue sites and maybe soon enough I'll have someone in the house that appreciates a communal stroll or a quick bike ride around the park, someone who doesn't mind going for a short car ride to run an errand, someone loyal and happy who might be a pain-in-the-ass to take care of but will earn it back with good attitude (we're thinking maybe a German shorthaired pointer . . . I don't want a dog that looks like Sirius because that would freak me out).
Some Chomsky to Chew On
I haven't read a Noam Chomsky book since we lived in Syria but I stumbled on a new one at the library and finished it in three days; Global Discontents: Conversations on the Rising Threats to Democracy is a fast read, though profoundly disturbing, and Chomsky hammers home his usual points with detail and precision;
1) America is a rogue state that has used its hegemonic military power to break countries and then does nothing to help fix them-- we don't take in the refugees caused by our policy; we continue sanctions and military occupations willy-nilly, without regard for the citizens of the countries we ruin; we support evil regimes in places like Saudi Arabia and Turkey and (once upon a time) in Iraq and Central America; we harbor ancient grievances against some countries, like Iran and Cuba; we use drones, proxy wars, arms-dealing, and oil to influence the neoliberal market driven power structures;
2) the book is oddly prescient about a couple of current events; Chomsky could have been writing about the migrant caravan that Donald Trump is so worried about when he said, "when people flee from Central America-- from the three countries that were devastated by Reagan atrocities-- El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras-- we expect Mexico to stop them from reaching our borders . . . that's their job" and he delineates the terrible problems in Syria and Lebanon-- fabricated countries drawn up by Western forces after WWI-- which could only lead to atrocities like the recent chemical attacks in Douma;
3) Chomsky doesn't give Obama or Bill Clinton a pass-- they are both part of the problem, both expanding state power for the neoliberal agenda; Obama increased drone attacks and continued to build our nuclear arsenal and Clinton worshipped the market and knew how to keep the rabble in line;
4) but the Republicans are much much worse . . . while attention is focused on the latest Trump tweets and his "latest mad doings, the Ryan gang and the executive branch are ramming through legislation and orders that undermine worker's rights, cripple consumer protections, and severely harm rural communities . . . they seek to devastate health programs, revoking taxes that pay for them in order to enrich their Constituency, and to eviscerate the Dodd-Frank Act which imposed some much-needed constraints on the predatory financial system that grew during the neoliberal period"
5) if you're getting used to the Sam Harris type liberals, who are logical but still very entrenched in the neoliberal techno-optimist dream, you need to read some Chomsky and refresh yourself with radical left ideas-- Chomsky is an anarcho-syndicalist and he thinks every power structure-- including our national government-- should be examined and probably dismantled; he sees the worship of the state and capitalist markets as far more dangerous than religion, and he believes the only power worth exploring and supporting is that of the community, small groups, activism, workers running and owning factories, communities under community control, institutions under direct control from galvanized voters that could enact immediate recall of their representatives, and this would lead to a fading of national boundaries-- as has started to happen in Europe-- and a global system based on mutual aid and support, with production for use rather than profit, and a concern for species survival;
6) while this is wild stuff, and I lean a little more towards a market-based economy with more incentives and rules than we have now (especially some things to stop this no health-care/benefits gig economy in its tracks, before my own children have to participate in it) but Chomsky's big takeaway in this book is that we are not discussing the two most important things, the two things that should be the ONLY things on the agenda-- climate change/environmental destruction and increased militarization and nuclear arsenals . . . it's like those problems are so huge that we're just sticking our head in the sand . . . Trump pulled us from the Paris climate accord and he's happily racing us to the brink of disaster, lowering mileage standards, bringing back coal, and denying that any of this is a problem; Trump is also flaunting our military and nuclear power like it's something to be proud of, when it really does contribute to us behaving very badly around the world . . . so if you've got your head in the sand about our weird and wonderful country, it's worth reading a little Chomsky as a wake-up call . . . I'd love to have the time and tenacity to read all his sources, but that's not going to happen, and I probably won't read another Chomsky book for a while-- it's too depressing-- but I still recommend you read something he's written, just so you can see things from a totally fresh perspective . . . plus, his name is really fun to say: Chomsky . . . Chomsky . . . Chomsky.
1) America is a rogue state that has used its hegemonic military power to break countries and then does nothing to help fix them-- we don't take in the refugees caused by our policy; we continue sanctions and military occupations willy-nilly, without regard for the citizens of the countries we ruin; we support evil regimes in places like Saudi Arabia and Turkey and (once upon a time) in Iraq and Central America; we harbor ancient grievances against some countries, like Iran and Cuba; we use drones, proxy wars, arms-dealing, and oil to influence the neoliberal market driven power structures;
2) the book is oddly prescient about a couple of current events; Chomsky could have been writing about the migrant caravan that Donald Trump is so worried about when he said, "when people flee from Central America-- from the three countries that were devastated by Reagan atrocities-- El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras-- we expect Mexico to stop them from reaching our borders . . . that's their job" and he delineates the terrible problems in Syria and Lebanon-- fabricated countries drawn up by Western forces after WWI-- which could only lead to atrocities like the recent chemical attacks in Douma;
3) Chomsky doesn't give Obama or Bill Clinton a pass-- they are both part of the problem, both expanding state power for the neoliberal agenda; Obama increased drone attacks and continued to build our nuclear arsenal and Clinton worshipped the market and knew how to keep the rabble in line;
4) but the Republicans are much much worse . . . while attention is focused on the latest Trump tweets and his "latest mad doings, the Ryan gang and the executive branch are ramming through legislation and orders that undermine worker's rights, cripple consumer protections, and severely harm rural communities . . . they seek to devastate health programs, revoking taxes that pay for them in order to enrich their Constituency, and to eviscerate the Dodd-Frank Act which imposed some much-needed constraints on the predatory financial system that grew during the neoliberal period"
5) if you're getting used to the Sam Harris type liberals, who are logical but still very entrenched in the neoliberal techno-optimist dream, you need to read some Chomsky and refresh yourself with radical left ideas-- Chomsky is an anarcho-syndicalist and he thinks every power structure-- including our national government-- should be examined and probably dismantled; he sees the worship of the state and capitalist markets as far more dangerous than religion, and he believes the only power worth exploring and supporting is that of the community, small groups, activism, workers running and owning factories, communities under community control, institutions under direct control from galvanized voters that could enact immediate recall of their representatives, and this would lead to a fading of national boundaries-- as has started to happen in Europe-- and a global system based on mutual aid and support, with production for use rather than profit, and a concern for species survival;
6) while this is wild stuff, and I lean a little more towards a market-based economy with more incentives and rules than we have now (especially some things to stop this no health-care/benefits gig economy in its tracks, before my own children have to participate in it) but Chomsky's big takeaway in this book is that we are not discussing the two most important things, the two things that should be the ONLY things on the agenda-- climate change/environmental destruction and increased militarization and nuclear arsenals . . . it's like those problems are so huge that we're just sticking our head in the sand . . . Trump pulled us from the Paris climate accord and he's happily racing us to the brink of disaster, lowering mileage standards, bringing back coal, and denying that any of this is a problem; Trump is also flaunting our military and nuclear power like it's something to be proud of, when it really does contribute to us behaving very badly around the world . . . so if you've got your head in the sand about our weird and wonderful country, it's worth reading a little Chomsky as a wake-up call . . . I'd love to have the time and tenacity to read all his sources, but that's not going to happen, and I probably won't read another Chomsky book for a while-- it's too depressing-- but I still recommend you read something he's written, just so you can see things from a totally fresh perspective . . . plus, his name is really fun to say: Chomsky . . . Chomsky . . . Chomsky.
Scott Pruitt Wants to Bring Back Wilding
Trump's egregiously biased EPA appointee Scott Pruitt is determined to roll back as many regulations as possible-- and while some regulations certainly inhibit business, at times regulation is a good thing-- regulations can incentivize behavior that will help the country and the economy as a whole, and regulations can limit externalities that are paid for by society at large; the real cost of leaded gasoline was probably an unprecedented crime wave that culminated in the early '90's, when the young brains affected by lead-- a potent neurotoxin-- came of age . . . Reagan and his version of the EPA attempted to relax or even eliminate the lead phase-out, but apparently public outcry and Doonesbury came to the rescue . . . anyway, that's a lot to digest-- it's far more fun to read some Trump tweets and wonder why the President hates Amazon and loves Sinclair news-- but it's all happening again, Pruitt wants to roll back lead paint regulations-- why?-- and he wants to lower mileage standards for cars, because climate change is a hoax and the United States loves Saudi Arabia-- despite the terrorists and the religious rule and the civil rights abuses, they are compliant, sell us oil, and buy our weapons-- so we might as well make giants cars that guzzle up their gasoline . . . and this is an issue where you can make a difference as an individual: drive less, buy a smaller car, and keep an eye out on what's going on in your area, it seems Pruitt and his staff are doing a shoddy job and a lot of his anti-regulatory attempts are getting mired in court . . . anyway, beware of externalities, because with Trump and Pruitt in charge, the externalities are coming for you (and your children and your grandchildren).
Real News and Fake Vacations
I took this picture with my phone a couple days ago when we were at the top of Okemo Mountain-- it was snowing and the conditions were beautiful-- and then I pressed a button and my phone sent it over to my blog, and let's be honest, the reason I did all this hard work was to contribute to your depression, because your spring break probably wasn't as glamorous and awesome as my spring break and now you're going to see this picture and feel really bad . . . of course, you could strike back with an even better picture of even cuter kids in an even more glamorous locale and then I'd feel depressed and we could go back and forth like this ad nauseum until we started creating "fake vacations," which appears to be easy enough to do (if you've got photoshop skills).
