It's Been a Day, A Birth Day . . .

Today is my younger son's seventeenth birthday, and he was scheduled for his driving test at 11 AM . . . but first, he needed to attend a training for his summer job as a tennis instructor at the Rutgers Prep camp (with the affable curmudgeon Ted Ransom) and we borrowed our friend's car for the driving test because you need a vehicle with an emergency brake in between the seat-- which is rare in new cars, so most people just pay the driving school to use their car, which is a total scam-- anyway, I was slated to do all this stuff with the birthday boy, but first we had an early appointment with Steve the Appliance Doctor-- and his prognosis on our stove was not good, we need a $500 valve to fix the thing-- so then Ian and I drove over to Rutgers Prep and just after we crossed the Landing Lane Bridge we witnessed a car accident, nothing epic and lucky for us it wasn't on our side-- and then I took a walk on the tow road while he trained and I learned a lot-- a friendly fisherman showed me a picture of a fifteen-pound catfish he caught in the canal the other day and he also informed me-- totally new information-- that there are pike and muskellenge in the canal-- musky!-- and I saw a lot of wildlife on my walk: turtles, a big snake, all kinds of flowers, frogs, tadpoles, and little fish . . . and an herbalist, an African American dude decked out with all kinds of harvesting gear and he told me about the powers of elderberry flowers and then I asked him if the plant on the side of the path was poison ivy and he grabbed it and took a look and confirmed that yes it was poison ivy and I was like "don't touch that shit" and he said only sixty percent of people are allergic-- which seems to be lowballing it-- and I have also read that every time you touch the stuff, you increase your likelihood of getting it, so he might have to use some of his elderberry flowers on himself . . . then we went over to the Kilmer DMV, with all our documentation, but one minute into the driving test it was over-- the instructor said that the emergency brake was too loose and that we had to get it fixed and we had two hours to do so or our appointment would be voided-- so we started driving to the mechanic but I knew that was as shot in hell, so I called Ian's driving instructor and he happened to be in the vicinity giving a lesson, so we met him in the parking lot, gave him 80 bucks and he took Ian over in his car-- what a scam, but at least it worked out-- and then Ian had a fairly wild driving test-- he had to slam on the brakes because a lady ran through a stop sign and when he tried to parallel park an old man pulled up right behind him-- but he's a great driver, so he handled it all and passed and then we got to spend some quality time in the DMV-- and though we had every fucking document on earth, it still wasn't enough for their byzantine requirements-- and we had to reprint all the numbers in the little boxes because Ian crossed out a date-- and then they asked me if I had a driver's license and I said yes and that somehow was enough stuff and he got his picture taken, got a temporary license, we went to Don Huang for noodles, and then Ian went to do some yardwork for a lady across town and he drove himself-- which was wonderful-- and then when he got back, we went to the park and played some pick-up basketball with random folks and then settled in to eat a home-cooked meal of Indian food, quite a busy birthday.

Short and Old

The more my kids have grown, the more they've gotten into basketball-- and while they're not very good, they have long arms and can kind of play now, and when we play one-on-one, their arms are so long that I can't shoot over them unless I step back to Steph Curry range, so I have to bang forward and try for hook shots, which is exhausting and ugly . . . but I'm glad they're getting into hoops again so that they can play pick-up ball in college-- it took me four years of playing on the ugliest team in intramural basketball, the Nicks (named after Nick Huth) to achieve any kind of skill in the sport-- and now it's all downhill for me.

It's Friday, I Think

The closer we get to the end of the year, the more time becomes elastic and the longer the 84 minute block schedule classes seem . . . this week felt beyond eternal, every moment a mini-infinity, so that when Friday finally ended, it seemed as if the year reset and it was a dry September afternoon in 2022. 

Epic Hump Day

My buddy Jeff cajoled me into getting up early this morning to play badminton with the 6 AM badminton crew-- the last time I did this was in the late '90s-- and though it was very early, it was also very fun-- and I was still able to whack the shuttlecock with some accuracy and power, despite the twenty-three year hiatus; we played until 7:15 because a few of us had the first period of the day off, giving us time to shower-- but I got called for a first period coverage, so I had to rush to get my clothes on and get over to K Hall . ..  and then I realized that I had forgotten my belt and I've lost some weight so my pants are quite loose-- they don't mention the down side of shedding a few pounds: you might get fired for indecent exposure . . . but Stacey came up with a solution and I used some of her knitting yarn to cinch my pants together and I made it through the day without showing the students my underwear; then I had to rush home to get ready for the end-of-season tennis party-- which turned out to be great fun; in addition to MVP and Coach's Award, I gave out a bunch of wacky awards (such as "Most Likely to Crash His Skateboard Right Before a Match and be Unable to Play" and "Best Use of the Headband") and the kids played some corn-hole, ate pizza, and a few are still here in the driveway playing ping-pong . . . I couldn't ask for a nicer bunch and I'm a little sad that this will be the last time I coach both my kids on the same team.

I Have a Dream . . .

I have a dream to make the side of my backyard like the back of my backyard . . . to make a similar leafy green wall of fargesia clumping bamboo along the fenceline so I can't see my neighbors and they can't see me-- but I suffered for my dream today, while I was transplanting a smaller bamboo plant to a cramped slot behind a plastic storage chest when I bent over to shape some soil around the roots of the plant and a pointy bamboo stalk poked me in the eye; it hurt, my hands were covered in dirt, and I needed to shower to get the remnant of the stalk out of my eye socket . . . but it will all be worth it in a couple of years (but why didn't I do this years ago?)

