After I ate lunch last Saturday, while my wife was on the phone in the basement, I had a hankering for something sweet and I remembered that last week there was some kind of half-eaten chocolatey cookie thing in her lunch cooler-- I had sampled it and it was pretty good-- and I checked her bag and it was still there and I didn't want to interrupt her phone call (and I was hungry) so I ate it (pretty much inhaled it) and then I took a nap . . . and at some point during my nap, my wife woke me up and asked "Did you eat the cookie in my lunch bag?" and I confirmed this and she got pretty upset-- I wasn't sure why-- but I fell back to sleep . . . and when I woke up, she told me that this was a special cookie that her co-teacher had brought back from DisneyWorld for her-- that you had to wait a very long time at some gothic bakery named Gideon's Bakehouse and she had been eating a little bit of each day . . . and when she got off the phone, her plan was to relax and have some tea and eat the remainder of this special cookie-- everyone else in the house was napping and she was trying to not get angry when everyone else was relaxing when there was shit to get done, so she was going to try to relax herself but I had ruined it by selfishly eating her cookie-- I violated her personal space, went into her lunch cooler, didn't ask permission, and I had eaten all her potato chips the day before, etcetera . . . and so I apologized-- but qualified my apology by saying that if I had known how important this cookie was to her, I wouldn't have eaten (but also pointing out that no cookie should have this kind of value) and then Catherine, Alex and I were headed to go see Dune at the Rutgers Theater . . which isn't as fun to watch when your wife is mad at you-- and Alex and I were of the same mindset: it's just a cookie! and so we watched Dune-- which is a decent movie but doesn't really capture the heat and grit and dust of the desert . . . it's more Star Wars than Fury Road-- and then when we got home, Ian was up in his bed and he had been eating candy in his bed and throwing the wrappers and empty boxes under his bed-- as he is wont to do-- and this is a fineable offense for him, because it's gross and unhealthy and attracts mice-- and I got mad at him for doing this again-- and because he was hoarding a giant bag of Twix in his room-- and then Catherine got mad at me for getting mad at him because she said the reason he hoards candy in his room is that if it's downstairs, I'll eat it-- because eat everything, without regard for the owner (which is kind of true) and so I started making some rules about how no one is allowed to bring more than one serving of candy into the house-- because I can't control myself and everyone was pissed off at me and I was pissed off at everyone and I was sick of being treated like some kind of monster because I ate a cookie and then next morning I took the dog for a walk and then when I got back Catherine wanted to talk about what happened and I made a rash decision-- I took back my apology for eating the cookie! and this was very stupid but I wasn't really thinking clearly but I said that it had been in her cooler since last week and she hadn't told me the value, etc. etc. and there was more arguing but then I realized that I was wrong-- although I did get Catherine to admit ten percent guilt in the altercation-- she should have told me about the cookie and she shouldn't have overreacted so much and I made a special shelf in the cupboard for Catherine and Ian's food-- a shelf I'm really going to try not to violate-- and I got her a special cupcake at the special cupcake store that was just for (and I even waited in line . . . about a minute) and I also assured her that the cookie, from what I could remember, didn't even taste that good (and I guess this kind of shit is happening the world over because my boss Jess came in with a similar story-- she has two young kids-- and she brought home two cookies, one for each of them, but her husband ate one without asking and so she had to split the other cookie for her children) and it seems there are two kinds fo people-- people like me and Alex, who don't really treat there possessions all that possessively-- and people like Ian and my wife, who want their stuff and think people shouldn't steal and eat it (and those two are ore vengeful . . . Catherine made a batch of cookies and she put a post-it on it doling out the amounts-- Alex, Ian and Catherine got eight each but I only got three).
That's Good Stuff
I've been grading Rutgers essays all week and procrastinating on posting my good content, but Larry David hasn't been holding back his best stuff: episode 4 of the new season (11) may be one of the best ever . . . check out the"The Watermelon" as soon as possible.
Stacey = Sherlock
It's always an exciting school day when you've got to solve a plagiarism case-- and Stacey and I did it in a period . . . she was lucky enough to get a full confession, which exonerated my student (it seems her paper was stolen and then altered slightly, sentence-by-sentence . . . but the transformation was not enough to fool Turnitin).
77 Days and Counting
Countdown City-- the second book in Ben Winters' Last Policeman trilogy-- is a little less of a procedural mystery novel and a little more of an apocalypse novel . . . which is fitting because now the asteroid Maia is only 77 days out and more and more people are losing their shit; I was completely satisfied with the tipping of the scales . . . Hank Palace is still on the case-- though the case is weird and obtuse and he's not even on the police force any longer (because they've disbanded all the divisions except street police . . .) but things are getting grim and there are larger concerns, conspiratorial concerns and survival concerns and I'm very excited to read the finale in the trilogy, and I've got no clue where it will go.
Ten Years of Scary Stories!
Another excellent Scary Story Contest last night, the tenth one . . . so the prompt was "Ten Years Later" . . . Stacy and I had to cut A LOT of words on Friday-- the deadline day-- in order to get it under the limit (2000) and though we didn't win, I'm very proud of how we pared down our piece, which was a 2030 Ten Year Reunion of the Class of Covid . . . and no one wanted to go, aside for murderous insane reasons and thinks got very very ugly (I was especially proud of my VR idea . . . someone had downloaded everyone's high school photos so everyone wore VR goggles and you appeared as you did in high school, which was cool-- aside from the fat girl with acne who lost a bunch of weight and kicked the drugs and sugar that were giving her skin trouble-- she was really angry that everyone was seeing the high school version of herself instead of the big reveal) and while our story got a lot of laughs, it was not the winner-- Cunningham won again, this time with a photorealistically described tale of a pair of hoarders, one of whom was dead and the other was arguing with the skeleton over the same stupid shit for ten years; I read Liz Soder's tale of a chimp named Garbo who led an absoutely inhuamne life in a lab-- and she came in second; and there was also a sell your soul to a healer/preacher/devil tale by Mooney; a tightly plotted Goonies style international mystery by Eric and a disturbing tale of molestation and revenge by Liz . . . I'm always impressed by how excellent the stories are and we've all gotten really good at plotting and developing under the 2000 word limit . . . and it's really a treat to get your story read aloud by a new reader . . . so thanks to the Soders for hosting, and for all who wrote and all who attended . . . it really is one of the best social events of the year.
I Like to READ Stories
Tomorrow is the 10th Annual Scary Story Contest and Stacey and I are still way over the word limit on our story and we are giving up and going to bed . . . we will finish this thing on the clock during school tomorrow-- and thus be professionally paid writers-- and I can't wait to get upstairs into bed and read my professionally written novel Countdown City . . . because I truly enjoy reading fiction far more than I enjoy writing it, and this stupid contest makes me appreciate the time, energy, logic, revision, editing, and passion that goes into writing a great book.
Rage, rage! Against the dying of the light!
