Capitol One double charged us a week ago-- my wife paid $3823 two days early so she could sort out our budget and then Capitol One automatically took another $3823 two days later-- their auto-pay extracted that amount again, even though our balance was zero-- so that our bill was now negative three thousand and some dollars-- and when we called to rectify this, their customer service was atrocious-- NOBODY could do anything . . . apparently they can take your money but they can't give it back-- and the fucking customer service people just read and read from their script and no one could bump you up to anyone with actual power . . . we were finally promised that after an "investigation" they would return the money they stole from us-- at first they said they would return it in the form of a check, but we were like: "you fucking took the money digitally so you can return it digitally" so the rep said he would do that ASAP-- but he was a liar-- and then a week went by and we received nothing so I called again this Saturday-- and now we were in worse shape because our credit card statement no longer reflected that we were three thousand in the negative . . . but we didn't have the money-- and I must point out that we were lucky enough to have enough money to pay our Rutgers bill, as this double-charge was enough money to cripple some families financially-- and the lady couldn't even see that there was some weird payment correction pending and she also had no supervisor working she could refer us to-- so after much yelling she finally figured out that Capitol One had sent us a letter-- a letter!-- informing us that they would soon be sending us a check-- a fucking check, though they stole our money digitally-- and this is obviously because some percentage of people never get the check and never follow up, so Capitol One makes even more money by bilking people . . . so it's going to take a couple weeks (I hope) to get our money back that they stole by double billing us, though they extracted it digitally, so as soon as we get the money we'll be cancelling our account and I implore everyone to cancel their Capitol One accounts and forward this story and tell your friends and family to FUCK CAPITOL ONE because they are crooks with atrocious customer service.
Feeling Old
I covered for the special education teacher in an environmental science class today and when I walked in I assumed the skinny, masked child behind the desk was a student-- but he turned out to be the teacher, a rather diffident brand-new hire who looked no older than my younger son . . . and then one of my other students said, "I was telling my mom how you needed to use a phone cord as a belt because your pants were falling down and my mom's friend said that you taught her-- her name is Julia and her daughter is a freshman"-- so that's what's coming down the pike, children of the kids I taught in my early years . . . yikes.
Beers, Bars, and Stumps
This weekend was much mellower than last weekend, but Cat and I did manage to go out after the senior night game on Friday-- and though we were very tired, the scene at the bar at Mr. Pi's sushi place woke us up-- first we were chatted up by a very energetic lesbian couple-- Stacey and Nerissa-- and we found out that they were older than they looked (50 and 46 no kids will do that . . . and for Nerissa, black doesn't crack) and Nerissa played basketball at St. Peters back in the day and knew folks that my brother played with at North Brunswick-- Wayne Cruz and Daryl Banks and such-- and then it was more small world game, Nerissa runs the after school program at the school where my wife works, so they will run into each other again-- and there was also a book club happening and there were some younger soccer moms that we knew, and the Deatz family wandered in-- they were eating dinner on the restaurant side, and then Sleepy Dan ambled in to complete the bar scene . . . and the bartender was a trip-- she's planning all sorts of jazz and karoake and footabll specials-- and we talked to one of the chefs, a Japanese guy who was very hungover for the previous night's sake tasting; Saturday I actually went grocery shopping and succeeded in getting everything on the list and then we went to Flounder Brewing and the Bellemara distillery next door-- really the best beer and drinks around (but a little pricey) and Sunday morning Cat and I played pickleball and then I watched the Giants while she worked on curriculum for some program (and Ian worked, yardwork and he gave a tennis lesson) and we got sandwiches from Sapore Deli in Middlesex after pickleball-- this place is HIGHLY recommended-- I got a broccoli rabe, hot pepper and chicken cutlet sandwich, ridiculous amount of food for 13 bucks-- it's two meals-- and then I successfully killed and bagged a stump from a dead tree (see the trophy photo above).
Beginning of the End, Sort Of
Last night was "senior night" for the HP Boys Soccer Team-- Catherine, my mother and I went out on the field with Ian-- who gave my mother a bouquet of flowers-- while my dad looked on from the fence on his scooter (it would have been difficult for him to navigate the turf on that thing) and then Highland Park cruised to a 5-0 victory over Timothy Christian in the first round of the county tournament; little Michael Volpert was the hero, scoring all five goals; Ian gave him a nice header assist for the first goal and Ian started at left-back instead of wing so that all the seniors could start the game-- it was fun watching him play there (the same position Alex played last year) and while there are still a few regular season games left, another county game to play, and the state tournament, this is the beginning of the end of watching high school soccer with a kid on the field (although the stands were packed last night, with plenty of HP fans whose kids have graduated, so I'll probably be watching games in the future, but it won't be the same of course).
Gender Stuff
We read Jia Tolentino's "Athleisure, barre, and kale: The Tyranny of the Ideal Woman" in College Writing class-- and the descriptions of barre class, while mildly erotic, are also depicted as training that helps "you adapt to arbitrary, prolonged agony," similar to the hyper-accelerated modernly optimized feminine lifestyle-- which led to a class discussion about why most women-- even if they played sports in school-- don't participate in pick-up basketball and soccer and other joyful sporting activities and instead subject themselves to yoga-pilates on a reformer (as my friend Cunningham does) and perhaps it is because-- as evidenced in the contrast between Tolentino and our other text, "The Naked Citadel," that men haze each other while women haze themselves.
There Are Two Sides to Every Conflict About a Rubber Doorstopper
Earlier in the week, my friend and colleague Terry was sitting morosely in the English Office (as he is wont to do, we don't call him Eeyore for nothing) and he said to me:
"Liz just called me a dick, in front of our homeroom!"
I asked him why this happened and he said:
"We've got this stupid rubber doorstopper and I couldn't get it to work because you have to fold it over or something and after she showed me how to do it, I said 'I still don't like it,' just joking around and she blew up at me!"
I said that was odd and maybe she was upset about something else-- she was teaching an extra class and had a lot of different preps and maybe she was just in a bad mood-- and then for the sake of Denise, who was also in the office and hates all men, I said:
"You know, not everyone is as calm and rational as us in these kind of situations"
and then I went on my merry way
the next day, Liz said to me, "I don't want you taking Terry's side before you hear the entire story" and so I gave her a recap of what Terry said happened and then-- because she has a dramatic bent-- Liz acted out what happened-- or what she thinks happened-- and it was a bit more compelling than Terry's story . . . apparently Terry is the extra teacher in the homeroom and he doesn't contribute much to running the show-- and Liz claims he was hunched over the doorstopper, fooling with it and muttering and complaining for like five minutes-- and she showed him how it worked but he continued to complain so she told him to "fuck off" . . . and she did admit she got pretty pissed-- which can certainly happen to Liz, who generally exudes school spirit and positivity, but when she's confronted with enough masculine fatalism she can lose it-- longtime fans of this sentence may remember when Liz kicked me out of the department because I did not want to "dress like a holiday" . . . and now, coincidentally, I share homeroom with Haim, the guy who prevented me from redeeming myself in that debacle . . . anyway, something happened between Terry and Liz in homeroom and the catalyst was a rubber doorstopper . . . the rest is shrouded in a profane mystery.
