Tochi Onyebuchi's sci-fi novel Goliath is dense, myriad, multidimensional, Biblical, and socially relevant; it is written as a sequence of vignettes, interspersed with articles and journals and first person accounts-- it's not easy reading and I wish the font was bigger but it tackles a dystopian ecologically devastated earth from the perspective of minorities in a way I've never read before, so while it certainly wasn't as fun as The Expanse novels, it's a more profound look at what's going to happen to those left behind.
Is It Spring Yet?
Chilly match this morning in South Plainfield but I had the bright idea of moving the start time from 9 AM to 10 AM-- which didn't help a bit-- but we managed another 3-2 win . . . I don't think there are going to be any easy matches this season in the White Division; Alex struggled with my racket (he cracked his last week) but Ian had a nice win at first singles, though his leg started bothering him at the very end of the match; they only had four courts and we won three of the four so second doubles played tiebreaker sets (10 points) and though our guys lost, I think in a real match they would have won, so that bodes well for next time . . . anyway, we remain undefeated, though we have a pending loss when we finish the Metuchen match where Ian was hurt, but DECA is looming.
TV is Good When You are Sore
My core is still sore from the yoga class yesterday-- so I'm doing lots of TV . . . as it is the last days of my Spring Break; Cat and I are binging Mare of Easttown-- I shouldn't complain about a sore core after watching that show, so many tragedies and Kate Winslet is so good at portraying them; we are watching the trippy third season of Goliath as a family; I am watching old Atlanta episodes with Ian, and I watched the new Atlanta episode with Alex.
Dogs Are Smart (People Too)
This morning, when Lola and I arrived home from our morning constitutional, I had forgotten that we left through the back and so the front door was still locked; normally I don't realize this error until I've undone her leash and I say "backyard!" and she runs around the house to the backyard, but this morning, when she heard me pull the front door and it didn't open, she ran around to the backyard before I even told her to-- pretty clever for someone who can't discern her reflection from another dog-- and I was pretty smart this morning, too-- I went to an hour yoga/pilates class with my wife and I learned that not only do I need to get more flexible but also that my core ain't up to snuff either (and I also learned that when you spend two hours at the gym and then get lost going to the bagel place afterward, that though you think you can eat an everything bagel with cream cheese and a biali and egg sandwich, that's really not possible).
Oof
Overserved myself last night-- we began pub night at the Beamsdorfer, looking at some oil paintings of the Raritan done by Sleepy Dan's friend when she stayed at his house for a month-- and there were drinks and wine and appetizers, and there was a free keg for all the friends of Erik P. at Pino's but, unfortunately, the beer was some kind of delicious super-strong Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale (8.2%) and it did me in (but not before we did a bunch of one-legged balancing tricks, to the chagrin of the bartenders-- old people shouldn't get that wound up.
The First Rule About First Singles . . .
My son Ian had the match of his life Tuesday, got hurt Wednesday, and got to sit out and watch his brother play first singles Thursday . . . and when his brother got slaughtered by a very nice excellent player, Ian got to say: " you see what I have to deal with at first singles?"
A Win and a Loss
Despite a wacky line-up, we cruised to an easy 4-1 victory over Spotswood, and we remain undefeated-- Boyang had to play doubles because of his gimpy leg and Ian had to bow out of a great first singles match because he pulled something behind his calf; he had battled back against an excellent player, using the moonball as a frustrating tactic, and was ahead in the tiebreaker when he pulled the muscle . . . it's a long season and we had the match wrapped up, so he wisely stopped playing-- last season, Ian beat this kid twice, but both were close matches and ended with the Spotswood kid bowing out due to injury-- and we're supposed to have another match tomorrow and we are banged up and missing players-- so I am doing the rain dance and hoping for an Easter resurrection of all my players.
Still Undefeated! But Defeated at Scheduling . . .
Holy cow . . . no one told me about the insane scheduling that's involved with tennis-- tennis players are involved with EVERYTHING . . . DECA trips and concert choir and robotics and orchestra and Environmental Club and internships-- we're piecing a team together each and every match (until after this weird separated Spring Breaks . . . when all the schools have different Spring Breaks, then no one has a Spring Break) but we salvaged a big win today over rival Wardlaw-Hartridge (who beat us twice last year) and both our doubles teams won (and Sapir and Michael won quickly enough that Sapir could make his orthodontist appointment! a great moment in sports) and Boyang cramped up again but I used this fact to motivate our second doubles team-- I told them they had to win quickly because that would cement our victory and we could pull Boyang off the court-- and they did it!-- and Ian played the match of his life at first singles and beat an excellent player 6-3, 6-4 . . . the highest rated player he's ever beaten and so now we are 2-0 but we've got a long couple weeks ahead of us and we're never going to be at full strength (and I think Boyang is going to have to play doubles tomorrow because of his leg).
Weird Spring Break
I am on Spring Break this week, but my wife and kids have school (they don't have Spring Break until next week) and we still have tennis practice and matches, so I can't do anything major; once everyone clears out, it's just me and the dog at home during the day-- I took her to the dog park in the morning and chatted with the morning dog park crowd, then I went to the gym, and then I screwed around, did the Quordle and the Wordle and all that, did the dishes and the laundry, recorded some music, took a nap, but then I had to run tennis practice because our match got canceled (but we have three more matches this week) and so I watched a bunch of tennis videos to prepare for that (we played some really fun mini-games) and now I'm back home, enjoying a beer and cooking dinner, with very little stress because I don't have work tomorrow but it is odd to be the only one in the house-- besides the dog-- that isn't worried about work (and I did have some added stress when I listened to Joe Rogan interviewing David Mamet . . . while I love Glengarry Glenross, that guy is very angry for a well-to-do old man).
Rocks Are Heavy
It's more fun to pilfer one rock at a time from the park, then it is to wheelbarrow a bunch of free rocks in a pile by the public works building all the way back up the hill to my house.
Atlanta = Black Seinfeld
When Donald Glover's brainchild Atlanta isn't being totally weird (like the recent Black Mirror reparations episode) it reminds me of Seinfeld:
Darius is, of course, Kramer-- and the episode about the Steve McQueen poster where Earn trades his cell phone at a pawn shop and enters the world of Darius and the dogs is a perfect example of this;
Earn is George-- poor, jobless, a mess with women, looking for purpose, and angry at the systems of the world;
Alfred (Paper Boi) is Jerry, the straight-man performer who usually has the most common sense of the bunch;
Van is Elaine-- a tough candid beautiful broad with an entangled past with one of the main characters, but no solid relationship with any of them and her own aspirations;
it's one of my all-time favorite shows, up there with Curb and Seinfeld and The Wire and The Shield, just awesome . . . don't miss it.
The Wild World of HP Sports
The rainy weather finally broke today, allowing us to play our match against Edison Academy-- a nerdy math magnet school with a lot of tennis players-- and things started chaotically and just kept getting messier; I was driving over with my son Ian when my older son Alex texted-- the one bus that Highland Park runs did not show up, and this is the bus that takes kids to the townhouse complex near the courts, so I turned around and picked up Alex and his buddy Boyang . . . so now I was driving first, second and third singles to the match, but Boyang didn't have his racket, so I dropped him off and headed to the courts-- because the other team was already there; the plan was that I would unload the equipment and then Alex would take the car and go back and pick-up Boyang; we arrived and Edison Academy was there in full force and we only had a couple of players present; I knew we were missing our second doubles team (Jewish Holiday) so we were already short players to begin with, but then I couldn't find Jakob or Ethan; soon enough, however, I was directed to where Ethan was splayed out on a bench-- he had crashed on his pennyboard (a little fast skateborad) and had some serious road rash on his shoulder, knee, and hand . . . Alex just got back with the van and Boyang, so I ran and got the First Aid kit and cleaned him up and patched him up as best as I could, but he was in no condition to play; Jakob did arrive, but he had to ride his bike through the park, which was totally flooded-- so he was biking through two feet of water-- and, a true Highland Park athletics story, we now had to replace Ethan with Theo, a novice at tennis and a freshman who had never played a real set of tennis in his life . . . and then I learned from the coach that this was just a scrimmage as they hadn't officially joined the GMC, which was a relief, so while we got beat in every position, it was competitive all around-- Ian was having a great match but had to bow out because of an ankle injury and Alex and Boyang squandered leads to excellent players, and first doubles took a set before losing and Theo and Isaac held their own; anyway, it's Friday and I'm now officially on Spring Break (even though we have four tennis matches in a row next week) and will get to spend some quality time with the dog while my kids and wife are at school.