The End is Nigh

In class today, Hamlet-- who recently returned to Denmark from a near-death adventure with pirates-- confronted Yorick's skull today and the inevitability of decay . . . and my seniors, who returned from their near-death adventures over prom weekend, must now also face their own imminent decay-- they are graduating and growing older by the minute and will never look this way again (also, I'm writing this over the din of professional lawncare equipment-- that shit is so LOUD).

Crowded Bridge, Noisy Bridge, Deserted Bridge, Little Bridge

Yesterday's Man Hike (led by Dave Tulloch) started out reminiscent of the day my wife and I spend in New York a few months ago but the reason this is called the Man Hike is not sexist-- only men would be stupid enough to spoil a good day in NYC by walking way too far (although not as far as this one and better weather than this one) and so while we started out in known territory-- we took the train to the Oculus, carefully examined the treescape (pretty incredible irrigation system) and the survivor tree at the 9/11 Memorial (and then saw a clone of the tree that inspired Anne Frank and the church where George Costanza attempted to convert to Latvian Orthodoxy) and then we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with the throngs of people-- this was the crowded bridge-- then did NOT stop in DUMBO for pictures, beer and food-- instead we zipped right back across the noisy bridge-- the Manhattan Bridge-- shouting above the roar of the train-- beautiful views, anyone who was anyone was riding around on their yacht in the East River-- and then we walked a bit (and Pete and I lost the group when we stopped for Asian pastries) and crossed back into Brookly on the Williamsburg Bridge (which was empty) and walked through Greenpoint and other Brooklyn neighborhoods and saw ALL the hipsters and young people, out and about, we stopped for some amazing pizza, and then crossed the small(ish) Pulaski Bridge into Queens-- and I had never really wandered about in Queens so that was new and then we made out way to the a park on the water near Roosevelt Island and caught a ferry all the way back down to Wall Street, had a few beers and a burger, and hitched a ride home with Doug, who took a shortcut through Staten Island . . . so we visited four of the five boroughs, walked some 35,000 steps, and only neglected the Bronx.

Geoff Dyer Gives Up on Giving Up

Geoff Dyer-- famous for Out of Sheer Rage, his anti-biography of D.H Lawrence, which becomes a mediation on procrastination-- has written another weird and wonderful and obscure and profound book, The Last Days of Roger Federer and Other Endings . . . I often struggle with some of his references, and he alludes and refers widely, from literature and jazz and French film to soccer and tennis and Beethoven and Nietzsche; but mainly this book deals with something from a Joy Williams story, when an adult tells a young girl:

"I hope you're enjoying your childhood. When you grow up, a shadow falls. Everything's sunny and then this big goddamn wing or something passes overhead."

and this book is Dyer contemplating life under this shadowy giant wing, as the end approaches-- the end of his tennis playing, the end of Roger Federer's career, the end of movies and films and books and musical pieces, the never-ending non-ending of Bob Dylan, the odd endings that happen when some people are still young-- such as Bjorn Borg and fighter pilots in WWII-- the end of stealing shampoo, the end of artistic purpose, and the end of The Tempest . . . the book ultimately asks the question "when should a creator stop creating?" and the answer is never, never stop until you stop.

Hamlet is Perfect for Seniors in June

It must be getting near the end of the year, as we finished Act IV of Hamlet today; Ophelia finally met her tragic, but beautiful, flower-strewn, mermaid-like demise . . . and after three hours of planning, procrastinating, and pontificating, you'd think that the play would be near the end-- but Shakespeare really lost his mind with this one: he figured out how to get Hamlet back to Denmark-- oddly friendly pirates!-- but he isn't quite ready to resolve things, Laertes still needs to do the whole jumping in the grave thing, Hamlet needs to do "alas poor Yorick" and "the readiness is all" and we also need the weird interlude with Osric (played by Robin Williams in the Branagh version) before we get the final violence and the endless last words . . . it's a perfect play to do at the end of the year because it seems as if it will never end and the seniors keep asking what we will do in class after Hamlet and the answer is "the rest is silence."

The Last Days of Tennis (Like This)

All things must come to an end . . . and endings are worth meditation-- as evidenced by Geoff Dyer's fantastic book The Last Days of Roger Federer; and so I must note that the end of this wonderful high school tennis season is coming to a close-- we lost last night 3-2 in the continuation of our Group I State Semifinal match to Shore Regional and this was a match that had more controversy than usual because of a rain delay, a religious delay (we have two observant Jewish players) and a Memorial Day Weekend delay-- I even got some weird flak from a Shore parent, who insisted on showing me his phone to prove that it didn't rain on Saturday (which it most certainly did) but I explained to him that the reason we were playing last night was because we had two Jewish players who couldn't travel or play on the Sabbath and that the tournament director decided the match couldn't be played on Sunday or Memorial Day and thus pushed it all the way back until Tuesday . . . and then we couldn't play at the normal time on Tuesday because of the heat restriction so we had to play at 7 PM . . . he asked me if the match would have been postponed if players were sick and I countered with the fact that the match would have been canceled if it were Easter and then I told him he was acting weird and insinuating something and a detached myself from the situation-- one of the HP parents said the guy also said something about how his kid tried baseball but that tennis was one of the last "white sports" so there was a strange vibe out there; anyway, Ian came back and beat his kid at first singles and our second doubles team won handily but the center of the line-up was trouble-- there was no way Alex could beat their second singles-- he actually seemed better than the first singles player, and Boyang was facing a classic pusher (who actually had a higher UTR than first and second singles, slightly fishy) and he struggled to stay patient enough to find the perfect net shots to beat him . . . first doubles became our last hope, the two Jewish kids, but they were facing two tall dudes who could hit overheads-- they lost the first set but went up 5-0 in the second, only to lose in a tiebreaker 7-5 . . . which might have been for the better because they would have had trouble winning a third set . . . anyway, we've got two more matches to make-up, which will be nice so we don't end on this oddly elongated loss and it was truly a pleasure to coach this group of players (and two of my children) and it will be the last time, after many many years of doing so, that I will coach BOTH my children on the same team-- this happened for many years in soccer and just once in tennis and I've got to say, it's a wild experience-- you're invested as a coach and a parent so it's pretty emotional, but I think I navigated it as well as I could and I was proud of what good sports my team was during the match and once it was all over.