Let's Get Political, Political . . . Let Me Hear Your Party Talk
Since the topic has generated some interesting commentary, here are some final thoughts on Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion:
1) while there are more than two kinds of people, our political system breaks us down that way-- unfortunately, there should be room for libertarians (who give even less of a shit about things than liberals do, but really care about liberty/oppression and have even less empathy than conservatives)
2) you can tell someone's political beliefs by the kind of dog breed they prefer: gentle and independent versus loyal, protective and wary of strangers;
3) Haidt admits that liberals go too far sometimes in their reflexive anti-business stance, and they could endorse the wonders of the free market to solve problems-- he makes a great analogy with food and the silliness of having food insurance, instead of knowing the prices for items and shopping around and buying what works, versus health insurance, where we have no clue what anything costs and so want to be insured for everything-- he brings up the case of lasix, which went on the free market and the price adjusted accordingly . . . we've gone so far in the care/harm department with health care that the spending is utterly bonkers;
4) on the other hand, regulation can also have benefits-- the regulation of leaded gasoline in the late 70's and early 80's, despite Ronald Reagan's attempt to cripple the EPA and its ability to make that change (sound familiar, Scott Pruitt, bringer of asthma and global warming) was ill-founded . . . as are Trump's trade tariffs (it's Smoot-Hawley all over again . . . Smoot-Hawley! anyone? Bueller?)
5) the tug of war between these two groups is significant and important-- the debate between those that are primarily concerned with care/harm and making the world fair and free for as many people as possible-- and those that are concerned with groups and loyalty and liberty and authority and sanctity, as well as the former principles . . . and that's the most important thing that many liberals need to understand, that conservatives es still care about care/harm and fairness, just in slightly different ways;
6) Haidt's final advice is that if you want to truly understand another perspective, follow the sacredness-- I've had conservatives tell me that I don't actually care about endangered species and the environment, because they can't believe that someone would be sincere about that-- and I have trouble truly believing that people are sincere about religion or truly care if gay people get married . . . but we have to try to see why people believe these things, which all make sense in the context of what is sacred . . . and we have to remember that though there are more than two types of people, "once people join a political team, they get ensnared in its moral matrix" and follow the grand narrative of that party . . . but liberals are conservatives are yin and yang and both necessary for the health of a political system;
7) he ends by saying that libertarians and conservatives certainly provide a valuable counterweight to "liberal reform movements" but he sees two liberal points which are profoundly important to the health of society:
"governments can and should restrain corporate superorganisms"
and
"some big problems CAN be solved by regulation"
and I think these are the two points that we need to all come together about, we are rapidly destroying our environment and our resources, and we are rapidly being consumed by larger and larger corporate entities, which have captured the government, making all this tug-of-war and debating utterly useless, if the people no longer have any say in what happens to our country.
1) while there are more than two kinds of people, our political system breaks us down that way-- unfortunately, there should be room for libertarians (who give even less of a shit about things than liberals do, but really care about liberty/oppression and have even less empathy than conservatives)
2) you can tell someone's political beliefs by the kind of dog breed they prefer: gentle and independent versus loyal, protective and wary of strangers;
3) Haidt admits that liberals go too far sometimes in their reflexive anti-business stance, and they could endorse the wonders of the free market to solve problems-- he makes a great analogy with food and the silliness of having food insurance, instead of knowing the prices for items and shopping around and buying what works, versus health insurance, where we have no clue what anything costs and so want to be insured for everything-- he brings up the case of lasix, which went on the free market and the price adjusted accordingly . . . we've gone so far in the care/harm department with health care that the spending is utterly bonkers;
4) on the other hand, regulation can also have benefits-- the regulation of leaded gasoline in the late 70's and early 80's, despite Ronald Reagan's attempt to cripple the EPA and its ability to make that change (sound familiar, Scott Pruitt, bringer of asthma and global warming) was ill-founded . . . as are Trump's trade tariffs (it's Smoot-Hawley all over again . . . Smoot-Hawley! anyone? Bueller?)
5) the tug of war between these two groups is significant and important-- the debate between those that are primarily concerned with care/harm and making the world fair and free for as many people as possible-- and those that are concerned with groups and loyalty and liberty and authority and sanctity, as well as the former principles . . . and that's the most important thing that many liberals need to understand, that conservatives es still care about care/harm and fairness, just in slightly different ways;
6) Haidt's final advice is that if you want to truly understand another perspective, follow the sacredness-- I've had conservatives tell me that I don't actually care about endangered species and the environment, because they can't believe that someone would be sincere about that-- and I have trouble truly believing that people are sincere about religion or truly care if gay people get married . . . but we have to try to see why people believe these things, which all make sense in the context of what is sacred . . . and we have to remember that though there are more than two types of people, "once people join a political team, they get ensnared in its moral matrix" and follow the grand narrative of that party . . . but liberals are conservatives are yin and yang and both necessary for the health of a political system;
7) he ends by saying that libertarians and conservatives certainly provide a valuable counterweight to "liberal reform movements" but he sees two liberal points which are profoundly important to the health of society:
"governments can and should restrain corporate superorganisms"
and
"some big problems CAN be solved by regulation"
and I think these are the two points that we need to all come together about, we are rapidly destroying our environment and our resources, and we are rapidly being consumed by larger and larger corporate entities, which have captured the government, making all this tug-of-war and debating utterly useless, if the people no longer have any say in what happens to our country.
A Book to Help Liberals Understand Conservatives
If you're reading this blog, then you are probably a secular liberal like me (and you're most definitely WEIRD like me: Western and educated, from an industrialized, rich, democratic nation) and you probably need to read Jonathan Haidt's book The Righteous Mind: Why Good People are Divided by Politics and Religion . . . I've written about Haidt's basic ideas here in previous posts, but his book goes into much greater detail and also describes the experiments and readings that helped him to understand the different moral matrices that liberals and conservatives use to understand the world; essentially, conservatives care about more stuff than liberals-- while liberals tend to base their morality on the principles of fairness and harm, conservatives-- who do care about those values-- are also concerned with authority, purity and loyalty . . . so conservatives tend to understand how liberals view things better than liberals understand how conservatives view things; most of these moral characteristics are due to deep-seated personality traits, which are mainly genetic-- things like being open to new experiences and agreeable and neurotic, so there seem to be differences in liberals and conservatives at the most basic level; the book really enlightened me about the benefits of religion-- I wish I were religious, but like a typical liberal, I consider it a bunch of supernatural mumbo-jumbo that wastes your time and money-- but while religion may have started because we have a natural proclivity to see agency everywhere, whether it's a face in the tree or gods behind the thunder-- it has become a valuable asset for members, who experience happiness and social capital, give more to charity, belong to an in group, and have costly rules of purity and sanctity which bond them to other members of the group . . . while it will never work for me, I can see how groups of humans that had religion could have outcompeted groups that did not have religion (and Haidt presents an argument against the principles of the Sam Harris/Richard Dawkins new-atheist crowd, who see religion as a parasite that takes over human brain and eventually leads to things like suicide bombers-- Haidt makes a compelling argument that suicide bombers, who might need insipration from an in-group, are historically only in response to boots on the ground appression and more of a military tactic from a tribe than a radical response based on belief) anyway, the WEIRDER you are the more you see the world as individual objects and not groups until you might eventually try to boil everything down to one set of utilitarian rules, as Jeremy Bentham did . . . Haidt speculates that Bentham might have been autistic, a high-functioning systemizer with very little empathy that made morality into a formulaic algorithm which computes the greater good but does not think about the individual moral emotions within the context of the decision-- while this method might be a decent way to formulate policy, it's often political suicide (economists know that immigrants lead to a net gain in the economy, but apparently many conservatives don't care-- they are more considered with the rule of law and the sanctity of our borders) and it took a long trip to India for Haidt to recognize that other people and cultures place a much greater value on group morality, while everyone cares about liberty/oppression and fairness/cheating and care/harm, only conservatives truly care about loyalty/betrayal and authority/subversion and sanctity/degradation . . . and these are all more important to the group . . . at first, Haidt had a typical WEIRD view of India-- it had rigid social classes and gender roles, it was a sexist society that had limited mobility and a lot of unnecessary rules about eating and prayer, but then he saw that though things weren't as fair as in the West, the connections and order between groups was strong and that was what was valued . . . it's really hard, as a liberal, to put yourself into a conservative's shoes . . . it's hard to feel sanctity towards a religious text or a symbol or an institution that you think is silly, it's hard to find a love for authority when your deepest desire is to see authority subverted, and it's hard to value loyalty when you think it leads to racism and oppression, but if the liberals in our country don't come to understand this, then they are going to destroy their chances of making utilitarian policy changes that can lead to the greater good and instead will remain mired in partisan ugliness . . . Trump is easily explained in this context-- he wants to make America pure and great again, and return us to rule of law, he's an authoritarian figure, totally loyal to our country and nothing else . . . Haidt gives liberals a tool to understand that conservatives are not all insane racist lunatics, and are quite sincere in the things that they care about, things which often do increase social capital, especially in groups . . . it's not my cup of tea, but at least I understand things a bit more after reading this book and can empathize with the conservative point of view . . . and I can see the roots of my genetics in my children, who are open to experience and care about fairness and harm, but couldn't give two shits about loyalty, sanctity, and authority . . . even though my wife and I sort of try to value these virtues, as most parents do, even at the basic level of don't cheat, respect your teachers, and stop picking your nose . . . but none of it is working with them and they're going to end up as WEIRD secular liberals just like their mom and dad.
Broken and Bad Memories
Catherine and I are rewatching Breaking Bad with the kids and we've made it to Season 5; we are recognizing that the odd nostalgia we had for Walter White was unwarranted, distorted by time, and probably caused by our fondness for Hal on Malcolm in the Middle.
Where the Beer Really Flows Like Wine
The slopes were a little choppy today and Alex and I did one run too many . . . luckily this barn apartment has a hot tub down on the lower level-- the three of us took a soak after banging around the mountain all morning and then we all fell asleep and now I'm drinking a Lost Nation Mosaic IPA, which a reviewer on BeerAdvocate describes as having a "crackery malt base" and "earthy berry notes" to go with its "lemony citrus" notes . . . best Spring Break ever (aside from the lack of dog) because in Vermont, the beer actually does flow like wine (and people describe it as such).