The Nineties . . . Whatever
If you came of age in the 1990s then it really helps to read a book about all the stuff you didn't pay attention to . . . all the stuff you didn't bother to read about or see on TV or develop opinions on because you were snowboarding or rock-climbing or going to Lollapalooza or whatever; Chuck Klosterman wrote this book and whether you grew up in the 90s or just want to understand Generation X, I recommend you read it; I was born in 1970, so my first decade as an adult happened in the 1990s . . . and I did not vote in a presidential election-- why bother when all politicians were sell-outs?-- and there was nothing worse in the 90s than to be a sell-out . . . although Klosterman points out for every Kurt Cobain there was a Garth Brooks . . . I actually told my first department head, when she was making some sort of workplace demand, that the only reason I came to work was to earn money so I could go on snowboarding trips (she found this amusing) and Klosterman reminds us that this was the last time period when it was fine to NOT know stuff-- there was no magical device on which you could look everything up and also look up every take and opinion and spin about that thing-- we would get into the same argument time after time when my friends were all drinking: did peanuts grow underground or above ground? and then we'd look it up and then we'd forget and argue about it again . . . Klosterman revisits the big stuff-- Waco and Tupac and Tarantino and Jordan-- and lots of fun little things that you may or may not remember (Liz Phair, The Day After Tomorrow novel, Biosphere 2, tons of TV and music and movies, etc) and he finishes with the Bush/Gore election and how no one thought it mattered as it happened-- the two guys were SO similar-- but then in the ensuing chaos and resultant Supreme Court decisions-- which happened along party lines-- lines were drawn and sides formed, and then he has a cool set piece: he runs through all the front pages of newspapers on 9/10/2001 and they are so various: from missile defense to KFC's strategy in China and he reminds us that the world was still big and various and unknowable but the nice thing was America was on top and the economy was humming and then the next day nineteen men with boxcutters passed through airport security and everything changed and the complacent, whatever vibe of the 90s collapsed with the Twin Towers.
Dave Breaks the Rule
As many of you know, I am generally an advocate of the Golden Rule of Food Hygiene:
Never leave perishable food out for more than 2 hours
but today after school, I broke the rule . . . once again, Ian forgot to eat the hardboiled egg that my wife made (and peeled) for him this morning and I hadn't eaten lunch, so when I saw it on the counter I grabbed it and inhaled it (so quickly that I got the hiccups) and while I did some research and you should NOT eat peeled boiled eggs that are left out in the danger zone (between 40°F and 140°F) but so far so good, I'm writing this sentence, I'm not in intestinal distress, and I will probably follow the rules in the future.
A Good Start
It's always nice to start the season with a win, especially if it's your first win ever as a varsity tennis coach, so I was especially appreciative of the effort the tennis team put in today against a very tough JFK squad; as usual, it all came down to Boyang, in the third set, and he was cramping in both legs-- but he came through in the clutch and won 6-4, giving us a three to two win on a cold day . . . which is where spring sports in New Jersey always begins-- and it always ends when it's too hot and humid to hold onto the racket.
A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Do Again
We met some friends at Flounder Brewing Company in Hillsborough yesterday, and the beer was great (especially the Fred IPA, the Brown Ale, and the Black Emerald) and the atmosphere was even better-- the tasting room is rustic, all wood and big rough-hewn beams, and there are several nice patios and dogs are allowed-- eventually, a bluegrass-style band started playing and it was hard to tell you were in central Jersey (unless you listened to the conversation) and then, once we had sampled the beers, we wandered ten yards over to Bellemara Distillery and the drinks they made from their single malt gin and single malt "spirit" were, incomprehensibly, even better than the beer next door . . . I had a Herbaceous, which had Thai Basil, Star Anise, Lime, Jalapeño, Lemongrass Syrup, and their single malt gin-- yikes it was good-- so we will be returning to this little complex on the way to the Sourlands, it's scenic, only twenty-five minutes from Highland Park, and feels like a little vacation.
Word in One!
I know nothing is more boring than hearing a grown man's Wordle journey BUT . . . this morning I awoke and a new opening world popped into my head-- a very Dave word, as Zman said . . . a word that we often use in Creative Writing, a word made famous by this website-- and it turned out that this rather odd word was THE word of the day . . . which is actually kind of sad because I didn't get to play Wordle, really . . . my wife said I should play the lottery but I think I SHOULDN'T play the lottery because all my luck is used up for the day.
Worth the Spot
Stacey drove me to the library today during school so I didn't have to give up my pole-position parking spot (I need to exit the school in a hurry because I coach tennis in my hometown) and then we stopped at Wawa and I bought her a well-deserved coffee . . . but she also insisted that I buy a jumbo-sized bag of Sour Patch Kids for the English Office, which I did . . . and I ate a bunch of them and realized that though they are delicious, there's no difference in flavor between the different colors-- and we verified this with a Cunningham blind taste test-- and my pole-position spot worked and I got out of the school in a hurry and made it on time for the van-ride to the match in Edison and wow was it cold and then it rained and then it dried and we got started and then it rained again and we got postponed.
F U Cells and Formulas
At least some girl in my college writing class knew how to fix the Rutgers Excel spreadsheet . . . because I sure as hell don't know how to use Excel (I'm an English teacher, not an accountant!)
Potpourri
I returned to my old stomping grounds for a tennis scrimmage match today and while the match was a great success tennis-wise (Ian, Alex, and Boyang won their singles matches, as did our second doubles team-- against a school in the highest division, a school five times our size) but Boyang left his expensive blue puffy winter jacket at the court and he didn't realize until we were well on our way back to Highland Park-- so we'll see how that turns out, hopefully, the coach grabbed it-- and I had a meltdown at school because of this insane Excel spreadsheet that all the Rutgers college writing teachers need to fill out-- what a pain in the ass-- I was ranting and raving about it so much that my boss just ignored me and left (very wise of her) but Brady had a decent solution-- we'll only put the kids on it that want Rutgers credits; also, Stacey had a different Wordle word than the rest of us (we all had "stove" but Stacey had "harry") and I solved it for her-- with some help from Smurphy-- and we figure Stacey is either dead or living in an alternate universe . . . and people are starting to get used to us walking backwards up the terminal.
Something Spooky
Batman: The Long Halloween, by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, is a dark, moody, and surreal graphic novel-- and it's got all the usual villains; the story of how Harvey Dent became Two-Face; several organized crime families; Arkham Asylum; and a serial killer named Holiday . . . who commits grisly murders on holidays . . . highly recommended if you're looking for something fun to read (and your eyes are tired from grading essays).
Tennis Anyone?
I thought it might get up to 45 degrees today-- that was the initial weather report-- but instead the high was a brisk 38 and the winds were nearly 20 mph . . . which made for an interesting tennis practice, but we reviewed some doubles strategy (I made the kids watch a video and take a quiz yesterday, as it was 30 degrees and too cold to even attempt practice) and played for as long as we could stand it; tomorrow is our first scrimmage, so hopefully it will warm up a bit and we can shed the winter gear and work up a sweat (I certainly haven't needed my wristbands).
Not That Sick
I've got some kind of cold or allergies or sinus thing, so I'm all stuffed up and I have a sore throat-- but luckily, I tested negative for COVID . . . and-- also luckily-- I'm not so sick that I can watch "Is It Cake" with my wife and younger son-- I'd have to be in a fever dream delirium to watch that nightmare.
Dave The (Pretty) Good Samaritan
I was on my way to the store, and I was in a bit of a rush because I wanted to get some chili cooking and I did not plan ahead and defrost any meat so I had to buy some unfrozen meat, and while I was driving by the synagogue near the intersection of Third and Benner, I saw an older man sitting on the ground and a woman crouched behind him and their body language was so weird that I stopped the car and got out and asked them if everything was okay . . . and it was not, the man had been visiting the woman-- he drove from Manhattan-- and he was walking back to his car, which was two blocks up, and he felt dizzy and collapsed, but then he said he was feeling better and we tried to get him up, but he collapsed again, so I called 911 and I stayed there until a policewoman came-- and she had actually given him oxygen a few minutes previous and then he seemed okay, and then the ambulance came, so I took off . . . and I might not have stopped in the first place if we hadn't just read an excerpt from Malcolm Gladwell's book The Tipping Point in class, in which Darley and Batson's "Good Samaritan" experiment is described . . . and the gist of the findings are thus: if you are in a hurry, you are less likely to help someone in trouble, even if you are a seminarian about to do a presentation on the parable of "The Good Samaritan"-- fairly ironic, BUT since I knew about the experiment, I was able to short-circuit the impulse to let someone else take care of the issue-- though I was in a rush-- and so I DID stop and help . . . my knowledge of human nature helped me to reverse typical behavior (so I didn't really stop to be helpful, I stopped because I didn't want to behave like the ignorant seminary ding-dongs in the experiment . . . but I did stop and help as much as I could, which makes me a pretty good Samaritan).
Caliban's War: Expanding on the Expanse
My memories of The Expanse TV show and the series of novels are beginning to combine and unravel-- perhaps I have been infect by the protomolecule and soon I will be paid a visit by Detective Miller-- anyway, I can't help imagining all the folks from the show as I read the books, and this one (Caliban's War) gets far more in depth with the politics between Earth, mars and the Belt and there are many more scenes with protomolecule monsters; this book ends with the formation of the Ring (which might be in Season Three of the show?) and I think I will be forging ahead at some point, and perhaps even checking out the prequels, as this is some kick-ass sci fi-- nice job James S. A. Corey (including the Shakespeare allusion in the title, in reference to the half-man/half-monster protomolecule monster soldiers).