Keeping the Quadrupeds in Line

 Deer bounding across the road are quite menacing when you're on rollerblades.

America's Gun Problem is Impossible

Derek Thompson's excellent and informative podcast Plain English details the four obstacles that impede any solution to the proliferation of guns and-- thus-- gun violence and mass shootings in America:

1) money . . . many politicians are in the pocket of the NRA and guns are big business;

2) cynical love of power . . . some politicians will do and say whatever is necessary to gain votes-- even if it's detrimental to our country;

3) the Second Amendment, fear of government overreach, the desire for freedom and liberty, and the ability to fight oppressors;

4) a genuine love of guns and a genuine gun culture-- this is the hardest one for many people to understand, but there is a whole nation of people out there that love guns-- they love the feel of the metal in their hand, they love shooting, they love talking about guns and buying guns and going places with other people with guns . . . and I think they think of guns the way other people think of cars or video games or whiskey . . . they love these things despite knowing that there are harmful consequences and externalities . . .

these are formidable obstacles and so it seems to me (and the podcast espouses this) that because there is a correlation between gun prevalence and gun violence, the only way to tackle the problem is statistically-- it has to be the same as cigarettes, which are still legal but stigmatized to the point where they aren't as prevalent as they once were . . . so little laws, little taxes, licensing requirements, background checks, etcetera . . . anything to reduce the number of guns will reduce the violence . . . but it's never going away . . . but it could get better-- cars are safer now and technology will make them less and less prone to crashing and perhaps we'll need similar technological solutions to deal with guns.

I Don't Serve on Shomer Shabbos!

 

The boys and I had off yesterday-- we never burned our snow days-- and my wife took off from her school, so this was supposed to be a relaxing day where we could sleep-in, get a few things done around the house, and then play our State Semi-Final tennis match at 4 PM . . . but the weather reports kept getting worse-- and while the other semi-finalist teams decided to play at noon to avoid the rain (Metuchen vs Florence . . . Florence won 3-2) for some logistical or transportation reason Shore Regional could not get out early to play us . . . so there was lots of texting and phone calls and I made a Google doc to figure out what day we could finish the match in case of rain, which reminded me that I have two observant Jewish players who can't really play on Saturday-- or one kid could walk to the courts, which are quite far from his house, but not drive in a car-- and then the weather cleared enough for Shore to come to Highland Park and we started the match, but soon enough a massive storm rolled in and we had to write down the details of every match-- and they were all close, a barnburner . . . except second doubles-- we took a solid lead there; the next problem was when to play, as we HAVE to complete the match by Tuesday, according to State Rules, so that the final match can be played ON Tuesday and then the winner can attend the Tournament of Champions, which is at Mercer County Park on Thursday-- that date is set in stone . . . but just after the match, my Athletic Director, a good friend of mine, got a call from the NJSIAA director and he said we HAD to play the match on Saturday-- no exceptions, religious or otherwise-- even though it was supposed to rain all day Saturday . . . so because we are the higher seed and home team, we had to provide indoor courts-- no easy feat in Central Jersey on Memorial Day Weekend . . . but my AD found some courts at noon on Saturday in East Brunswick and reserved them (with his own credit card!) but my Jewish player said he couldn't get there because he couldn't drive on the Sabbath and we brought this up to the tournament director and he said it didn't matter, so we were just going to have to forfeit that match . . . this still gave us a shot to win, as you only have to win three of the five matches-- so we were going to suck it up and win for religious tolerance and freedom and Walter from the Big Lebowski . . . but then things got interesting, the Jewish kid wrote an email and his father contacted our superintendent and the tournament director-- making the argument that if the next day was Easter, you wouldn't play the match-- you'd postpone until the next available school day, and I think the threat of a prejudicial lawsuit scared the tournament director because then I got another call from my AD and now we are finishing the match on Tuesday at normal time, so everyone can play and it will be a fair result . . . if we win, we'll have to play again Wednesday, so that's tough-- but at least we'll have all our players and the best chance possible . . . and win or lose, this was quite an adventure.

Respect the Speck

Hockey is hard enough to watch on TV, but if there's a black speck on the TV-- or several black specks on a couple of TVs-- then things can get really confusing . . . sometimes you're following the puck, sometimes you're following the speck, and sometimes-- like that magical moment on The Office when the DVD logo hits the corner-- the black speck intersects with the actual puck and reality breaks down into an inception of the matrix.

Whew . . .

I was nervous all day for our first state tennis match: we earned a bye in the first round and we had to play Point Beach today-- last year's sectional champ-- and while we matched up well against them, it's tennis, so you never know who's going to lose their mind, play poorly, smash their racket, start double-faulting . . . there are so many ways to fall apart in this stupid game . . . but we came to play; Ian had the toughest match, against a very solid player, and he beat him 6-0, 6-0 . . . and Alex, Boyang, and our very consistent second doubles team of Ethan and Patrick all won handily in two sets-- but we still can't figure out the perfect first doubles team-- they lost-- so we're going to experiment tomorrow and see what happens and then we'll probably play Shore Regional-- who is excellent-- in the semifinals on Friday.