The Orchard . . . You Know, Behind the Tennis Courts
Today the sophomores and juniors had to take the PSAT (interminable and the script that admin made for us was riddled with typos and errors-- it was actually difficult to read-- you had to correct spelling, verb tense, and actual wrong wordage on the fly) so we had a half day, and to escape traffic quickly I brought my bike-- right when the test ended, I ran out of the building and jumped onto it and rode over to the used book sale at the mall and bought some books . . . when I returned I saw one of my friends from the History Department walking to his car and stopped my bike and entered into a very strange conversation:
"Hey what's going on?"
"I just rode over to the used book sale at the mall, got some good cheap books . . . now I'm headed over to the orchard to bike the trails"
"The orchard? I don't live around here . . ."
"The orchard . . . behind the tennis courts? where the track team runs?"
"Cranbury Road is behind the tennis courts"
"Not exactly . . . you go over a bridge, there's a large piece of land, that used to be an orchard-- with trails-- it's high school property"
"I've never been back there"
"Behind the tennis courts? There's a bridge over a little stream?"
"I don't know man"
"How long have you worked here! Twenty years?"
"Twenty years"
"Well . . . there's an orchard-- I used to walk across it to the old Blockbuster if I needed a movie for class"
"Alright, sounds cool, maybe I'll eat my lunch back there"
"Watch out for ticks"
and then I went biking in the orchard, a place I often run, walk, and bike . . . wondering how he made it twenty years without hearing about the orchard, a large chunk of multi-use land on our high school campus . . . weird . . . I wonder what stuff I don't know about our high school.
Gross Stuff Part II
In the comments yesterday, Zman wondered if cleaning out the wood under my deck would eliminate cave crickets-- and my answer is yes, I think it will help-- they like to live under rotting wood; this afternoon I also cleaned out the bike shed, and found dozens of cave crickets in there, under a piece of spare plywood-- so I took the doors off the bike shed, cleared out the spare pieces of wood, smashed a bunch of crickets with a shovel, sprayed some insecticidal soap, and put down some bug killing powder-- both in the shed and under the deck-- so we'll see how that works, but I'm still annoyed by some out of reach lantern flies in my maple tree-- maybe I'll try to get to them today, I think I can hit them from the deck with either long distance wasp spray or some Neem oil from our pump sprayer . . . I'm kind of ready for the first frost, which should decimate all these pests.
Gross Stuff, Indigenous, Exotic, and Otherwise
I cleaned out all the wood under our deck today-- there were pieces of old fencing and rotting chunks of timber from past projects and all kinds of other crap that was under there before we put lattice up-- including a deflated basketball full of water and one hard seltzer can that must have been tossed in there by one of the kid-- and this stuff was a haven for cave crickets so hopefully this will cut the population down; I also killed bunches of lantern flies on our maple trees-- gross-- and then we watched The Dark Crystal:Age of Resistance, which is an awesome show and highly recommended, but also quite gory and gross.
Too Many Things
Sports Potpourri
Huberman: Nice Guy, Smart Guy, But He Ruins Everything!
Andrew Huberman has a doctorate in neuroscience and is a professor at Stanford, and his podcast, Huberman Lab, is comprehensive, exhaustively researched, intelligent, and enlightening . . . but the last two episodes I listened to have been pretty brutal-- in a very nice, non-judgmental way;
1) the main takeaway in the two hour long episode "What Alcohol Does To Your Body, Brain & Health" is that more than FIVE servings of alcohol a week is really bad for your brain, mood, sleep, liver, longevity and telomeres . . . there's so much more in there but that's what I remember-- and for a guy who enjoys beer, it's a tough constraint to follow;
2) the big takeaways from "The Effects of Cannabis (Marijuana) on the Brain & Body" are:
-- people under the age of twenty-five should NOT use cannabis because of well documented decrease and thinning in gray matter-- that's the good stuff stuff in your brain, especially in the prefrontal cortex -- and an increase in future incidence of schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, psychosis, depression, and anxiety;
--pregnant women should never use cannabis;
--while there are some pros for people over 25 who use cannabis-- reduced anxiety, pain relief, increased focus and creativity-- if you use cannabis more than twice a week, then you lose these benefits, build a tolerance, reverse the anxiety reduction, screw up some receptors in your brain, and increase likelihood of mental illness down the line;
--smoking cannabis, or any drug, has a whole host of other negative health benefits that aren't even associated with the drug . . . and the same goes for vaping;
so while cannabis might be "better" than drinking alcohol, Huberman doesn't think this makes a particular good case for chronic use of the drug-- because that comes with its own costs.
Playing the Tomorrow Game
Smoking Puppets?
My family has enjoyed the first few episodes of The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance-- the sets are intricate and awe-inspiring, the plot is epic, and while the characters are a little difficult to differentiate, the show is pretty intense-- considering it is enacted by puppets-- but I was surprised the the Netflix warning at the start: "fear, gore, smoking"-- I could see the fear and the gore, although it's fairly cartoony fear and gore, but it's certainly no Madmen.
I'm a Subconscious IT Guy
Apparently, when I bang on my Lenovo ThinkPad to make the screen return from random blackout to whatever I was previously working on, I am doing "percussive maintenance"-- which is an actual tech strategy to solve certain malfunctions (but don't try it on toddlers . . . but perhaps try it on robot toddlers).
Who's Who? Who Knows?
Like the Fog, Dementia Rolls In
Last night, we were at a potluck dinner at our neighbor's house and I asked my wife the location of my cousin Tommy's 60th birthday party-- an event we were attending today-- and she said, "Catherine Lombardi" and I was like, "OH MY GOD! That's awesome!" because Catherine Lombardi is in New Brunswick, two minutes from our house (and I thought we would be driving all the way out to South Brunswick) and my wife said, "You knew that-- I told you weeks ago" and I said, "I most definitely didn't know that! I would have reacted the same way-- I would have been so excited that we didn't have to drive!" and she said: "That's exactly how you reacted the last time I told you."
Yelling Rarely Fixes Electrical Issues
After yelling at the universe for the thousandth time that the living room lamp that I use for reading was unplugged-- because my son uses the outlet to charge his phone/computer and only one of the outlets works, I actually solved the problem-- for 11 dollars!-- and ordered a power strip that also has three USB ports.