Tamiflu + Beer = The Inevitable
Last night's beer drinking didn't go so well-- apparently, Tamiflu and Hermit Thrush Po Tweet sour pale ale do NOT mix well . . . my stomach turned into a bubbling cauldron for thirty minutes or so, until the inevitable happened . . . but I felt better today so I didn't take any sort of medicine and we had a great day on the Jackson Gore side of the mountain, now both my kids are navigating black diamond slopes, so I'm going to have to up my skills to stay with them; my wife and I also took a lovely hike to Buttermilk Falls-- the stupid ingrate children didn't want to go and this made me really miss the dog . . . he would go anywhere with me, happily, and he never gave me any lip-- anyway, I'm off the meds and successfully drinking two of the best beers I've ever tasted:
Foley Brothers Prospect
Lost Nation Lost Galaxy IPA
if you're real nice to me, when I get back to Jersey, I might let you try some.
Foley Brothers Prospect
Lost Nation Lost Galaxy IPA
if you're real nice to me, when I get back to Jersey, I might let you try some.
Ups and Downs on the Mountain
Warm and slushy on the slopes today-- Ian didn't last very long because he slipped and fell on some ice and bruised his knee on the edge of the cast iron firepit-- ouch!-- but Alex and I took an extra trip to the top of the mountain (despite my recent bout of flu) and we went down a steep lift line trail under the Okemo Bubble Quad . . . this is the first time Alex bombed down a real Vermont black diamond run, with no slowing up and no wipeouts: so a banner day for him that I want to commemorate here (and I am sore and feel like an old man . . . my banner is sagging pretty low, but a few delicious local beers should pump some air into it).
Spring Break in a Barn (Loft)!
According to this new episode of Invisibilia, the patterns of your past don't predict your future-- or at least they can't program a computer to accurately predict how well students will do depending on past events (although a white upper-middle-class upbringing seems to give you somewhat of a shock absorber) and I'm definitely feeling the breaking of patterns and randomness today, because we've been playing board games and gin rummy in a converted barn-loft apartment in Vermont, and not only do the outcomes of the games seem unpatterned and random, but so does the setting (lots of kitsch from around the word inside the rambling apartment space, snowy property, a stream, and a hot tub down below in the actual barn . . . perhaps I'll describe more details later but for now, I'm going to enter Spring Break mode and try to put an end to my prolixity for a couple of days).
Mulvaney and Trump Screw Over the Forgotten Men and Women
If you want to get politically indignant about something more substantial than stupid Trump tweets, listen to the newest episode of Planet Money: Mulvaney vs the CFPB . . . it's the story of how Trump completely forgot about the "forgotten men and women" and gutted the agency that could do a great deal to protect them: the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau; Trump chose Republican Mick Mulvaney-- who sponsored a bill to get rid of the CFPB-- to head the CFPB and Mulvaney did exactly what was expected . . . it would be akin to putting me in charge of Disneyworld, I would utterly wreck that joint-- I would let kids buy beer while waiting on line for Space Mountain, I'd let people get out of their seats and take any one item from the Carousel of Progress, I'd put a bounty of the head of a different costumed character each day, I'd add several "shithole countries" to Epcot, etc. etc. . . anway, this is that kind of story and it features some crack investigative reporting, showcases a government that could care less about shady predatory lenders charging interest rates above 900%, and there's an odd ending that adds another layer of pathos . . . this is Ron Swanson writ large, but not as cute because instead of defunding a local Parks and Rec Department, it's declawing an agency that could help vulnerable people being financially destroyed that no recourse, because the government agency that's supposed to enforce the rules and bring suit against these folks in a court of law is dropping cases like mad . . . and for you Trumpists in regards to regulations, there is a case to be made, but there's also the inverse: no regulations are another type of regulation, and Mulvaney took money from the payday loan lobby, possibly to create this environment.
Flu Day . . .
My fever is down . . . the Tamiflu seems to be working, but more importantly, I did some valuable things on my flu day:
1) watched the Netflix documentary Take Your Pills . . . makes me wonder how the hell I get so many things done without taking any pills . . .
2) finished the comic book series Saga . . . I highly recommend it: a whacked out fantastical space opera that tackles adult themes and uses utterly bizarre imagery-- BattleStar Galactica meets Star Wars with a bit of The Fifth Element thrown in for good measure;
3) watched the first few episodes of Better Call Saul . . . I didn't want to tarnish my memories of Breaking Bad with a schlocky spin-off, but Saul seems to be more along the lines of Frasier than Joanie Loves Chachi.
1) watched the Netflix documentary Take Your Pills . . . makes me wonder how the hell I get so many things done without taking any pills . . .
2) finished the comic book series Saga . . . I highly recommend it: a whacked out fantastical space opera that tackles adult themes and uses utterly bizarre imagery-- BattleStar Galactica meets Star Wars with a bit of The Fifth Element thrown in for good measure;
3) watched the first few episodes of Better Call Saul . . . I didn't want to tarnish my memories of Breaking Bad with a schlocky spin-off, but Saul seems to be more along the lines of Frasier than Joanie Loves Chachi.
There's No Shooting This Elephant (Without Giving Yourself a Lobotomy)
If you read Simler and Hanson's book The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life, you're going to have to get introspective (because you can't go around calling out other people's hidden signalling . . . you don't know exactly what they are thinking and you'll be labeled an asshole . . . except for this one instance with Rick Santorum, where he is so obviously and stupidly signalling to his base that he should have avoided the idea entirely and just chanted "Guns!Guns! Guns!") and you're going to have to recognize-- as Marvin Minsky pointed out in his classic Society of the Mind-- that your brain is a committee and you don't know what all the different sub-groups are plotting and planning (nor do you want to) and whether you are dividing your head into Freud's "id, ego, and superego" or Michael Kendrick's "Night Watchman, Compulsive Hypochondriac, Team Player, Go-getter, Swinging Single, Good Spouse and Nurturing Parent" or the five emotions in Inside Out, you are simplifying and slicing up a complex system of various higher and lower level modules and so it's very hard to decode what's going on because of the interplay between consciously chosen words and actions, unconscious body language, and reactions to social cues . . . Joe Navarro, FBI interrogator, says that "presidents often go to Camp David to accomplish in polo shirts what they can't seem to accomplish in business suits forty miles away in the White House . . . by revealing themselves ventrally (with the removal of coats) they are saying:
I am open to you;
one of my favorite ways that we think we're immune to "persuasive mass media" and it's rather cheesy "hidden" signalling is the "third person effect": while we believe the media doesn't influence us, we do believe it influences other people . . . and this is how lifestyle advertising works . . . I'm never going to buy Corona beer for myself-- it's well-marketed cheap swill-- but if I'm going to a certain kind of summertime backyard bbq, I might bring Corona and some limes because I know those silly other people associate Corona and limes with the image of that kind of party and I want to make them happy;
it seems we spend to much on medical care as well, especially in end of life scenarios and situations where people are very sick and their time can only be extended slightly . . . but again, the signalling is important, not the quality of care (we still can't get the majority of doctors to wash their hands) and that's the signal we want to give . . . if you are in dire straits, people, family friends, the government, your job, etcetera will take care of you;
the end of the book concentrates on politics, and this is where you'll be the most frustrated and need to be the most introspective; people tend to signal that they belong to a certain political group-- and this makes sense from a community and friendship and family and religious point of view-- it's much easier to adopt the same politics as the people around you . . . if you live in a small conservative religious town then you're going to get married young, not use birth control, look to your husband as the breadwinner, and not seek abortions . . . not necessarily because you believe strongly in this suite of behaviors, but if you were to break the norms-- use birth control, stay focused on your career, avoid marriage and pregnancy, then you're an outlier and a cheater and a bad example to the others . . . the converse is true if you grow up in a liberal urban area, but either way, you're going to associate yourself with a bunch of other policies that you may or may not feel strongly about (environmental regulations, gun control, transgender rights, racism, welfare, disability, slavery, tariffs, public land etc.) and that's how political coalitions work-- you tend to choose a side and then work backwards and adopt the policies of that side and rationalize your allegiance to them, which makes sense from a signalling and social sense, but is a total logical mess, despite the fact that these norms have shifted some over time . . . and it's quite scary when people are asked some basic questions about what is happening policy wise in our country . . . but this does make perfect sense: why waste your time learning all these facts and figures when all you really want to do is signal to your tribe that you are on the same team( and I'm going to do an obvious humblebrag here . . . I wrote this while running a fever-- I just tested positive for strain B of the flu).
I am open to you;
one of my favorite ways that we think we're immune to "persuasive mass media" and it's rather cheesy "hidden" signalling is the "third person effect": while we believe the media doesn't influence us, we do believe it influences other people . . . and this is how lifestyle advertising works . . . I'm never going to buy Corona beer for myself-- it's well-marketed cheap swill-- but if I'm going to a certain kind of summertime backyard bbq, I might bring Corona and some limes because I know those silly other people associate Corona and limes with the image of that kind of party and I want to make them happy;
it seems we spend to much on medical care as well, especially in end of life scenarios and situations where people are very sick and their time can only be extended slightly . . . but again, the signalling is important, not the quality of care (we still can't get the majority of doctors to wash their hands) and that's the signal we want to give . . . if you are in dire straits, people, family friends, the government, your job, etcetera will take care of you;
the end of the book concentrates on politics, and this is where you'll be the most frustrated and need to be the most introspective; people tend to signal that they belong to a certain political group-- and this makes sense from a community and friendship and family and religious point of view-- it's much easier to adopt the same politics as the people around you . . . if you live in a small conservative religious town then you're going to get married young, not use birth control, look to your husband as the breadwinner, and not seek abortions . . . not necessarily because you believe strongly in this suite of behaviors, but if you were to break the norms-- use birth control, stay focused on your career, avoid marriage and pregnancy, then you're an outlier and a cheater and a bad example to the others . . . the converse is true if you grow up in a liberal urban area, but either way, you're going to associate yourself with a bunch of other policies that you may or may not feel strongly about (environmental regulations, gun control, transgender rights, racism, welfare, disability, slavery, tariffs, public land etc.) and that's how political coalitions work-- you tend to choose a side and then work backwards and adopt the policies of that side and rationalize your allegiance to them, which makes sense from a signalling and social sense, but is a total logical mess, despite the fact that these norms have shifted some over time . . . and it's quite scary when people are asked some basic questions about what is happening policy wise in our country . . . but this does make perfect sense: why waste your time learning all these facts and figures when all you really want to do is signal to your tribe that you are on the same team( and I'm going to do an obvious humblebrag here . . . I wrote this while running a fever-- I just tested positive for strain B of the flu).