The Horror, the Horror!

The year is winding down but we're still not done with Hamlet . . . or at least I'm not done with Hamlet-- one of my senior students looked like she was attentively following along with the play, holding her book in the classic two-handed meditative literary pose, but then I noticed that she had her cell-phone inside the book-- as we used to do back in the day with comic books (most notably, School is Hell by Matt Groening) and so I made her put the phone into the pocketed phone holder in the front of the room; apparently she was shopping, some prom dress algorithm blocking the text to one of the great works in the canon, which is exactly what those folks at Amazon are trying to do.

Crime and a Whole Lot More in 1963 L.A.

One-Shot Harry, by Gary Philips, certainly evokes Walter Mosely . . . Harry Ingram, a black journalistic photographer/ Korean War veteran, attempts to navigate a slew of issues in 1963 Los Angeles: the fishy death of his war-buddy-- a white jazz musician; racist police; radical leftists and a radical romance; a photographic blackmail scheme; some typical heavies; the Nation of Islam; power and politics; and a plot against Dr. Martin Luther King . . . the prose is clear, the plot is thick, and the perspective offers a counterpoint to James Ellroy's take on this particular time and place.

Ian = Work

Ian put in some hours working this weekend; Saturday he went to his county trail maintenance  job with his brother and the heat was so brutal that they let them go home after lunch-- but that was enough time for Ian to ruin his gloves and consequently have to throw them away-- they were at some park in Old Bridge and they ended up cleaning up a homeless encampment and-- by accident-- Ian touched a bag of homeless person poop which ripped open (or something like this, he told me the story at a family bbq and I cut him short because I was eating) and then Sunday morning Ian worked for a lady, weeding and mowing her lawn, and then he went and mowed another lawn and then he called Ed Ransom, to see if he could work at his tennis camp, and Ed Ransom, a veteran teaching pro, said he needed to take a look at his game because he wanted someone to teach the advanced kids so we met him at a nearby park and the job interview turned into a tennis lesson (and Ian passed the interview, got the job, and improved the kick on his second serve) and now he's taking a well-deserved rest.

AITA?

There's a forum on Reddit called AITA (Am I the Asshole?) and I wanted to put this incident on there (but forgot to post it) but I got into a bit of a beeping/traffic situation in the school parking yesterday afternoon, so I wrote that one up and posted it on Reddit . . . check it out and upvote me!

The Jack Wong Effect?

On Tuesday, my son Ian got to play Jack Wong, the eventual winner of the GMC tourney (and one of the best players in the state) and then he had another tough match on Wednesday against Spotswood's top player, senior Jason Acheampong; in the first set, though both players were hitting the ball very well, Ian beat him 6-0 and when he came over to talk to me he said, "After Playing Jack Wong, the ball looks like it's going so slow . . . everything is easier" but then the Jack Wong Effect wore off and he lost the second set 6-0 . . . but then he rallied and won the third set 6-3, a nice victory after playing a ton of tennis the day before . . . and we noticed the other player who played Jack Wong on Tuesday (and, like my son, got beaten handily) also had a great match on Wednesday and beat a good opponent decisively; the other thing that happened during the Spotswood match was an annoying hack of a tennis player, a white dude in a tie-dyed shirt, expressed some annoyance and impatience about the fact that there was a high school match going on and we were taking up six courts; I informed him that some of the matches might finish in 45 minutes or so and he would just have to wait and then he went over to the sixth court-- where some beginner high school players were having a match and apparently he insulted their play and told them their match would never finish because they couldn't hit the ball, so the kids came up to me and informed me and I went over to the guy and gave him a piece of my mind-- and I get very defensive when anyone fucks with my players so while I felt myself getting angry, I figured out a way to deal with the situation without punching the guy (and the Spotswood coach, who is a football guy and ex-lineman, had made his way over as well) but instead of yelling at the guy and losing my shit, I played the pedophile card and told him it was very odd that he was lurking around a high school sporting event, especially since he wasn't a parent or a coach, and that he was interacting with my youngest players . . . which I deemed highly inappropriate-- and then I told him he could read about the results in the newspaper and he needed to get away from the children and this worked quite well-- he beat a hasty retreat into the parking lot (and the Spotswood coach was impressed with my method, and now I know to use this method if this ever happens again).

Setting the Story Straight

My wife insists that I revise yesterday's narrative, when I presented a video of a Killer Deer . . . apparently this particular deer, a female, was protecting a newly born fawn-- the fawn was on the other side of the road, and neither Lola nor I saw it, but my wife did when she went down to the park a few minutes later to investigate . . . so this doe was just being an overprotective parent and the "killer" moniker is absolute hyperbole.

Men . . . We're the Best

I learned from a Freakonomics Radio Podcast (Women are Not Men) that while women are catching up and even surpassing men educationally and economically, there are some things at which men still significantly outperform women . . . things such as drowning and getting struck by lightning (men overestimate their ability to swim and they are outside more than women and don't come in during storms) and I believe I have found another thing that men excel at-- getting attacked by large animals . . . this morning while I was accompanying my dog Lola on her usual constitutional to Donaldson Park, we were confronted by an unusually aggressive deer-- and I normally let Lola off leash so that she can chase the deer down the hill and into the park, so they don't eat all the neighborhood hostas and spread deer ticks and cause traffic accidents-- but this morning was different (as you can witness in the video) and this doe would NOT back down and eventually charged us-- and this happened on our way down to the park and our way back home-- on our way back home the deer actually stalked us-- and my wife wondered why I had video of this-- why on earth I was would mess with this deer twice and I really had no good answer for her, other than the fact that I am a stupid man-- in fact, I should have realized that the doe was protecting a fawn, instead of screwing with it . . . and I later learned that when I sternly admonished the charging deer to "cut it out," it actually could have kicked me several times in the face instead of listening to me . . . anyway, Lola and I lived to tell the tale and we're not going to fuck with that doe any more.