High School Sports: Treasure That Shit
Ian Plays Soccer Like a Hurricane
My son Ian, who is a senior in high school, has had a rough couple years of high school soccer-- he was an excellent player when he was young, but then he didn't grow . . . and then he grew too fast-- so he's endured a broken elbow, stretched and tender Achilles tendons, and an elbow to the orbital that gave him a concussion-- he didn't really play any soccer all summer , he just played tennis and basketball, but he's been getting his touch back during this season and yesterday he had his best varsity game ever-- and coach rewarded him with the "man of match" award-- a free sub-- he dominated both outside mid-positions; won a ball and beat a couple got the game winning assist; set up two other perfect assists that players outright missed, hit the post on two shots-- one of which was an incredible left-footed bending ball from outside the 18 on the right flank-- pursued all over the field and won balls, trapped every long ball perfectly, hit a number of quick one-touch give-and-goes and generally hustled, played smart, and won a lot fo balls . . . and he managed to make it uninjured until three minutes left in the game, when he went to shoot and got crushed by two players, one sliding in, the other next to, causing him to flip over (he's 5 foot 11 and only 130 pounds) and land on his back, knocking the wind out of him . . . but he was fine today and hopefully he'll perform just as well tomorrow.
Dave Grohl and Langston Hughes, Together at Last?
You're not going to read Dave Grohl's memoir for the writing quality: The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music is kind of cheesy . . . and you're not going to read it for the inside scoop on Kurt Cobain-- he doesn't get into the drugs and depression and Courtney Love stuff very much-- but you might like his attitude about music, which borders on religious fervor-- and the anecdotes-- which feature loads of musicians that I love (notably Iggy Pop, Tom Petty, Lemmy and Pantera) and if you're up for a real adventure, you could listen to the new episode of We Defy Augury, "Dave Grohl and Langston Hughes Rock the House," which features the Grohl book, Langston Hughes, and a bunch of other connected audio cameos.
What Are the Odds?
I've spend an inordinate amount of my life on grassy fields-- playing soccer, coaching soccer, playing golf, hiking, walking the dog, etcetera-- but I've never spotted a four-leaf clover.
Out with My Wife (Three Outings!)
Out with the Deatz
I was at the Annual Grant Avenue Block Party yesterday when Deatz made me an offer I couldn't refuse: a free ticket to the Rutgers/Iowa game . . . we walked over straight from the block party, watched Rutgers hang in athletically (but not strategically-- and they made some horrific game-changing turnovers) and then got a ride home from his daughter, who goes to Rutgers and was at the game . . . quite a scene over there, and even though Rutgers got beat, it looked like a Big 10 football game.
Out with the Ladies
Got the Podcast Done Just in Time
First of all, I managed to finish another episode of my podcast We Defy Augury . . . this one is about Steven Johnson's new book and it's called "Revising Our Notion About Pirates" and I got it done just in time-- because I'm going to sound like I have marbles in my mouth for a day or two-- this afternoon, I underwent two hours of clanking and poking and pulling and drilling, and casting and impressing-- and now my old bridge is gone, as is all the decay under my old bridge-- and my dentist, Dr. David, is "cautiously optimistic" that I won't have to endure a root canal before they can put in my permanent bridge (and there's going to be a bit of gold on my permanent bridge! not quite a grill, but it's something) and right now I'm sipping some Olmeca Altos tequila, waiting for the lidocaine to wear off, which it most certainly will-- and then, apparently, my mouth is going to hurt some (I should also point out that the hygienist was pretty weird and nerdy in a fun way, we were talking about how long a day it had been and she started postulating about the possibilities of time dilation . . . and I couldn't really chime in much because I was biting down on some weird goopy stuff in order to make a mold for my temporary bridge).
Special Guest
Alex came home from college and ate dinner with us tonight-- which was very exciting-- but the reason was not so exciting: he needed to buy a new laptop (but it was still fun-- we cooked a steak, got the lowdown on his classes and all the parties, and then Cat drove him back over to Livingston so he could attend some physics study group).
Tuesday = Johnny Lawrence
Ian scored his first varsity goal yesterday-- so he's one step closer to his goal of scoring in varsity soccer, varsity basketball-- which is a stretch because he hasn't played organized basketball since 8th grade-- and winning some matches as first singles in varsity tennis (which, barring injury, will be business as usual) meanwhile I worked my ass off today, teaching three of the four 82 minute periods (including singing a song, doing a music theory demo on my guitar in public speaking, and brainstorming a lot of demo topics with kids) and I covered a class during my only off period-- and then we had a department meeting-- so while I'd like to continue reading about the Civil War, I think the best my brain will be able to muster is watching the new season of Cobra Kai.
Very Very Early Action
I was upstairs reading some Civil War history and I heard some yelling downstairs so I went to check it out and apparently Ian was getting started on his Rutgers application-- which is totally separate from the Common App-- and he was clicking through shit like a lunatic, which is how both my children navigate web-pages-- fast and furious, with very little comprehension-- and he somehow submitted his application before filling out any of the stuff, and there are no take-backs with college applications-- so we're going to have to send a bunch of emails to rectify this (and the first reply was basically "sorry, no take-backs") and I don't think high school boys are qualified to apply to college.
Phrases phrases phrases
Pirates? Not the Disney Version
Great non-fiction writers can make any topic interesting and Steven Johnson is one of the great ones, he's done it over and over with various topics-- innovations and ideas, cholera, the history of air, organized complexity, decision-making, video games and TV, etcetera-- and in his new book, he astounded me by taking a topic that I always thought was kind played out and juvenile: pirates-- but Johnson's take on pirates is different . . . he puts them in global context, but I should warn you, Enemy of All Mankind: A True Story of Piracy, Power, and History's First Global Manhunt is not a book that focuses on swashbuckling and sword-fighting-- although that stuff comes up-- instead it portrays pirates (specifically Henry Every) as a bundle of contradictions: democratic rapists; multi-cultural xenophobes; contract abiding torturers; free-spirited slave traders . . . it's a lot to take in, but Johnson does it in a fast breezy style and the history of the Mughal Dynasty and the East India Company goes down fairly easy.
Could Be an Educational Experiment
I had an Indian curry and a shitload of lentils for lunch and I'm drinking coffee and now I'm wolfing down rice and beans for dinner, then heading over to Back to School Night . . . the parents could be in for a treat!