My wife has banned me from ranting about Daylight Saving Time to her, so I'll do it here instead: New Jersey is experiencing the finest fall weather possible-- mid-60s and sunny and dry-- and this lovely sunlight has been stolen . . .. stolen! . . . by these bureaucratic time manipulators who need to justify their job by changing the clocks . . . I could be enjoying several hours of this beautiful weather after school lets out but because we decided to "fall back," now it gets dark at 4:30 PM . . . why? why? why not just leave the clocks on Daylight Saving Time, use lights in the morning, and enjoy tennis, hiking, dog-walking, etc. in the evening . . . this seems like a no-brainer-- plus we avoid the shitty feeling of feeling "off" because the clocks have been moved . . . I just don't get it.
The Midnight Library
I'm not sure if I accept the Borgesian premise of Matt Haig's novel The Midnight Library . . . but I'm also not sure if Nora the narrator-- or Matt Haig himself-- accepts the premise either . . . but the adventure of parallel universes and the many, many, many possible lives of Nora-- the rock star lives and the depressive lives and the addicted lives and the successful lives, the jobless lives and the Arctic lives, heaps and heaps of lives . . . and perhaps this is how the forking paths of time branch, but I think things might tend a bit more towards the mean-- I could be wrong of course, especially seeing the way my best friend and I met our wives (in the middle of the road in New Brunswick, after the bars emptied out) and understanding my life might be completely different if that moment didn't occur . . . but it's worth getting to the end and seeing how things resolve-- because maybe all these possible lives aren't that important anyway.
New Jersey . . . It's Dense
Soccer season is over . . . tragically . . . so Catherine and I went on an adventure today in our newly detailed (and dry) Mazda . . . lots of contrast in a small area:
1) we went to the Jersey Shore Outlets and I bought some golf shirts at the Under Armour outlet because they gave an additional 40% off to frontline workers-- including teachers!-- and a pair of running shoes at Saucony . . . most places are giving big discounts to veterans, teachers, hospital workers, etc . . . wild
2) then we hiked around the Manasquan Reservoir-- quickly-- because we didn't have the kids or the dog;
Sports (Can Be) Extra
Yesterday we played Middlesex in the second round of the state tournament-- they are the two seed and possibly the best team in the section-- they have two huge center backs and the best goalie in the county-- athletically, skill-wise, and in fashion-- and a number of skilled and physical players-- but we only lost 2-1 to them last time (and my son pulled his quad in that game and was out for two weeks) but yesterday we were playing them on their hilly grass field so it was going to be an ugly game-- they like to pack it back and play over the top, but they can also knock the ball around-- the first half we avoided a couple of scary opportunities and we had a couple of nice shots, which their goalie snagged, and so it was 0-0 into the second half . . . my son Alex went in at left-back and a few minutes later someone collided with him and kneed him in his bad quad and he had to be taken out of the game and our only other experienced defensive sub had a midl concussion, so we were down to no subs that could really deal with this level of physicality but we hung on and scored a nice goal fifteen minutes into the second half, to go up 1-0 . . . our big center back has been playing striker (Luke) and he knocked it over to Tekoa, who finished low and away on the super-keeper . . . everyone mobbed Tekoa-- I was so excited, I slipped and fell on the wet grass-- it was mayhem . . . and then, a few minutes later, the head ref decided the game with an absolutely abominable call . . . the ball was rolling into the side of the box and out big striker Luke was trotting after it and the goalie called it and came at it from an angle and he did something very clever: he scooped up the ball and then leapt forward into Luke-- so he initiated the contact (which was very mild) and the ref saw it differently and gave Luke a yellow card . . . it was his second yellow-- so he got sent off and we had to play with ten men-- and we were still generating chances-- our most skilled players, Robin and Matt, were connecting and getting shots off but to no avail and then the inevtiable happened . . . Middlesex scored on a bouncy shot to the corner from outside the eighteen and we were headed to overtime . . . Golden Goal . . . and we were playing with ten men and without our best defender/striker and a few minutes in, on a long free-kick, one of our defenders got thrown to the ground and three big guys got goal side and one of them scored on a header . . . a tough tough loss-- the kids were stunned, they sat in silence on the bench for fifteen minutes and it was an emotional bus-ride home . . ., especially for the seniors and the varsity coach; andf this would be the last away game bus ride I would take with these guys and my older son (aside from tennis season!) and they were truly a great crew to coach and while it was a hard way to go out, at least it was epic and against the best team in the section, but it was an emotional rollercoaster, yikes . . . and while we got knocked out this year, we all fondly remember our undefeated middle school season back in the day . . . sports, sports, sports . . . they're something else.
Valentine Street Massacre
This morning, my son and I absolutely annihilated a couple hundred frost-bitten lanternflies that adhered to the two small maple trees in the front of our house; I would post a picture but the carnage was too gross (and there were some giant wasps feeding on the carcasses . . . so we beat a hasty retreat once we were done with the squishing).
I Should Have Been a Bear
The cool weather is finally here (and wow did I eat a lot today . . . I guess my body is getting ready to hibernate).
Ritickulous
I thought it was cold enough to go for a walk with the dog at Rutgers Gardens this morning-- it was in the 40s-- but apparently the ticks were also enjoying the fall weather . . . one managed to get lost in my stomach hair and the other was on the outside of my sweatpants, making a parasitic bloodsucking beeline for some exposed flesh-- how far north do I have to go to avoid these critters?
The Last Policeman
The Last Policeman, a sci-fi/detective novel by Ben H. Winters, is the literary equivalent of David Bowie's impending-- but not too imminent-- apocalypse song "Five Years" . . . in The Last Policeman, a large asteroid will hit earth in six months time, most likely resulting in the end of civilization, but until then there are murders to solve and existential feelings to confront; the story-- like the Bowie song-- is a masterpiece of the mundane confronting the eschatological . . . but there's no big rush, yet (although plenty of folks are committing suicide or going Bucket List or taking early retirement or settling into a life of drugs and alcohol or embracing conspiracy theories, etc. but this is more background to the matters at hand: a murder and a cop who still believes he has a purpose).
The Water Paradox
Very Dark Shadows
Carol O'Connor's second book in the Mallory series, The Man Who Cast Two Shadows, dwells in darkness: the dark arts, Mallory's grim childhood, coerced abortion, feigned blindness, a litany of the worst of human behavior, and the possibility of deep deception at all levels of relationships, imagery, and motivation . . . but there is a kitty cat!
Whew . . .
When I got in my car yesterday after school, I thought I saw a giant spider on the driver-side floor mat, so I stomped it to death-- pretty scary-- but upon closer inspection, it was just a big wasp-- so I was very relieved.
Gladwell Does It Again . . .
