Overlook Mountain: Rattlesnakes, Ruins, and Bears (Oh Shit)

On day two of our Saugerties vacation, we all got up early and headed to the Overlook Mountain Trailhead-- the trail is an out-and-back gravel and stone fire road and it ascends aggressively up Overlook mountain for 2.5 miles, but I read that the views from the fire tower at the top were worth the slog, plus there were some ruins of an abandoned hotel near the top that sounded interesting; for a while the trail was a bit boring and rather steep-- but once we got to the ruins of the Overlook Mountain House (which was the third iteration of the hotel . . . it started as a small lodge in 1833, then grew into a 300 room hotel, which consequently burned down-- twice-- so then the new owner, Morris Newgold, decided to build something that would last, so he started on the massive concrete structure that still stands-- in ruins-- today . . . but he never finished construction and abandoned the project in 1939) then things changed for the better; the ruins looked like a Catskills version of Angor Wat, with trees and shrubs growing amidst the layers of concrete foundations, walls, arches, pediments, pools, and stairs-- and after the ruins, we noticed a number of signs on the trail warning us of rattlesnakes, but we scoffed at these signs-- rattlesnakes? seriously?-- and then, when we reached the top, the two dudes that were right behind us told us that just after we left the Overlook Hotel area, a black bear strolled through the ruins; when we made our way to the lookout tower, a couple of rangers greeted us-- which was unusual-- but they were stationed up there to warn folks about all the nesting rattlesnakes . . . as the top of the mountain was infested with serpents; they pointed out a couple of sunning rattlers and a molting black corn snake . . . one thick brown timber rattlesnake that lay stoic and still on a stone just off the path was a monster-- thicker than my arm and six feet long; after observing the snakes, Catherine and I then climbed the fire-tower to the tiny observatory on top-- and, as a bonus, we were joined by a very good-looking couple of twenty-somethings from New York City and by the time we got down, Dom and Michelle had made it to the top and they got to see the rattlesnakes and then we hiked a bit to the other viewpoint and from there we could actually see Saugerties Light-- so all-in-all, a spectacular hike-- ruins, a bear-sighting, rattlesnakes, and great views-- plus, as a bonus, we saw a middle-aged lady jogging up the trail several times while we hikes and she told me she was doing SIX HOURS of running up and down the trail-- ultramarathon training?-- which was wild because we all thought going down the trail was harder on your knees and feet than walking up it-- but this lady was an iron-woman . . . anyway, we made it to the bottom, drove to Woodstock to get some lunch, miraculously found parking right in front of Oriole 9 . . . as Woodstock was packed with shoppers-- and after a delicious lunch and some excellent beers from the Westkill brewery, we went to a fairly lame flea market, bought some bread, and then drove back to back to Saugerties (and made a quick stop at Beer Universe . . .  which is an entire universe of beer) and then we all took well deserved naps.

If A Tree Falls in Saugerties, I Want to See It!

Yesterday, Catherine and I drove up to Saugerties, NY to meet our friends Dom and Michelle for our first "empty nest" getaway . . . when we arrived, we parked in town, had a beer and some food at Stella's Station and then we drove across the bridge and unpacked and got set up in our AirBnB; that evening, we all walked back across the bridge which spanned the Esopus Creek, and headed back towards town-- and right after crossing the bridge, we stopped at the Diamond Mills Hotel, an expansive and swanky venue overlooking the Esopus Creek Falls, and we sat out on the patio and had drinks right above the roar of the cascading water and the scene would have been idyllic if it wasn't for two trees balanced precariously on the edge of the precipice-- we desperately wanted to see these trees plummet over the falls, but they had obviously been there a while and the chances of them falling in the brief window of time that we sat on the patio was slim-- especially since we weren't going to eat there . . . too expensive-- so after some speculation on how long the trees had been perched on the brink, I went and asked a random server for some information and he said the big one had been there since before he started working at the place, so several months and the small tree had been there a few weeks and then he said something that renewed my faith in the universality of the human spirit: "Man, I would love to see that big one fall tonight" and I concurred with him-- wholeheartedly concurred-- and then our fabulous server returned and they asked if we needed anything else, and we asked them if they could possibly make both the trees plummet over the falls and they laughed and said another line that confirmed the ubiquitous essence of the human experience-- they said, "I just work here" and on that note, we paid the check and headed to town, where we ate excellent Mexican food at the convivial and pub-like Main Street Restaurant-- and as far as we know, those trees are still hanging on for dear life. 

Colleen Hoover and the Art of the Inner Monologue

 

Another episode of We Defy Augury is up and streaming-- Miss Education and I discuss the literary tornado known as Colleen Hoover (or "CoHo" to her fans) and-- with the help of a benevolent God-- we cover topics far and wide: relationships, communication, chick lit, trauma porn, infertility, the art of the inner monologue, coat-hanger abortions, and the very real problems of very good-looking people (a topic of which I am very familiar).

SOMEBODY in These Photos Knows How to Party . . .

Ian's graduation party was a great success: the food was fantastic and it ALL went . . . the brisket, the special kielbasa, the pulled pork, the bbq chicken, the baked beans, the mac and cheese, the stuffed hot peppers . . . pretty much zero leftovers, which made clean-up easy; we did a good job on the alcohol as well, but if you'll notice in these pictures (one of which is NOT from this party but fits thematically) there is one person who knows how to party, photo be damned.

 

A Mystery with a Curveball

Mortal Stakes-- the third book in Robert B. Parker's Spenser series-- is about things I love: athletics, the ethics of sports, a conflict between ethical systems, the seedy underworld of 1970s prostitution and pornography, and-- of course-- ingenious blackmailing schemes.

Slouching Towards Something

I'm very proud that the new episode of my podcast is up and streaming: "Slouching Towards Something:Karl Polyani vs. Friedrich Hayek: Steel Cage Match or Shotgun Marriage?" as it took me months to read J. Bradford DeLong's epic economic tome-- apparently the sporadic and unprecedented progress of the Long Twentieth Century is over and weird times lie ahead; DeLong explains why in comprehensive detail but I boil things down to the essence of his argument and hopefully add some entertainment value to some dense and complicated content (as do my special guests, Milton Friedman, Gordon Gekko, and Bill Cosby).