Epic Week But No Complaints
A long week . . . five days of teaching six classes and four preps, plus Back to School Night (and no more videos, we're doing it in person) but it's been a good week: Rutgers football won, Giants football "won" . . . but just barely, Ian went up 190 points on the SAT, Ian played really well in the tragic soccer loss against Middlesex . . . another ridiculous call-- this time a phantom PK and the Middlesex kid, who had been diving all game, kicked the ball while he was on the ground and HE got the call in his favor and then our goalie got knocked out of the way and another goal was scored and then another Middlesex kid took a dive and out player got his second yellow, so I'm glad I'm not coaching but Ian scraped the rust off from a summer of only tennis and actually looked fit and aggressive and his touch was excellent, and we had a delicious flank steak for dinner-- and you never know with flank steak, sometimes it can be tough, and I've got another episode of We Defy Augury out . . . we'll see if I can keep it up after this long week (and Garage Sale Day on Saturday . . . if I get the next episode out, I'm a podcasting hero).
Saul > Sentence
New content is canceled today-- Catherine, Ian, and I watching the penultimate episode of Better Call Saul . . . all the timelines are coming together and things are mainly black and white (and bleak).
The Key To Teaching High Schhol
Dave's Still Got It (Aside from a Thick Head of Hair and Speed)
This weekend, I took a break from racquet sports (I played pickle-ball, badminton, and tennis last week) and met up with my pick-up soccer group for our first session on the brand new turf-- I haven't played since doing indoor soccer last winter because I didn't want to sprain my ankle on the shitty rock hard grass at the park but now that the turf is done, I'll attend-- and for any of you wondering, I've still got it-- the touch and the vision and creativity, the ability to play passes with either foot, the one-touch and the give-and-go, the fake pass and the step-over . . . all that jazz-- all that's missing is speed and agility and quickness and my knees.
Apology Note to My Biceps (and the rest of my muscles)
I'm sorry I went to the gym this morning and lifted weights when I knew that we had to remove a couch from our living room-- never again (hopefully we won't ever have to buy a couch again, and I won't have to worry about this-- the stupid couch wouldn't fit through the front door so we had to carry it out through the sliding door, onto the deck, down the stairs, and from the backyard to the front-- when am I old enough to hire people to do this kind of work?)
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished (by Dave)
Some of you may be familiar with how I live my life (Dave-style) and one of the cute and quirky things about my particular style of living is that instead of throwing stuff I don't want into the trash, sometimes I just toss it onto the common table in the English Office . . . so when Sara Murphy (affectionately known as Smurphy and one of my favorite people in the universe) came into my class, holding a stack of paper and said, "You forgot your photo-copies on the table, here they are," I felt really bad-- but I had to tell her (mainly because I knew the class would enjoy the information) that I didn't need those photo-copies and they were actually trash that I had inconsiderately tossed onto the common table and that though she had tried to do a good deed, she had instead exposed me as the total jackass that I am . . . but at least I have this blog in which to reflect upon these moments and maybe I won't do this again for a couple of weeks.
The First Thing I Do in the Morning
Before you can wake up and smell the coffee, someone has to make the coffee.
Note to Self: Wear a Belt!
Once every school year I either forget my belt or decide my pants fit perfectly and I don't need a belt-- but I always forget that once I start moving around and sweating-- and yesterday was particularly humid and sweaty-- that my pants loosen up and start falling down . . . so I had to improvise and use a type-A phone cord as a belt, which worked pretty well (but not as well as an actual belt, which I will ALWAYS wear now-- until I forget).
This One Goes to 11
Another Labor Day, Another Greased Watermelon Water-polo Rugby Match
Yesterday was the end of the season picnic at the Rutgers pool and the end of the season picnic culminates with the greased-watermelon-rugby-water-polo match in the deep end of the pool . . . and it was the usual melee-- no goggles allowed, so everyone's eyes were burning, a few of us (including me) got kicked in the head, lots of dunkings and near drownings, a lack of ability to sweat because your skin gets covered in vaseline, and so much treading water that by the end, it was difficult to pull yourself out of the pool-- but I also noticed something with the dynamic-- the game was seven on seven this year-- kind of small-- and the only people playing are the crew that is my age (around fifty) and our children (and some of our children's friends) and the rest of the eligible pool members-- all the twenty and thirty and forty year olds-- pull up chairs and watch the match . . . we got exactly one new player, a 44 year old named John who was a water polo player-- and he told me after the match "I didn't realize it would be so intense! and I thought I would swim circles around everyone but there are some really good swimmers," which is true because one family is all swimmers and their kids can grab the watermelon and submerge to the bottom of the pool and swim with it, which is pretty much an indefensible play . . . anyway, this gladiatorial event may die (sink and drown) with our generation (and I think this year's match caused me to pass a very small kidney stone, I won't go into further detail on that front).
Graduation Wine
Action-packed Saturday: I took a long bike ride on the tow road (and with the cross country coach, who I ran into on his bike in Johnson Park) and then I drove to Clark with Ian and we bought a used bike because he keeps growing and then I installed some basement window well covers-- I should have done that a long time ago-- and Catherine bought a new coach and chair and then we went to Flounder Brewing for a beer and now we're getting dinner ready and drinking the bottle of wine that the kids and I got many years ago, which was specifically for once Alex graduated and went to college-- and it actually tastes quite good.
Back to School
Total brain fog-- today was some kind of epic Professional Development Day at school (and even though what all the teachers want to do is get set up, figure out lesson plans, talk to people that are teaching the same classes as them, and get ready for the kids . . . but we need to be inspired) so we had two hours of music and dancing and edu-tainer Dr. Adolf Brown, what happened to be at William and Mary at around the same time I was there (but he was obviously making something of himself, attending class and then many levels of graduate school, while I played darts and ping-pong) and though he was a great speaker, his message could have been conveyed in twenty minutes-- basically that the kids are bringing baggage to school and so are the teachers, and we've got to empty our own backpacks and see that the kids are carrying cumbersome weight in their backpacks-- and there was some prop comedy with a mirror and some toilet paper jokes (even though good teachers never have stomach issues-- you get on a schedule and never stary from it . . . one of the reasons I wake up early) and then we had ANOTHER 90 minute meeting after the two hour meeting and then we rounded it out with a department meeting . . . meanwhile, Catherine was moving Alex into his dorm room on Rutgers-Livingston Campus (which is only a mile or two away from our house, so I can certainly do some Rodney Dangerfield back-to-school action) and so I got to check out the finished product once I got out of school, and then we stopped by the high school to see Ian play in the soccer scrimmage (but he had to call for a sub, he's got a pulled stomach muscle-- I told him to rest it) and anyway, I'm definitely feeling old, overwhelmed at school, a kid going to college, another a high school senior . . . but once the students come, everything will sort itself out.