The Eternal Bronchial Return
The search bar on this blog allows me to look back on my life and see if The History of Dave is repeating itself . . . and in regards to two topics, I certainly am on a loop: plantar fasciitis and bronchitis . . . but I am getting a little smarter each year (at least in regards to the bronchitis) because now that I know the symptoms, I'm getting to the doctor before I actually get a full blown case and getting some meds (and avoiding scenarios like this one) but I'm not that smart . . . I still went out and coached our travel game yesterday, though my assistant coach did all the talking-- it was weird, watching the game, unable to speak above a croak-- just letting the kids do their thing; we played a team that was better organized than us and could knock it around fairly well and we were missing our starting goalie, so we settled back on defense and gave them nothing, played a 4-4-2 for the counter, and ran a number of give-and goes through to breakaways and won handily, 4 - 0 . . . if I wasn't shivering so hard, it would have been delightful to watch them figure it all out on their own.
Bring Back the Boom Box!
I am making my way through Kevin Simler and Robin Hanson's book The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life . . . the thesis is that not only is our rational mind a "slave to the passions" but that it is beneficial to not recognize this . . . we have a purposeful evolutionary blind spot in our brain that makes us not only hide our true motivations from others but also hide them from ourselves; Simler and Hanson claim that at the root of many of our seemingly altruistic and pure motives are much more self-serving ends, often to show our fitness to the opposite sex and society at large . . . you gave to charity to help the children, of course, but also to show that you have excess funds and are willing to use them to help the community at large . . . but admitting the latter is in poor taste; while you know that a consistent bedtime is great for your children's health, it also really nice to get the little buggers out of you and your wife's hair at the end of the day; you enjoy playing an instrument and don't mind the tedious practicing, but your skill and confidence is also signalling that you have extra time and energy and cognitive ability and manual dexterity to pursue something aesthetic in your spare time; you recently decided that gun control is a good thing and attended the march in Washington, but you also want to signal to your team just how much you despise Trump and the Republicans . . . the book is a light read (with no solutions to this hole in our cognition) but it will get you thinking about what people are possibly signalling with their actions; here are two things that came to my mind:
1) I've been really broken up about the loss of our dog-- I've been listless and cranky and out of sort since we put him down-- and we had off on Thursday for a "slush day" and I went for a run in the snow in Donaldson Park and this made me sad, because Sirius would always accompany me around the park when it snowed . . . and I recognized that part of this sadness was missing the companionship of my trusty pet and part of it is missing the signalling; when you walk or run or bike with a well-trained athletic dog, you are showing the world that you like animals, that you have a purpose, that you have spent much quality time with this happy creature-- and Sirius was especially well-behaved and friendly . . . in a very real sense, he would attract people (sometimes even good looking people of the opposite sex) because a friendly well-trained dog signals something very particular to the world that we often don't think about, especially if there's a routine about it . . . so I miss that signalling as much as I miss my dog, the hefty responsibility of having a dog is actually part of the attraction: you are saying, on top of my wife and kids and job and all that, I can also take care of an animal and train it properly and exercise with it and take it on adventures . . . and now if I take a walk in the park, I'm just a lonely middle-aged man out for a stroll;
2) I've had a number of people tell me they've essentially stopped listening to music-- they've moved to podcasts and audiobooks-- and I'm wondering if this is a result of cell-phones and headphones and air-conditioning and the ubiquity and accessibility of all content; there's much less communal listening because of digital technology; everybody has everything right inside their phone so you don't need to hang out with your friend who bought the newest CD and sit and listen with them . . . when you are listening communally, music is a real signal-- whether it be on a boom box or a car with all the windows open-- then you need to blast stuff for your tribe: hip hop or alternative or jazz or whatever-- and if people of your tribe are listening, then the signals can get really precise: alt-country is very different than hot country, the type of hip-hop indicates whether you are a wannabe gangsta or a cerebral proponent of multiculturalism but there's much less of this now, people are ensconced in their own private sonic worlds, so they can listen to whatever music they want and no one will know but they can still signal to the outside world with their audio consumption, it's just more about the residue . . . I certainly like to listen to podcasts, but I also like the after-effect: I know some new stuff that might contribute to the next conversation I participate in . . . and an audiobook is similar, not as much fun to listen to in the moment, but the aftereffect is significant, you've read a book and can discuss this and review it and show off your cognitive ability and your allegiance to particular ideas and people . . . music is a much more powerful signal in the moment, when there's a number of people listening and I think it's sad that we've moved away from this, so the only solution is to buy some giant C batteries and bring back the boom box.
1) I've been really broken up about the loss of our dog-- I've been listless and cranky and out of sort since we put him down-- and we had off on Thursday for a "slush day" and I went for a run in the snow in Donaldson Park and this made me sad, because Sirius would always accompany me around the park when it snowed . . . and I recognized that part of this sadness was missing the companionship of my trusty pet and part of it is missing the signalling; when you walk or run or bike with a well-trained athletic dog, you are showing the world that you like animals, that you have a purpose, that you have spent much quality time with this happy creature-- and Sirius was especially well-behaved and friendly . . . in a very real sense, he would attract people (sometimes even good looking people of the opposite sex) because a friendly well-trained dog signals something very particular to the world that we often don't think about, especially if there's a routine about it . . . so I miss that signalling as much as I miss my dog, the hefty responsibility of having a dog is actually part of the attraction: you are saying, on top of my wife and kids and job and all that, I can also take care of an animal and train it properly and exercise with it and take it on adventures . . . and now if I take a walk in the park, I'm just a lonely middle-aged man out for a stroll;
2) I've had a number of people tell me they've essentially stopped listening to music-- they've moved to podcasts and audiobooks-- and I'm wondering if this is a result of cell-phones and headphones and air-conditioning and the ubiquity and accessibility of all content; there's much less communal listening because of digital technology; everybody has everything right inside their phone so you don't need to hang out with your friend who bought the newest CD and sit and listen with them . . . when you are listening communally, music is a real signal-- whether it be on a boom box or a car with all the windows open-- then you need to blast stuff for your tribe: hip hop or alternative or jazz or whatever-- and if people of your tribe are listening, then the signals can get really precise: alt-country is very different than hot country, the type of hip-hop indicates whether you are a wannabe gangsta or a cerebral proponent of multiculturalism but there's much less of this now, people are ensconced in their own private sonic worlds, so they can listen to whatever music they want and no one will know but they can still signal to the outside world with their audio consumption, it's just more about the residue . . . I certainly like to listen to podcasts, but I also like the after-effect: I know some new stuff that might contribute to the next conversation I participate in . . . and an audiobook is similar, not as much fun to listen to in the moment, but the aftereffect is significant, you've read a book and can discuss this and review it and show off your cognitive ability and your allegiance to particular ideas and people . . . music is a much more powerful signal in the moment, when there's a number of people listening and I think it's sad that we've moved away from this, so the only solution is to buy some giant C batteries and bring back the boom box.
The Test 107: Cunningham Has the Best Words
This week on The Test, the very highly educated Cunningham has the best words, the most beautiful words . . . and you'll have to figure out the rest (as a bonus, Dave and Stacey do tasteless impressions).
Dave Becomes Even More Insufferable (Thanks Charles C. Mann!)
I just finished the new Charles C. Mann book The Wizard and the Prophet (including both appendices) and now I'm chock full of facts and leaking whole lot of half-assed opinions; the Wizard is represented by the so-called father of the Green Revolution, Norman Borlaug, and the Prophet is symbolized by conservationist and ecologist William Vogt . . . Prophets prophesy doom unless we "cut back! cut back!" and Prophets preach conserving wetlands and open spaces, reducing consumption, utilizing bottom up energy solutions, and basically halting constant economic growth and development, which comes at the cost of the earth's resources; Wizards are the "techno-optimists" and they are sure that we will think our way through all these problems, often with large scale projects-- whether they be to harness wind, sun, and tide, desalinate the oceans, or curb global warming by putting sulfur-dioxide in the air; there's also a lot about wheat in the book, Norman Borlaug painstakingly bred super-wheat in order to feed the starving masses (a fun fact, wheat is incredibly diverse genetically and thus there are infinite variations to breed, while humans are incredibly similar genetically-- chew on that, racists!-- and two humans who look nothing alike are more similar genetically than two chimpanzees from the same troop) and Mann describes this wheat breeding in great detail . . . I definitely skimmed this portion of the book-- it's more intense than the corn section of The Omnivore's Dilemma-- but I'm certain that if you select for extra rubisco, throw in a little Haber-Bosch, then you're feeding the billions . . . but a planet with ten billion humans will not resemble our current conception of earth (although we are rapidly approaching this future as far as biodiversity is concerned, see various posts on The Sixth Extinction) and the Prophets worry that super-wheat will simply exacerbate the population bomb . . . and there's a chance that both the Wizards and the Prophets are wrong and Lynn Margulis is right; Margulis, one of the most prominent researchers in the field of microorganisms, believes our planet is a Petri dish, and like most other species, we will breed and exceed-- we will use up all our resources until calamity strikes . . . there are a few indications that she could be wrong-- but nothing to write home about-- violence is at an all time low, in an exponential sense, and there have been some bottom-up successes in Burkina Faso that indicate that we could reforest the desert, creating a giant carbon sink, reinvigorated soil, and a more humid landscape . . . anyway, the conflict in the book, between the Wizard's desire to create technology "to soar beyond natural constraints" and the Prophets hope that we can learn to live in a "steady state" negotiation with our planet, is going to come to a head in our lifetime and Charles C. Mann does a fantastic job with an even-handed look on how things might change (I also highly recommend his two other noted books, 1491 and 1493, which describe the Americas before and after the Columbian exchange).