I didn't think I was interested in the new Malcolm Gladwell book The Bomber Mafia: A Dream, a Temptation, and the Longest Night of the Second World War until my friend Cunningham recommended it and i started reading it-- and then I was like: how does this guy do it?-- Gladwell claims he's not the greatest writer, but he's the greatest rewriter, and it shows-- he really knows how to take his material and revise it into something perfectly organized, juxtaposed and memorable-- in this one it's the battle of a moral idea in WWII-- let's bomb precisely so we can take out important wartime industries and avoid civilian casualties-- and a pragmatic approach to war: the shorter the duration the better it is for all nations involved . . . and you know what happened: the firebombing of Tokyo and the nuclear bombs Little Boy and Fat Man-- Curtis LeMay's barbaric practicality won out over General Haywood Hansell's faith in the accuracy of the Norden bombsight . . . the book is just the right length for a history book (I couldn't make it through Thomas Asbridge's definitive history of the crusades, though it's an excellent book, because it's just too damn long) and it lays bare the human error in tactics, strategy, and information during wartime . . . for a longer version of this, read Mark Bowden's book Hue 1968: A Turning Point of the American War in Vietnam . . . the moral of the story is, you had to be there, you had to be brave, you had to be flexible, and you might as well throw out all your convictions because you're involved in humanity's stupidest method of solving national problems.
The Good, The Bad and the Very Damp
I can't even keep track of all this stuff-- yesterday we played Rahway in soccer and had a nice 4-3 win; my older son didn't play because he was injured but my younger son got some minutes because the team is banged up and apparently he played great at the end of the game, won some headers, and threaded a through ball to get the game-winning assist-- but I had to attend the all-county selection meeting as a proxy so I missed the second half of the game . . . and when I drove home at 9:30 PM there was lots of lightning from the impending storm, which I had discussed throughout the day with my children-- but apparently this didn't sink into my older son's brain-- because when he was getting White Rose fries he opened the sunroof of my wife's newish Mazda CX-5-- which we purchased recently because my son totalled our Honda CR-V at the start of the summer-- and my son did not close the sunroof when he got home and this was the wrong night to not close the sunroof, because we had a torrential rainstorm-- whcich we all discussed and prepared for-- so this was a major mental error (unlike his first accident in the rain, which was more of a physical error) and so this afternoon we've been shop-vaccing the car and running a dehumidifier inside and this is on top of the fact that he spilled a bunch of epoxy rocket glue inside the minivan, so it smells like a distillery . . . so basically my son is destroying all our cars.
Wild Weekend
Quite a weekend in our house . . . no internet Friday night (the horror!) because a wire fell and then Homecoming on Saturday-- so our boys got dressed and went to a dance, while I cruised down to DC and met my rugby buddies and-- after many pints of Guinness at the newly gentrified Wharf area of the District, we went to see the New Zealand All Blacks do the haka and dismantle the US Eagles in 15 v 15 full side play . . . the final score was 104 to 14 and it was actually kind of wonderful to watch, the overlaps, the quick decision making, the great runs, the touch on the pop-kicks, etc. and then some tequila was consumed and things got hazy . . . but I'm back home and alive to tell the tale.
Random Soccer News (That Might Only Be Interesting to a Few People)
Tough loss to Calvary Christian on Tuesday afternoon on a rather rough grass field . . . and in an interesting turn of events, my younger son Ian actually started the game-- my older son Alex has a pulled quad so he joined the brigade of starters who sat and watched, injured-- while an oddball line-up of youngsters and the several uninjured seniors tried to patch together a win-- Ian hustled, pressured, got back on defense, and had a few chances-- but couldn't find the net . . . he needs to gain some weight to make a major impact on the varsity field, so he will have to hit the gym this winter (and, even weirder-- this is the first time all season that we are practicing down at Donaldson Park, the park right next to my house . . . it was devastated by Hurrican Ida and the field is finally lined and usable).
Tone? Term? What? Who?
Dave Uses an Umbrella?
Yesterday afternoon my wife and I took the train from New Brunswick to Princeton Junction and then we ran like hell to catch "the Dinky," a two-car train that travels back and forth from Princeton Junction to downtown Princeton-- and, anticlimactically, after we ran like hell to catch the tiny train, it sat there for another ten minutes-- but then it dumped us right where we needed to be-- a two-minute walk from the Dinky Bar & Kitchen . . . we were meeting our friends Mel and Ed there-- and it's an awesome spot, they converted old train station into a bar/restaurant with excellent tap beer and specialty cocktails and a delicious assortment of small, shareable plates-- highly recommended-- and because we took the train, we got to Princeton a bit faster than usual and we avoided driving in the storm (and we could drink copious amounts of alcohol) but the real reason I am writing this sentence is to explain how I have reflected and changed my opinion about something: instead of wearing a hat and a rainjacket-- it was too damned hot for that-- I brought and used an umbrella . . . and this is a big deal for me because nomrally I'm an umbrellist . . . I hate walking near people using umbrellas (they can poke you) and they are annoying to deal with once you get to where you are going, but I am starting to see when they could be useful-- and once we got to the restaurant, I folded it up and put it in the little umbrella stand, like some kind of Victorian lady, and I wasn't wet and I wasn't sweating and I didn't have to deal with a hat, so it was a decent experience so I might add this to my repertoire of annoying accouterments for the weather (like the scarf).
We Are the Walking Dead
Our soccer team has so many injuries-- bad knee, hip flexor, concussion, broken collarbone, pulled quad, etc-- that my younger son Ian got to start today . . . and he was playing well but ten minutes into the game he got elbowed in the face, right under his eye-- pretty much a knock-out punch, and while we bandaged up his face and he went back in, it wasn't for long . . . soon enough he was sitting on the bench with all the other injured folks, including my older son (pulled quad) . . . what a mess (although we did win our first GMC tournament game).
Ice Cream Epiphany
As I was driving to work this morning, I realized the main reason the Median Voter Theorem doesn't work is because voting (like getting an ice cream cone) isn't required-- you can decide not to participate at all-- especially if the ice cream is shitty and the vendors serve flavors that only particular segments of people enjoy . . . so maybe, in order to avoid this kind of absurd brinksmanship and game theory, we need to act like Australia and Belgium, and compel everyone to vote.
Dave Tries to Act Like a Normal Person
Someone at work (who will remain nameless) said they were enjoying the Netflix show "Clickbait" and I watched an episode with my wife and we found it to be a mildly entertaining digital-kidnapping-thriller (and it stars Adrian Grenier! who I hadn't seen since Entourage) and we slowly continued to watch-- though it's often slow and repetitive-- and because I had a theory about who about the perpetrator of the crime, I avoided looking at reviews or talking about the show-- which is VERY out of character for me . . . I normally only watch things that are vetted by both my friends and smart reviewers . . . I don't want to waste my time-- but I decided to act like a normal person and just watch the show and-- SPOLIER-- the ending is absolutely dumbass, so stupid and cheap and I can't describe it without profane ad hominems for the writers that would impugn my good name-- but it seems like the original writers got swallowed up in an earthquake and they hired a bunch of drunk people who had not read or seen the earlier episodes-- and so they introduce a couple of new characters in the fading minutes of the penultimate episode-- a middle-aged childless secretary and her chubby old model-train building husband-- and THEY DID IT . . . she catfished Nick Brewer and then her husband killed him . . . and then they kidnap Nick's kid and the chubby old model-train guy might kill the child . . . holy shit, what a cheap and stupid ending . . . and if I would have just read the reviews I would have saved all this time and rage.