Mafia Redux
If you're looking for a well-written organized crime tale in a different setting than usual (Providence! Like Crimetown!) then check out Don Winslow's new one. City on Fire . . . it's got all the mob tropes-- I'm cataloging them now for my next episode of We Defy Augury . . . but if you're looking for something a little different, try the Italian mobster film Gomorra . . . it's cycles between the quotidian and extreme violence: the ins and outs of illegal toxic waste disposal and trying to make it as a mobbed up tailor and the assassinations and terror that occurred in Italy during the Scampia Feud . . . there's not the romance and drama and fun of Goodfellas and The Godfather, just daily life in the criminal underworld.
Willie Nelson Strikes Again!
My favorite joke of all time-- the Willie Nelson joke-- appeared in one of Adrian McKinty's crime novels, leading to a visit from McKinty himself at SoD . . . now the joke has reared it's ugly (but adorably stoned) head in the new Sedaris memoir, Happy-Go-Lucky . . . which means that Sedaris has to come visit my blog as well.
Double Digits!
I'm proud to announce that I've released TEN episodes of my podcast "We Defy Augury" . . . and I hope I have enough material for many more, as I enjoy making them (although my favorite part-- the weird voice that happens when I explain the purpose of the podcast and the joys of reading and autonomous thinking, over the inspirational music-- is my wife's LEAST favorite part of the show).
Nothing Says Jersey like a Microbrewery in an Industrial Park
Yesterday my wife and I went to the Jersey Cyclone Brewing Company-- which, like Cypress Brewery is located in a weird industrial park-- but unlike Cypress, Cylcone Brewery has a spacious tasting room with tables, booths, and a large bar- the beer is decent, but nothing to write home about . . . as far as local breweries go, I still like Flounder Brewery the best (both for it's excellent and various beers and the pastoral setting).
Some Deets
Yesterday's sentence was vague, Yoda-esque, and boring-- so here's a bit more detail: yesterday, Ian and I took off for Hamilton, New Jersey at 6:50 AM so he could take the SAT at Trenton Catholic because there were no seats available for the test near us; I dropped him off at 7:35 AM and they admitted him into the testing facility; I then when and played pickleball with my brother at Veteran's Park-- which was only a few miles away-- and this was elite pickleball competition, in fact, they wanted me to "try-out" to play with them, but my brother vouched for me-- and then my brother and I beat nearly everyone there so there were no longer concerns about my skill level-- then I went to my brother's place and Amy made me a sandwich and gave me some watermelon- and then I headed over to the school to pick Ian up, and I parked in the lot, got out of the car, and wandered and stretched . . . and I put my tennis shoes and socks on the hood so they could dry out and not stink up the car . . . and there was no sign of the test ending, though it was supposed to be a 3 hour test with one fifteen minute break-- but now we were going on noon and they were supposed to start at eight AM so it should have been over but it went on and on . . . I reparked the car on the road in a shady spot, I got really annoyed with all the people sitting in their cars, idling, making me breathe all kinds of fumes while I wandered around, but they sat on their phones in the AC, burning fossil fuels, and the kids didn't get out until nearly 1 PM and Ian was starving, so we stopped at Wendy's and he got some ridiculous chicken sandwich with fried pickles and honey habanero and bacon and then I went over Stacey's house for Ed's birthday, ate BBQ, played cornhole and lawn darts-- lawn darts made for a very long and boring game to 7-- and I just think the SAT is not equitable, normal, or useful-- there should be some hour long test that every kid takes in school and that should be enough.
My Dog is Panting
We are past the "dog days" of summer-- those occur in late July, when the dog star Sirius appears to rise alongside the sun-- but it still feels like the dog days (and I'm ready for some other kind of day, where you need to wear a sweatshirt).
Altercation at the Tennis Court!
My buddy Cob and I went to play tennis this morning at Johnson Park, and the girl's tennis team was practicing-- taking up a few courts-- and then some older ladies were playing doubles on two of the four remaining courts . . . so we walked over to the far court and one of the older ladies ran onto it and said, "we have this court reserved-- some of our friends are coming at 10" and it was ten after nine and so I told her:
1) this is a public park and the courts are first come first serve;
2) you can't "reserve" courts unless you have a park permit . . . like the tennis team;
and she got very sassy with me and said that she was going to stand on the court and play singles with her friend-- even though all these people do is play very bad old people doubles and I dismissed her and told her to stop being absurd and that I was the varsity tennis coach and knew how the courts worked-- and she said, "well you don't know who I am!" and I said, "No I don't, but I'm telling you who I am" and I told her my name and my position with the school and told her this wasn't like a parking space where you could stand in it for fifty-minutes to hold it for some friends (though I doubt the legality of that move as well) and then Cob and I started warming up and the ladies went back to their doubles game, this lady muttering stuff, and it turned out that more people never showed up and the three courts were plenty for them and then she came over and apologized and told me that I was right and she was wrong and that she was a territorial old bitch . . . NOT . . . despite the fact that they didn't need the court and they all stopped playing before Cob and I because it was hot, she did NOT apologize for her juvenile behavior . . . so obnoxious.
Dr. Moreau, What Have You Wrought?
I enjoyed Silvia Moreno-Garcia's The Daughter of Doctor Moreau so much that I went ahead and read the original, the novel her book is based upon-- The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells-- and I enjoyed that quite a bit as well; the latter is very much a thriller in the vein of Jurassic Park: there's an island inhabited by monstrosities that have been created by a man playing God with Nature-- but Moreno-Garcia writes a much more subtle love story, putting Moreau's hybrids in the context of the Mexican Caste War . . . both books have in common the theme of freakiness, the emotions a freak of nature evokes, and how freaks will band together and find more of their own and create their own society.
The Only Way to Make it Through a Colonoscopy: TikTok
I survived my colonoscopy today-- and last night's utterly disgusting colonoscopy prep-- and I will NOT be doing this procedure again for a long time . . . though Dr. Plumser wants me to come back in three years because some of the colon viewing was "suboptimal"-- but I had no polyps at all and he just couldn't see inside some fold because of stool residue-- although I don't know how anything was left in there after last night's purge-- yuck-- and the procedure wasn't too bad . . . a lot of lying around I a gown and I got my first IV in my life (I didn't look) and when they give you that anesthesia, wow do you pass out quickly . . . it's pretty bizarre-- but now I'm eating food again and drinking coffee and perhaps I'll eat a full meal tonight, but I think I'll do the mail-in version next time (since I don't have a family history of colon cancer) especially because I was so bored last night, just walking back and forth to the bathroom, downing the gross liquid laxative, that I downloaded TikTok and I can see why that app is so addictive-- if you're sleep deprived and too distracted to read or watch TV, those short videos really pass the time.