Several Surefire Strategies
My wife is in the home stretch of a "Biggest Loser" style weight loss gambling ring with a bunch of other women in town, and she's got a shot to win the cash but final weigh-in is this Friday . . . I've cooked up a couple of strategies for her to bring home the bacon-- check them out:
1) she could do some serious sweating: either put on layers and layers of clothing, turn the heat up, and do some Zumba or she could head over to Island Spa . . . the Korean super-spa down the road (I went for the first time today; it's weird and relaxing and a lot of fun; warning: there's certainly a lot of same-sex nudity in the hot-tub room and you wear odd cultish brown uniforms, but the massage was great--if painful-- and they've got all these little themed sweat lodges with temperatures ranging from 122 F to 160 F, perfect for sweating off a bunch of pounds) but
2) if she really wants it, there's one certain path to victory: earlier in the week, Alex had a killer stomach virus which gave him the shits for four days-- he couldn't eat a thing-- so if she licks his toothbrush, she's golden.
1) she could do some serious sweating: either put on layers and layers of clothing, turn the heat up, and do some Zumba or she could head over to Island Spa . . . the Korean super-spa down the road (I went for the first time today; it's weird and relaxing and a lot of fun; warning: there's certainly a lot of same-sex nudity in the hot-tub room and you wear odd cultish brown uniforms, but the massage was great--if painful-- and they've got all these little themed sweat lodges with temperatures ranging from 122 F to 160 F, perfect for sweating off a bunch of pounds) but
2) if she really wants it, there's one certain path to victory: earlier in the week, Alex had a killer stomach virus which gave him the shits for four days-- he couldn't eat a thing-- so if she licks his toothbrush, she's golden.
Tigger Dad (Tigger is Scottish, Right?)
If you want some ideas on how to get your son to excel in academics, read the first couple chapters of John Stuart Mill's Autobiography.
One More Sad Tale
Yesterday when my wife got home from the grocery store, she saw Ian in the kitchen and asked him where I was and he said, "Dad is out walking the dog" and when she came back in with the next load of groceries, Ian was bawling because for a moment he had forgotten that the dog was dead and gone and then reality hit him like a ton of bricks.
Falling to Pieces (Central Jersey Style)
I feel like I'm living in some tri-state, upper-middle class version of a country song: yesterday we put the dog down; while I was digging his grave in the backyard, I ran into some drainage pipes and an old slate patio-- making the excavation far more difficult than I imagined; my oldest son has had the shits for three days, my youngest son can barely walk (due to a Sunday afternoon soccer collision) and while I was rushing home from work today to check on my sick son and then drive him to the orthodontist (despite his stomach ailment) I got a text from a colleague that read: "Did you leave? We have a meeting and you are presenting."
And Thus the Whirligig of Time Brings in His Revenges (Upon Dave and Many Many Others)
I got my just desserts for stripping the joy from NCAA gambling bracketology-- a couple of days ago, I decided filling out brackets for a NCAA tournament pool is akin to a very very slow lottery drawing-- but that's not entirely true, because if you had Virginia to win it all (as I did in one of my brackets . . . thanks Rob) then the tournament just became a very very fast lottery drawing . . . and, as expected, you lost (did anyone pick UMBC?)
My Wife is No Mantis Shrimp (or is she?)
The mantis shrimp has the most sophisticated visual system in the animal kingdom-- they have from 12 to 16 different kinds of rods and cones (dogs have two kinds of photoreceptors and we have a measly three) but paradoxically, they are absolutely awful at differentiating between colors . . . I'm not even going to attempt to explain why, other than to point out that it might have something to do with communication between mantis shrimp . . . very specific colors might mean things to them but the shades in between certainly do not . . . you can read this or listen to the new Radiolab to get the some of the details (scientific investigation is still underway on the root cause of this contradiction) but I will offer an analogy: while my wife is much better than me at seeing, perceiving, and visually assessing nearly everything in the real and/or aesthetic universe, she did think the shirt I was wearing this morning was green (when it was clearly blue) so I sent her a picture to clear things up.
A March Metaphor
The lottery has been often labeled a "tax on dumb people" and while picking brackets for the NCAA tournament is akin to this kind of gambling, the very important difference is that it's a very very slow lottery drawing . . . it's as if they did one of those old-fashioned ping-pong ball style drawings over the course of two weeks instead of two minutes, so that you have to time to develop all kinds of emotions and feelings about the balls drawn and the numbers on them, your mental state experiencing ups and downs, highs and lows, before you are (almost inevitably) eliminated along with everyone else.
What About Dad?
When I catch kids using cell-phones in class, why are they always texting their mother?
March Sadness
My dog-- ailing from Lymes-- still likes to walk, but he no longer wants to kill cats.
Talking to Women is Damn Near Impossible (for Dave)
Last night during dinner preparation, I noticed something out of the ordinary: my wife was listening to some decent music (Andrew Bird) and she had consciously selected this music, so I wanted to compliment her on her choice, but apparently when you compliment someone, not only is the sentiment itself important but you also have to watch your tone . . . she decided there was some sarcasm in my amazement at her great leap forward in musical taste, but when I vociferously insisted that this was not the case, she still thought the compliment was backhanded-- she inverted the statement and considered it a general condemnation of all the other music she listens to (and while she may have been right in this assumption, I readily admit I'm not crafty enough to couch my true intentions with lies and deception) and so then I tried to ameliorate the situation by discussing this nifty chart correlating SAT scores and musical predilection . . . on Google Play Music, if you play Andrew Bird, then the #1 suggestion is Sufjan Stevens, who is associated with high SAT scores . . . I think this tangential internet foray may have blunted the impact of my failed compliment, but the moral here is when you're talking to women about music, you have to watch your step.
Why? Why Why Why Why Why?
Insert Daylight Saving Time rant here (and also, I really hate these people, who obviously don't have a clue about the most important and-- in modern times-- the most neglected element on Maslow's hierarchy: sleep).
Once You Get In, You Never Get Out
Canceling a gym membership is like trying to retire from the mafia.
Sometimes You Eat the Toe, and Sometimes the Toe Eats You
While The Big Leboswki is hands down my favorite movie, I still don't pretend to understand the plot . . . like Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep, the joy of the story is within the strands . . . the ins, the outs, the complicated what-have-you's and the new shit that eventually comes to light . . . but one thing I thought I knew was that Bunny Lebowski had all ten of her toes . . . until I watched the movie with my kids on Wednesday night; when Bunny drives by in her red convertible and you realize she has definitely not been abducted by nihilists, the camera pans across her feet and I always assumed it was to show all ten of her toes-- and that's because you later learn that the nihilist played by musician Aimee Mann has given her toe to abet the ransom scheme-- but Ian noticed that in the red convertible scene, Bunny's little toe on her right foot appears to be missing-- and if you review the clip, it's really hard to tell, it's a very ambiguous little toe-- and while there is a Reddit strand on this topic, it provides no definite answers . . . so it's time to draw a line in the sand and unravel the truth: is Bunny missing a toe?
Preparing For St. Patrick's Day (and the End of the Anthropocene)
1) there is no inflatable floor, so it's not even a bouncy inflatable Irish pub . . . if it were bouncy, you could get some exercise, mosh to The Pogues, perhaps "inadvertently" bounce into that special lass or lad you've had your eye on . . . but nope, this is just a shed made of polymers, similar to the one in my backyard, which I never try to foist off as an Irish pub;
2) there's an inflatable fireplace inside, which is patently stupid because
a) it obviously can't hold a real fire;
b) no one wants to look at a fake fireplace while they're sweating their ass off in an unventilated polyethylene kiln;
4) there are no inflatable leprechauns inside this pub, and while I don't expect leprechauns in a real Irish pub (I am 48 years old) there's absolutely no reason not to have a few blow-up leprechauns in this inflatable abortion, leprechauns you could toss around, punt into the rafters, pretend to hump . . . whatever, in order to differentiate this product from a big plastic lawn tent, which is all it is . . . and so I've decided NOT to attend any parties that host one of these contraptions, in a quixotic (and probably misguided) attempt to take a stand for something, anything, in this absurd economy of ours, and I hope you will do the same.
The Machine Is Not Green
Green activist Paul Kingsnorth has given up, and he explains why in his rather grim, beautifully written, and occasionally cabalistic collection Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays . . . this is a heavy read, bordering on a manifesto, and Kingsnorth does not see a traditionally Green future for our planet; he has no regard for the techno-optimists, who very well might solve the major human environmental problems in our future-- climate change and floods and famines and disasters and feeding the burgeoning population-- but he sees very little hope for the things that used to matter to traditional conservationists: biodiversity and wild places and an appreciation for ecology . . . he doesn't even think education is the answer; many people know the facts and most of those people would still rather escape into sleek digitized worlds of their own creation . . . he does have a few lists of what you can do, if you don't want to jump on the techno-optimism bandwagon, if you feel like you are living inside a giant machine, a machine built to drain your data and your bank account; a machine built to convince you to consume more than you need; a machine that persuades you to spend time in front of screens for more and more hours of the day; a machine that throws off your circadian rhythms, creates endless desires and constant jealousies, makes you care about things that you wouldn't ordinarily care about and makes you lose sight of what is important in life, a machine that keeps you from getting outdoors and enjoying what is left of the natural world . . . here are some things you can do:
1) withdraw . . . withdraw as a moral position and refuse to help the machine advance, withdraw "to examine your worldview"
2) preserve non-human life, in any local way shape or method you can
3) get your hands dirty and do some physical work
4) insist that nature has value beyond utility, beyond aiding and assisting the economic growth of mankind . . . and tell everyone this
5) build refuges from the oncoming storm;
and then at the end of the book he has eight principles of "uncivilisation" . . . here is a summary:
1) face the oncoming ecological unravelling with honesty and learn how to live within it
2) reject the paradigm of "problems" and solutions
3) change the modern story of progress we have been telling ourselves, because that has separated us from nature
4) make storytelling more than entertainment
5) recognize that humans are not the point of the planet
6) celebrate art and writing that is grounded in place and time, and not symbolic of the "cosmopolitan citadel"
7) no theories and ideologies, write with dirt under your fingernails
8) "the end of the world as we know it is not the end of the world full stop"
p.s. moments after I finished this post, the snowstorm disconnected our house from the machine and we spent an hour in darkness, contemplating "uncivilisation," which means my writing possesses miraculous powers (while I'm probably not the God, I'm certainly a god).