I'm Rooting for the Sharks

Shark attacks have increased on the East Coast, for a number of reasons: an increase in gray seals and menhaden-- both food for sharks; federal laws that protect sharks from overfishing; and warming waters which allow bull, tiger, and black-tipped sharks to roam much farther north than Florida and the Carolinas . . . and I, for one, am rooting for more shark attacks because the Jersey shore has gotten extremely crowded and extremely expensive-- a few gruesome shark encounters might bring down the cost of weekly rentals, or at least clear the water out a bit so I can swim in peace (until I lose a limb).

Nice Boognish!

I was walking the dog in the park this morning, slightly dazed from Ian's graduation party, when the mirror-shade-wearing, long-haired park employee covered from head to toe in tattoos yelled from his moving maintenance vehicle, "Nice Boognish, man!" in reference to the Ween-style Boognish tattoo on my ankle-- and then he rolled to a stop and we talked about the Ween discography, Gene Ween's drug problems, the possibility of one last album, the weirdness of the last album, John and Peter's Place in New Hope, his interactions with Dean Ween, the Asbury Park concert we both attended, and other Ween-related topics . . . and then I recommended he check out 100 gecs, of course . . . so the moral is: tattoos, they connect people, all sorts of people.

I'm Too Tired to Party (Because of All the Party Prep)

After a LOT of prep (including painting the deck) we are ready to roll for Ian's graduation party-- Catherine just told me that my list is DONE-- and we were lucky enough to get one of the nicest day of summer for the party . . . the decorations are up, the food is ready (pulled pork bbq, pulled chicken bbq, beef brisket, stuffed peppers, mac and cheese, and some authentic Polish kielbasa from the weird little European provisions store on the Old Bridge Turnpike) and the house is clean; we had a to borrow quite a few tables and chairs from our friends-- I'm not looking forward to returning them tomorrow-- but everyone should have a place to plant their butt today (as long as they don't weight more than 225 pounds . . . as Alec's folding chairs have a weight limit tag on the back).

 

Nap Time is Relative

 Yesterday, I napped so hard that when I woke up, I thought it was tomorrow (which would be today).

Fuck You, Weather Underground

I shouldn't reveal this, in case a malevolent demon reads my blog, but if someone wanted to punish me for eternity-- mercilessly-- they would have me paint the fucking spindles on our deck and then, right when I got some decent work done-- it would start to rain, and wash away the coat of paint-- and then I would have to start over-- because I hate to paint, and I hate to start over (and that's what's now happened to days in a row-- I've just painted the same area twice in two days and for the second day in a row there was a rain squall that was not predicted by my weather app).

Groceries vs. Food

There's nothing worse than pulling up to your house at 1 PM after a long day of work-- four hours!-- and you're very hungry and you know exactly what you're going to eat (a leftover jalapeno cheddar burger and air-fried potato wedges) BUT you're wife has also just pulled up from a massive grocery shopping trip and you've got to help her carry in all the groceries and then you have to put away the groceries before you can cook your lunch-- the groceries are getting in the way of you eating food . . . the irony!

Refreshing is a State of Mind

After a long day of grueling "work" (four hours of cutting and pasting curriculum bullshit into pacing guides and syllabi-- so dumb) I took a nap, biked over to the pool, swam some laps, and then lay on a lounge chair-- refreshed-- and read my mystery novel . . . until a couple kids jumped into the water near me and a third kid (who did not jump in) said, "You just jumped in where the shit was!" and then the kids discussed how a girl pooped in the pool yesterday, in that very corner, and then I felt less refreshed, so I biked home and showered.

The Usual Bullshit

Things pretty normal around here . . . or what passes for normal these days:

1) my older son Alex made my wife and I see the movie Barbie . . . and it was actually pretty good: visually appealing; often funny; surreal; great outfits; got a little preachy at times, but not overwhelmingly so . . . and I really loved all the "Ken" stuff-- especially how he lost interest in the patriarchy when he learned it wasn't all about horses;

2) Ian slammed the van into a pole at the gas station, trying to avoid a truck with a trailer-- so now there's another dent, another white streak of paint-- from the pole he hit-- and a black streak too-- but nothing a rubber mallet and some duct tape couldn't fix and at least no one was hurt and no insurance was necessary-- but this car's monetary value has certainly dipped into the negative;

3) once again, I am very sore from the stupid kick-boxing class-- probably because I followed up the class with an hour or so of applying primer to the hard to reach areas of our back deck -- so that Cat can paint it before Ian's graduation party this weekend . . . 

4) a lady and a little kid showed up at our door today and handed us Ian's wallet-- which she found on a path while they were geo-caching-- very nice of them-- Ian didn't even know his wallet was missing;

5) and this is the summer of girlfriends-- both boys are spending a lot of time with their respective chicks-- interesting.

The 1970s . . . Characterized by Four Crime Novels

 

If you lived through the 1970s, but were too young to remember much of it-- aside from the absurd commercials and network TV-- then this episode of We Defy Augury should be helpful and entertaining-- I take a look at how four crime novels characterize the zeitgeist of the 1970s (and I also take a few trips into the fuzzy abyss of my own memories of my first decade existing on this planet).

70s Crime, Boston Style

Robert B. Parker's first two Spenser mysteries-- The Godwulf Manuscript and God Save the Child-- will give you a perspective on crime in the 1970s in both inner city Boston and the surrounding suburbs . . . and the counter-culture of the 1960s is starting to permeate both locales.

To the Guggenheim and Back . . .

Yesterday we covered a lot of ground in NYC-- despite the occasional rain-- we walked all the way to the Guggenheim, through Central Park-- and on the way we saw a giant inflatable rat AND a bike delivery guy delivering a bunch of balloons-- and the exhibits at the Guggenheim were awesome-- the linear, spare geometric sculptures and paintings of the Venezuelan artist Gego and the busy multi-media installations of Sarah Sze . . . then we didn't a bit of a bar crawl as we walked back to Penn Station-- we stopped for snack and drinks at the Penrose, for a beer at Eddy's on Second, and finally for some food and happy hour at Boqueria-- then we caught a fast train home (and we took a fast train there!) and I passed out.

Stamina of Cat

I went to the dentist this morning, then caught the express train the the city with my wife . . . 29,000 steps later, I'm home and she's still out-- impressive for her, lame for me.

Good Stuff

I took a bike ride this morning, and the New Brunswick entrance to the tow path (the Delaware and Raritan Canal State Park Trail) is now refurbished and open (and the trail itself is smoothly paved for miles and miles) and I just walked down to Donaldson Park and the basketball courts are almost finished-- they are putting the final asphalt down and painting the lines of the lane, foul line, and key; and they are installing the tennis and pickle-ball nets on the new courts by the entrance to Donaldson-- so pretty sweet, a lot of local improvements near my house . . . just in time for the cool dry fall weather.