He's Your Pusher (Final Tennis Notes of the Winter Season)
Today, in the last match of the EBRC Winter A-League, I played Chinmoy for third place-- we were both 7-4, I think, and folks were excited to see us play because we are both known for getting everything back-- but Chinmoy is more of a classic pusher/moonballer while this week, I've been teaching the high school players how to beat that kind of player, so I've been practicing along with them-- basically, you need to abandon your normal game plan-- if the moonballer hits you a moonball, hit a moonball back and sneak up to the net-- you'll most likely get an overhead or a swinging volley-- and in general, you need to hit the ball deep and up-the-middle with heavy topspin and be very patient, then when you get a shallow ball, you can slice a short shot to the backhand side and rush to the net; Chinmoy also has a directional flat serve that he can hit to your backhand or off the side on the deuce serve, but as long as you poke it back fairly deep, he's not going to kill the next shot; so I used all the strategies and I beat him twelve games to two . . . I've never run to the net so much in a match, never hit so many overheads and swinging volleys, and I definitely ended up in no man's land once in a while, but it really disrupted his game-- he wants to hit it back and forth forever and then maybe hit a weird spin shot but I made the point go fast when I could, and I hit the ball deep with topspin when I couldn't waited to throw him off balance and get to the net, so I was very happy with my mental game (and my leg is not 100% yet but it held up) meanwhile in the championship match on the court next to us, Rey and Dhiraj were in a battle that went to a tiebreaker, then there was a disputed call and they almost came to blows and there was some chest-bumping and lots of cursing -- and while Dhiraj won the match, they both lost their minds-- you have to remember tennis is a cooperative sport, even though you are competing against the person you are playing, and you need to remember the big picture (no one wants to play with a lunatic).
Two Things I learned Today from Podcasts
Two things I learned today:
1) Freakonomics taught me that we all need to stop tik-tokking and playing video games and start hunting white-tailed deer because white-tailed deer cause between one and two million vehicle collisions per year . . . or we need to embrace wolves, which do a decent job of culling the population and patrolling near roads, which make deer retreat (and wolves don't seem to get hit by cars very often)
2) Lydia Davis, on Conversations with Tyler, taught me that the English language is wonderful in its variety because you can use straightforward and visual Anglo-Saxon words like "underground" or you can utilize the Latinate counterpart, such as "subterranean"-- depending on if you want to sound more abstract and intellectual, or more blunt and muscular.
Right According to Plan
So things are preceding as expected:
1) Ian beat Alex in the three-set challenge match to determine first and second singles on the tennis team;
2) Boyang beat Raam so we have the same top three singles players as last year-- so now we can get down to hashing out the doubles teams;
3) I got in hot water when my wife was chastising the children for not checking their email and signing up for some job-training meeting because I inadvertently called my wife an idiot . . . I was trying to make the point that efficient people check their email once a day-- but they really check it that one time and reply back to whoever needs replying to and deal with whatever issues are there-- and then they don't check again until the next day, but I somehow said, "those people are idiots who check their email all day long" and my wife said, "I'm one of those people" and I tried to pontificate some but I just came off mean and judgy . . . so I just need to keep my mouth shut after tennis because I'm dumb and tired (and I had just gotten off a phone conference with a senior girl's parent-- a senior having a conference!-- and I was fairly mean to the day because he wanted his daughter to get credit for some very old assignments and he wanted me to give her another opportunity if she didn't do well on the upcoming paper and I told him she was an adult, you couldn't force her to do things, and the paper was being evaluated on the Rutgers rubric and it would be graded once, calibrated with Rutgers, and that would be the grade . . . so I was in a bad mood).
Tennis vs Soccer
I have coached soccer my entire adult life and can organize and arrange a practice for four to forty people in my sleep, but I am finding tennis to be a different animal entirely-- practice is much more chaotic and disorganized: there are challenge matches going on, and they end at various times; there are drills and fun games; there are balls EVERYWHERE; there's a court for our absolute beginners, who are just working on hitting the ball; plus, I try to work with some kids individually on particular shots . . . and there's no culminating scrimmage to end things-- practice start out organized but slowly fall apart as different matches and drills end at different times, so then you can end practice with whacky large group games like "around the world" and "lob doubles touch the net or fence" challenge and maybe some fitness . . . I really like coaching tennis so far, but I'm learning to go with the flow a bit and I can't wait for our first scrimmage to see the kids in action.
Suspicion Confirmed
As I was leaving the dog park this afternoon, I walked past three witches-- or at least I assumed they were spellcasters of some sort . . . they were wearing all black, had on Goth outfits, and they had the aura about them-- and one was carrying an odd black wooden box, and carrying it in a significant formal manner-- and since they were smiling at Lola (she has that effect on people, even witches) I asked what was in the box and the box-carrying witch replied, "ritual gear!"
Tennis and Scooping
Weird tennis match this morning-- I hurt my quad last week playing soccer, so I promised myself I wouldn't run too hard at tennis this morning because I need to stay healthy for coaching tennis, and I played a good player this morning, Jonathan, a skilled and fit Asian guy in his thirties who has played a lot of tennis and I was hoping he'd kill me so I wouldn't get competitive and hurt my leg, but in between killer shots, he made some unforced errors and near the end, I was ahead 7-6 but he tied it at 7-7 and we had to play a tiebreaker-- and my leg was really starting to get tender, but I went ahead 3-0 in the tiebreaker, only to finally lose in the end 7-5 . . . and the whole time I was trying not to run down drop shots or get into long rallies and I'm just glad I survived without injury-- though I really could have beaten him if I was at full strength . . . and then I got bagels for my family and my wife gave me a very complicated order involving a "scooped out" bagel, a term which I never heard but seems to be something they are familiar with at the bagel shop.
Ring Out the Bells
Let it be known that Dave put in a full work week-- five full school days, four tennis practices (one canceled because of rain), the filling out of the brackets, the watching of the busting of the brackets, and several coverages (including a reverse schedule Friday double coverage, complete with car relocation).
I Am Sleepy
Tragic double overtime Rutgers loss to Notre Dame last night . . . and the lateness of the game made it so much worse; Alex and I stayed up and watched the entire nightmare and we knew Rutgers was in trouble when the game went past midnight and into St. Patrick's Day-- you don't want to play The Fighting Irish on St Patrick's Day-- it seemed like Rutgers hit the game winning shot four or five times-- Geo Baker, Ron Harper hit two insane three pointers, including a bank shot, Caleb McConnell hit a clutch shot, and Paul Mulcahey . . . but Notre Dame answered every time, ending a great era of Rutgers basketball . . . but at least it ended with an epic game.
Where Do memories Go When You Can't Recall Them?
Ian didn't have the best day at tennis practice today-- perhaps because he had a dentist appointment at 7:00 AM to have a cavity filled and then ate a spicy chicken sandwich from the new spicy chicken sandwich place right before practice-- but otherwise, things went well . . . although I'd like to remember the secrets I learned when I read Timothy Gallwey's classic The Inner Game of Tennis: The Classic Guide to the Mental Side of Performance to pass these along to the team . . . but I don't.
It's All Happening in Dave's Brain
Things are pretty wild right now in my consciousness-- there's Semantle and Wordle and Globle and Worldle, plus transferring my Henry IV plans from analog to digital and learning to coach varsity tennis (and a bunch of healthy eating because my wife spoke to s nutritionist) and Ian starting to prepare for college applications and Alex is figuring out his Rutgers stuff . . . I keep thinking next year will be the one where it's easier, where everything is figured out . . . but I'm not so sure that's ever going to happen.
I Blame the Time Shift
My knee hurt last night, probably a combination of my tennis match and all the weather changes, so when I woke up this morning, I figured I would just go to the gym instead of playing indoor soccer-- but then I looked at the stupid clock and it was almost time for indoor soccer-- because of the stupid time change-- and my knee didn't hurt so I figured I'd get one more session in before I was too worn out from tennis practice so I went and I played great in the first few games-- two-game winning goals and a key assist, so our team got a really long run (eight-minute games, winner stays on) and then after playing for about an hour, just after I tried to banana bend a right-footed cross, I sprinted out towards a ball and tweaked that same quad-- my right quad-- that I hurt last tennis season . . . but this time, I stopped right when I felt it-- and I don't think it's too bad so I'm not behaving as poorly as I did last winter . . . I took some naproxen, iced it down, and I'm going to take it very easy at tennis practice all week; while I am trying to stay in good spirits about this minor setback, I am also angry at the state government for stealing an hour of my sleep and screwing up my life-- and for this, I will never forgive them (perhaps I need to move to Indiana, where the time shift does not exist).
Another Saturday, Another Tennis Match Against Barry
The Saturday morning tennis schedule has gotten weird-- people are injured or have dropped out, so I played Barry again this morning-- and while I was always ahead handily and beat him 8 - 4, he's a tough old sonofabitch-- he's 66!-- and he was hitting his serve well and some weird angle shots that had me running back and forth-- but I actually hit a few aces; I got to the net and never missed an overhead; and while my cut backhand is still erratic, I was hitting my two-hander deep with some topspin-- I was working on just turning my back to start the stroke . . . I was struggling a little with his serve, I kept hitting floaters back-- and at the start, I hit a few shots without enough spin, so they floated out on me-- I've got to be confident with my follow-through . . . but I definitely got a confidence boost from my first day of coaching, I'm mired in tennis drills and practice plans, etcetera and it can only help my game (perhaps).