1) withdraw . . . withdraw as a moral position and refuse to help the machine advance, withdraw "to examine your worldview"
2) preserve non-human life, in any local way shape or method you can
3) get your hands dirty and do some physical work
4) insist that nature has value beyond utility, beyond aiding and assisting the economic growth of mankind . . . and tell everyone this
5) build refuges from the oncoming storm;
and then at the end of the book he has eight principles of "uncivilisation" . . . here is a summary:
1) face the oncoming ecological unravelling with honesty and learn how to live within it
2) reject the paradigm of "problems" and solutions
3) change the modern story of progress we have been telling ourselves, because that has separated us from nature
4) make storytelling more than entertainment
5) recognize that humans are not the point of the planet
6) celebrate art and writing that is grounded in place and time, and not symbolic of the "cosmopolitan citadel"
7) no theories and ideologies, write with dirt under your fingernails
8) "the end of the world as we know it is not the end of the world full stop"
p.s. moments after I finished this post, the snowstorm disconnected our house from the machine and we spent an hour in darkness, contemplating "uncivilisation," which means my writing possesses miraculous powers (while I'm probably not the God, I'm certainly a god).
Twelve Fourteen Split
Alex turned 14 last week, while his younger brother is still 12 (they are 14 months apart) and we saw the age gap in action this weekend: Alex went to an afternoon party at a girl's house-- and before he left he fixed the back of his hair so it wasn't all messy, on the advice of his friend's girlfriend; meanwhile, Ian went to his friend's house to play "Nerf" with some guys, a game of warfare, ever-changing rules, and the shooting of enemy combatants with Nerf bullets (and Ian was annoyed that Alex did not attend and instead chose to spend his time at a party with girls).
Is This Normal Small Town Stuff?
Does every town have a crazy white-haired lady with two little white dogs that yells "SLOW DOWN!" when you're driving 27 miles-per-hour in a 25 miles-per-hour zone and-- God forbid-- if you make a rolling stop at a stop sign (because you're creeping up so you can see around the parked cars) then this lady might walk into the middle of the road, creating a barricade because she is flanked by her two little white dogs, and then she might slowly, menacingly stomp toward your car, screaming vehicular epithets and instructions, while your son (who is the front seat) laughs at her?
A Couple of Books That the Unabomber Would Enjoy
Jonathan Moore's The Night Market is a sci-fi crime thriller that blends the byzantine plotting and tone of Raymond Chandler with some William Gibson/Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind type near future technology, and there's also plenty of Philip K. Dick-style paranoia (which is fully deserved) but the real impact of this post-noir San Francisco crime drama is that it is all too real-- the city is a burned out husk, as are most of the people who walk through it, because rampant consumption and a sinister form of advertisement has invaded the consciousness of the city and its inhabitants . . . the conspiracy is far-reaching and just and shallow and greedy as it should be . . . this is a book about giving up and giving in: the apocalypse is here and we are living in it-- and the fact that there is not much difference between the San Francisco in the novel and the world right now is beyond frightening . . . I was already primed for this novel because I've been reading Paul Kingsnorth's new collection of essays, Collections of a Recovering Environmentalist, in which he announces the death of the conservation movement and the promulgation of a new form of neo-liberal economic environmentalism, concerned with carbon sinks, global warming, eco-tourism, and market-based technological solutions for ecological problems, which is in contrast to the old school Green movement, which found intrinsic and sacred value in the beauty of biodiversity and wild landscapes, and celebrated the primal human attachment for natural spaces and places free of human subjugation . . . Moore's The Night Market is the end result of this shift towards data-driven market-based solutions, there is complete consumerism, complete consumption, and a world completely dictated by brands, corporations, markets, and the desire to replace the things that are important with things.
Poetry Birthday Week!
Yesterday, we went to happy hour at the Golden Lion in Milltown to celebrate my birthday and the gang from work gave me some lovely presents, including a laminated original poem in my honor which contains all my favorite allusions . . . I have hyperlinked them for your perusal:
All who know you, know you've got grit,
you always try your best to stay fit;
you teach your students with cunning and wit,
even Brady admits that your podcast is lit;
and even though you're hairy as shit
some might say you look like a homeless Brad Pitt--
so when you're old and grumbling about the difference between lie and lay
just comfort yourself with the butter you spray!
and they also presented me with my very own bottle of spray butter and a framed photo of faceswap Dave and Stacey where we look like Brad Pitt . . . the best gift was going to the Golden Lion in Milltown for the first time-- it's quite the dive, and has darts, two full sized shuffleboard tables, a nice back room pool table, and fantastic wings . . . I also learned an interesting piece of information: I knew the wings at the Golden Lion were fantastic because years ago, a regular used to bring them to the Park Pub all the time and we would feast on them-- I said as much to the bartender at the Golden Lion and she said, "Yeah, he was stealing those wings . . . that's why he got fired" and then she gave me a high five because I had eaten so many of those stolen wings; anyway, I'd like to thank all that attended, I had a great time and obviously left with my wife at the right moment: I was happily lubricated but not sloshed, and so Alex, Cat and I watched Fargo and went to bed early . . . meanwhile, the ladies closed the place (and we got there at 3 PM) but I guess once you turn 48, if you haven't learned something about alcohol consumption, then you're in serious trouble (the other thing I learned is the worst place to keep a valuable jewel is on a drunk woman's finger . . . why is that a thing?)
All who know you, know you've got grit,
you always try your best to stay fit;
you teach your students with cunning and wit,
even Brady admits that your podcast is lit;
and even though you're hairy as shit
some might say you look like a homeless Brad Pitt--
so when you're old and grumbling about the difference between lie and lay
just comfort yourself with the butter you spray!
and they also presented me with my very own bottle of spray butter and a framed photo of faceswap Dave and Stacey where we look like Brad Pitt . . . the best gift was going to the Golden Lion in Milltown for the first time-- it's quite the dive, and has darts, two full sized shuffleboard tables, a nice back room pool table, and fantastic wings . . . I also learned an interesting piece of information: I knew the wings at the Golden Lion were fantastic because years ago, a regular used to bring them to the Park Pub all the time and we would feast on them-- I said as much to the bartender at the Golden Lion and she said, "Yeah, he was stealing those wings . . . that's why he got fired" and then she gave me a high five because I had eaten so many of those stolen wings; anyway, I'd like to thank all that attended, I had a great time and obviously left with my wife at the right moment: I was happily lubricated but not sloshed, and so Alex, Cat and I watched Fargo and went to bed early . . . meanwhile, the ladies closed the place (and we got there at 3 PM) but I guess once you turn 48, if you haven't learned something about alcohol consumption, then you're in serious trouble (the other thing I learned is the worst place to keep a valuable jewel is on a drunk woman's finger . . . why is that a thing?)
Dave and Dr. Seuss Pontificate on the Meaning of Shared Birthdays (in a Universe That May be Experiencing the Nietzschean Eternal Return)
Me and the Seuss,
we share the same date:
coincidence . . .
or an act of fate?
I tend to lean
towards the stochastic
but perhaps our world
is finitely elastic,
so we run the same path
after every big bang
and the Doctor and I
share our groove thang.
we share the same date:
coincidence . . .
or an act of fate?
I tend to lean
towards the stochastic
but perhaps our world
is finitely elastic,
so we run the same path
after every big bang
and the Doctor and I
share our groove thang.
Sirius Gives Alex a Birthday Gift
Rollercoaster week for the dog: Monday we had "the talk" with the kids, as Sirius's health appeared to be headed downhill-- he had a couple urination incidents in the house (which never happened before . . . what a dog!) and he was totally lethargic and miserable; after we discussed the reality of his situation, Ian curled into a ball and cried, then he went upstairs to take a nap, I cried when I tried to console him, Catherine cried and hugged me and told me that we'd never have another dog like him (she's had a lot of dogs) and I had a couple of sleepless nights trying to figure out when to put him down (I was hoping he would make it through the week, because today is Alex's birthday and tomorrow is my birthday . . . that's no present) but Sirius must have heard us planning to shuffle him off his mortal coil and decided he'd rather be than not be, because yesterday he started wagging his tail, he greeted me like normal when I got home from work, and he actually ate some dog food, today he properly pooped and actually jumped up when I was getting ready to walk him-- his usual behavior-- and then he wouldn't let me bring him home-- he just wanted to keep walking around the park . . . the vet said that some of these medicines might take a while to work, so we are now cautiously optimistic that something good is happening inside his body and perhaps the kidney infection is abating . . . but at the very least he's not going to head into that undiscovered country on my son's birthday (or mine, I hope).
Fake Weather!
The sentence is cancelled today because of absurdly unseasonable weather . . . I'll get back to you when it's forty degrees and raining.
Sketchy Restaurant Review
This Kids in the Hall skit sums up our experience at Flavors of Manila, a Filipino restaurant Catherine and I went to Saturday night while our kids were playing tennis.
In This Instance, Content Defeats Style
I'm always chastising my wife for beginning her stories with expository topic sentences:
the funniest thing happened!
you won't believe how annoying!
as these kinds of statements not only destroy the drama of the narrative, but they also set up the audience to be in a contradictory position-- we'll see just how funny this thing is . . . so when the boys and I walked in yesterday and she said, "I saw the craziest thing!" I was not only skeptical, but also annoyed at her anecdotal style, but for once the story actually lived up to the opening; the rain finally let up and so Catherine took the dog for a walk in the park, along the river, and she saw a giant tree floating downstream-- the Raritan is tidal by our house, so sometimes-- when the tide is coming in-- the current runs upstream towards New Brunswick, but most of the time it runs downstream towards Perth Amboy and the Raritan Bay, which leads into the Atlantic Ocean; when she took a good look at this giant floating tree, she noticed a seal perched upon the trunk, a seal which apparently got swept up in the storm current and ended up far from the ocean and was now wisely hitching a ride on a makeshift deciduous raft back to its home, unfortunately she did not have her phone and so there's no proof of this bizarre happening, but I believe her because it's too weird a thing to invent.
the funniest thing happened!
you won't believe how annoying!
as these kinds of statements not only destroy the drama of the narrative, but they also set up the audience to be in a contradictory position-- we'll see just how funny this thing is . . . so when the boys and I walked in yesterday and she said, "I saw the craziest thing!" I was not only skeptical, but also annoyed at her anecdotal style, but for once the story actually lived up to the opening; the rain finally let up and so Catherine took the dog for a walk in the park, along the river, and she saw a giant tree floating downstream-- the Raritan is tidal by our house, so sometimes-- when the tide is coming in-- the current runs upstream towards New Brunswick, but most of the time it runs downstream towards Perth Amboy and the Raritan Bay, which leads into the Atlantic Ocean; when she took a good look at this giant floating tree, she noticed a seal perched upon the trunk, a seal which apparently got swept up in the storm current and ended up far from the ocean and was now wisely hitching a ride on a makeshift deciduous raft back to its home, unfortunately she did not have her phone and so there's no proof of this bizarre happening, but I believe her because it's too weird a thing to invent.