No Laughing Today

Rainy day yesterday, so I went with my wife to a kickboxing class at Y-- and while I must admit, the class was entertaining and went by fairly quickly (generally, in an exercise class, I feel very claustrophobic-- like a caged animal-- I don't like people telling me what to do, confined spaces, following directions, and exercising when there isn't a ball or weights involved . . . I've done a couple yoga classes with my wife and I really had a hard time, both mentally and physically-- I just wanted to get the fuck out of there and play some basketball) and the guy who taught this kickboxing class really mixed things up-- we used the step and swung iron rods and punched with weights and all kinds of stuff, and while I had fun, I woke up this morning with very sore abs-- apparently I've got to push it more when I do my core on my own (or go to more of these stupid classes where they tell you what to do).

OBFT XXX Mental Recuperation

Definitely have the dummies today from the trip, but a couple of other memories surfaced:

1) my flight out of Newark was delayed (of course) and Marston and Gormley deserted me, so I had to enlist an Uber . . . and I really wanted a cup of coffee-- so on the way to the ride-share pick-up area I tried to stop at one Starbucks, but there was a line, and then I stumbled upon another Starbucks and I don't go to Starbucks so I didn't really know how or where to order, but I got the attention of the black dude behind the counter and told him I wanted a medium coffee, black, and he said, "Let me finish this" and then he poured me a coffee and slid it over to me and I was like "where do I pay? at this kiosk?" and he said, "don't worry about it" and I said, "really?" and he said, "no problem" and I thanked him and went on my way;

2) Friday, Whitney, who had just awoken at 11 AM and had a bit of a hangover, was gearing himself for our daily jaunt to Tortuga's bar-- we get there when it opens at 11:30 AM . . . and he said, "alright, time to strap it on again!" and I said, "I think you mean 'tie one on again' because 'strap it on again' means something very different.

OBFT XXX!

Despite the cheesy aesthetic stylings of the OBFT XXX t-shirt (and the cheesy aesthetic stylings of the old men in attendance) the thirtieth annual Outer Banks Fishing Trip was a roaring success:

1) record number of guys in attendance . . . in no particular order: Whit, Rob, Cliff, Jason, Marston, Billy, Marlin, Gormley, Charlie, Gus, Swaney, Old, Overton, Joe, Coby, Fischel, Noble, Wainwright, Bruce, Paci, Stew, Hoopie, Ethan, Ian, Rodell, Dave Fairbanks, and me;

2) great weather-- cool and breezy;

3) a new game: Pizzazz . . . I hate the Southern Gentlemen accents;

4) the usual fun and food and Tortuga's;

5) the introduction of "the light bag" in cornhole;

6) no spikeball for Stew;

7) first rainy day in years;

8) Gormley christened the back fo the rental car after a long Wednesday night . . . always a mistake;

9) new stairs and less dune . . . 

10) while we did not fish, we certainly supported the fishing industry by eating a hell of a lot of seafood;

11) a great time, thanks for hosting Whit (and Coby and Charlie for cooking) and now it's time to dry out and get ready for tomorrow's jury duty.

Life with an English Teacher as Your Dad

 

A text thread with my son Ian . . . it's got to be annoying to have an English teacher as a dad.

Ringworld: Get Down with Some 70s Sci-fi

 

New episode of We Defy Augury out . . . thoughts (loosely) based on Larry Niven's 1970s sci-fi classic Ringworld and Katie Williams' brand-spanking new sci-fi novel My Murder . . . Zardoz is one of the many special guests.

New York in the 70s: A Mealier Big Apple

Colson Whitehead resumes the adventures of Ray Carney-- furniture salesman and occasional criminal-- in Crook Manifesto (the sequel to Harlem Shuffle) and you get a wonderfully gritty and graphic view of the Big Apple (and the surrounding areas, even Jersey . . . at one point a vehicle is abandoned on the "raggedy edge" of New Brunswick) in the 1970s . . . all the corruption, revolution, urban renewal, urban decay, cons, grifts, and wild times in a city that is a long way from gentrification-- a city that is literally on fire . . . a joyous cast of characters mixed up in a metropolis on the edge of chaos.

Now the Weather Breaks? Now?

All summer, I sweated it out on the hot and humid Jersey streets and courts, living my runaway American Dream-- and then-- finally-- when the weather breaks and it's clear and cool and smoke-free and sunny and dry, I've got a giant pus-filled boil and I can't play any sports or go swimming . . . not the end of the world, but very annoying.

Taco Tuesday? Fuckin' Fuhgattabout It!

For a moment, I'll refrain from discussing my pus-filled abscess (although, truth be told: it is still festering) and discuss something more palatable: Taco John's has relinquished its trademark on the phrase "Taco Tuesday," thus giving it back to the people (and Taco Bell . . . it wasn't worth fighting them in court) BUT, before you get too fired up, just remember that when you're in the Garden State, if you want to sell a couple of meat-filled tortillas, you won't be afforded the same freedom of fajita as the rest of our nation-- you'll have to bow down to the originator of the phrase "Taco Tuesday," Gregory's Restaurant in Somers Point, New Jersey who apparently coined the phrase in the summer of 1979 and have no plans of releasing it back into the Pine Barrens (or anywhere else).

Yuck

 

I'm back from vacation and my only souvenir is a pus-filled abscess on my chest-- which was probably aggravated by sun, salt, and sea-- so I'm taking a strong antibiotic, applying a heating pad and warm compresses, and praying that I don't get a fever tonight-- because then I've got to go to the hospital.

Last Day Blues

Despite the heat advisory and the wicked ingrown hair on my chest, which has formed a pus filled knot, we had a good last day at the beach: pickleball in the morning, spikeball in the evening, and the surf picked up enough for some boogey boarding after the lifeguards left-- but tomorrow, back to reality (I'm probably going to bed antibiotics for this thing on my chest).

So Much for the Threepeat

It's a bittersweet feeling, to get knocked out of the finals in the double elimination Sea Isle annual cousins Cornhole tourney by both my son's; Alex and cousin Matt defeated Ian and my brother's stepson James in the finals and though I was annoyed that I taught my kids too well it was also fun to watch them square off.