An Old Dog Learns New Tricks
A week-and-a-half ago I turned 52 and I was ready to turn it in and retire . . . but apparently that's not in the cards yet as my stupid kids are just smart enough to go to college, so it looks like I've got to carry on and learn some new shit-- today I coached my first varsity practice; it went fairly well, with some help from my older son Alex (he is a captain along with his buddy Boyang) but I will say it's a bit different than soccer-- there's a lot of equipment: hoppers and balls and such-- and there's a lot going on, multiple courts, multiple drills, multiple skills . . . today we worked on our forehands and did some serving and then played a fun game called Swarm and finished with some fitness; I also learned that tossing a football with players is a great way to analyze their serving form (check out the video).
Work: A Place Where They Enjoy Dave
When you take a little mid-week vacation, at home no one really misses you-- Catherine and Ian were mired in mid-week dilemmas and chores and didn't really want to hear about the fun (but disastrous on the weather side) trip Alex and I took . . . I just had to jump back into the routine-- cook, do the dishes, monitor homework and SAT prep, do laundry, help kids with their job interviews, etc-- but I will say when I returned to school this morning it was the opposite: Cunningham and Powers said there was no joy at school while I was gone and my students complained about how boring it was without me . . . so that Harold Kushner quip about how “No one ever said on their deathbed 'I wish I'd spent more time at the office.' ” might be dead wrong.
In Like a Lamb, Out Like a Lion?
Alex and I decided to take a last snowboarding trip up to Belleayre to celebrate his acceptance to college (Rutgers Engineering) and when we left NJ on Monday at 4 PM it was 76 and balmy, we drove through major rain on the Thruway, then when we got to Big Indian it was 56 and very very windy-- like trees being blown onto the highway windy-- then there was massive rain on our way back from Brio's in Phoenicia, the next morning there was some snow and the mountain was a sheet of ice-- we skied down, went up the gondola, traversed a windy icy ridge and skittered down a slick icy trail and then promptly got a refund-- the conditions were too crazy-- but when we drove the ten miles to Phoenicia, it was beautiful, so we did a hike that overlooked the town-- and it looked really familiar because it WAS . . . and we realized that things had really come full circle, as we were doing the same hike in Phoenicia that we did way back in the fall of 2014-- when Alex was 10 and Ian was 9 and now he's 18 and going to college-- and then we went (returned) to the Phoenicia Diner (amazing) after doing the hike . . . and we were warm on the hike because it was 38 and sunny-- and then we took a nap and did another hike, as it was crisp and sunny like a fall day-- and then we watched Fargo that night-- Alex is really into watching good movies now and has this Letterbox app which he chats endlessly about-- he's also got Boyhood on his list, but I told him to wait until the school year was over and watch it with Cat and me-- and then the next morning we endured even more weather-- snow in the morning, enough ice on the mountain that we stopped after an hour and got another refund-- so we've got a lot of credit for our return to Belleayre-- and then snow, sleet and freezing rain all the way home . . . so basically in two days we experienced an entire year's worth of precipitation and temperature-- but we had enough good food and conversation and nostalgia and hiking (and about two hours total of snowboarding) that made the trip worthwhile, but next year we better get to ski on some fresh powder (or I might get as angry as Hitler does in this brilliant skit . . . but a skit only for skiers).
Duh
It's surprising that it took this long to figure out that most people don't want to spend 70+ hours playing Elden Ring . . . all they want to do is play phone games that take thirty seconds: Wordle, Globle, Worldle, the NYT Mini, Heardle, Nerdle, Lewdle, etc.
The Great Unmasking . . . Not? Sort Of . . .
Today was The Great Unmasking in my school, but it started slowly and gathered speed as the day went on-- in my first period class, seven of the twenty-two students did NOT wear masks; in my sophomore homeroom, only three of 23 kids were not wearing masks; in Shakespeare class it was more like fifty-fifty . . . and one senior girl who said her mom really wanted her to remain masked took a look around the room, whipped off her mask and put it in her bag, and smirked the rest of the period; and by the last period, probably 75% of my seniors were not wearing masks . . . the vast majority of the teachers were unmasked-- I think-- but other than that it was fairly tame, no children making out in the hallways or other mayhem . . . but it was really wonderful to not worry about pretending to wear a loose, useless, ill-fitting, cloth mask.
Triple Epic Ending
I finished three epics this weekend:
1) I made it to the end of Anthony Doerr's 600 page novel Cloud Cuckoo Land . . . and the five plot-lines converged . . . the Siege of Constantinople, the library bombing, the Korean war POW romance, the Aristophanes fictional fragments, and the generation starship-- but it took a minute;
2) Catherine, Ian and I finished the twelve episode Korean zombie high school tragedy All of Us Our Dead . . . and while it was a little long, at 12 episodes, the over-the-top Korean melodrama was good fun;
3) the boys and I finished The Expanse . . . it's too bad financial difficulties truncated the series-- because there are still some loose ends, such as the dog-like creatures through the Ring which can resurrect the dead . . . but I'm going to read the novels and see how that works out.
Tennis Notes Redux Deluxe (Kudos to Bud)
The winter tennis league is winding down and only the survivors are left-- a number of players have dropped for injuries, so I played Bud again today and he was on fire for a while, he was serving to both sides of the box (and sometimes off the edge) and he was hitting some killer returns if I didn't put enough pace or spin on my serve-- I was able to come back from a game behind and beat him 9-7, but he was pretty spectacular for a 62-year-old and definitely had me guessing on his serves andI was hitting some lousy returns-- I also couldn't get my cut backhand low enough until the end of the match, so he teed up and crushed a few of those, same if I returned a forehand to the middle of the court-- then he hits a flat shot either left or right, my best success was low and deep to the backhand side (and then get to the net) and real cross-court spin heavy shots and once I started serving well, that helped too.
Never Again (Hopefully)
On Monday, masks will (finally) be optional at my school -- so teaching Shakespeare will be much more joyful for me (unfortunately, the school where my kids go-- and where I coach-- they are extending the mask mandate until March 28th . . . totally absurd, but it sounds like a couple of squeaky wheels convinced the school board and superintendent to supersede the governor, as is the right of each and every town in New Jersey-- although it's odd that our board thinks they have some secret information that the rest of the state isn't privy to . . . and out school is TINY, so the fact that the giant high schools surrounding our town have lifted the mask mandate but our school hasn't is patently ridiculous-- but I decided not to write an angry email so I'm venting here).
Post-Birthday Mortem (Who Gets a Black Eye on a DECA Trip?)
I had a lovely birthday yesterday-- in the morning, my wife walked the dog and made my lunch so I could sleep in-- and the weather was good so Ian and I got to hit some tennis balls (the only wrinkle in that was the fact that it took 90 minutes of absurd chatting and phone conversation to move a hotel reservation one day forward on Expedia-- I was speaking to the guy and sorting it out, while Ian drove to the courts and then he said, "Ok now you just have to hang up and return to the chat and we can finish this" and I was like "I am nowhere near my computer or that chat-- I'm talking to you right now, so let's just finish on the phone" and apparently that was impossible- the phone was just for credit card information, so after much pain and suffering and creating a new block-chain strength password, I was able to chat with him-- but then it all fell through, and I was doing this while hitting balls with Ian-- finally he had to cancel the whole booking and a I had to rebook when I got home, very nuts) and then we had an excellent dual birthday dinner (we missed Alex's birthday on the 1st becuase he was on the DECA trip-- he returned with a black eye-- his buddy Luke elbowed him when he opened a door, and this follows suit with his school trips-- on one MUN trip he got an infected toe and on another he came home with the flu) and Alex's girlfriend Izzy was in attendance, which was fun-- and then, I got an extra-dramtic gift, at the end of a wild defensive Rutgers/Indiana game, Ron Harper Jr. knocked down a last second three for the victory, an exciting ending to my birthday (but these Wednesday birthdays are the pits . . . you have to go to work the next day!)
Another Seussian Birthday
The good doctor and I
share the same date of birth--
and for twenty-one years
we roamed planet earth--
our time intersected
we shared the same space,
we breathed the same air
we ran the same race--
but 31 years ago,
the good doctor expired
while I continued living,
he went and expired--
and I hope in good time,
we'll meet once again,
and drink us some beers
and eat us some ham.
March Birthday #1
My son Alex turned 18 today and he just found out he got into the Engineering School at Rutgers-- very exciting-- but he's not home to celebrate, he's down in Atlantic City for DECA . . . and I thought he could do some gambling down there once he turned 18, but I am wrong on that account: you need to be 21 to gamble in a casino in New Jersey (too bad he's not in Georgia or Idaho).
Birthday Prep
No new sentence today, I'm trying to write another Seussian birthday rhyme (and I need time . . . I need time).
Expanding the Expanse
If you're sad about the end of the Amazon sci-fi series The Expanse, you can do what I'm doing: go back and read the novels that inspired the show: the first one, Leviathan Wakes, is very similar to season one of the show, but it fills in a lot of holes (and there are a lot of holes out in space) and I didn't fully remember the weird and wild ending, especially exactly what happened to Detective Miller, so this clarified things-- I'll probably tackle the next one after I get through the monstrosity that is Cloud Cuckoo Land.