Mozart Would Love This Shit
I don't like scatological humor but I do feel obligated to take note of the incidents that happened today at lunch; we went to Shanghai Dumpling House, despite the fact that it's impossible to get a table there on a Sunday, and we lucked out-- we were only fifteen minutes early but it was raining and there were a few noobs hanging around that didn't realize that you could go inside before the place opened and a get a handwritten number scrawled on a scrap of paper, as a "reservation," and so Alex went in and got #9, and he counted the tables and thought we might get seated in the first round, depending on the breaks, and we did-- we got the last table, the weird one to the right of the door, by the drink cooler; this table is pretty much inside the kitchen and you can see the old ladies rapidly making dumplings as you eat; Catherine came with us and she was perplexed and amused by the reservation system and the complete insanity surrounding the restaurant as we ate-- the place was packed, there was a big line, and people were jammed everywhere; we ate a lot of food: various dumplings, spicy pork noodle soup, soup dumplings and some kind of sliced beef wrapped in a scallion pancake with plum sauce and Ian was trying to finish off the last steamed juicy bun but he took a bite and then flipped the dumpling the wrong way and the pork meatball fell out, bounced off his plate, and rolled onto the floor . . . and that's when the silliness began; Catherine started singing the "on top of spaghetti" song about the itinerant meatball, Ian joined in, Alex expressed complete embarrassment and said, "Can you guys stop? I'd like to come back here, it's my favorite place" and then Ian saw where the meatball landed, under the table, and said it looked like a "little poop," and so I ushered everyone out-- as I'd like to return as well-- and Ian looked up the lyrics to the meatball song on his phone and sang it in the car-- which really impressed Catherine because she thought he was doing it from memory (she was driving) and then Alex and Ian recounted their "ten favorite poops," including Taco Bell poop, liquid poop, sharty poop, and ten pound elephant poop . . . and then Catherine added seepage poop and we finally arrived home and I was able to get away from the scatological humor, which is more appropriate for Mozart and the Germans, who both find that kind of filth funny.
Last Gun Thoughts: Grandfather Some Shit
They say sunlight is the best antiseptic and this gun control issue is certainly getting some sunlight; this morning a bunch of dudes of various ages, ethnicities, races and political persuasions in the LA Fitness locker room were discussing guns, so I offered my two cents; I think most were reacting to the news that several armed deputies and guards did not enter the school while the Parkland shooting was underway, and instead hid behind their vehicles with weapons drawn . . . while anecdotal, this is does point to broader statistics that show that "good guys with guns" don't usually have an impact on an active shooter situation, even if they've been trained; these guys that didn't enter the building weren't cowards, they were typical . . . so here are my last thoughts on this issue, my friend Paul thought one of them is brilliant (though we had been drinking when i came up with it)
1) grandfather some shit in . . . tell the gun-owners who have lots of semi-automatic weapons like the AR-15 that they have proven responsible and they can keep them; most of these folks are mega-gun owners, who live the gun lifestyle and firmly believe that civilians need military grade weapons to fight the government if it becomes too tyrannical . . . 3% of the population owns 50% of the guns and were just going to have to assume these super-owners are doing a good job with it and we have to divide them from the general populace while the time is ripe; start NOW with semi-automatic laws for new gun purchases . . . the next shooter does NOT necessarily have his gun already, as Parkland vividly proves, so concede the guns to the older owners and start fresh with these younger owners;
2) then, as these gun-collector/nut/super-owners age and die, the government can institute and Australian style buy-back program;
3) don't forget that conservatives can change their minds about things . . . at the start of the millenium, conservatives were all hot and bothered by gay marriage . . . I can remember some relatively intelligent conservative friends of mine using the slippery slope argument about this "abomination" and positing that if you could marry someone of the same sex, then "you could marry anything . . . you could marry a hat!" and this "marry a hat!" attitude was the typical conservative reaction to the suggestion of gay marriage, and then it was like they all collectively shrugged their shoulders and said, "Whatever . . . it's the 2010's . . . gay marriage is fine," and this seems to be the time to change things with gun control laws, even if it's just a start;
4) military gun ownership needs to be grandfathered and stigmatized, like smoking . . . you might let your grandfather smoke in your car, but once he dies of emphysema, that's it for people smoking your car-- when I was in high school, there was a smoking patio-- Patio C-- but we've now collectively decided that's ridiculous and if high school kids want to smoke, they have to do it just off the grounds; high school kids still smoke, but far far fewer and we don't let them do it on school grounds and we've raised the age when they can purchase cigarettes;
5) it will take a long time to change this culture, but eventually maybe some youngsters from this culture will take up other target sports, like darts and cornhole, to replace the void of the gun lifestyle.
1) grandfather some shit in . . . tell the gun-owners who have lots of semi-automatic weapons like the AR-15 that they have proven responsible and they can keep them; most of these folks are mega-gun owners, who live the gun lifestyle and firmly believe that civilians need military grade weapons to fight the government if it becomes too tyrannical . . . 3% of the population owns 50% of the guns and were just going to have to assume these super-owners are doing a good job with it and we have to divide them from the general populace while the time is ripe; start NOW with semi-automatic laws for new gun purchases . . . the next shooter does NOT necessarily have his gun already, as Parkland vividly proves, so concede the guns to the older owners and start fresh with these younger owners;
2) then, as these gun-collector/nut/super-owners age and die, the government can institute and Australian style buy-back program;
3) don't forget that conservatives can change their minds about things . . . at the start of the millenium, conservatives were all hot and bothered by gay marriage . . . I can remember some relatively intelligent conservative friends of mine using the slippery slope argument about this "abomination" and positing that if you could marry someone of the same sex, then "you could marry anything . . . you could marry a hat!" and this "marry a hat!" attitude was the typical conservative reaction to the suggestion of gay marriage, and then it was like they all collectively shrugged their shoulders and said, "Whatever . . . it's the 2010's . . . gay marriage is fine," and this seems to be the time to change things with gun control laws, even if it's just a start;
4) military gun ownership needs to be grandfathered and stigmatized, like smoking . . . you might let your grandfather smoke in your car, but once he dies of emphysema, that's it for people smoking your car-- when I was in high school, there was a smoking patio-- Patio C-- but we've now collectively decided that's ridiculous and if high school kids want to smoke, they have to do it just off the grounds; high school kids still smoke, but far far fewer and we don't let them do it on school grounds and we've raised the age when they can purchase cigarettes;
5) it will take a long time to change this culture, but eventually maybe some youngsters from this culture will take up other target sports, like darts and cornhole, to replace the void of the gun lifestyle.
THREE! TWO! ONE! CLANG!
There's been a lot of discussion around my school about Trump's proposal to arm teachers so they can prevent classroom massacres and everyone I know with any kind of brain thinks this is a lunatic proposition; for those who don't think that, I have a metaphor that might explain why this gun-lover's fantasy is so preposterous . . . at every basketball practice, at least once a session, there's a kid who counts down THREE! TWO! ONE! and chucks a half-court shot at the rim; he's imagining the ultimate scenario, of course-- his team is down by two points with .6 seconds left in regulation and he hurls a shot from sixty feet and swishes it, winning the game; while this is a compelling fantasy, in reality the shot inevitably hits someone in the head; ruins the transition from one drill to the next; and sets everyone else off their game . . . while this scenario does occasionally happen in an actual game, it is very very rare, and not something that necessarily warrants practice, and the collateral damage when a kid does this at practice is usually fairly ugly, so coaches discourage it; of course, I empathize with the kids, it's fun to pretend . . . but I don't empathize with adults who indulge in such fantasies: they obviously imagine some perfectly romanticized school shooter scenario where they spot a mad gunman in the distance, lining up innocent school girls in his sights, and this shooter doesn't notice the heroic marksman, the good guy with a concealed weapon, who takes careful aim with his well-maintained, carefully oiled piece, calmly fires, and drops the shooter in his tracks . . . THREE! TWO! ONE! . . . just before the shooter does any damage; I'm not sure if this scenario has ever happened, but I do know for certain that the more guns are the present, the more deaths happen, whether by suicide, accident, or collateral damage, and the chance that even an armed and trained person would come the the rescue is pretty slim . . . so let's leave the fantasizing to the children and recognize that the answer to gun violence is not more guns; there are good people and there are bad people, and-- as Neil Postman reminds us: there are good technologies and bad technologies . . . it took a while to recognize cigarettes as a bad technology, and as much as the 2nd Amendment folks hate to hear it, it's time to admit that guns are not a technology to embrace and worship either
They Can't Remain Innocent Forever
Tonight my wife decided the kids were old enough to know the truth . . . she explained to them that the much anticipated and celebrated "your choice night" is just a euphemism for leftovers.