My Future is Wide Open

I've recovered from some kind of mild virus that made my whole body sore, my eyes and head hurt, and messed up my stomach, but luckily it was just a 24 hour bug and I was back at it this morning, playing pickleball with my brother-- he's really good, sort of like playing a spider, it seems like he has extra arms, and while my body recovered from the virus, my right foot is still recuperating and judging by the raw skin between my toes, toe separators are in my future.

The Beach: Last Person Standing Wins

Yesterday, after fighting through some serious Parkway traffic, we got down to Sea Isle, ate lunch at Mike's Dock, unpacked, and headed to the courts the play basketball . . . and despite the height advantage, the old folks (me, my brother, and Nick) beat Alex, Ian, and James . . . then the old folks beat some randoms, then we played fours, then Ian almost puked his hot dog and headed home with James and on the way he crashed on his bike, spraining his ankle and gouging his leg with the big gear ring, so Ian was laid up, meanwhile, I hurt my shoulder in the last game of basketball and I've rubbed the skin raw on the inside of my pinky toe and have to keep an earplug between my toes to prevent bleeding, and Alex has a terrible ingrown nail on his big toe and Marc's knees were too sore from basketball to play pickleball this morning (but I went, despite my shoulder) and Cat managed a four mile beach run despite the neuroma on her foot . . . and that was just day one!

Mike the Mechanic: Hero!

If you're in the vicinity of Highland Park and you need a great mechanic, Mike at Edison Automotive is your guy-- he just resurrected my dilapidated 2008 Toyota Sienna minivan-- which was spewing out error messages like a ninth grader's first Python program-- and not only that, once he replace the fuel pump and put in a new ignition coil cylinder, he had his guy run it over to the inspection station (I failed a few days ago) and it passed!-- and he got this done just in time for us to take the van on vacation-- we were going to have to try to stuff everything into the Mazda, which would have been very tight-- but now to minivan is rolling again (and it seems to have some pick-up and it doesn't veer to the left like it did) for one more beach vacation-- and that inspection sticker is good for two years (and . . . bonus . . . I covered up the cracked sideview mirror with a cut-out adhesive replacement mirror . . . classy).

1215 AD: Terrible Music But Great Charters

In my new episode of We Defy Augury, I take a trip back to 1215 . . . the Year of the Magna Carta; Danny Danziger and John Gillingham help out and guide me, of course, as they are the co-authors of 1215: The Year of Magna Carta . . . and I also take a detour to another fabulous year, 1983 . . . and there are plenty of special guests in this episode as well, including: King Arthur, Denis, The Almighty Lord, Matthew Broderick as David, Al Pacino as Tony Montana, The Choir of Gonville, and Clark Griswold.

Automobiles, Automobiles, and Roller Blades

I had a lovely time rollerblading this morning-- there's some new pavement on 1st Avenue-- although I would not advise coming down the hill on second . . . I ran the stop sign and would have been killed if there were any cars coming, but then the other mode of transportation betrayed me-- it seems my van needs a new fuel pump-- probably cost a grand-- and that's why it won't pass inspection (or accelerate) so we're going to have to be very creative packing for our beach vacation . . . I also went on quite a driving adventure-- because we're down to one car, I had to drive Alex and Ian to work, but first I had to pick up Alex at the Woodbridge Train Station-- he went to the beach to visit his girlfriend, but as I was getting close to the station (with Ian in the car as well) Alex informed us that he missed the train and that he would be coming an hour later-- but at the Perth Amboy Station-- so I drove Ian to the pool so he could start his lifeguard shift, ran to the library, and then I headed to Perth Amboy-- in rush hour-- but then just as I arrived at the Perth Amboy Station, Alex said he got confused and missed that stop (which might have actually been South Amboy) and now he was headed toward Woodbridge again, so I drove there, found him, gave him his wallet back (Cat and I had to drive to the Piscataway Police Station last night because he left it at the bathroom at work and some nice kid turned it in) and took him to work (at the same pool Ian was at) and then headed back to Highland Park-- 2:45 minutes of driving-- and had a snack and then Cat and I got into the car and drove to a wake in South Brunswick and then we headed back to the pool to pick up the kids but Alex said he had a ride home from a friend-- but then that somehow got screwed up-- text misunderstanding-- and once we arrived home, Catherine learned she had to go back out and pick them up . . . quite a tour of Middlesex County during Thursday rush hour.

Old Dogs, New Tricks . . .

A week ago, my wife drove a golf-cart for the first time . . . and at first I was surprised by this, but once I thought about it: she's not a golfer and she never worked on a  golf course (and she's not retired and living in Florida) and so she never had any reason to drive one . . . on a similar note, this morning I did my first solo trip into the maw of an automatic car wash-- my wife was surprised at this but I was like: "when have I ever wanted a clean car?"-- but apparently if you go to the Glow Express before 10 AM, a basic wash is only seven bucks and the vacuums are free-- and my van really really needed to be vacuumed-- it was so full of sticks and leaves and wrappers and dirt and sand and mouldering substances that it actually might have been unhealthy to sit inside this vehicle with the windows up-- so now the car is clean and relatively debris free, but it's still got a "failed" inspection sticker on it-- and this isn't why I thought it would fail-- the shattered side view mirror-- it's because of the check engine light (which you can see in the car wash photo) which has been on for years (along with lots of other lights) and it seems that they care about this one at the DMV so my mechanic is going to try to fix the problem tomorrow-- we tried the reset and drive for fifty miles plan but that didn't work-- so cross your fingers for my van . . . it's got 172,000 miles on it and I'd like to make it to 300k . . . I want my next car to fly.

Do Germans Make Sitcoms?

The German sci-fi TV series Dark lives up to it's billing-- every house, building, path, and road in the fictitious forest town of Winden is baleful and menacing; it's almost always raining (which has got to be difficult to film) and each and every character has something sinister in their past . . . it's like a bizarro version of Stranger Things where all the adults are adulterous and damaged and sketchy and the children have internalized this trauma from the previous generation-- Stranger Things is about kids going on adventures independent of adults, Dark is about kids and adults intertwined in some sort of time-traveling madness-- and while Catherine and I love the show (so far . . . we're almost done with Season 1 and it's supposed to get even better) sometimes we have to laugh at how dire every scene, person, and scenario becomes-- and I feel like I need to watch a German sitcom once we are finished with this: there are German sitcoms, right?