Godot Actually Shows Up
Mini Coke Joke
Last Friday, Kristyna went into the mini-fridge in the office to grab her Diet Coke and she started cursing-- her 12 oz. Diet Coke was missing, but there was a 7.5 oz. mini Diet Coke in its place . . . and while we couldn't solve the mystery of the shrinking soda, I am hoping this was a clever practical joke-- and I would like to replicate this and miniaturize someone else's food-- replace a full sized Hershey Bar with a Hershey Miniature, etcetera (and Kristyna did blame me for the mini-Coke at first, until I convinced her otherwise, because of this incident).
The Week in Some Sort of Review
Looking back, this was quite a week:
1) started on Sunday with an outdoor wedding-- hot but fun;
2) Catherine and I both took off Monday-- she had to get oral surgery and I had to do all the stuff that didn't get done all weekend . . . lamest combined day off ever;
3) Tuesday we had a home game against Timothy Christian-- they weren't very good and we won 5-0 but Alex couldn't attend because he had his court date for his car accident-- the driving with an expired provisional license was waived but he got two-points for reckless driving;
4) Wednesday we had a home game against an excellent South Plainfield team-- Alex played the entire game (aside from when his calf cramped) and we got spanked 4-0; Ian got to play a bit of garbage time and received a pass from Alex streaked down the sideline and megged a defender and then rolled in a perfect pass to the far post (which got skied over the goal) but he should have shot and scored-- then there would have been a brother to brother goal and assist;
5) Thursday we had a day off-- I was supposed to play tennis but my shoulder hurt so Ian subbed in for me (and lost to a guy I've occasionally beaten-- so by the transitive property, I beat Ian . . . which doesn't happen much these days)
6) Friday was an away game at Metuchen-- tons of traffic-- it took 50 minutes to drive the five miles and the bus was hot-- and once again we gave up a goal in the first couple of minutes-- Alex had to play the entire game again because we were missing another defender; our team is really really banged up and we can't seem to score-- we lost this one 3-0 . . . and the goalie saved Alex's butt because after our center back got beaten, Alex lunged in and tripped a kid in the box but our goalie completely layed out and saved the PK . . . and then Alex got a ride home with Catherine because he was going to see his girlfriend's play-- what?-- and there was some miscommunication because I didn't check my phone-- we were supposed to switch cars?-- I had no clue and then once the bus finally got back from Metuchen the football game had started and I found out my van--parked in the school lot-- was parked in by two buses and a marching band and I had to weave through that mess -- and it was dark but I had on sunglasses and I didn't want Ian-- who has his permit-- to try to navigate the tight quarters (I almost hit a saxophone) but once we all got home (Catherine had to go to a wake) we watched the season finale of Ted Lasso and remembered that win or lose, it's a privelege to get to play and coach and watch (and one of the referees at the game has stage four throat cancer-- he's on death's door yet he ran the lines but couldn't talk at all . . . pretty wild, he's spending his final days on the planet reffing high school soccer matches-- I guess there are worse ways to go)
7) today I got to reteach my college essay unit to my son because they don't do it in school-- and then we edited his essay (which was in the present tense, needed a better opening, was too long, required a bit of humor, etc . . . it felt just like school!)
Someday I Will Be Smart(er)
Yesterday I needed the vinegar/oil salad dressing for my salad and I had a choice between two corner cabinets in my kitchen, one way on the left and one way on the right-- and one of the cabinets contains all out spices and baking supplies and such (on a lazy susan) and the other contains all out pots and pans (on a lazy susan) and despite living in this kitchen for a decade, I chose the wrong cabinet (I chose left and the dressing was in the right cabinet).
Soccer IQ
If you coach soccer, play soccer, or a interested in soccer tactics (but you don't want to lose your mind looking at inscrutable charts and diagrams in a book like this) then I highly recommend Dan Blank's Soccer IQ . . . it's chock full of pithy coaching tidbits (including lots of stuff that you probably already intuitively know but did not know how to explain to players) and simple diagrams and concepts and tactical philosophy boiled down to practical application-- I'm sure I'll read both volumes several times and I've already recognized that our team often plays "the impossible pass" and tried to explain how to remedy this.
Mallory's Oracle
Mallory's Oracle by Carol O'Connor is a crime novel released in 1994 (to excellent reviews) and the portrayal of New York City and its weird and wonderful and damaged denizens is very different than the more sanitized Big Apple of today-- the titular hero (or anti-hero) has been orphaned twice-- she was a child of the street . . . "damaged" and she "grew up with distorted mirrors" so though Sgt. Kathleen Mallory is beautiful and smart and a computer whiz, but she doesn't realize her looks and talent-- and when the man who adopted her-- another detective-- is murdered by what appears to be a serial killer, she's on the case (though she's not supposed to be) and she journeys through a world of insider trading, SEC investigations, seances, spiritual scam artists, clever and greedy old ladies, magic tricks, Gramercy Park chess prodigies and spacy geniuses-- the writing is sharp, the plot is really complicated, there's one compelling character study after another and there's lots of great dialogue, like this:
“Why did Markowitz tell all this to you and not me?”
“Oh, you know how parents are. They start to get independent of their children. Then they think they know it all, never need advice, never call the kids anymore. Like it would break an arm to pick up a phone. And you kids, you give them the best years of your lives, the cute years. This is how they pay you back, they take all the horrors of life and keep them from you.”
and if you have the Libby app you can get the book pronto on your Kindle!
Some Recent Stuff
Here's what's been going on:
2) Friday night after the game, I drove down to the beach for a quick vacation with some high school buddies (and one college buddy) and there were six guys and thirteen guitars in the beach house . . . thanks Neal!
3) I rode my friend John's "one-wheeler" and did not die . . . though I felt like I might at first, but it did get easier-- you've really got to relax and it does feel a bit like snowboarding;
Hang On
Someday this week will end and I will go to the beach and meet up with some old friends (and avoid having to help my wife with HP Garage Sale Day . . . a double victory).
Dave Loves Him Some Dave
Post-pandemic-mask-wearing teacher Dave really appreciates past Dave, who recorded various stories and anecdotes during the virtual instruction days-- because present Dave (who wears a mask while he teaches) can cue up videos of past-Dave, telling stories with his face out . . . and-- as you can see in this example-- it's always a surprise to find out what past-Dave talked about during the video (and I know some people don't like hearing their own voice or seeing themselves on video, but I don't have this problem-- in fact, I love watching and listening to myself!)
Long Day (But Lots of Drama)
Long day: extended homeroom, activity fair, away game, bus ride to Spotswood . . . but it turned out to be worth it-- though we were down five starters (Alex had to play the entire game at center back) we came back from a one-goal deficit to be Spotswood 2-1-- our little man Michael Volpert scored a chip shot goal with four minutes remaining after Matt Lu won a ball, made a number of great moves and it played it to him near the outside edge of the box . . . a great victory with no normal varsity substitutes available-- but it's only Tuesday.