So Much Tennis . . .

Today was the GMC Tennis Tournament, an all day tennis extravaganza with 26 teams from Middlesex County in attendance . . . we left for Thomas Edison Park at 8 AM-- packing food, water, chairs, tarps, coolers, sunblock, sandwiches, snacks, rackets, balls, etcetera-- and Ian lucked out with a prelim walkover so then he played an undefeated kid from the lower division and he beat him handily in the first set 6-0 but then started fooling around in the second set but still ended up winning 7-5, giving him the honor of playing the overall number one seed (and one of the top five players in the entire state) Jack Wong from East Brunswick . . . so he got to have some fun against a serious athlete and college player-- Ian had to back up to the fence to hit his serve back and while he was able to stay in some games, he couldn't take one . . . Jack Wong also hit a court length tweener that turned out to be a winner; Alex had a similar fate, he won his prelim in a tiebreaker and then got to play the number one seed in second singles-- another East Brunswick kid (East Brunswick had the number one seed in all five events) and our other players and teams had a good day as well-- everyone advanced to the second round; Boyang then lost in a close one to the Metuchen kid (again) and first and second doubles faced very strong teams, after winning their preliminary matches . . . so no complaints-- everyone got to play two matches, no one got injured, we saw some incredible tennis, and we got some great practice for the state tournament (where we play only Group I schools, so we should be competitive).

Be Prepared and Have a Plan?

This morning the weather report was grim: "High winds, severe thunderstorms, possible large hail, possible tornado" and there was an actual exclamation point next to the three weather slot and the recommendation to "be prepared and have a plan," and when I ran this by my students, none of them were aware of this and none of them had a plan . . . but apparently, it didn't matter-- the big storm never materialized, very disappointing, but the looming threat was probably good because it meant that the GMC Tennis Tourney was postponed until tomorrow-- so I was able to go to school today and spread the word about a nonexistent storm (and I was very successful in my acting endeavor, which related to the start of scene 3.2 in Hamlet, in which I pretended to choke on some water-- it went down the wrong pipe-- and then, in a coughing fit, consequently knocked over the water bottle, spilling water all over the carpet . . . the kids couldn't believe I was acting and decided that I should pursue a film career, though I could only act in movies where I pretend to choke on stuff and then knock things over).

Here We Go Again . . .

It's hot, it's humid, and-- just in case you thought you were safe in the water-- the lantern-fly eggs masses, mortar colored and ready to hatch, are dotting the trees in abundance.

Tranquil Time Travel

Emily St. John Mandel's new novel Sea of Tranquility floats by in an otherworldly manner, which makes sense-- since it is beautifully written about other worlds, other times, other timelines, and other possibilities . . . and while there are ghosts of the post-apocalyptic, post-pandemic world of Station 11, the current COVID pandemic, and the author herself, the book flows by in an odd, serene state of hypothetical possibility, the possibility that the world is a simulation, the possibility that you might interview yourself, that you might go back in time and live a recursive life, the possibility of moving too fast and too far, and the possibility of being still, and the possibility that time and motion and memory might be corrupted like a bad file . . . this was a much smoother and philosophical read than the last time travel novel I read, The Paradox Hotel.

More Tennis Adventures

We enjoyed a nice 4-1 win yesterday against St Joe's-- especially since their players were all wound up for senior day-- unfortunately, we didn't know that their school does NOT have tennis courts, so we went all the way over there, drove around a bit on their campus, and then learned that they play in Thomas Edison Park-- which is right next to Highland Park-- so we drove over there, got started late, had a couple matches go into the third set (and Ian was in an endless match with a really strong athletic senior) and when we finally finished it off, I found out that the freshman Ethan had ordered Uber Eats-- McDonald's-- but Ethan couldn't find the driver and this generally pissed me off because I had to be home to get to the GMC seeding meeting to learn about the county tournament so we searched the park for a few minutes for the delivery guy, but it's a giant park and the guy was way late, so I told Ethan to get a refund-- which he did-- and we headed home and I told the entire team to check with me before they did anything stupid (such as order food to be delivered to an enormous park).

People Are More Different Than You Believe

One of the essential things I always try to remember is that there are lots of people that genuinely believe things-- holy things, moral things, sciencey things, etcetera-- and that is going to be really important going forward with oncoming the Roe v. Wade conflict . . . as a nonbeliever in most things, aside from the fact that sports with a ball are a good way to spend your time, I have to recognize that a bunch of folks with very vehement beliefs about where and when and under what circumstances you can abort a fetus are going to scream and shout at one another and many of us that have no clue as to the right and wrong of this are going to get caught in the crossfire.