Ball DOES Lie (and Scalding Water Often Burns the Innocent)

I finally finished 1215: The Year of Magna Carta by Danny Danziger and John Gillingham . . . it took me quite a while because much of the book is dense and boring-- but there's enough interesting stuff about all King John's various fuck-ups that forced him to sign the Magna Carta to appease a bunch of rebellious barons and enough about the daily life and times of people of that day and age which will still resonate-- and the Magna Carta, despite falling out of favor fairly quickly, became a very important historical document which had great influence on the political landscape hundreds of years later . . . I'll try to give the book some justice in an episode of We Defy Augury and one parallel between 1215 and today I'd like to flesh out is the connection between the medieval trial by ordeal (when you burn yourself with water or iron and then if it heals very quickly, God has shown that you are innocent) and trial by battle (used when there was a crime in the absence of witnesses or a confession-- and you could choose a champion to fight for your innocence) and the idea of "ball don't lie" in pick-up basketball-- when there is a disputed call and you choose a champion to "shoot for it" and take a three-pointer to determine who gets the call . . . this modern sporting method of determining the outcome makes about as much sense as relying on God to protect the innocent from burning iron, but it is quick and effective-- much faster than what the Magna Carta promises-- trial by jury, which might be more fair but is a time-consuming pain-in-the-ass . . . and the same in pick-up basketball-- if disputed calls were actually sorted out by all those involved (and bystanders) the game would be interminably slow . . . so the use of medieval logic speeds things along-- the origin of the phrase (according to the internet) is that Rasheed Wallace would yell this after he was called for a foul, while the fouled the player taking the foul shots-- and if the player missed, then Wallace did NOT actually commit a foul-- and this is some insane reverse-cause-and-effect and the ball lies all the time-- it bounces and caroms and deflects and players miss free-throws because they've just gotten hammered, because they lose concentration, or because they are bad at free throws-- despite being fouled all the time (Shaq!) and so while we might know the logical way to figure something out, the medieval way is often more satisfying.

Is this the End of an Era?

Due to the epic Wimbledon Men's Final ( 5 sets, 4 hours 42 minutes, Alcaraz beats Djokovich) I thought I'd be unable to write a sentence today-- watching that match really took it out of me (reminds me of this match) but I was so inspired by the fact that Djokovich and Alcaraz managed to string together multiple sentences-- in English-- which is neither player's first language-- after a match of that length and magnitude that I figured I could at least pump out one sentence, a little something for their effort-- and it was one of the best tennis matches I've ever seen . . . Djokovich had just enough trouble with his backhand (and attempted too many shots down the line with it, over the high part of the net) and Alcaraz got to EVERYTHING and really came up big with his serve (and he is incredibly agile and has great touch at the net and when he's chipping drop shots just over the net) and it's definitely a little sad that we may have come to the end of the Djokovich/Federer/Nadal era . . . when do you have three Michael Jordans all playing at the same time?

Bubble Bubble, The Irish Troubles

A new episode of my podcast is up and streaming-- "Bubble, Bubble, The Irish Troubles" . . . this one is inspired by Stuart Neville's thriller The Ghosts of Belfast and it is a major improvement from my last effort, which was a rambling and convoluted attempt to cover far too large a topic-- this episode has an eclectic crew of special guests to boot, including: The Hasbro Pop-O-Matic, Detective Sean Duffy, Adrian McKinty, Sinead O'Connor, Indiana Jones, Erin Quinn, Grandpa Joe, The People's Front of Judea, and U2.

New (To Me) Music

I swore I'd never read another fantasy book and then my friend convinced to give Game of Thrones a shot and I ended up reading them all . . . and I swore I'd never listen to heavy metal music again but Rob Harvilla, on his podcast 60 Songs That Explain the '90s, convinced me to give Tool another listen (I vaguely remember listening to them in the '90s, along with Helmet and Ministry and Pantera) and they are just the right amount of heavy, just the right amount of Spinal Tap, and just the right amount of alternative weirdness for me to enjoy them now, at age 53 . . . weird (I'm also enjoying Waxahtachee very much . . . again-- old news, but I have trouble keeping up with this rapid paced digitally demanding popular culture smorgasbord that comprises our modern lives). 

He'll Do You Up a Treat

The Knights of the Round Table were quite surprised when the Rabbit of Caerbannog turned out to be far more dangerous than he appeared, and I'm sure the young girl swimming in Lake Lanier (Georgia) was equally surprised when she was attacked and bitten by a fifty-pound rabid beaver . . . luckily her dad came to the rescue and beat the animal to death-- and, for those of you who are now worried about giant rabid beaver attacks, this is a fairly rare occurrence-- the last beaver attack in Lake Lanier was thirteen years ago (which doesn't seem all that rare for an event that insane-- I feel like that's the sort of anomaly that should have happened once before, in like 1870, and never again).

The Bear Finale: Forced Hibernation

Once it got cooking, I really enjoyed the second season of The Bear-- especially the Christmas flashback episode with all the wild behavior and various cameos-- but the season finale got a bit melodramatic and used a plot device that was more appropriate for an episode of Three's Company than the frenetic but fairly realistic world of the Berzatto clan.

My Brain Melted

I played tennis in the heat this afternoon and then rushed to the pool to jump in before it closed down for "pre-teen" night-- but the pool water was pretty warm and didn't really cool me down and then Cat and I went to Taco Tuesday at La Casita-- a great deal-- and I drank a couple beers and then we watched the German sci-fi show "Dark," but I was barely coherent -- dehdrated and over-heated-- and my dream to move to Southern Vermon to escape the heat and global warming has been shattered by all the floods . . . and the worst part is I always look forward to summer-- I forget what the heat does to my brain and body.

Are You Crazy? Or Just Acting Crazy?

If you're looking for a faster paced version of Donna Tartt's The Secret History, with all the ancient Greek allusions replaced with Shakespeare (which was far more satisfying for me) then M.L. Rio's If We Were Villains is the book for you-- it's intense.

Million Ants Man Sighting (Form: Amorphous)

 

My wife and I were walking down Second Avenue, minding our own business, when we came across a deconstructed superhero (Million Ants Man, of course).