Cheers to Tennis (in February)
I am drinking some celebratory beer tonight for several reasons:
1) we got through a carnival of a workshop day in school . . . there were twenty teachers from area schools, various administrators and the associate director of the Rutgers Writing Program, all present to watch me and my colleagues teach the Rutgers Writing course; things went off without a hitch, partly thanks to our excellent and competent department chair and my wonderful teammates Brady and Strachan but mainly due to my charm and good-looks . . . a dozen adults sat in one of my classes and then one of my students endured an essay conference with ten random people watching; it was a wild and busy day made more interesting by the threat of a student walk-out and the news vans and helicopter hovering on the periphery of our school because our township decided to put armed police in every building, fueling a media frenzy (I should also note that on Monday-- President's Day-- after playing some tennis with the kids at my school, as I was driving across the empty parking lot . . . as it was a day off from school, a beautiful blonde woman flagged down my van, and so-- being a male-- I stopped to investigate and found that she was just as pretty I surmised, and that's when I noticed the CBS jacket and the microphone . . . I declined to make an official comment but I did chat with her for a while, just to look at her thick lustrous hair, pearly white teeth, and TV quality facial symmetry, I think her name is Natalie Duddridge)
2) despite some grim blood test results, our dog is still eating, walking about, and wagging his tail;
3) though my foot hurts, I taped it up and was able to compete a bit, but the beer might alleviate some of the pain;
4) I'm pretty sure my kids and I played the most outdoor tennis by a central Jersey family in February ever, in the history of planet . . . I played with my buddy Cob after school, Alex played his buddy Liam, then Alex played my brother, then I went out and hit with Ian under the lights, despite the fact that my foot hurt, because I know we won't get this chance again anytime soon.
1) we got through a carnival of a workshop day in school . . . there were twenty teachers from area schools, various administrators and the associate director of the Rutgers Writing Program, all present to watch me and my colleagues teach the Rutgers Writing course; things went off without a hitch, partly thanks to our excellent and competent department chair and my wonderful teammates Brady and Strachan but mainly due to my charm and good-looks . . . a dozen adults sat in one of my classes and then one of my students endured an essay conference with ten random people watching; it was a wild and busy day made more interesting by the threat of a student walk-out and the news vans and helicopter hovering on the periphery of our school because our township decided to put armed police in every building, fueling a media frenzy (I should also note that on Monday-- President's Day-- after playing some tennis with the kids at my school, as I was driving across the empty parking lot . . . as it was a day off from school, a beautiful blonde woman flagged down my van, and so-- being a male-- I stopped to investigate and found that she was just as pretty I surmised, and that's when I noticed the CBS jacket and the microphone . . . I declined to make an official comment but I did chat with her for a while, just to look at her thick lustrous hair, pearly white teeth, and TV quality facial symmetry, I think her name is Natalie Duddridge)
2) despite some grim blood test results, our dog is still eating, walking about, and wagging his tail;
3) though my foot hurts, I taped it up and was able to compete a bit, but the beer might alleviate some of the pain;
4) I'm pretty sure my kids and I played the most outdoor tennis by a central Jersey family in February ever, in the history of planet . . . I played with my buddy Cob after school, Alex played his buddy Liam, then Alex played my brother, then I went out and hit with Ian under the lights, despite the fact that my foot hurt, because I know we won't get this chance again anytime soon.
Somebody Thought of That? Dammit . . .
Today in Creative Writing class, we were extra-creative and came up with a pitch-perfect name for a bluegrass Bon Jovi cover band: Banjovi . . . but the downside of internet access is that it often makes you realize that you're not as creative as you think.
If You Want Blood (You Got It)
Some irate Parkland students addressed President Trump on "Face the Nation" and made an impassioned plea for him to do something about gun control-- one student was very clear on Trump's passing the buck on this issue . . . he said to Trump: "You sicken me"; the message is clear, Republicans have the blood of our children on their hands, and anyone who has voted Republican has the blood of our children on their hands, and all the politicians that have taken money from the NRA or allowed NRA lobbyists to exert control over the nation's gun laws have blood on their hands and so does the NRA and the gun sellers and the gun makers and the people who think that it's a right to buy assault weapons and the whole crazy gun-toting gun-caching lot of them . . . but of course the Republicans will argue that the Democrats have blood on their hands as well, fetal blood, because the Democrats support abortion and mass infanticide and then-- if you want to get bipartisan, there are the meat-eaters, which have animal blood all over their whiskers-- I wish I wasn't one of those folks, but I am . . . the meat industry has got its hooks in me deep-- and if you didn't vote Green, then your hands are coated with endangered species blood, panda blood and yeti blood and ocelot blood . . . and God forbid you voted for or supported or fought in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, then just wading through blood, but if you didn't do anything in Syria and let ISIS take over . . . or just sent drones to do your dirty work, well then your drones are covered in blood, so even Obama isn't unassailable . . . and if you do eschew meat and walk to work and vote Green, you're still probably buying clothes made in a country that has no child labor laws or environmental codes and your phone runs on rare earths torn from the belly of our rapidly-being-raped planet, so your cell-phone is covered with rich oxygenated Earth-blood . . . we're all stained like Lady MacBeth and it's a bloody mess out there.
Dave Drops a Grotowski
Years ago-- for about thirty seconds-- I contemplated writing a book about the rise of the amateur . . . I was stupefied with the sheer mass of amateurism online: Soundcloud and Youtube and Ebay and all the online photography and blogging and art and animation and how to videos and Pinterest-type sites . . . and then the idea passed, but I was pleasantly surprised when I was browsing through the new non-fiction section at the library to see a book entitled The Amateur: The Pleasure of Doing What You Love by Andy Merrifield; I always try to bring a couple of books home from the library that I did not intend to take out, as a way to fight the algorithmically-curated society in which we live, and while I rarely finished these, I read this one cover-to-cover; Merrifield is a socialist and the book is something of a manifesto . . . he sees modern life as a battle between a professional data-driven technocracy designed to make you a passive consumer-- if you've got the cash and/or credit-- and the possibility of amateurism . . . literally doing what you love; in his mind the bean-counters are winning, government has been captured by big business; public spaces have been sanitized; and the bottom-up, emergent nature of cities and towns has been eradicated (although he sees hope in countries like Greece, where things have fallen over the edge and anarchists and radicals occupy public/private spaces, similar to the Occupy Wall Street movement) and the main value and purpose of many people is their job, their career, even if it is meaningless, because we are identified by what we do professionally-- that is how we achieve our status (and our health insurance, in America) and Merrifield, slightly impractically, speaks of the happily unemployed and a new way to live; he seems to think there is no refuge for the amateur in any profession-- even in academia you must publish and publish, and the more you are cited, the more you succeed . . . I would beg to differ, being the ultimate amatuer, a high school teacher: I happily teach a course in Philosophy, of which I know nothing about, and a course in Shakespeare, though I'm an awful actor, and now I'm an amateur Rutgers Professor as well-- but I digress (so does Merrifield, personal anecdotes are scattered through the book) and so I'll get back to the review; Merrifield calls on his favorite books to help his case, as many of them are my favorites: Dostoevsky and his Underground Man, Laurence Sterne and Uncle Toby's Hobby Horse, Kafka's Trial and Castle . . . and this reminded me that I used to read much more radically, and lately I've been consuming a lot of economic stuff, trying to understand what the hell is going on when there is perhaps no way in to the bureaucratic technocracy and it's better to work at the micro-level, as Merrifield proposes, and that we all become political animals in whatever way we can, and influence whatever micro-milieu we can influence; I hope Merrifield reads this, as I think he'd be proud of my amateur spirit; I've stopped watching sports and now only play and coach them, and I've resisted the club/professional training route in youth sports, the "next level" so many parents are eager to achieve-- instead I'm coaching the kids in town, and I'm coaching them really well because I'm an amateur, not a professional, because I love it . . . nothing has made me prouder than the fact that my kids are competing with year-round tennis kids on Saturdays at the local racquet club, not because they're decent players-- which they are-- but because my brother and I taught them everything they know about tennis . . . they'd certainly be better if they took year-round lessons from professionals, but that would be costly and also ridiculous; I'm also making my own music and my own podcast, writing this blog, trying to stay abreast of town politics (at least at a sporting level) and generally trying to avoid consumer culture unless it has to do with one of my hobbies-- I feel the press of what Merrifield is talking about and it's easy to succumb, there's a lot of shows on Netflix and a lot of credit out there, and your job can consume you and then you feel good, in a sort of anesthetized way, but we all know that productivity is on the rise and college costs more and more-- which is why I've been hinting to my kids that if they really like something, they don't need to go to college to pursue it . . . college seems to be for smartish people who don't know exactly what they want to do, it's a great (but expensive) failsafe that leads you right into the technocracy, burdened with debt, ready to become a productive worker; this has been heavy, so I'll get out of here with one last idea from the book, which would be amazing and fun to drop on an aspiring actor; Merrifield mentions radical Polish director Grotowski, who calls theater with lights and a stage and props and costumes "rich theater" and this Polish auteur denigrates "rich theater" for aspiring to be film or television, then he makes a case for "poor theater," where actors become themselves in the scenes, no lights or settings, just an improvisation where you push the actor/spectator gap and the existential limits of the stage in a search for conflict with others . . . while I don't fully understand the theory, I would still love to "drop a Grotowski" on an actor (and if I remember, I'll do it to my friend Jack) when they are telling me about some performance they are in . . . I imagine I would say, "Oh so you're still doing rich theater? How antiquated and pathetic . . . Grotowski would so so disappointed in you."
Retro Saturday of Stuff to Appreciate
An old school Saturday that reminds me why we bought a house in Highland Park, had kids, and rescued a dog . . . successful soccer practice in the AM at Bartle gym-- two blocks away-- followed by some successful tennis training with Ian at Donaldson Park-- five hundred feet away-- then the boys got on their skateboards and rode to the comic book store (and purchased some retro-ish comics: Invincible and some new series related to Watchmen) and ate pizza, they returned with the pizza crust, which our dog ate-- a good sign, because he's lost his appetite lately-- and then Cat and I walked for some coffee with the dog and he made it all the way to Main Street and back, the longest walk he's taken since his illness . . . and now both boys are upstairs reading, and they'll be fast asleep soon enough-- at least In will be, he reads three pages and falls asleep every Saturday afternoon-- and there's a snowstorm on the way (and indoor tennis tonight for the boys) so I'm declaring today a celebration of mundanity, small town life, kids, dogs, sports, marriage and all that normal regular stuff that I often forget to appreciate . . . and I keep extending this sentence because I don't feel like going on the Mid New Jersey Soccer Portal and fucking with spring registration stuff for the travel team, because that is some small town banality I could do without.
Some Situations Require Delicacy That Only a Mature Adult Possesses
If one child is napping upstairs, it's not a good idea to send the other child to wake him up for dinner.
A Photo in which Dave and Catherine Pretend to Be Veterinarians
A Valentine's Sentence for my Wife
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