A Tough Loss and a Tough Win

Monday we had a big match against Metuchen which will probably determine the winner of the White Division-- and the two smallest schools by a large margin are at the top of the leaderboard-- and while the match started ugly for us, we made a nice comeback and Alex-- at second singles-- came up with a big win against last year's first singles player; Ian, unfortunately, had to play their young phenom, who stepped right into the first singles slot, and though Ian took an early lead, he lost the first set-- and he asked me what to do when "all this kid hits are winners" and I told him to hit it deep and hang in, which he did and he won the second set 6-3 so they headed to a third; meanwhile, Boyang was struggling at third singles, and our first and second doubles lost the first set- so I thought it was over-- but apparently the second doubles team are crazy twin brothers (two of three triplets) who are great athletes but often flake out, which they did and so our second doubles won the second and third sets, Alex won his match-- epic-- Boyang and first doubles lost; so it was two -two and it all came down to Ian at first singles-- and he pulled the heavy hitter into a third set but then went down 4-0 and it looked like all was lost . . . but Ian won four in a row and then split, so it was 5-5 (and the text strand to my wife was getting more and more insane) and then they fought it out to the end and Ian lost 7-5 . . . unfortunate, but-- as I reminded the team-- most teams are playing for nothing right now, so the fact that we got to play a huge match at the end of the season is what it's all about . . . especially as a coach and a dad, I was happy to be there and happy to be involved-- anyway, we had to recover to play South Plainfield, another good team, who beat Wardlaw twice on Monday-- a very good team-- and Ian recovered and won against a good player in two sets, but we had troubles elsewhere so it all came down to second doubles-- and they were bickering a bit when the match went to a third set-- but we were able to calm them down and they won the third set 6-2, giving us an excellent victory after a tough loss (and, as a side note, Alex had an AP test yesterday-- AP Calc BC-- and he won his match, and Ian had an AP test today-- AP Lang-- and he won, so I told both my kids those were banner days, more happened in a day that will often happen in a year of adulthood).

Like the Shining, But With Time Travel

If you're looking for a fast-paced novel with gender fluidity and plenty of time travel, set in a spooky hotel, then you'll love Rob Hart's The Paradox Hotel . . . but if you like your mysteries to have a linear plot, then this book . . . maybe not.

Stacey Summons the Dead

Stacey and I have the same schtick when we begin Hamlet-- we both play the role of Horatio, who-- in the opening moments of the play-- is skeptical of ghosts and the supernatural . . . Marcellus explains, "Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief take hold of him" and Horatio, in reference to the apparition, confidently asserts "tush, tush, 'twill not appear" but, moments after he says this, the ghost of Old Hamlet DOES appear and, after some good natured "I told you so!" by Barnardo (How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale.Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on't?) Horatio admits that "Before my God, I might not this believe without the sensible and true avouch of mine own eyes" and just before the apparition enters, Stacey and I always ask the class if they believe in ghosts, then chastise the believers for their irrationality and then we try to summon the dead, call upon the spirit world to strike us dead and stop our hearts, etc . . .  and there are usually a few kids who get upset by this-- who don't think we should fuck around with the netherworld, whether we believe in it or not-- but we've never been haunted or struck dead . . . until now-- apparently last week, the night after Stacey did her ghost bit, she was visited by a spirit in the night, a little girl in a green sweatshirt that hovered over her bed-- twice!-- and she woke her husband up but he didn't see her and now she wonders if there might be spirits walking the earth, and she wonders if she has summoned them . . . but of course, I think she was dreaming or saw a shadow or whatever, as I am a logical and rational man-of-logic who would never be perturbed by such rubbish.

Happy Mother's Day?

Mother's Day did not start off so well this year-- Catherine's shoulder pain was so intense she couldn't sleep, despite various muscle relaxants, painkillers, and some wine-- so we went to the emergency room at Robert Wood Johnson this morning, and while Cat was in serious pain, the emergency room experience was as good as it gets-- everyone was super-kind and the procedures were fast and efficient, and she was able to get x-rays, a lidocaine patch, some kind of painkiller shot in her other arm, a prescription for anti-inflammatories and a diagnosis: calcific tendonitis, which is painful but better than a torn rotator cuff . . . and while i was picking up her prescription at the pharmacy, the pharmacist recognized me-- I taught him many years ago (he's 27 now) and he remembered the social experiment I did during Orwell's Shooting an Elephant," because he was my confidant in the ruse-- I kicked him out of class to demonstrate some elements of the narrative-- and he fondly remembered this, so that was a fun moment in an otherwise lousy day (but at least Lola is on the mend, and hopefully Cat will be better once she gets a steady does of naproxen in her system).

All Blue Food

All Blue Seafood and Ramen House is now just called All Blue Chinese Cuisine and no longer has ramen-- it's now a Sichuan Place and the food is delicious (and very authentic, according to reviews) and it's BYOB and fairly cheap; they give you some cold spicy potato strings in vinegar to start and you order by checking boxes on a paper menu-- we had Dan Dan noodles and spicy potatoes and beef with scallions -- the beef was really good-- and some wontons in chili oil . . . we will bring the kids next time and order more stuff, but this is a good one to try, just out of town on Route 27.

TGIFF

Thank God it's fucking Friday . . . what a week: Catherine woke up on Tuesday and she couldn't lift her right arm and had to go to urgent care and get a steroid shot for severe tendonitis in her shoulder and she's in terrible pain, unable to sleep, and on steroids and muscle relaxants; Lola was up in the middle of the night, needing to pee, and then had an accident on a couch cushion-- which never ever happens-- so she either passed a kidney stone or has a UTI; I had to write up a preponderance of evidence for my summary evaluation; I covered three classes this week, all on my three period teaching days-- so three days this week, I spent every minute of the day with children; more tennis matches have been canceled due to rain; not only did the Supreme Court Roe vs Wade doc get leaked, but so did a doc about changing our school start and end time, which frightened a number of people; AP testing is in full chaotic swing, for both my students and my own children; I had a nightmare ride to the vet this afternoon with the urine sample, and after fighting through traffic, had to wait in the parking lot for a long time until I told them I was just dropping off the urine and leaving because traffic was building up and I might never get home, and so I handed over the urine and beat a hasty retreat back to Highland Park-- but when I got out of the car, Lola yanked loose because she saw the mailman and she barked at him, as dogs are won to do at the mailman and it frightened the dude and he dropped a bunch of mail in a puddle and I had to apologize profusely-- so fucking embarassing-- and it's going to rain for a long long time . . . so if our basement doesn't flood, my wife's arm starts working again, and Lola doesn't have a UTI, we'll be through the thick of it.