We Might Have Been in the Catskills

Catherine and I spent the last few days so far up in the Catskills that it might not be designated as the Catskills-- near a quaintly dilapidated town called Stamford . . . our friends Ann and Craig invited us up-- Ann's family owns several houses on property surrounding a very very old house that has been in her family since the 1700s . . . but we stayed in her parents' modern house, across from the spooky cemetery where hundreds of crows congregated this morning; and we did some lovely hikes with spectacular views of the bucolic Schoharie Valley, drank some local IPAs and some Teremana tequila (endorsed by The Rock himself), played Bananagrams and watched the rain, drove the golf cart to get iced coffee from Stewarts, traipsed around town, and generally enjoyed the change of scenery and lack of humidity . . . and as a bonus, the kids didn't destroy the house or the van and the dog seems to have been taken care of . . . but now we are back in Jersey and it's a fucking jungle swamp outside.

I Am Too Old For This Shit

This afternoon, my son Alex snuck me into the Busch gym on Rutgers and it was packed-- probably because it's so fucking hot outside-- and we got into a game of three-on-three with an old student of mine and some random college kids and Alex made a couple lay-ups and the kid covering him-- who was shorter than him-- started hanging all over him and chasing him and elbowing him and then when Alex stole the ball from him and drove the kid grabbed his shirt, soccer-style, to keep him from scoring and we were all like "you're done" and he complained that Alex elbowed him and then he stopped playing but the kind of hung out shooting in the midst of us while we were organizing another game and at some point Alex and the kid bumped into each other and then we were about to start another game but this kid kept shooting-- he was trying to get Alex to start something and he eventually succeeded-- he pushed him and Alex took a swing at him and me and another guy had to break it up and my old student got hit in the nose while he was trying to break it up (by Alex?) and then once it was sorted out the kid still kept hanging around and then he got the gym supervisors to come over and at this point I was like "we need to get out of here because I'm not supposed to be here and you're not supposed to be getting in fights on school grounds and that's what we did-- we went to the Piscataway Y and played two -on-two against two really athletic kids and got our butts kicked, but it was physical and fun and there were no hard feelings.

Do It Geno!

While I did not climb, cut, or dispose of the giant dying tree that stood next to our house, menacing our roof (and our neighbor's roof) I did feel like I put in a full day's work watching this thing come down-- it was a very stressful for both me and the dog, the thumping of the logs as they swung down and crashed into the remaining trunk, the destruction in the garden, the denting of our siding, the general mayhem in our neighbor's yard (they had to take apart the chainlink fence so they could get the excavator back there to carry the giant chunks of tree to the truck) and the decision of just how high to leave the stump-- I'm going to sand it down and hit it with a couple coats of polyurethane to preserve it-- but though it was demanding, nerve-wracking, and costly to watch Genie Tree (highly recommended! they did it for $2800 . . . which was much lower than any other estimate . . . except JCR Tree Service) the threat of this tree falling on our house (and our neighbor's house) has been driving me mad for years-- the only thing I can compare it to is how Claudius feels about Hamlet, when he sends him to be executed in England . . . all I could think was "do it Geno, for like the hectic in my blood this tree rages and thou must cure me."

The Little Friend: A Southern Gothic Tour de Force

Donna Tartt's novel The Little Friend, a convoluted, meandering, and tangled Southern Gothic tale, inspired me to record a meandering and convoluted podcast celebrating this epic story: "Donna Tartt + Poisonous Snakes = Hell Yes!"

Milton Friedman Was (Kind of) Wrong

I played some pickle-ball with my wife this morning (for free!) and then I carted and spread a few wheelbarrows of free topsoil in my backyard, and now I'm enjoying a free beer-- some lady gave away a bunch of leftover IPAs from a fundraiser she had-- solid stuff: Night Shift Santilli and Lord Hobo Banger #6 . . . so while there's no free lunch there seems to be free other stuff, if you're willing to seek it out.

She Got Her Butt in Gear (After Being Probed in the Rear)

My wife got a colonoscopy this morning (she passed!) and then-- after a nap-- she got her butt in gear and hosted a book club reunion this afternoon (but she did not drive a car, drink alcohol, or sign any important documents-- all of which are strictly prohibited after being under anesthesia).

Gross Stuff

My wife is in the midst of colonoscopy prep and I played pickle-ball so hard in the heat that my scalp started peeling dead skin (or maybe it's just sweat residue or stuff from the inside of my new hat . . . I don't know, it came off in the shower).

My Children Are Conspiring Against My Inner Peace

Despite yesterday's post-acupuncture clambering, my back was feeling pretty loose this morning . . . until I noticed that the minivan's back driver-side tire was totally flat-- it turns out Ian ran over a nail on the way home from life-guarding last night (at least it wasn't Alex again) and after the usual mallet pounding and yanking (and some standing on the lug wrench) the lug nuts came loose and we changed yet another tire (it's getting tiresome) but hopefully, they'll be able to patch this one on the cheap-- and next summer my kids need to get jobs they can bike to because when they drive the car, it costs more money than they make.

Almost Therapeutic

After some three-on-three basketball this morning, my calves and back were pretty tight, so I told my acupuncturist to go to town on them-- and while there was a bit of pain right when she poked the needles in, then the muscles started to loosen up-- and after lying there in the liminal sleep state for twenty-five minutes, I felt much more relaxed . . . until I went into the parking lot and saw that the fucker that parked next to me wedged his car so close to my driver side door that I couldn't my door more than an inch or so-- I had to get into my car on the passenger side and climb over the middle console like some kind of middle-aged gymnast vaulting the ol' pommel horse (I'm not sure if that's what gymnasts do but I don't feel like googling it).

Straight From the Cardiologist to the Cheesesteak Joint

Catherine and I spent even more quality time together-- we accompanied my mom to her cardiology appointment at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine (and I drove my dad's boat of a car into the city and down into the bowels of the parking deck, which was slightly unnerving because the Lincoln Nautilus handles like an overweight blue whale) and while we had to wait quite a while to see the doctor, the news was fairly good-- no rush on fixing the valve in my mom's heart-- she just has to monitor things and get a new electro-cardiogram . . . and so we celebrated the only way you can when you drive all the way to Philly . . . we got cheesesteaks at Tony and Nick's Steaks (and I got sharp provolone and long hots on mine . . . amazing).

Quality Time with the Ol' Ball and Chain

Catherine and I went and played pickle-ball this morning and then we biked to the Rutgers pool, swam a bit, ate some sandwiches together, and then fell asleep poolside (we were at a fun birthday bbq last night) only to awaken to some very dark clouds rolling in, so we packed up, leapt on our bikes, raced home (sort of-- she was racing, I'm pretty slow on a bike) and beat the torrential downpour by a minute or two, then we went grocery shopping together, and after that we watched TWO finales-- Season 2 of From and Season 1 of Red Oaks . . .  and we didn't bicker, not even once!