The Burden of the Ring
I was covering a class this morning-- an 84-minute class-- and I was bored and checking my phone and at 8:30 AM I got a notification from my Ring Doorbell cam that there was some motion on my front porch, so I activated the live view and I saw a sketchy guy, holding a can of something (which I assumed to be alcoholic) and he was sort of stumbling around, pushing against our new porch railings and posts, careening from one railing to the other and I was like WHAT THE FUCK? . . . there's a random guy fucking around on our porch and I'm watching this-- and then Lola started barking and I activated the intercom and said, "Can I help you?" and then he wandered off and I was really annoyed-- because we had two bikes stolen a few months ago (the reason why we installed the Ring Doorbell) and so I told lots of people about this sketchy guy-- including my neighbors, when I got home from soccer practice, but when I came in and told my wife the news, she said, "Are you sure you didn't see John the handyman? He was over this morning to install some lattice," and then it all made sense-- he was going to do our porch railings, but we hired a friend to do that job-- so he was testing out the other guy's handiwork-- going from one railing to the next, checking the sturdiness of the corner posts-- but if you don't have context, then that looks like a drunk guy, reeling around, using the railings for support-- and maybe he was drinking Diet Coke?-- so I went back across the street and told our neighbors the truth of the matter and I canceled the whole "keep an eye on our front porch" dictum and we all had a good laugh (but I still decided to pay the three bucks a month to have the Ring record all activity because I was really annoyed that I couldn't rewatch the video and reassess my inference).
Dave! with the hangover . . .
Things are Confusing and Complicated
I listen to Sam Harris and find him smart and logical . . . and I also listen to (some) Joe Rogan podcasts, and he seems to have a pretty low bar when it comes to vetting his guests-- and in a recent Making Sense podcast, Sam Harris discusses why he won't invite Bret Weinstein on to talk about covid vaccines and ivermectin-- because Weinstein touted ivermectin on Rogan's podcast-- Vox has a nice article explaining the "dubious" rise of the drug as a miracle treatment . . . and apparently the drug is probably NOT a miracle treatment, but it may have some modest effects . . . and while I'm taking everything Weinstein and his wife Heather Heying say on the podcast with a grain of salt, they are against masks in school-- because kids are mainly going to be fine-- and I would love it if we all the had the choice to take off our masks in school-- though that might not be the best course of action, but I do agree with them heartily about the fact that we should NOT be married to our ideas, not equate science with political teams, and that people on the left should not describe the unvaccinated as impure or disease-ridden-- first of all because some of these people have natural immunity from already having the virus and second of all because that is a really dangerous path to go down and I don't think there's any way back.
Not My Fault (For Once)
Yesterday, we attempted to play an off day JV game (so that we could take a couple of younger varsity players-- we're low on numbers) but ten minutes into the game we got slammed by torrential rain-- so we hightailed it to the bus and drove back to Highland Park (from Middlesex of all places-- we were lucky not to get caught in the floodwaters) and the kids wanted to get dropped off in the Middle School lot because there is some shelter there from the rain-- so I directed the bus driver there, even though my car was parked on the other side of the school, on the street near the front of the building-- so I walked through the rain, carrying the ball bag and my giant coaching bag-- the thunder and lightning exploding around me, and when I got to Fifth Avenue, I couldn't find my van-- I wandered up and down the road, at first wondering if I forgot where i parked and then wondering if the car had been stolen-- but who would steal my disgusting and disgraceful van?-- and then I saw a blue Mazda and wondered if my wife had switched cars, but it wasn't our Mazda-- and by that time I was so wet that my phone wouldn't work-- so I couldn't call Alex or my wife-- and it just kept downpouring, so I got under a tree and managed to dry my phone off enough to call and I found out that Alex had taken the car home when he got caught in the rain at varsity practice-- in order to save his laptop-- and my wife had told him to do this but no one told ME that he took the car-- Alex thought Catherine communicated this to me and my wife thought that Alex had told me . . . so I was really wet and really pissed off when Alex came to get me . . . but it was only water, so I got over it-- and Alex then took the van to some sort of junior prom event, so there was more getting in and out of the car in the rain-- and I slept from 6-7 PM and then from 8 PM to 5 AM-- I was wet and tired, and then when I got in the van this morning to go to work, I soaked my pants-- the seat was sopping wet-- but I didn't feel like changing my pants-- I just threw a towel on the seat-- and first period my pants were very noticeably wet, which my class enjoyed-- but I put a small fan behind me, and that worked and now my pants are dry and my underwear is only a little moist.
Dave Debuts "Creepy White Van" to an Audience of One (Human)
If you're like me (or Linda from Bob's Burgers) you might occasionally sing original songs about whatever the hell is going on right in front of you-- and while Linda will do this right in front of people, I think I only do this when I'm alone-- or when I think I'm alone-- for example: this morning when I was walking the dog in the park in the 6:00 AM darkness and I saw a van-- a white van-- roll out of the park, it got me wondering . . . so while I let Lola loose to run around and sniff the trees in the large grassy patch near the playground, where she generally does her business, and I started singing:
Creepy white van, creepy white van
who is the driver? always a man
creepy white van
and then Lola, who was fifty yards away from me, near a park bench facing the river, starting barking-- barking at a man sitting on the bench, a man I had not noticed-- or I wouldn't have been singing an original song about a van-- this man who was either sleeping one off or resting after an early morning walk or ready clandestine tryst with a lover . . . but whatever he was doing, he probably didn't expect to get regaled with an original tune and then reprimanded by a territorial bitch.
When Canadians Like Maple Syrup
The Hidden Brain episode "Group Think" explains why Canadians like honey and maple syrup equally . . . UNLESS they are reminded they are Canadian (perhaps by watching this commercial) and it also explains why I didn't become a Bruce Springsteen fan until I left New Jersey and went to college in Virginia; it wasn't until then that I was reminded (by mayo on Italian style hoagies) that I was part of a group: central Jersey dirtbags.
Tooziest Toozday
Tuesday is obviously the worst day of the week-- it has none of the earnest go-getter initiative of Monday, none of the hump-day inspiration of Wednesday, none of the thirsty pub-night charm of Thursday, none of the happy-hour/weekend anticipation of Friday . . . and it ain't the weekend-- and this was a very Tuesday Tuesday . . . our new block schedule features 84 minute periods, which is a hell of a long time in the normal world, but even more so in a mask, and I got assigned another period of cafeteria duty-- for a sum total of 84 minutes of cafeteria-duty . . . because, as I found out after I wrote a bunch of irate, all-lowercase, unedited and unvetted emails to administration with lovely vocabulary like "shafted" and "sucks," that if you're off period 3 or period 7, then you're going to end up in the cafeteria for extended amounts of time, because with the block schedule they don't have many teachers off at the same time . . . so I made the best of it and ignored the children and graded as much Rutgers expos stuff as I could, which makes for a brutal Tuesday . . . but it can only get better from here (I'm also tired because we had an epic night game against our rival Metuchen yesterday . . . it went into overtime and ended in a 2-2 tie . . . their goalie laid out and made an incredible PK save with two minutes left, but it was still a good result and Alex played well . . . but wow, today felt like I really had a job, which I guess I do).