The Usual (Tennis) Saturday Post
I beat Barry this morning and while he ran me around quite a bit, he's decided that he's aging out of this league-- he's 66!-- but he still gets around and hits lots of weird angle shots and I worked up quite a sweat playing him . . . if I'm still moving around like that fourteen years from now, I'll consider it a life well-lived . . . as far as tennis:
1) I'm serving well-- keeping the face closed in the trophy position and really stretching upward with the left should on the toss;
2) I'm starting to hit some decent drop shots-- you have to stay very loose;
3) my indoor lobs are awful (and I hot a couple overheads right back to Barry . . . not the way to do it)
4) the key to my two-handed backhand is to turn my back to the ball and dip my right shoulder, and then make sure my left-hand goes from top to bottom to top . . . it's NOT a left-handed forehand;
5) as the match wore on, I hit a few forehands into the net . . . I've got to aim three feet over the net on all baseline shots.
What Does It Mean?
I just finished recording and mixing some music-- a song called "What Does It Mean?" . . . it's very profound, with only one joke-- but more of an excuse to play some soukous-style African guitar.
Bizarro February Day
First of all, when you Google "sentence of dave" you get my blog and three examples:
1) Dave thumped the table in frustration.2) Dave has always been a bit of a drinker.
3) Dave has a broken arm.
but only two of those are accurate; second of all, we had the high school tennis interest meeting today and then-- since it's 68 degrees-- my kids and several other players went and actually played tennis, so I'm at home in a quiet house, drinking a a beer, about to go out on the porch and play some guitar . . . but tomorrow is supposed to be sleet and ice so this is only a temporary reprieve (and we'll be lucky to have another day like this before April . . . also, I guess it was hot enough to provoke some gun violence).
So . . .
Teachers at my school wore tutus today because the date is 2/22/2022 but I'm not sure what all the excitement is about . . . my sentiment is: call me in two hundred years.
Dogs and People Love Food
I would write something profound today but I ate a Carmine G sandwich from the Italian sandwich place (Fresco) in Metuchen and I'm stuffed stupid, plus the dog is looking at me like it's that time of day, which it is-- so that's what I'll be doing instead of writing something sagacious.
The Universe is a Ring
As the boys and I are finishing the TV show The Expanse-- we've got one episode to go and I think it might be the last-- I am beginning to read the novels on which the show is based-- and it's certainly fun to go back to the very beginning, with Holden and Amos and Naomi and Alex on the Rocinante (and the book fills in a lot of the plot holes, plus I miss Detective Miller and Anderson Dawes . . . we'll see how far I get, I think there are a lot of long books in the series).
Even More Tennis Notes!
I didn't do anything special this morning, aside from keeping the ball in play and hitting the ball high when I was at the baseline and low when I was approaching the net and this was enough to beat a pretty good player 12-1 . . . some of the games were close and he had some interesting shots, but he just made too many unforced errors by hitting the net; I also lobbed well today, which is huge indoors; taking an early lead is critical for me because then I can loosen up and hit the ball, my inside out forehand was pretty effective and I eventually starting actually hitting my two-handed backhand, not just blocking it back; my cut shot was rising a little high, perhaps grip or laziness, but Ketan beat Matthias (the league champ) last week, so I can't complain about the victory-- I've now beaten two weird pusher type players who both beat the league champ, so I'm wondering what's going to happen when I play him in a couple weeks, hopefully I will match up well (and my knees are feelign good from all the backwards stuff).
Pub Night Almost Occurs on Farrington Lake
An odd pub night . . . a coin flip sent us to B2 Bistro in North Brunswick, which was in my old neighborhood and used to be called Sir John's; the new place was insanely crowded (half-priced sushi night?) and while we sat down at the only remaining table in this giant establishment, we took a quick vote and got the hell out of there-- it was going to be expensive and slow . . . so Connell ordered food from Taqueria while we drove back to his place, and then Alec and Connell set up an impromptu Blanton's tasting-- apparently Alec has some rare bottle that can only be acquired overseas . . . and I liked the weakest stuff, the 80 proof Blanton's Black Edition; then we played some metal darts in Connell's basement and I stumbled home fairly early (in the rain) because I had a big teaching day today; at some later point, a large chunk from Connell's living room ceiling fell down (more details on that when I get them).
Emma Gould is Joe's Daisy (but she becomes a hooker)
Live by Night is Dennis LeHane's version of The Great Gatsby . . . bootleggers, organized crime, romance, immorality, parties, decadence, the looming underclass and more romance . . . but it's much more violent and much more fun than Fitzgerald, plus there's Tampa and Cuba; this is ostensibly a sequel to The Given Day, but it's less historical and more of a noir crime novel set in the 1920's-- I'm definitely going to read the third one in the trilogy.
Late Winter Update
I've been negligent in writing sentences for the past couple of days, perhaps because it's that time of the school year: the long haul before Spring Break . . . there's no end to the learning in sight; my students have just handed in their third Rutgers college writing essay-- so one more to go-- but I have to grade fifty of these six-page synthetic behemoths . . . not much in the way of news; we're watching Goliath and All of Us Our Dead; I'm reading Live by Night, Dennis LeHane's historical tale of rum-running in Tampa and a hysterical book of essays by Samantha Irby; I ate split pea soup for lunch twice this week because Catherine took it out of the freezer thinking it was verde sauce for enchiladas; there's still snow on the ground, which is good for pulling a sled backwards; apparently the weather is going to warm up soon and spring will be in the air . . . tennis season is right around the corner and I'm certainly nervous about coaching it at the varsity level (and coaching both my children) so things will pick up around here soon enough, hopefully in a good way-- in the meantime, my wife has told me that I've been slacking on doing the dishes, so it's time to get to it (and I have a new phone, which is weird-- it's a OnePlus 8 (Never Settle!) and the screen sort of wraps around the body and you can't insert an SD card and things seem smaller than my old phone, but I'm sure I'll get used to it . . . and if I don't, well then I deserve it, because I tossed my Redmi 9 in the washer).
As Billed . . . the Times Are Super Dark
As a teacher, you have to remember that any one of your students might be going through some shit-- they might be in "super dark times" and you might not be aware of this and you might be trying ot get them to peer-edit or read Hamlet, but they might have other things on their mind . . . Kevin Philips takes this to the extreme in his new coming-of-age thriller Super Dark Times . . . it reminds you that if your son is acting weird, the reason might be that his friend killed a kid with a sword (by accident) and they've hidden the body and are waiting for the shit to hit the fan . . . this review calls the movie the opposite of the nostalgic naïveté of Stranger Things . . . it's a mid-90s version of Stand by Me or River's Edge-- the movie is best just before the super dark times and during the super dark times, once everything explodes into mayhem it becomes more of a slasher/thriller, but it's still worth seeing, there's beautiful imagery, pre-internet cell-phone boredom, menace, some disturbing scenes, and a slow dive into the chaos that must occur (there's also a fantastic symbolic opening scene which I won't spoil here).
Good Day to Fuck Up
When I left the house at 6:45 AM for my 7 AM indoor tennis league, I pondered on what a shame it was that I was scheduled to play indoors on such a balmy February morning-- and then I found out, after the lady called out all the court assignments-- that I had fucked up . . . there was a new schedule because of the snow day, and I had a bye this week . . . but this was a blessing in disguise, because if there was any week to have a bye week it was this one; I headed home, and at 9 AM I woke my younger son up and we went and played outside and it was beautiful-- warm and sunny (and a little breezy) and though I played well and made all the games tight, he beat me 6 - 2 and then beat me in two tiebreakers, but now I will be sharp when I head back inside next week and play old people (and my son has been practicing all winter and he's gotten a lot better-- he's more mature, doesn't flip out when his first serve doesn't work, has good touch at the net, can hit a real cut shot now, occasionally a real topspin blasts a forehand winner, and hit a few of my deep corner cut shots right by me, on the run, off a wristy two handed backhand . . . I may never beat him again).
Things Are Getting Weird in Februaury
Warm February day today and though I was a little logy from pub night at The Grove last night (which was wonderful-- great beer, great wings, and excellent 2/3s of a cheesesteak) and the culmination at Pino's (which was the usual, understaffed, the skinny grad school girl trying to serve the entire bar, totally frantic, the music too loud, etc) I was able to get my ten minutes of backward walking in, with Cunningham and Stacey, out on the turf-- we've been walking backward in the hall, on the fields, and on the turf-- all in the hopes that our knees will become limber and bulletproof.
Shakespeare Didn't Have a Phone
Another day without a cell-phone, so another day with no Wordle or Mini, another day not knowing what's going on with my wife, children and friends, and another day without as much dicking around looking at the weather and the Times headlines-- and it's fitting I don't have a phone, since my Shakespeare class has just begun-- Shakespeare didn't have a phone and he got a hell of a lot of writing accomplished-- but, though the Black Death was always lurking around, Shakespeare didn't have to wear a mask-- and I found out today that reading Shakespeare in a mask is difficult, as he uses a lot of sibilance, rhythm, and loud phrasing so the actors can project his lines-- which leads to a moist and gross mask . . . so I'm looking forward to the end of the mask mandate, which should expire March 7 and we can rip our masks off and burn them and show our stupid faces to the masses (although I try to eat and drink as much as possible in class, so that I don't have to wear mine).