Potpourri

I went to acupuncture Thursday (because I'm a very lucky dad . . . my kids have gotten into the pick-up basketball scene and I'm just good enough to play with them-- I've got to take advantage while I still can, but it's slowly killing me and acupuncture helps to loosen up my back and calves . . . I played for two hours with them this morning and then I planted a shrub on the side of our house . . . a yew, which is supposed to thrive in the shade-- I built a really nice bed with all the stones I've filched from the park and a bunch of topsoil that got dumped by accident in a friend's rental property driveway-- trapping a car in the driveway-- and the police say there's nothing they can do so my friend who owns the property is telling everyone to take the free soil-- and I only live two blocks away, so I've taken six or seven wheelbarrow loads of dirt from the pile-- which has not put a dent in it) and I was hoping to just lie there and relax while Dana stuck some needles in my sore spots-- but Dana is a talker and she had a lot to say-- which is coincidentally and ironically related to my new podcast episode-- there was a horrendous car accident at the edge of town two weeks ago-- my wife saw the wreckage on her way back from Costco-- and it turns out the accident was right in front of the acupuncture office and Dana was right in the midst of the accident, pulling bodies from a car and trying to administer CPR and getting one of the license plates of the two cars that were racing, at 85 MPH in a 35 zone, and it turns out the victims of the crash were the parents of a local family that Dana and I both know and there was a third car that was on fire and one of the cars that was racing was mangled and they had to pull that guy out with the jaws of life-- so that's the story I got, in graphic and gory detail, before Dana stuck some needles in me and knocked me out-- and so I had some very weird and scary dreams while I was in the acupuncture dream-state.

Autopocalypse Now (Carmageddon Later)

Autopocalypse Now (Carmageddon Later) is certainly my most impassioned episode of We Defy Augury . . . I get pretty worked up about the book Carmageddon: How Cars Make Life Worse and What To Do About It by Daniel Knowles (a guy who hates cars even more than me) but to balance things out, I was able to dig up a very rare monologue by The Boss himself . . . and you know how that guy feels about automobiles.

greasetruck · Hemi - Powered Droning

Red Oaks and Roxy Music

I don't know how we missed it, but wife wife and I are catching up on the nostalgic, funny, and wonderful Amazon show Red Oaks-- it's Caddyshack and The Graduate and Ferris Bueller all rolled up into one delightful '80s comedy-- that's set in New Jersey!-- and the eternally stoned valet Wheeler has got me listening to Roxy Music . . .. and while I love the show, I'm not certain that I love Roxy Music (but like Steely Dan, it might grow on me).

Ian . . . It Is Your Graduation

 

Ian graduated from high school today and the ceremony was lovely-- the speeches were short and sweet, the weather was breezy and temperate, and we had a delicious lunch afterwards with my parents at Wu's Shanghai Dumpling in North Brunswick-- and while the only mishap during the formalities was the fact that Ian tripped on his ascent up the stairs to receive his diploma, my wife suspected this had something to due with his designation as "Class Clown" in the Yearbook-- and she was right, he bet a friend twenty dollars that he would stumble on stage and then he followed through (and got paid) but we also had a minor mishap BEFORE the graduation got underway: Alex drove Ian over to the high school while Catherine and I were getting dressed-- a half-mile drive-- but there was a bunch of graduation traffic and he was trying to squeeze between a truck and a parked car and he hit the parked car's mirror with the van's mirror and broke the other car's mirror-- and he didn't have his license on him and I think there was a bit of conflict between him and the other driver-- but we sorted things out right before the kids walked out in their robes (of course, this guy was sitting right behind us and he was pretty indignant-- with good reason-- but I gave him my information and hopefully it won't cost that much to fix it) and now both my kids have graduated high school . . . but one of them could use another semester of Driver's Ed (and my wife will finally "graduate" tonight from Project Graduation-- she's been working her ass raising money and recruiting volunteers for the all-night event-- once she rides over there and sets things up, she's free at last free at last).

Bedtime Stories

I don't know if this is a common experience, but it happens to me all the time-- when I'm reading in bed, at night, and I start to fall asleep, I'll nod off for a moment or two, but I'll dream that I'm still reading-- and my brain will invent the text-- so I'll still be reading along, but not really, my eyes are actually closed and my mind is making up what comes next in the book-- and then I'll start and wake up and I'll reread whatever I was reading and it will be totally different than what I just "read" in my previous half-conscious state . . . I'm assuming this happens to everyone who reads before bed?

Things I Learn in the Car with My Wife and Kids Episode 74

Apparently the little metal button on the side of my OnePlus 8 model phone turns the phone's ringer on and off (so there's been nothing wrong with my phone or mobile network . . . I've just had the ringer turned off for a couple months or so).

Father's Day Excitement (with a Lady)

I biked over to Castleton Park this morning to play some pickle-ball and when I returned home, I saw a groundhog amble around the bend in my yard and head into the open door of the bike shed-- so I called for Lola, thinking that she'd scare the creature out of the shed but-- because of the other three bikes in their slots-- she couldn't really get in there properly and all I heard was some frightened groundhog squeals from the back corner; I used Ian's phone light but I couldn't see way back in there and Lola was now obsessed with the situation and I didn't want a repeat of what happened with my old dog (Sirius) and a very unlucky groundhog so I had Ian take Lola for a long walk and I left the bike shed door open and vacated the area and now it seems the groundhog has hightailed it out of the shed, because Lola is no interested in the bike shed and has returned to her usual chill lady-like demeanor.

Second for the Second Time

I had another meh performance at the annual Joe Rosenberg cornhole tournament but Alex and his partner (a random old dude who was decent but not good) came in second-- so in the money-- and Alex came in second place last year as well . . . he was on fire today and his team only lost (in close matches) to the randomly drawn dream team of Joe (the host and board maker) and Ryan (a previous champ).