L'esprit d'escalier, Sixteen Years Later
Ramble On, Jack, Ramble On
If you're looking for some sensitive and thoughtful fiction, you're probably not going to like Lee Child's first Jack Reacher novel, Killing Floor . . . an ex-military policeman with rambling on his mind wanders into a sleepy Georgia town that turns out to be the center of the world's largest counterfeiting operation, and also the place where his brother was murdered (along with lots of other folks) and so the wandering on his mind turns quickly to vengeance-- and by the time Jack Reacher is through with everyone who has wronged him, his only choice is to ramble on and avoid the investigation . . . because he did not operate within the boundaries of the law or any normal ethics-- and I'm guessing wherever he wanders will turn up more trouble.
Rough Afternoon
My son Alex had a rough afternoon on the pitch today-- it was hot and we were playing a very tough South River team on their insane grass field-- it's part baseball field, part soccer field, with lots of bumps and ramps and hillocks-- and we're used to playing on turf and this team just cut us apart-- and our big center back (who knocked Alex out of the previous game with a head-to-head collision, knocked himself out of this game by planting his nose into the back of someone's head while going up for a header-- it was a bloody mess) and our 3-5-2 formation couldn't handle the skill and speed and wily moves of this mainly Portuguese team-- they knew how to play the proper weight passing into the space on the grass; they knew how to trap bouncing and lofted balls; they knew the simple feints that would work in order to get a defender tied up in the mud; and they knew how to run two players, one after the other, through the ball when it wildly bounced off the random patches of dirt and crabgrass-- but it's better to play a game like this and learn something than not play at all, and luckily, South River is group 2 and we are group one, so we won't run into them in the States.
Hygiene Theater Part II
Acting! In the Hygiene Theater . . .
School is absurd right now-- we wear masks in class, but then we go to the cafeteria and 500-plus kids eat together without masks (and I supervise a section and I snack and eat and drink and wander around and chat with kids, so I'm not wearing a mask) and then we go back to small classes and put a mask on-- and the kids are supposed to have assigned seats (and sign in with a QR code) so they can contact trace if there's a case-- even though the cafeteria (and the auditorium, which is where the sophomores eat) has to be FULL of COVID-- because it's airborne!-- and my wife is in the same boat, with kids eating together . . . but she's not allowed to use a fan . . . anyway, either we're all going to get covid or were going to really bolster our immune systems . . . we shall see.
Looking for the Silver Lining in Chronology
My older son Alex-- a senior in high school-- had a good day on Friday; he learned he was starting at left-back in the soccer game on Saturday-- his first start in a real varsity game (and this is great for him because the team is excellent and mainly composed of super-skilled technical club players and Alex only plays soccer during soccer season-- but he's been playing well, he wins balls in the air, has some speed, a good left foot, and he just surpassed the six-foot mark, so he's pretty big-- so he was very excited to be out there for a home game against rival Spotswood) and then he drove to the movies with his friends and saw Shang Chi and then when he got home, he saw his SAT scores and he was very happy-- he improved 150 points and did especially well in math (and he wants to be an engineer) and then Saturday out on the turf the varsity coach said he was excited at how well Alex had been playing which is always nice, because as the JV coach, it's hard to tout your own kids too much-- it's a conflict of interest-- so I just agreed and told him he had been working hard and was really fit-- and Alex was a JV superstar last season, playing every minute of every game without injury and holding the team together so we could have some fun against generally tough opponents (we are in a conference with schools twice our size because we're competent at soccer) and Alex started the game playing excellent, winning balls on the ground and in the air, stepping to balls, and making some great distribution-- we're only playing three in the back so they can't screw up-- and then he called a head ball and went up for it and the center back, his buddy Luke, who is at least 6 foot three, maybe more, came flying out of nowhere and they clonked heads and Alex had to come off-- he might have a mild concussion or he might have just taken a hard short above his eye-- but he was annoyed that he got hurt in his first varsity start but I told him that it's a long, long season and he'd be back out there and to look on the bright side-- at least he didn't have to study for the SATs with a headache-- it was a great thing that the SATs were a couple weeks BEFORE he got his bell rung.
The Myth of the Starving Artist
According to North Korean defector Yeonmi Park, there's no such thing as a starving artist-- if you're foraging for grasshoppers and wild plants for sustenance in an absurdist dystopian dictatorship, then you've got no energy or brainpower left to consume or create art-- which is just how Kim Jong-un wants it; Park tells her story on the Joe Rogan podcast, and it is by turns horrific and enlightening-- I'm not sure what we can do about the state of affairs in North Korea because they possess nuclear weapons, but Park describes the place as worse than a Nazi death camp . . . this is an amazing episode, but perhaps there are inconsistencies in Park's story . . . although I'm not sure if that matters; she is also highly critical of "Woke" culture and you can understand why-- when you've seen the terror and racism and horrors of North Korea, it must seem that Americans are quibbling about minor affairs.
Trump, Shakespeare, Assassination, Viral Media, Abe Lincoln, Wife-Beating, Etc
James Shapiro's book Shakespeare in a Divided America: What His Plays Tell Us About Our Past and Future is far more fun and compelling than the title; Shapiro, a noted Shakespeare scholar, looks at how American Shakespeare productions in eight different periods of American history reflect the politics and predilections of the times . . . so you've got:
1) Othello in 1835 and themes of miscegenation;
2) the cross-dressing genius of Charlotte Cushman, who apparently played Romeo far better than any man could;
3) class warfare, populist riots, elitism, and Macbeth in 1840s Manhattan;
4) Abe Lincoln's meditations on Hamlet . . . apparently he liked Claudius' confession soliloquy (my offense is rank, it smells to Heaven) better than "to be or not to be"
5) The Tempest and immigration in 1916;
6) feminism, the role of the woman and all that in 1948, with The Taming of the Shrew and Kiss Me Kate . . . the way Shrew was staged often indicated how the director felt about the growing amount of women in the workforce and the role of women in general;
7) adultery and same-sex love in Shakespeare in Love and 12th Night in 1998 . . . apparently major revisions were made to the theatrical version of Shakespeare in Love to make it appropriate for a general movie-going audience-- in the original script, Shakespeare took much longer to realize Viola was a woman and thought he had fallen in love with a man and was confused about his sexuality-- that was the main conflict, but that got stripped down for the 1998 audience, which was just starting to embrace homosexuality;
8) and the wild left/right culture wars of the Trump era, embodied by a version of Julius Caesar wherein a Trump-like figure is assassinated, sparking a firestorm of typical right-wing outrage and internet virality;
and at the heart of this is the fact that America loves Shakespeare even more than England-- and it often evokes our darkest sins in a way that we can handle and discuss: incest, suicide, adultery, racism, sexism, class warfare, democracy, tyranny, etc and it would be a shame if the same thing happened in America that happened in England in 1642-- the theaters were shut down because of civil war between parliament and the crown, ending in the beheading of Charles I . . . hopefully the right won't abandon Shakespeare as elitist melodrama and the left won't abandon him because he was a white male (though the term didn't exist yet) and we'll be able to use him to air our debates and grievances and politics in an artistic and public forum.