Ups and Downs
Weird day yesterday, hard to characterize . . . got to school, kind of tired from the snowboarding trip, and found a mysterious envelope in my box; I opened it and found a book called There Are No Accidents: The Deadly Rise of Injury and Disaster-- Who Profits and Who Pays the Price and the author was one of my old students-- Jessie Singer-- and she wrote me a lovely note inside that said:
I have no doubt that without your encouragement and support, I would not be a writer today.
Thank you for being the spark, for helping me see myself, and for convincing me I had this in me.
With Forever gratitude--
Jessie Singer
and I would have taken a picture of the note but I threw my phone in the wash and it's dead, so I need to get a replacement phone ASAP . . . I also went to the wrong duty yesterday at school-- I forgot that it was an A day and went to cafeteria duty and wondered where all the regular folk were-- but Stacey texted me and told me I was in the wrong spot . . . and then Alex and I went to the gym and did some backwards walking and pulling for our knees-- Stacey has also embraced the kneesovertoes guy and she even bought a cheap treadmill to walk backwards on (and his book!) so there will be more of that in the near future . . . anyway, I need to research a new phone and figure out how to survive this week, I'm sure it will be an adventure.
Elk Mountain Rescue Episode
My son Alex and I went on a two-day/one-night snowboarding jaunt up to Elk Mountain and while it was VERY cold on Sunday, it was sunny and the snow was surprisingly good (if a bit hard and fast for my taste) and we ran into some other surprises as well . . .
apparently the lifts aren't in the best shape at Elk Mountain-- the only quad was not running and the two person lift right next to us broke down and everyone onboard had to be rescued-- and Alex and I were very impressed with how fast the rescue crew got everyone off the lift (I've never seen anything like this before) but this may have been because they were well-practiced, as the same thing happened last week;
we stayed on the cheap at a nearby Holiday Inn, which was clean, functional and pretty much at the center of an I-81 truck stop-- there was a Denny's and a Burger King and a couple of fireworks joints and a Flying J . . . and the Italian joint with some wild Google review rejoinders that we wanted to patronize was closed on Sundays and Mondays, as were many of the nearby restaurants-- Elk Mountain is in the middle of nowhere, it barely looks like an area with a ski resort-- so we had to go to a local dive to get some food and beer, The Queen of Hearts Bar and Grill, which turned out to be a perfect place to kill a few hours before we crashed and got some good sleep in preparation for another day on the slopes; we played some pool,
there was some great reading material in the bathroom . . .
and we had some delicious cheesesteaks (she toasted the rolls!) and we avoided getting placed on the "Barred" list . . . and while my legs are sore from trying to keep up with a 17 year old on the slopes, I avoided major injury, so a good trip all around-- it's really great to have a kid who likes to snowboard and is old enough to drive you home from the bar.
Riots, Anarchists, and Babe Ruth
Denis LeHane's historical novel The Given Day covers a period of history I knew next-to-nothing about: the Boston police strike of 1919 . . . and he weaves in tales of race and baseball (Babe Ruth is a character!) and unions and anarchists and nationalism and radical political rhetoric, and there is also the backdrop of the Spanish influenza; it's a page turner written in his typical hard-boiled vivid style, but it's all hung on a framework of history that I had never been taught . . . the conflict of workers and the burgeoning unions versus the nationalistic anti-Bolshevik stance of the upper class; things get quite wild and it all ends with the impending Volstead Act and Prohibition . . . but there's a great scene in the days before the act is to go into effect, when everyone is drinking like mad, celebrating the end of a decade and the beginning of the Roaring Twenties-- this coincides when Babe Ruth is traded to the Yankees and the soldiers have returned from WWI . . . LeHane depicts a wild and literally explosive moment in history, with some entertaining characters to boot.
Even Yet More Also Tennis Notes
The first thing to note is that I shouldn't have four beers at the Grove and eat a bunch of pizza on Friday afternoon when I have to play tennis on Saturday morning at 7 AM, but I still held my own against Rey, who might be the best player in the league this year-- he beat me 8-6 but I was involved in every game . . . Rey has a variety of big serves-- a killer kick serve, a flat serve, and a spin serve-- and he nails them, so you've got to really punch it back deep; he can also hit winners from the baseline and doesn't have any real weak spots . . . which makes sense since he told me he plays six or seven days a week; I had some success going to the net but I need to keep my eye on the ball and not worry about where my opponent is and I need to hit the ball deeper every time with spin, until I can get closer to the net and punch something flat and low; I had some success with my two-hander by getting my hands down near my left thigh to start the swing and really firing my hips through but I still need to be more aggressive with my forehand, just let loose, keep my eye on it and hit it.
"Pops" Drains a Hook Shot
Yesterday, my older son Alex and I went to the Y to shoot some hoops and we ended up playing in a three-on-three game with some good players (one guy had played point guard for Brookdale Community College) and Alex was the youngest player-- but because he's grown so much and his arms are so long, he was able to hold his own-- and I was the oldest player by a long way, but (finally) my long range three-pointer started to fall and I was also able to utilize my hook shot a few times-- which is probably why they were calling me "Pops" . . . as in, "Nice shot, Pops" and "Did you used to play ball back in the day, Pops?" . . . and while when I was a teenager I never really imagined my life at age 51, I can't really complain too much (although I was pretty sore once we were through, we played for almost two hours . . . but if I start doing all these weird knee and foot exercises, maybe I'll be less sore after I play).
Yuck
I was excited to take Lola down to the park yesterday afternoon-- she loves to run around in the snow and it was unseasonably warm, but-- unfortunately-- the warmth brought the fucking geese back and they had managed to dig up some grass at the base of the sled hill, so they were camped out there, nibbling and shitting-- so that portion of the walk annoyed me: Lola ate some goose crap and I had to steer her around the poop field, around the bend and closer to the river . . . and then she was off leash and running around in the snow, having a blast (while I was walking backward in the deep snow, bulletproofing my knees) but then I noticed she had found something interesting in a plastic bag . . . and it was a rotisserie chicken and she was able to eat a wing before I got it out of her mouth . . . which made me wonder: who leaves a fucking rotisserie chicken in a bag by a bench in the snow in the park?
A New Direction?
So apparently-- in order to bulletproof my old knees-- I'm going to have walk backwards, while dragging a weighted sled-- and I'm down for this, so I'm going to try to assemble something in the next few days so I can get to it (I learned this from Ben Patrick, the knees-over-toes guy, on a recent episode of Joe Rogan).
Sports are Entertaining (to a point)
Yesterday was quite a day for sports: I got up at 5:00 AM to watch the epic Nadal/Medvedev Australian Open Match, but I had to interrupt my viewing to go play indoor soccer (I managed to avoid learning who won) and so I finished watching the match at 11:00 AM and then I took the dog on an epic snow hike through the park then watched some of the USA/Canada Men's soccer match -- the US team got scored on early-- and then I went on a strange bar crawl with Connell and Alec . . . we wanted to watch the Kansas City/Cincinnati game but there were no seats to be had at Hooters and no seats to be had at Arooga's, so we kept visiting bars but not drinking any beer, until we finally found a table at The Grove in Milltown-- everyone must have been stir crazy from the cold and COVID and the storm-- and we had some wings and met Rob and Dan and watched the US lose and the Bengals win (and we learned about the various Bengals cheers and found out that the lady at the table next to us was not a football fan but she found it interesting that everyone was cheering for her . . . because her last name was Bengals) and then I returned home and put on the Rams/49ers game for a bit . . . and then I shut it off and went and read my book, because that was enough sports for one day.
Nadal Hangs Tough Down Under
I played indoor soccer for 90 minutes this morning and my Fitbit registered just under 11,000 steps (4.8 miles) which is the perfect amount of exercise for an old man-- and this made me wonder how many steps Medvedev and Nadal clocked in their five hours and twenty-four-minute epic battle in Australia . . . and I also wonder how sore Nadal's knees will be tomorrow.
Station Eleven on a Wintry Day is Best
Watching Station Eleven during a blustery snow day is a treat-- when you go out to shovel snow and clean off the cars and walk the dog in the park and then are able to come back inside to a warm house, you can really appreciate how good you have it, especially when Jeevan gets mauled by a wolf in the snow and nearly freezes to death (and wakes up with an amputated leg in a housewares store populated by pregnant women who are all going to give birth on the same day and they think he's a doctor) and I highly recommend watching this show in any weather (although winter is best) and you should also read the novel; the show is episodic and unstuck in time, which allows for weird and artsy moments and lots of characters who you will never meet again, and it is beautifully filmed and acted, a real treat-- it lives up to the motto: survival is insufficient.
Sam Harris is Funny?
Joe Rogan seems to be taking a lot of flak from the media right now, and when you talk for three or four hours with someone, there's always an odd quotation to cherry-pick and vilify . . . but the weirdest moment so far in his new episode with Jordan Peterson the only thing that I found off-base is that they both claimed fellow podcaster Sam Harris is very funny and could be a stand-up comedian.