Colonoscopy Humor
This sentence is going to be a little hazy because I'm fasting for my colonoscopy tomorrow morning-- but I've gotten lots of advice from people who have been through this (most of it too gross to print) and I went to acupuncture today and she told me a story about anesthesia and Pink Floyd and I told her I was wearing a "Dark Side of the Moon" shirt and she said I should wear that shirt tomorrow for my colonoscopy, as it would be very appropriate.
Back to Reality . . .
Weather is Everything
Boys are Gross
Dark Matter . . . Read It Quickly
If you're looking for a fun, thrilling, and kind of ridiculous "many worlds" quantum multiverse sci-fi book that explores the road not taken . . . and lots of other roads-- and lots of alternate versions of yourself clogging up these roads and creating all kinds of paradoxical problems, then read Dark Matter by Blake Crouch . . . it's fast-paced for a reason . . . if you think about it too hard, then the premise disintegrates into a quantum cloud.
Preemptive Plumbing
Today, for the first time in my life, I visited a gastroenterologist-- aptly named Dr. Plumser-- and when he asked why I was visiting, I said, "For a preemptive colonoscopy?" and he said he had never heard it phrased that way and he liked that reason-- and then he told me about polyps and percentages and preparations for the big event (which will happen after our week at the beach . . . perhaps I will clean out all the toxins from vacation).
Preemptive Cream
Today, for the first time in my life, I visited the dermatologist and when the doctor-- Dr. Penelope Cohen, a little lady who wore a doctor's gown and red high-heeled shoes-- asked me why I had scheduled an appointment, I told her "my wife told me to" and she said, "that's what most men your age who come here say" and then she prescribed me some cream for a spot on my face that is sun-damaged so it doesn't turn into cancer-- so I'm glad I went.
Hot Peppers, Homer Simpson, and Some Annoying News
My wife's garden has been producing an abundance of hot peppers and we needed to do something with them before they decayed in the crisper, so I cut them, deseeded them, and roasted them on the grill-- it was too hot to do them in the kitchen (honestly, it was too hot to do them on the grill-- it was 95 degrees yesterday) but I did not wear gloves when I cut the peppers and my hands got covered in capsaicin and they burned and burned, though I washed them . . . and I took a bike ride to the pool and swam a few laps but that didn't help either-- in fact, they burned even more-- and it turns out that Homer Simpson was right, as "alcohol . . . the cause of and solution to all of life's problems" would have remedied the pain (and, in not so great news, I also read about a recent study that found that people who drink more than five alcoholic drinks a week have shorter telomeres and thus are aging faster than those that drink less . . . dammit, so much for the "pickling yourself" theory).
Outer Banks Fishing Trip XXIX
Here are a few things I remember from OBFT XXIX:
1) manatee sighting;
2) Bruce gave a heartfelt speech and then we took turns scattering some of Johnny's mortal remains into the bosom of the Atlantic Ocean . . . and luckily the wind was blowing the right direction so there were no Lebowski moments;
3) sea turtle nest next to the dune, so we were chastised for being "in the direct line" between the turtle eggs and the ocean-- I could hear David Attenborough's voice describing the difficult journey the baby turtles make from under the sand and into the ocean, trying to avoid the drunken middle age men, the beer cans, and the flying cornhole bags . . . unfortunately, the eggs did not hatch while we were there, but we did get to watch the volunteers rake the sand and build a little walled runway for the turtles;
4) Ethan told an excellent joke about a party that was going to have some "drinking, dancing, fighting and fucking" . . . I can't wait to tell it;
5) Paci spoke in a German accent for thirty-five minutes straight;
6) Gormley spoke in tongues on Wednesday night at Whitney's new place . . . and Billy made the mistake of staying up late with him;
7) Whitney was in the middle of a move-- so while we enjoyed the pool in Norfolk, he was running around trying to figure out task rabbit chores, prices of furniture, and other real estate minutia;
8) Whitney's canopy withstood the wind, mine did not . . . and then I forgot it;
9) Whitney and I played a live version of our tribute song "Where's Johnny?"
10) plenty of stinging jellyfish in the water (mainly in the mornings) so Marston offered to drink a lot of beer so he could pee on anyone who was stung . . . maybe next year he'll get his chance;
11) Charlie Carter cooked an amazing meal of tuna and beef tenderloin and Fernandez brought down a bunch of high quality sliced smoked meats-- chorizo and salami and such-- and some really good bread and cheese . . a whole charcuterie!
12) we filled the bar at Tortuga's on Friday, including the panhandle-- and we were NOT shushed;
13) much cornhole was played on the beach-- I had good runs with Old, Marston, and Smokin' Joe;
14) Mac thought I might like a band called Ice 9 Kills-- perhaps because the lead singer holds various weapons (including a chainsaw) while singing, but I informed him they were a little heavy for my taste now, and that I was listening to a lot of Steely Dan;
15) Mac and Whit played a drunken game of drunk driver;
16) Whitney engineered a compelling song connection/trivia night on the deck on Saturday;
17) Z was played on Friday;
18) we got salad with our pizza Saturday night;
19) I believe a good time was had by all . . . thanks again Whitney (and everyone involved) for organizing, traveling, and making this happen-- we've been doing this for more our half our lives now!
Two Recs
Two good things:
1) Jordan Peele's new movie Nope . . . it's Moby Dick, Jaws, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind all rolled up into one story . . . with horses too!
2) Spice 24-- a dry pot stir fry place in the H-Mart plaza . . . my wife and I both loved it and I think the kids will too, it's an authentic version of Honeygrow: you get to choose what goes in your stir fry from numerous options (from baby octopus to black mushrooms to bean sprouts) and everything we got was delicious . . . although I don't recommend biking there, which is what we did-- it was really hot and hilly (although the straight shot home on 27 wasn't so bad).
Rain!
I'm not sure I'd like living in a place where it rains all the time-- Pittsburgh or Rochester or Seattle-- but we've had quite a dry stretch in central New Jersey and it gets depressing-- all the plants are brittle, the ground is dusty, and I feel like I'm always about to sneeze . . . so it was nice to have a damp, dark, rainy day (and we could finally take the dog for a long walk) and I hope we get a couple more of these before the end of summer.
Mean Streets and Not-So-Mean Streets
I couldn't find my car keys this morning but we solved the mystery-- Ian left them in the car door last night . . . and the van was parked on the street-- a street where cars are occasionally broken into-- so it was something of a miracle that the car was trashed, stolen, taken for a joy ride, or something worse . . . but we don't live on streets as mean as those I detail in the new episode of We Defy Augury: Ghettoside vs. Murderbot . . . check it out, it's my best one yet.