Ironic and Idiotic Advice and Action Juxtaposition
The Dress: Revisited By a Morning Person
Be Like Jenson (Not Novak)
I'm a compact guy, so no more following around-- I'm going to hit a compact two-handed backhand . . . and I might even chip it with some backspin occasionally, like that Jenson Brooksby fellow (but what I'm certainly not going to do is try to emulate Novak Djokovich . . . that guy is Gumby).
The Return of the Greased Watermelon!
Hurricane Ida Jersey Flood Pics
Here are some pics of the Hurrican Ida floodwaters in Highland Park and New Brunswick . . . pretty wild-- for two days, our house was riverside:
Route 27 bridge
Donaldson Park tennis courts, drone shot.
What Does the Fox Scream?
I thought that when our coffee maker broke, that was the perfect ending for this summer-- but it wasn't-- the perfect ending was a monster rain event that flooded our basement (and everyone else's basement in the vicinity) so I spent my last night of summer dragging furniture up the basement stairs; shop-vacuuming water from the basement floor; setting up a sump pump in the basement shower; building a tarp and whiteboard tent around a leaky basement window in a monsoon, and admiring the fact that my shed stayed bone dry because of the expert flooring and drainage system I constructed; some irony here-- earlier in the day, the kids and I did a massive deep clean of the house to surprise my wife when she arrived home from her first day of school-- we cleaned bathrooms and sorted shelves and vacuumed stairs and carpets and spun the kitchen table so the carpet wouldn't pop up . . . and the kids were cooperative and hard-working and my wife was duly impressed but it all came to naught, because the house got really dirty again because of the flood-- I'll provide pictures and more tomorrow, but now I've got to go to a birthday event-- but late last night, when the park was flooded and the eamimals had to roam the streets, I saw a couple fox strolling down our street and they started SCREAMING . . . apparently this is what they do-- and then I got up and went to work, while my wife and kids cleaned up from the flood-- my wife's school was canceled and my kids haven't started yet-- and now the park is still flooded and all the roads are closed, an epic way to start the school year.
A Perfectly Apropos Ending for This Summer (but a bit on the nose)
On my final day of summer (but my wife is reporting to work today) the coffee maker broke, which is the perfect end to this summer of lost and dying things.
Penultimate Day of Summer!
I've got to report to work on Thursday, and this is what I've done so far on my penultimate day of summer:
1) went to the dog park at 6:45 AM;
2) took a bus to Clark and assistant-coached a varsity scrimmage-- my son Alex started at left-back and played quite well
3) took a nap;
4) played tennis against a guy who is very similar to me in skill and blew a 4-1 lead and ending up losing in a tiebreaker when we were at 6-6
5) enjoyed a few beers and watched a totally entertaining and disgusting horror movie with Catherin and Ian, Slither.
New(ish) Car!
We picked up our 2018 Mazda CX-5 today from Open Road Honda, we were looking for a CR-V or a RAV4 but we got a great deal (after a lot of broody negotiating . . . fueled by long, hot soccer practices) because it was the end of the month and the Honda dealership was going to sell this car to a Mazda dealership so they could certify it (and it's kind of a weird blue color that doesn't look great online but is perfectly fine in person) and I'm proud to say this is the first car we've ever owned that isn't the base trim model!
Kids, Seinfeld, and Curb
My son and his friend Gary have a hypothesis: if you connect something in class to Seinfeld, your teacher will love you-- and it's generally been true for the two of them throughout high school; they also both love Curb Your Enthusiasm and they've been brainstorming possible Covid episodes-- Larry commenting on someone's below the nose mask-wearing; Larry avoiding someone who sneezed; Larry having to forego contact tracing because he's covering for one of Jeff's adulterous escapades; Larry getting kicked out by Susie for not wearing a mask . . . or perhaps for wearing a mask; Larry staring someone down who he thinks is lying about being vaccinated, etc.
Two Decent Movies You Probably Haven't Seen . . .
No One Ever Told Me This Shit
Our washing machine stopped spinning last week and we couldn't figure out why, but a jovial Hispanic appliance wizard solved the problem in 10 minutes-- for $150 . . . so that's $900 an hour, no wonder he was so sanguine-- after calling our machine "a piece of junk," he used a screwdriver to pry open the front panel and my wife and I actually screamed "ahhhgh!" in unison-- and we meant: holy shit! this is where all the socks went!-- so apparently if you wash socks and underwear in a mixed load with a lot of water, they float to the top and spill out over the tub and impede the motor-- to her embarrassment and chagrin, Catherine's thong was wrapped around the tub and a drive belt-- so once we removed all the socks and underwear, the washer could spin again-- and easy fix-- and the jovial appliance wizard told us something I never heard: we should wash socks and underwear separately, with very little water-- how did I make it 51 years without learning that?
75% Doesn't Cut It
Three out of four times I use the sink, I remember that we have no sink-head on the hose-- our head clogged and died a week ago and we are waiting for a new one from Grohe-- so you have to be VERY careful with the amount of water pressure you use and you have to hold the hose while you rinse dishes . . . if you forget this, you will suffer from some weird property of hydrodynamics; the sink hose turns into a fire hose and shoots a strong stream of water directly at your stomach and crotch, utterly soaking you and the kitchen floor and cabinet-- and while I have often remembered to grip the hose and use the water carefully, there are enough times when I forget (like two minutes ago or last night) and I absolutely soak myself, to my family's delight.
Summer of Dying Things
Our Honda CR-V, our dishwasher, our sink head, our front porch railings, two of our bikes, and now the spin cycle on our washing machine . . . all these things have died this summer (but our buddy Joe rebuilt the front porch, with vinyl railings, so it will last; I replaced our dishwasher and I'm working on the sink hose and sink head; Catherine got a new bike and I'm waiting out the shortage but we've yet to buy a car or get the washer to work . . . this stuff needs to be in order when school starts!)
What Happens to Those Final Girls After the Movie Ends?
The new Grady Hendrix horror novel, The Final Girl Support Group, is both more surreal and meta than his previous novels but also more profound and serious-- the conceit of this fictional world is that the events depicted in the classic slasher flicks of the '80s and '90s actually happened-- Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, etc-- and then the stories were bought by film studios and made into movie franchises-- but the actual girls who survived these horrific events exist long after the slasher genre's popularity-- and these "final girls" have to deal with the trauma of their own lives, and the trauma of seeing their stories used as a disposable art form with (mostly) disposable women being murdered by monstrous men . . . and the book is also a thriller, with plot twists and wild violence and an unreliable narrator and interesting characters, but it's also a take on the objectification of women and the veneration of violence . . . nine axe-splintered doors out of ten.