Yan Can Cook (and So Can Dave)
I thought I disliked cooking but it turns out I like to cook if the rest of the family goes to the gym and I can drink, etc. and listen to whatever music I want (at whatever volume I want) and have over two hours to prepare a simple meal (tacos) and then I like cooking.
Two Good Podcasts
I didn't really explain yesterday's post title (Dave Eschews the Metaverse) but basically, I listened to this podcast and decided that I want to do things in the regular universe as much as possible (and avoid doing anything in the metaverse) but then I listened to this podcast and remembered that there's plenty of fucked up shit going on in the regular universe as well.
Dave Eschews the Metaverse
I'm happy to report that for the first time in a while, I played tennis on Saturday morning and then was able to stretch out and put on my knee braces and I played pick-up soccer on Sunday morning-- it was good to see the soccer gang, I haven't played for quite a while-- I don't think I played indoor at all last winter-- and I'm hoping I can pull this off most weekend, without injury . . . I just have to take it easy, there are drop shots I'm not going to retrieve and there are bouncing balls that I'm not going to be able to pull down without dislocating my hip.
Even More Tennis Notes
I played Bud today in the tennis league and beat him fairly handily (although it was 2-2 at the start, I won 11-5 and went ahead 9-3 at one point) but I never had a very good rhythm in the match: Bud is a hard-hitting flat-ball player so it's really hard to get into a groove-- I couldn't hit my two-handed backhand at all . . . I didn't have time to set up and instead had to use a slashing cut shot, which I tried to hit deep or angled and often I was just trying to get my forehand back-- he puts a ton of pace on the ball but also hits a bunch of unforced errors-- I hit a few winners, as I've been working on hitting it low when I approach the net (and I should have gotten to the net more, I definitely had success there) but, unfortunately, the best strategy against a guy like this is to play like a pusher, which is annoying, but it works-- Bud has a big serve, which I really just tried to get back-- we were on the singles only court, which is weird and I hit a few serves out of the side net (which drove Bud crazy . . . he couldn't believe I fished them out of there) and basically I just got the ball back until he hit a winner or made an error . . . I was serving okay to the ad side, but I was all screwed up serving to the deuce side, by toss wasn't falling into the court and I was losing balance and toppling to my left (which Bud kindly pointed out to me) but this makes three wins in a row, which isn't easy in this league . . . we'll see if the streak will continue (but I'm certainly no Amy Schneider).
Thought Leader or Public Intellectual? You Be The Judge
My friend and colleague Liz showed me an intriguing video this morning and it was perfect for class: we've been reading an excerpt by Anand Giridharadas about the decline of public intellectuals and the ascendance of thought leaders, especially in the world of corporate conferences and TED talks . . . but this guy Reggie Watts might be the post-modern hybrid that destroys the dichotomy.
Lessons from The Extended Mind
I recently listened to Ezra Klein interview Annie Murphy Paul and her ideas were so inspirational and invigorating that I read her new book The Extended Mind: The Power of Thinking Outside the Brain; here are a few of the many lessons about thinking, learning, and our brains that she develops and supports with copious scientific research;
1) we often use misguided metaphors to describe our brain-- it's not a muscle that grows stronger with exercise (Lumosity does not work) nor is it a computer that works the same in any environment . . . we are more like magpies, building from whatever is available in our environment;
2) we learn better when we are moving, not when we are still . . . as Thoreau said, "methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow" and we need to incorporate this idea into the classroom and the office;
3) whenever possible, it's good to offload information into the world-- smart people don't memorize everything, nor do they work "in their head," as Richard Feynman points out in the book-- the writing the math down IS the work . . . we should put as much information as we can into writing and charts and gestures and other people;
4) we need to make data into something real in order to understand it, into an artifact-- we need to make the abstract into something concrete;
5) it is good to alter our physical state before, during and after learning-- this helps us remember and it helps us create;
6) we need to reembody complex ideas-- argue about them, teach them, and speak about them in real time . . . when a teacher lectures the class, emphatically gesturing, asking pertinent questions, and directing all dialogue, the person learning the most about the subject IS the teacher-- learners need to to do these things;
7) you remember things better when they are associated with props, places, and memory palaces;
8) groups need to possess bonds and "groupiness" to function-- they can't be arbitrary and they don't work like a "hive mind" . . . groups work best when different people are expert in different disciplines and can combine and pool knowledge;
9) physical space is really important to how much work gets done-- open offices don't work all that well, people need a mix of a place to call their own, an area that is social, and an area where they can complain-- and complaining to peers really helps with productivity-- it allows lots of problems to get ironed out;
10) a lot of these lessons are things that make sense, but teachers and bosses forget when deadlines loom-- learners need to teach what they want to remember, discuss it, debate it, move around with, contextualize it, etcetera . . . and our brains are VERY dependent on surroundings-- you can have all the grit you want, but if you don't have the time, space, people, and variety of movement and extensions to think properly, you are going to struggle to learn . . . this means learning takes more time, it doesn't work very well over a screen, and it can be more fun and compelling at every level of learning; this is a great book and I highly recommend it for educators everywhere.
Congrats, Dave!
Congratulations are in order: I walked into the English Office this morning and was greeted by a four-pack of incredibly tempting cupcakes from House of Cupcakes and I spent the day trying NOT to eat them, and-- miraculously-- I did not eat them (including a long stretch during my lunch period when they were within an arm's reach and I had to exert some iron willpower because I was eating, of all things, the exact opposite of a cupcake: beet salad).
Mystery Solved!
My wife complained about how close the Mazda was parked to the house . . . but upon reflection, she realized that SHE PARKED IT THERE.
Book of Mormon . . . Finally!
My wife and I finally saw The Book of Mormon-- the tickets were a fiftieth birthday present but then the pandemic hit, so I took us nearly two years to see the show-- and despite the weather, we covered a lot of ground in the city yesterday; we took the train in and then walked down to the Rubin Museum, which is chock-full of Indian, Himalayan, Tibetan and Bhutanese religious art . . . it's an aesthetically pleasing meditative multi-story space (unless some lady doesn't read the directions and bangs the water-gong with all her strength, instead of gently tapping it, which knocked me right the fuck out of my hypnotic state) and then we walked back uptown and it was COLD so we stopped for a drink at Hellcat Annie's Tap Room-- a cozy pub with an excellent selection of local beers-- and so I broke the rule I had made earlier in the day and had two beers-- I wasn't going to drink any beer because I didn't want to have to pee or feel bloated once I was stuffed into one of the narrow Broadway theater seats but it was early; then we made our way up to Tacuba Cantina Mexicana, and we had a fantastic meal-- I hard chorizo and octopus tacos and some Mezcal de Leyandas-- both delicious-- and then we went to The Book of Mormon and our seats were good and unobstructed (some douchebag a couple rows over wore his lumpy ski-hat the entire play . . . I can't believe the person behind him didn't let him have it) and the play was ridiculously funny and --surprise! . . . set in Uganda?-- and featured a chubby young Mormon missionary that is pretty much a nicer and more sincere version South Park's Cartman brought to life . . . and while the play might not be totally accurate about Mormonism, it's not totally accurate about anything-- it's just profane and funny-- I'm glad I knew nothing about it, I was often surprised and always laughing and when the play let out, we knew if we wanted to catch the fast train, the 9:56 PM, we would have to book it down to Penn Station, which we did, despite the snow, slush and rain and we made the fast train, got out 20,000 steps-- which always seems to happen when you go to NYC-- and, bonus, Alex picked us up from the train station and we were home before 11 PM . . . which is pretty amazing, to see a 7:00 PM play on 49th Street and be back in Highland Park less than four hours later.
Longmire Does Philly?
In the third Longmire novel, Kindness Goes Unpunished, Craig Johnson inserts Sheriff Longmire, Henry Standing Bear, and Dog into Vic Moretti's world-- downtown Philadelphia; the usual violence, debilitating injuries, and Western-style detective work ensue-- with a healthy dose of Native American lore and trickery-- and, despite the urban setting, there will be some horses.