How Far Would YOU Drive For an Abortion?

This post-Roe Map of America is going to inspire some interesting abortion travel campaigns: come to Chicago and stroll the Riverwalk, sample the deep-dish pizza, and get an abortion . . . visit Miami, for the Art Deco architecture, the Cuban sandwiches, the beaches, and the abortions . . . but, in the end this will be something of a class issue, because if you can't afford to travel and you need an abortion in Mississippi, you're going to be SOL.

He's Your Pusherman

Good outing for Highland Park yesterday, we beat Piscataway-- a Group IV school-- five to zero and while they weren't all that good in most positions, their first singles player was 5-2 and a classic skilled junk ball pusher-- the kind of player that drives decent high school players absolutely crazy . . . especially my son Ian who just wants to play some good tennis-- he's happy to lose a match where both players are hitting the hell out of the ball but can't stand just bopping it back-- but after a game the Piscataway player realized he couldn't beat Ian at fast-paced tennis so he started pushing and Ian made the usual errors, tried to hit too hard, got too close to the net, and got frustrated-- he fell behind 4-1 and then realized that all he had to do was push back and give the kid a taste of his own medicine, so he started lobbing on him and it was windy and the kid got gradually more and more pissed off and Ian came all the way back and won the first set and then slowly, so slowly, beat him handily in the second set-- by the end the kid was hitting all kinds of bizarre cut shots, serving underhand, and trying every trick in the book, but Ian stayed the course and never freaked out and got the win on a kid who beat everyone but the best players in the White with the weirdest, most annoying tennis strategy on record.

New Shit Has Come to Light

We were watching Goliath and someone used the phrase "crock of shit" and my older son Alex said, "what of shit?" and my wife and I said "crock" and Ian asked, "like a crock pot or like a Croc shoe?" and my wife and I said, "crock pot" but then we agreed that a Croc style clog full of shit was also an excellent thing to be full of shit, especially if you stuck your foot inside it.

The Ticks are Back in Town

The kids work outside all day on Saturdays, Catherine works on both her own garden and the community garden, and the dog and I spend plenty of time outdoors as well . . . so who knows exactly who is bringing the ticks into our house, but we are finding them-- on pants and skin and hair, and Ian-- with his especially good eyes-- spotted a minuscule one on the dog . . . the thing was so tiny it leads me to believe that resistance is futile (although I've been trying to convince the boys to shave their shaggy locks because I never have to worry about ticks on my head).

In My House, The Apple Falls Right Next to the Tree

Yesterday afternoon, I yelled up the stairs to my older son Alex, who is eighteen now, and asked him what kind of roll he wanted for his burger and he yelled back "Dad, I'm trying to take a nap!" which made perfect sense since he had worked all day for the County Parks, doing trail maintenance, and when I came back into the kitchen my wife said, "Who does that sound like?" and she laughed and laughed.

Spring is in the Air (Among Other Odors)

Lovely spring day: excellent for reading on the back deck, listening to the wind rustling through the bamboo, watching the birds alight amongst the budding trees, and smelling-- occasionally amidst the fresh scents of newly bloomed flowers-- the decaying scent of sweaty feet from the many sneakers airing out on the railing.

Thus Endeth the Streak

We finally dropped a White Division match-- after seven wins-- but I couldn't be more proud of my team; we traveled to the super-fancy private school Wardlaw Hartridge, a team that we edged out last match 3-2 because Ian beat their superb first singles player, but Wardlaw have been hot of late and they were confident at the start of the match and all of our players except second doubles went down a set and I thought we would have an early exit and a quick and painless loss-- but we had some fight in us; I was especially proud of Ian, who battled back and won the second set in a tiebreaker; then first doubles won the second set and third singles followed and we were in a match-- it was tied 1-1 with the other three matches in the third set; Ian and his kid played an amazing match to the death, really fantastic tennis-- they were whipping two-handed backhands back and forth and getting to everything, and though Ian lost there was no shame in it; then our doubles team lost, ending the streak, but Ethan came through at third singles to make the score a respectable 3-2 loss . . . and so we reload for next week, which will be wacky because of stupid AP tests, and we'll see if we can start a new winning streak (and, though we are the smallest school in the White by far, we are still atop the division).

Gametime Decision

After our marathon tennis match in the freezing wind and cold yesterday . . . and after driving a couple kids home, trying to get some food at Coco-- which was closed-- we ended up getting burritos at Crazy Burrito in Edison, a little authentic Mexican place, and I got a chorizo burrito and the kids got barbacoa-- and when we got home, at 8 PM-- so five hours from when we left the high school parking lot-- Alex and I noticed that Ian's styrofoam burrito contained had the word "goat" written on it, but rather than tell him he was eating goat (and facing the possibility that he wouldn't want to eat it, though he was cold and hungry) we kept the information to ourselves, and he wolfed down the goat without pause (I told him today and he didn't seem concerned and then we checked the menu and apparently Alex ate goat as well).