All Kinds of Emotions, All Kinds of Screens
Last night our family went and saw Hasan Minhaj at the new NBPAC theater in New Brunswick-- he did ninety minutes of stand-up and storytelling, accompanied by some pertinent images and video on the big screen-- while the show was very funny, it was also sincere and confessional-- he described how obsessed he became with going after autocrats (after this incident when he criticized Saudi Arabia after the Khashoggi killing) because of the social media notoriety and how this eventually endangered his family and made him change his ways (somewhat) and there were also a lot of inside jokes directed at the almost entirely Indian audience-- he knew his crowd-- and then we went home and watched an especially emotional episode of Friday Night Lights . . . Riggins quits drinking and has a great game, Smash blows it with the recruiter, Saracen asks Coach's daughter out on a date, and Jason Street wheels himself out on the field at Homecoming . . . so we saw it all last night, in a variety of mediums.
Youth
This week at soccer we alternated three-hour practices with two-hour practices and despite this massive caloric expenditure, my younger son Ian gained seven pounds and grew an inch-- he's now the same height as me (or, as my wife claims, a shade taller-- so now I'm the third tallest person in our family of four).
Pool Tip
If you don't want to get water in your eyes when you're swimming laps, get some open water goggles-- they work much better than regular swim goggles.
Eat This Food!
Crumbly chorizo, delicious al pastor pork, tender carne asada, loaded sopes, thick fluffy gorditas, superb chicken mole, and a variety of tasty tamales . . . if you're anywhere near Highland Park, try the new authentic Mexican place, La Casita!
Sea Isle in a Weekend
Saturday morning, my older son Alex and I drove down to Sea Isle City to try to pack in a mini-vacation before high school soccer went into full swing (Ian couldn't come because he had too many jobs to do and Catherine is down there now) and the plan was to crash with our friends Saturday and Sunday night and then get up at 5:45 AM and drive back home for the timed mile at 9 AM-- these were ambitious plans that made me a bit nervous, but we managed it; we got in two days of beach and alcoholic beverages and skimboarding and skateboarding and boogie-boarding and cornhole and spikeball and impromptu musical jamming and the Tike Bar and LouDogs and Mike's Dog, etcetera and then got up early Monday and made it home for an epic 3-hour practice-- Alex survived the mile, he ran a 6:11 and the goal is to be under 6:15 and Ian-- who never runs unless he's playing a sport, ran an inspired 6:03 . . . but he did not do Sea Isle in a weekend, which may have helped his time (and Alex was out late for the first time with Dom and Nick, who are now college kids, so the times they are a'changing).
People Have Always Been Idiots . . .
Susan Wise Bauer's The History of the Medieval World is a massive and comprehensive chronological overview of recorded history "from the conversion of Constantine to the First Crusade" and my main takeaways, amidst the many names, empires, governances and betrayals-- enough to put Game of Thrones to shame-- is that people were just as absurd back then as they are today: Theodosius tried to keep the Roman Empire united in 380 but all folks were concerned about was the Arian vs. the Nicene take on the divinity of Christ-- it rivalled Monty Python-- the bishop Gregory of Nyssa complained in a sermon that if you asked for some change from a "cloak salesman" they just want to bend your ear about whether the Father is greater and the son is subject to him, etc, etc, so even then people were concerned with ridiculous political and religious abstractions instead of the matter at hand . . . and I also learned that in the larger Roman cities, chariot racing was like stock car racing-- you rooted for a team, not an individual driver-- and the sponsors of that team, which were broken into symbolic colors: red, white, blue and green-- and these boosters-- like soccer hooligans-- hated each other with great zeal, which led to riots and great violence-- 3000 blues wre killed in a 501 AD riot in Constantinople over some chariot race results . . . and this was not uncommon.
Dave Heroically Drives 7.4 Miles (Round Trip)
I had to borrow my neighbor's car today to make it on time for my bloodwork appointment at LabCorp this morning-- another requirement of my turning-50-physical-- and not only do I get dizzy when I think about giving blood, but I was also fasting-- so I'm proud to say I did not crash, dent or otherwise damage the loaner.
Heat Related Memory Loss Miracle!
Folks reported they were on my face yesterday when I left the workshop, but I searched the car and the house and everywhere else high and low and my new Zenni specs were nowhere to be found-- until I checked the pocket of the sports bag and there they were! but why there? Why . . .
Middle School Kids Don't Need Nice Things
I actually did some work today-- the college writing team met up at the middle school, zoomed with our Rutgers liaison, and then planned out the year-- but my main concern was not pedagogical, my main concern was that the middle school has INCREDIBLE air-conditioning, it was so cold in there we had to take a walk outside . . . and this is absurd-- why do skinny little middle-school kids doing earth science need such excellent climate control while the larger high school kids doing AP Physics have to endure the heat (and the heat is coming, yuck).
My Sternum Hurts (But Our Dished Are Clean)
Yesterday, I removed a dead dishwasher and installed a new one-- and it works!-- but my sternum hurts (the same thing that happened to me when I surfed a bunch in Costa Rica) from lying on my stomach fiddling with plumbing and drainage hoses and hot water spigots . . . anyway, we're trying to get back to the same amount of possessions we had before bad luck and the pandemic supply chain screwed us over . . . but used car prices are still through the roof and there is still a bike shortage, so while we're back to saving water and doing less dishwashing related labor, we're still not back to normal transportation-wise.
More Bang for Your Butt?
I got my fifty-year-old physical this week and the doctor was really pushing the colonoscopy-- I asked him about pooping in a box but he said that's not as reliable and you have to do it every year-- while a colonoscopy is good for ten years and because of the prep, it is a "complete reset for your colon"-- yuck-- and then he drew some pictures that made me dizzy and said that of any procedure, the colonoscopy is "the most bang for your buck" and then-- and he was trying to be optimistic, but I found it disturbing-- he said, "we like to start them now at 45, so you get one at 45, 55, 65, 75 . . . and then you're done" . . . so four colonoscopies and then you get to die!
Ouch (Momentarily)
Just before my son and I were about to play tennis, a wasp (or a yellowjacket?) stung my ring finger-- and it really hurt-- but just for a minute and then it totally went away (and wasps don't leave their stingers behind) and I think this pain and suffering inspired me to hit some excellent forehands.
New (Old) Music
I rerecorded an old song of mine with my new DAW (Logic) and my new AI mastering software (Ozone) and the AI drummer that comes with Logic and the result is pretty good-- I wish I could find the old version to play them side-by-side, but I'm positive the end result wasn't as crisp and couldn't played as loud without distortion-- while I'm definitely down on most pop-technology, especially Facebook and Twitter, it's a great time for audio-- whether podcasts, your own music, or the stuff your friends make and immediately post (and you don't have to LOOK at audio, which is the best thing about it).
Yuck
After a lovely respite for vaccinated folks, mask-wearing is required again for all humans at the East Brunswick Library.