Back from the Beach
A fun but slightly fraught family beach vacation-- Alex never made it down, he kept testing positive for COVID and he didn't want to risk passing it to my father or the two pregnant cousins-- but the rest of us had a good time (despite the frigid water temperatures) playing pickle ball, basketball, tennis, cornhole, and spikeball . . . Greg and I defended our cornhole title (despite the presence of his wife) and that will be it for us-- you get one year to defend your title in the random draw cousins event, so next year we will both be back in the pool . . . because of the cold water, I did a lot of reading on the trip-- I finished Jonathan Franzen's new novel Crossroads, The Rise and Fall of the Neoliberal Order: America and the World in the Free Market Era by Gary Gerstle, and Last Orgy of the Divine Hermit by Mark Leyner (and I started Tracy Flick Can't Win by Tom Perrotta . . . in other news, my brother got engaged to his longtime girlfriend Amy (and all things being equal, my dad-- while toasting them-- also mentioned the cornhole champions) so we're adding another wedding to the mix (a bunch of the cousins are getting married and there are two babies on the way, so next year's trip will have a different tenor) and while it's good to be home and see Alex and Lola again, there's nothing like the ocean breeze at the Jersey Shore and it's going to be really fucking hot all week inland (but at least I'm headed down to OBFT in a few days).
No Swimmin'
Interesting beach week so far: Alex tested positive for COVID the night before we left-- luckily, he hasn't been around much, he's been working and hanging out with friends so none of us contracted it-- we all tested negative-- but he's home alone, hanging out with his buddy Aidan-- who also has COVID-- and hoping to test negative soon and get down to the beach; he hasn't missed much as far as the ocean, it was frigid yesterday -- 56 degrees Fahrenheit . . . to whom do I complain?-- and today there's a red flag up because of rip currents; Ian and I played some tennis yesterday, but we were beset by green-head flies and high heat and humidity; today we had an excellent three-on-three basketball game . . . Ian, who is really just learning to play again, is now the big man! until his brother shows up . . . tomorrow we're going to try to play some pickleball and hopefully the ocean will stop being so cold and angry.
The Tattoos They are A-Changin'
Long ago, I wanted to get a tattoo on my back of the great undersea battle: sperm whale vs. giant squid, but They Might Be Giants released "Apollo 18" and I didn't want to be second fiddle to an album cover . . . yesterday I realized (while my wife shaved my back) that if I get a tattoo on my back now, it would have to be some kind of dark-haired mammal, like a bear or a moose or a musk ox, so my back hair would not ruin the aesthetic.
Sherlock Holmes in Space
If you're looking for a locked-room-type whodunnit set in the far future, in the vast reaches of space, on a space station, with a robot detective, then check out Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells . . . especially the parentheticals when Murderbot gets annoyed by humans (and their habits of touching everything and throwing balls where they are not supposed to throw balls).
It's Still Hot, But We're Out In It
I played tennis this morning with my buddy Cob and-- because of the extreme heat-- we were the only people on the courts playing singles . . . it may have been ill-advised, but we took plenty of breaks and we survived; Ian worked eight hours at the tennis camp; Alex worked eight hours life-guarding; and Catherine went to her garden and did maintenance there; I also grilled a bunch of hot peppers (on our outdoor gas grill) so we could freeze them: the combination of the heat, the sun, and the grill added up a an inferno on our back porch . . . so we're soldiering on in this weather but without the respite of A/C I would lose all my energy, my mind, and my ability to complete any tasks . . . I'm not sure how people are surviving who don't have it.
It's Hot
Stacey gave me a ride home in her jeep from our college writing workshop today (we got so much work done! I actually did some work in the summertime!) and riding in the jeep with the top down is generally a treat: the sun on my head, the breeze blowing through my (lack of) hair . . . but it was so hot today that it felt like we were driving in a pizza oven.
Sleep Comes and Goes
Everyone knows when you have a newborn in the house, you're going to be sleep deprived; soon enough they sleep through night and things are restful again . . . but what they don't tell you is that when they turn eighteen, you go through the same thing all over again-- but this time around, you're old and amazed at all the energy a human can have at 2:30 AM in the morning.
Dave Finishes Two Things
I just finished making Episode 5 of We Defy Augury: "The Foundling by Ann Leary: Eugenics on the Beach?" and I just finished reading Ghettoside: A True Story of Murder in America by Jill Leovy, which will definitely inspire another episode-- this is a book that turns policing and violent crime on its head-- it's about a particular murder of a policeman's son in South Central LA; the causes and misperceptions of gang violence; the kind of policing necessary to combat the high murder rates among black males; and the reasons murder rates in certain areas stay persistently high . . . tragic but highly recommended.
As Usual . . .
One of the recurring themes of this blog is that I think I am sore from doing some oddball exercise (this time: deadlifts) but then it turns out I have a virus-- this time it's a weird stomach bug that I got from my wife: no diarrhea, thank God, but bloating and burping and generally feeling a little run down and sick and glassy-eyed . . . hopefully it will be gone tomorrow (and it's definitely not a kidney stone, which I wondered about last night when I couldn't sleep because my stomach hurt).
Post Deadlift Blues
Ian and I had some fun doing trap bar deadlifts yesterday at the gym-- the trap bar makes deadlifts much easier to execute . . . which might not be such a good thing, now my entire body is sore.
Post Beach Blues
The day after a beach day is always a bit depressing-- it's so hot and dry in central Jersey right now- and while I did bike to the pool and swim a few laps, it's not the same as a foggy chilly breeze off the ocean . . . unfortunately, beach real estate is through-the-roof, perhaps because of this work-from-home thing that has freed rich people from living in urban centers . . . boo to that.
Bloodhound at the Beach?
A Beach Read . . . About Eugenics?
The Foundling, by Ann Leary, is billed as a summer beach read and it meets those specifications: while there's no sun or sand in the novel-- it's quite gothic-- it's definitely a vacation for your brain, especially the second half, which has a very compelling escape plot, reminiscent of Shawshank Redemption; the book is an easy read, on the one hand, especially for historical fiction (the setting in a woman's asylum in Pennsylvania in 1927, the Nettleton State Village for Feebleminded Women of Childbearing Age) but on the other hand, the book brings up some difficult questions about eugenics, morality, who should be institutionalized, corruption, power authority, religion, woman's rights, and racism . . . but only in the first half of the novel-- then it just gets beachier and beachier.
Oddly Liberating
This morning my son Alex took the book bag with my phone in it and Ian took the car with my wallet in it so I had no phone or money so I took a nap.