The Usual Saturday Tennis Notes
I beat my buddy Cob 12-3 today in the 7 AM Tennis League for the Insane, Obsessive and Otherwise Mentally Ill and here are my notes, reflections, and takeaways:
1) I was a bit nervous because my wife and I finally ate at Tasty Moment, a crowded and authentic Chinese place featuring Szechuan, Nanjing, and Yangzhou Chinese food . . . and the spicy crawfish with noodles was SPICY and the peppercorn fish was delicious but had an odd spice to it that made your lips numb . . . so i was a bit worried this morning that I might have intestinal issues during the early morning match, but I was ok;
2) I chewed gum the entire match, even though the racquet club prohibits this;
3) it was the first time I ever played on Court 7, which is in the far corner and has no doubles lines-- that's visually a little weird but I actually think I liked it-- less distraction from green areas you CAN'T hit into;
4) I really focused on hitting shots from deep on the baseline 3-6 feet over the net with lots of topspin . . . and I focused on hitting shallower shots when I was moving forward LOW . . . hit it high when you are deep and hit it low when you are moving in is a basic strategy that really helps me;
5) Cob and I had some epically long rallies-- 30 or 40 shots?-- and i was really patient and kept hitting the ball crosscourt over the low part of the net . . . it seems the most common error at this level is trying to go down the line off cross court shots and hitting the net-- you can go down the line when the ball is up the middle, but if it's crosscourt, be defensive and hit it diagonal and deep;
6) I actually starting pointing my elbow, whipping my arm and pronating-- so I hit some solid flat serves (and even a few on the T aces . . . which I need to do more often)
7) I didn't get to the net enough . . . although Cob hit a few beautiful lobs when I did . . . I finished an overhead or two but I'm still not sure how much I should be getting to the net;
8) I was hitting my two-handed backhand fairly well-- deep and with some topspin, but I'm not sure how much my wrists should be involved in the stroke-- I need to keep experimenting;
9) the key to my forehand is the left hand, it has to come back with the racquet and I need to catch the racquet with my left hand on the follow through . . . this ensures that I get a good turn (but not too much of a turn-- it helps to keep the racquet on the same side of your body on the pull back and follow through) and that and I need to always get a wide base and drive through it.
Escobar's Cocaine Hippos?
Today I learned something new-- and serendipitously complementary to the book I finished yesterday: Columbian drug lord Pablo Escobar kept (among other exotic animals) four hippos on his estate . . . and while the elephants and zebras and giraffes were relocated after his death, the hippos remained . . . and they bred; now there are more than one hundred hippos in the vicinity Escobar's property-- in the nearby lakes and rivers-- and they are big dangerous animals that also-- according to some folks-- cause some environmental destruction-- they defecate too much in the water, which can cause algal blooms; they eat too many of the aquatic plants which makes it harder to catch fish; and they are a menace to fishermen and those who swim in the lakes and river . . . but other folks like the hippos, whether because they are charismatic megafauna (and great for tourism) or because they might fill an ecological niche that has been vacant since humans came to the Americas and hunted and killed most of the large herbivorous mammals . . . listen to "The Debate About Pablo Escobar's Hippos" for more information on this ginormous issue.
Bad Gulls Bad Gulls Whatcha Gonna Do?
Mary Roach's new book Fuzz: When Nature Breaks the Law tackles man vs. nature in a legal, humanistic sense-- what is to be done when nature encroaches upon civilization?-- and the book begins in dramatic fashion, with charismatic megafauna: hungry bears in Aspen, killer leopards in the Himalayas, rampaging elephants in India, stealthy cougars in California . . . and these stories are exciting and dramatic and involve tracking and hunting and shooting and running and hiding and a fabulous live-and-let-live attitude from a shopkeeper about a grain-pilfering elephant in India . . .
"We just say, 'Namaste and please go away'"
and then the book takes a horticultural turn, detailing the dangers of killer trees and poisonous beans, and then there's the story of the albatrosses of the Midway and the epic (and ultimately futile) battle the U.S. Military fought against these birds because they were causing air collisions . . . and it is ultimately this futility that is pervasive in the book-- after all the hunting, trapping, scaring, and poisoning humans do to ride their homes and neighborhoods and field and airstrips of "pests," generally nothing works . . . the book ends with the mundane, stoats eating eggs and indigenous wildlife in New Zealand and the lowly mouse . . . and while the book is gross all the way through lots of defecating and vomiting and descriptions of how traps and poisons do their work-- this is certainly gallows humor, I had to put the book down several times when I made the bad choice of reading it while I ate . . . but it ends philosophically-- what do we owe these creatures? what makes a pest? can we actually preserve a habitat? can we rid an area of a certain animal? what happens if we do? do these animals actually do enough damage to warrant the campaigns against them? what is the most humane way to kill an animal?
and the book ends with some hope-- a farmer who keeps a few barn cats and barn owls to make sure the mouse population doesn't go through the roof but realizes that mice are going to eat a bit of his grain and it's not enough to start a land war . . . and Mary Roach takes the same approach with a roof rat that lives near her house-- instead of trapping and killing it, she blocks the way it was getting into her attic and calls it a day . . . a great read, detailed and dense and full of memorable characters that work in fields that don't get much press.
Dave is Killing It, Fruitwise
I'm killing it today, healthwise . . . I've already been to the gym-- where I played some basketball-- and I'm also killing it fruitwise, I've had an apple, an orange, and two kiwis.
Winter Gets Wintrier
It's frigid today-- so cold that Lola dragged me home from her walk-- after she did her business, she was like LET'S GO . . . WE COULD DIE OUT HERE! . . . so it was a good day to have remote school, and it was a good day for a drive-by COVID test for my son Alex . . . the pharmacist came out and handed him the nasal swab and he swabbed his nasal passages in the comfort of our heated car.
Winter Has Come . . .
Catherine tested negative for COVID . . . so she has the cold that I had; meanwhile, I am still on remote school, which feels oddly disembodied but I went to the Piscataway YMCA today on my long off period and it was great-- I shot baskets, watched old people play pickleball, and rowed on the upper level-- which has a great open-windowed view-- but the cold has settled in, Lola and I marched over to the dog park and the ground was frozen and icy, so while I don't like remote school, it will be nice to stay inside and bundled up tomorrow . . . perhaps remote school has its time and place, the dead of winter.
Longmire Heads South of the Border
In Craig Johnson's fifteenth Longmire novel, Depth of Winter, Sheriff Longmire's moral compass spins all out of whack when he heads south from his normal milieu of Wyoming deep into narco territory of Mexico, in order to rescue his kidnapped daughter-- this is more of an action novel, with a ragtag band of folks-- including a Tarahumara runner/sniper-- heading into very dangerous territory on an impossible mission and while Longmire uses the stock of his M-16 to knock out a fair number of bad guys, he's eventually got to do some shooting and killing, and it ain't pretty (and neither is he . . . like every Longmire book, by the end of the novel, he's a complete disaster).
Dave Beats the Guys Who Beat the Guy . . .
I beat Wayne this morning in the early morning tennis league 12 - 4 . . . he's a good player, especially at the net, but he made some unforced errors and double-faulted a couple of times . . . last week Wayne beat the champion of the league-- but apparently HE had an off day last week . . . so apparently anything can happen when you play tennis at 7 AM and I'm attributing my victory to the fact that I got to drive my wife's car, which has seat warmers (and though I had a resounding win, Wayne had the shot of the day . . . I hit a deep topspin shot which drove him to the curtain, and he basically struck his return while running into the aforementioned curtain and he somehow hit a perfect drop shot from back there, which just cleared the net and then spun back a bit, well out of my reach).
Thus Endeth the Streak . . .
Thus endeth the Wordle streak and thus begins the Wordle slump . . . and it's appropriate that the first Wordle I missed was the word "slump" . . . I put "slurp" instead . . . but there's always tomorrow.
You Can't Fight City Hall
You have to wear a mask while you work out at the East Brunswick Planet Fitness but you don't have to wear one at the Edison branch . . . and it turns out this is a town ordinance.
You Think Wordle is Hard?
My friend and I have all been enjoying Wordle-- give it a try, it's all the rage-- but the boys and I stumbled on an even more difficult game: find the good basketball . . . and though all three of us looked in the sporting equipment spot, none of us were able to find the ball-- so we took the lousy ball to the YMCA and shot around (wearing masks!) and then came home and accused my wife of hiding the ball somewhere obscure . . . whereupon she quickly solved the puzzle and found the basketball and called us all idiots-- can YOU find the basketball in this picture?
Why Online School Crushes Your Mind
Ezra Klein's interview with Annie Murphy Paul explains why I hate online school so much-- Paul's new book "The Extended Mind" dismantles the "computer model" of the human brain; computers are neat-- wherever you put them, as long as it's not too hot, they compute the same answer . . . your computer can be by a window, among lots of smart people in a coffee shop, on the floor of an industrial slaughterhouse, whatever . . . it will compute-- but our minds are extensions of what is around-- other people, a lovely landscape, white noise, an open office, gunfire, etc.-- and that totally influences our thoughts-- and being alone in a room staring at tiny muted icons of students on a screen destroys whatever creative groove I might occasionally find myself in . . . we are not designed to sit still (although school and work are often systemically based on this supposition) and we need a lot of tricks and stimulus and motivation to concentrate for any length of time . . . which is exactly what school is for: group work and making posters and switching classes and writing on the board . . . and-- for em-- pacing around, reading stuff aloud-- that's what I like to do (I did realize this finally, and put my computer on the counter and then paced a bit while I read something, and the students rejoiced but it's not the same) and while our classrooms need to reflect these ideas more, so that kids can learn better, online school doesn't reflect this at all . . . it's a mess and I hope we are back next Monday.
Here We Go Again?
The world is getting weird yet again because of the pandemic; yesterday I was tailgating at the Jets/Tampa game . . . partying with tens of thousands of (mainly unmasked) people, watching Tom Brady shatter dreams once again (he threw a game winning touchdown with 15 seconds left) but today I will be teaching on a computer, as my school has gone virtual (mainly due to lack of staffing, apparently not only do loads of students have COVID, but also loads of teachers and bus drivers and nurses, etc.)
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