A Close One

Away match today at JFK High School in Iselin and things did not start well--our line-up was something of a mess, with a couple kids at a math competition and a couple kids just in from Georgia (DECA trip) and then our van driver took a wrong turn . . . onto the Garden State Parkway and we took a detour over the Driscoll Bridge-- but we made it on time and it was cold and very very windy and we had to get started right away and-- aside from second doubles-- we went down in all our matches; soon enough, second doubles won handily and first doubles looked to be doing well (but Boyang was very tired from the trip) but our singles players were struggling; Ethan was down a set, Ian was playing great but faced the best player in the White Division-- he was 12 - 0-- and Alex was nursing a strained hamstring and struggling; he ended up losing the first set, but then winning the second set in a tiebreaker; the same thing happened to Ethan the freshman at third singles-- then our first doubles team collapsed and lost, and there seemed to be some cheating from the opposition so the coaches had to watch-- and Alex gutted it out-- once again-- and he clobbered his kid in the third set (he basically got the kid to give up) and the match was tied 2-2 and it all came down to Ethan in a third set tiebreaker and it went back and forth back and forth in the gusty wind, past the seven point mark, to 8 - 8 and then Ethan won apoint, and-- ahead by one and pumped up beyond belief, instead of hitting his usual dinky spin serve, he tossed the ball ahead of him with a long left arm and clobbered it, and his opponent was able to get a bit of racket on it but no strings and it whipped by him into the fence . . . and there was much rejoicing (and we are 7 - 0 in our division and only have one loss on the books, to a superteam that we though we were scrimmaging but apparently the match does count, but we've got another brutal match on Friday and Alex will most likely be out with a strained hamstring).

Surviving Tuesday

Tuesday is my least favorite day of the week-- no fresh Monday energy and no end to the week in sight-- but I survived today's Tuesday without major mishap: while I did slightly screw up my Richard III/War of the Roses chart that I drew on the board (I mistakenly put a line indicating betrothal from Anne Neville, Warwick's daughter, to Henry VI instead of his son Edward . . . shame on me!) this was balanced out by the fact that my van healed itself, and the three check engine lights that were on magically turned themselves off this morning.

Billy Bob = Law?

Goliath is the weirdest, most surreal legal drama I've ever seen-- the first season seemed like it was going to be in the vicinity of Better Call Saul but each season gets more and more obtuse, philosophical, and abstract . . . my whole family loves it, for no good reason other than it's weird and Billy Bob is a lot of fun to watch, but I wonder what an actual lawyer would make of it.

Reversal!

Yesterday, I went biking and rollerblading while my wife went to the gym, then we strolled around Duke Farms and stopped at Flounder Brewing for some beer-- meanwhile, both boys were working for the county, some kind of youth trail-maintenance job-- then today I went to the gym, strolled around with the dog, etc. while Ian worked for a lady in town, smoothing out a stone driveway, and then both boys put on their zebra-stripes and went to referee flag football . . . it's a little disconcerting, it almost feels like early retirement.

Keeping On Keeping On

I worked a full day today, and I mean a full day-- not one minute off-- I covered a class and had a duty and finished Henry IV and started Hamlet . . . and then I raced home to prepare for what I believed was going to be a disastrous tennis match-- we were playing Edison, a huge school with a decent tennis program, and we were missing three starters-- Boyang and Jakob were on the DECA trip and Sapir was still in Italy-- but, as we know from Henry V: 

"The fewer men, the greater share of honor" 

and so our very depleted team took to the courts at Johnson Park and quickly fell behind; Ian was playing an athletic pusher at first singles and he couldn't figure him out; Alex was playing a hard-hitting second singles player who was nailing every shot; Ethan the freshman was playing an experienced senior at third singles; then our first doubles lost the first set in a tie-breaker, Alex got slaughtered in the first set; Ian was having a terrible time; Ethan was down but our wacky second doubles team came through and won a set; Alex decided he could run his kid to death-- not a fun way to play but a possibility-- Ethan battled back, and our first doubles won the second set . . . and then pretty much everything went our way (although it wasn't Ian's day, he couldn't figure out how to beat his kid) but everyone else battled back and won, so we managed a 4-1 victory in a match I thought was a throwaway loss, and it was all gutsy pressure-filled come-from-behind wins . . . really awesome, and after Alex won the second set in a tiebreaker and then-- with a strained hamstring-- basically ran his kid until he couldn't run any more-- he finished up, victorious, and his girlfriend Izzy did a little proposal poster with tennis puns on it (and some cupcakes that looked liked tennis balls) and it was an epic and excellent Friday afternoon, and-- in David vs. Goliath fashion-- a great win over a Group IV school . . . so we're now 6 - 0 and hanging on for dear life until everyone gets back from their various trips. 

AITA?

There's a fun thread on Reddit called "Am I the Asshole?" and if I get motivated, I'll put this situation on there:

this morning a teacher came into my room and said, "Did you cover my class yesterday?" 

I confirmed this and he said, "Did you take them for a walk?"

I also confirmed this and he got quite upset and said that now the kids had an excuse for not finishing their work and told me "not to do that again" and I kind of laughed him off, told him we went for a five-minute walk to get some fresh air (during an 82 minute period) and that the kids weren't doing the packet he left for them anyway-- I knew some of the kids in the class and they told me that the teacher was putting up the answer key at 3 PM and the stuff was just for them to study (or not, and they were choosing not) and he said that a kid emailed and said that they went for a walk and didn't have time to finish and I advised the teacher to tell that kid to screw off, as the five minute walk certainly didn't impede anyone from finishing their work but none of this seemed to make sense to him (and I believe we're encouraged to give the kids a short break in the block schedule because classes are insanely long) and while I did not take this teacher or his concerns and demands seriously, perhaps I am the asshole.

Some Real Hard Sci-fi

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.