Sharks and Lantern Flies Menace the East Coast
Yesterday, my wife went over our friends' house (Lynn and Connell) to help them plant some milkweed-- because apparently milkweed poisons spotted lantern-flies and Lynn and Connell have an epic spotted lantern-fly infestation, mainly because they live on a cliff right above the Raritan River . . . a great view of New Brunswick from their back deck but also plenty of tree-of-heaven, the weedy river bush that lantern-flies love-- so they were waging chemical and biological warfare, which involved climbing out onto the ledge above the cliff, clearing brush and small trees, and planting the milkweed-- and it was hot yesterday and they were all wearing long sleeves and pants to avoid poison ivy and I guess they were working for quite a while, sawing at trees and removing ivy and weeds and bushes and planting the milkweed, and Connell got out his little chainsaw to cut down one particular tree and clambered down onto the cliff, on a little ledge above the river, and my wife was working away and not paying attention to much else-- she was in the zone-- when Lynn, who was up above, yelled to her that Connell wasn't responding and she didn't know what was going on-- so Catherine climbed over to where Connell was sitting and he was lights out, pale as a ghost and unresponsive-- but luckily, we just took a First Aid course, so she didn't lose her shit . . . she shook him and talked to him until she finally got a response-- but she was ready to do some serious CPR-- and she directed Lynn, who was up top, to call 911 . . . the police were there in no time, and Connell came to and she ascertained that he hadn't eaten or drank anything that morning and then started working in heavy clothing in the hot sun-- so she made him drink some water (and poured some on him) and Lynn lowered him down some food and the police helped get him off the cliff-- Connell was annoyed that they had called 911 but Catherine was like, "there's no way I'm getting you off this cliff, if you fall, I'm not going to be able to catch you" and in the end he didn't have to go to the hospital-- it was just a case of heatstroke, but these lantern flies are a serious menace-- we've got civilians clambering around on cliffs with chainsaws getting heatstroke, so perhaps we've got to take Kent Brockman's attitude and welcome our new insect overlords . . . and then my parents told me there's sharks at the Jersey shore-- which I took with a grain of salt, until I looked online, and not only have there been shark sighting, but there was a giant great white just off the coast of Sea Isle City, the beach we are headed to in a couple weeks (but I will not forego my early morning run and swim-- if I'm going to die, then that's how it's going to happen).
Shuffling Around Harlem and Elsewhere
Colson Whitehead's new novel Harlem Shuffle is not as dark and profound as The Underground Railroad but it still explores race and place-- Ray Carney appears to be a straight furniture salesmen to most of the uptown denizens of Harlem-- but he's more crooked than the average person might think (but less crooked than his father and many of the hoods that abound in his neighborhood) and while there's no surreal time-traveling train, the structures of grift, corruption and power are quite different when he pops out of the subway downtown, where the white people are-- the book is a caper tale, a revenge story, an astute take on the duality of human nature, an evocative period piece, and a real page turner, definitely worth a read.
Summer sans Motor Vehicle
Relaxing summer so far: the kids take the cars to their various job so all that's left for me to do is pull my training sled up and down the hill by my house, work on my podcast, watch Wimbledon, bike to the pool, swim a few laps, pass out with a book in a lounge chair, then bike home (my wife seems to have a bunch of other stuff she's occupied with, but I try not to let it interrupt my focus).
Trip to Possumtown!
My wife and I took a road trip to the Possumtown Firehouse last night for what I thought was going to be a two hour CPR class-- I need to update my certificate for coaching-- but the course also included First Aid and the lady running the class was a bit disorganized and a bit tangential, so we were there from 6 PM until nearly 10 PM, learning about tourniquets and nosebleeds and impalements and all kinds of things that make me dizzy-- luckily there was a large couch in the very comfy Possumtown Volunteer Firehouse (the lady's dad was the chief) and this place really had small town firehouse character: a big TV and a kegerator and a soda machine that you could just open and take the soda out and a fish tank with some big fish in it (I watched these fish when the videos got too graphic about blood) and the class was quite intimate, just me, my wife, and a young dude-- it was kind of stream-of-consciousness, with lots of anecdotes from the teacher's EMT experiences and the main thing I learned-- which no other class was so blunt about-- was that you don't need to worry about breaking someone's ribs when you're doing CPR because they are CLINICALLY DEAD . . . once she put it that way, it assuaged a lot of my fears about pressing too hard or whatever, you're literally trying to resurrect someone when you're doing those compressions (and we always have an AED nearby when I coach, so hopefully that machine will do the trick . . . although if someone like me goes down, you'll need the razor in the accessory kit top deal with my excessive chest hair).
Youngsters are Cute . . . But F%$% 'em
Impressive Stuff
Impressive amount of people at the Rutgers pool yesterday for Fourth of July; impressive amount of meats served, not so impressive performance by Alec and I in the balloon toss (I blame the overfilled balloon), very impressive amounts of lantern fly nymphs on the trees, tables, and one old guy; impressive amount of fireworks on display from Connell's back deck-- perhaps we could see displays from North Brunswick, South Brunswick, Milltown, Sayreville and Somerville but it was hard to tell . . . Cat and I returned home stuffed and tired and I was glad to get back to the routine today: I went to the gym, then biked to the pool-- which was empty-- did some laps, passed out on a lounge chair while reading my book, woke up and biked home (I don't understand how people bike enormous distances-- my butt hurts when I ride a few miles).
Right on the Note
Sort of Relaxing Saturday
It could have been a relaxing Saturday . . . but I got up early and did some work on my new podcast-- it's called We Defy Augury, I'm looking for guests, and it's up and running-- you just have to read something you've read and talk about what the reading makes you think about-- and then I played 90 minutes of two-on-two basketball with my older son and a couple guys at the Piscataway Y, and then I collapsed on the couch-- ostensibly to relax and watch some Wimbledon . . . but the featured match was Nick Kyrgios vs. Stefano Tsitsipas and it was NOT relaxing-- I was really rooting for Tsitsipas and he was trying his best to deal with Kyrgios's antics but Kyrgios spent the entire match bickering with the line judge and talking to himself like a lunatic and playing at a breakneck pace (and serving the hell out of the ball) and while Tsitsipas had his chances, he just couldn't break Kyrgios's menacing serve.
The Joy of Joy
I'm starting to understand Joy Williams a bit more-- I just finished The Quick and the Dead and her fragmented moments and motifs are starting to make sense; Annabel, Alice, and Corvus are three precocious girls linked by grief-- all of them have lost parents to terrible tragedy-- and they wander through a nameless desert town-- volunteering at a grim nursing home, forging strange relationships with older people, navigating a big game hunter's taxidermy museum . . . and all through, the living and the dead interact, and man and nature push against each other in strange oppressive ways . . . once again, the world is on the verge of something apocalyptic and these girls realize this more than the adults who are blinder by their petty thoughts.