End of the School Year Sporting Potpourri

I finished off a full week of athletics with a stellar performance-- if I don't say so myself-- at 6:30 AM basketball this morning . . . sometimes it pays off to be a minute late, as I ended up on a dream team with all the elements-- youth, athleticism, basketball savvy, and the ability to shoot from outside-- and when you're on a good team, you often get good passes and open shots, which I converted like crazy today-- unusual when I play early in the morning-- it's too bad this is not the end of the line, there's another game Monday morning, where I'm sure I'll return to my usual shooting form (chucking that shit up from anywhere, waiting to get hot, cursing the russet clad early morn) but I can't complain-- starting from last Friday, it was cornhole, pickleball, singles tennis, basketball with college kids, badminton, lifting,  bike ride to Castleton and pickleball last night, and then hoops this morning-- and I'm still upright and walking, an impressive week of screwing around in various arenas- and there's still a cornhole tournament tomorrow and father's day pickleball on Sunday and one last day of early morning basketball on Juneteenth.

Blind to the Way of the Blinds

 

A couple of ladies (Rachel and Sam) were complaining about the state of the window blinds in their room-- a room I happen to share with them for one period-- and I said, "Yeah, my blinds are fucked up the exact same way down in my room!" and one of the ladies remarked that I seemed to be the common denominator in the fucked-up-blinds equation and the other lady asked me if I flattened the blinds before I opened and closed them and I said, "Wha?" and they both said, "You need to turn them flat before you open and close them" and I told them I had never heard that-- but apparently you need to twist the long plastic thing until the blinds are flat, relative to the floor-- as opposed to flat against the window (in maximum light blocking mode, which is the state I keep them in) and I said maybe these blinds needed some step-by-step instructions on the wall because I didn't think the general public was aware of this blind peculiarity and the ladies said that my wife had probably told me about this and I told them that we don't have blinds, we have curtains. 

Birthday Athletics, Plus . . .

I am very sore today, but in a good way: yesterday Alex snuck Ian and me into the Busch gym so we could play some pick-up basketball and we ran into one of my old students from East Brunswick (Armaan) who loves to play (and often plays with my son Alex) and then once we got in the gym, we saw several soccer players and one tennis player from Highland Park (Matt, Amay, and Boyang) and so we played a couple of hours of four-on-four and-- aside from one random-- I had either sired, coached, or taught all the players in the game-- and my team was kicking some butt (Armaan could really shoot and pass) and I was driving the soccer player that was covering me crazy-- he played basketball like a soccer player-- the way I did when I started-- and so succumbed to all the basic moves . . . anyway, we had a blast and then I got up this morning and played 6:30 AM badminton, which I haven't done in a while, and it was as frustrating as it usual is-- that game is difficult and unpredictable and it's really hard to hit a backhand out of the corner-- but I got another good runaround and now I can barely move.

Thoughts on My Son's Eighteenth Birthday

It is my son Ian's eighteenth birthday today-- yikes-- and it's been quite a senior year, but hopefully, he will get his shit together before he has to send his fourth-quarter transcript to Muhlenberg-- my wife said she'd like to "shake him" and I said, "go right ahead, he's not a baby anymore"-- in other news, I was eating a couple of my wife's vegetable and ham egg muffins-- she was trying to use up our egg surplus and so she baked eggs and other good stuff in a muffin tin and made a bunch of them-- and while I kind of like the egg muffins, I don't love their consistency-- they are too foamy-- and I don't like foam . . . I don't like foam on my beer and I certainly don't like cold foam on my coffee-- who the fuck is paying extra for cold foam? would you pay extra for cold foam on a beer?-- and, on a positive note in the age department, yesterday at the Y, my older son (he's 19) and I beat two giant Asian dudes in two-on-two basketball-- they were seniors in college, they were very athletic and could jump and shoot, but they had no clue how to deal with a pick-and-roll and didn't figure out Alex was left-handed until I told them . . . I'm not sure how long I can keep this father/son basketball thing going, but it will be fun while it lasts (and we can't wait until Ian can play with us too-- he's gotten really tall and long, but he keeps busting up his fingers playing volleyball . . . and though my kids are coming back to basketball rather late in life, they're a hell of a lot better than I was when I was nineteen-- when I was nineteen, I played basketball like a rugby player).

Hippies vs. Billionaire!

 

My new episode of We Defy Augury focuses on my favorite book of the year-- the eco-thriller Birnam Wood by Eleanor Catton-- and I'm also proud to announce my favorite title of any episode: "Eclectic New Zealand Acid Trap."

AI Can Cook

I highly recommend asking Chat GPT for cooking advice-- it spits out a clear recipe without all the ads and anecdotes-- and I also highly recommend asking for your recipe "hip-hop" style . . . you'll get lines like this: "Carefully remove the foil packet from the grill, treating it like a valuable vinyl record, and let it cool slightly before opening."

Long Saturday

One busy day after another . . . I can't wait for the dog days of summer-- yesterday we drove up and back to Muhlenberg for Ian's pre-registration and counseling-- this place is the exact opposite of Rutgers-- they really spell out exactly how everything is done and insist that your kid will be advised and counseled and will get through this experience-- it's really nice but kind of weird, after watching Alex learn how to navigate the many campuses, buses, gyms, cafeterias and bureaucratic snafus of Rutgers . . . it almost feels like this is our first kid going away to college-- because he's actually going away (a little over an hour) and not living up the road-- Catherine and I are also excited to explore the Allentown region-- you can walk to the city from the campus and there's a big Amish farmer's market along the way-- so long day up there-- lots of various sessions for parents and kids-- and then we went to a block party when we got home . . . this Sunday needs to be a day of rest.

Long Full Day

6:30 AM basketball this morning, followed by an empty exam period (which was lucky for me because I forgot a change of clothing) followed by a long and arduous Public Speaking exam (it takes more energy to listen to a speech than to make one) followed by some errands with Stacey, followed by the end-of-the-year party and cornhole tournament (Krystin and I made it to the semi-finals but the tournament has gotten very competitive . . . no more pushover teams-- every game was insane and Kim Pzeszski kicked my butt even though I was putting in eight or ten a round) followed a well earned Friday crash.

Long Half Day

The high school students had a half day today because of the air quality-- our school is not fully air-conditioned and it was fairly hazy inside the building yesterday-- but the teachers were required to stay until contract time . . . they had a short meeting at 1:35 PM to insure that we didn't bolt with the kids-- and then when I walked out to my car to leave (and while it wasn't quite contract time, it was in the ballpark) my car would not turn over, nor were the electric locks working, and so I assumed it was the battery and Stacey and I tried to jump it, but had no success-- so then I had to call roadside assistance and while there was a high volume of calls, once I got through, the guy got there fairly quickly, and he was able to jump the battery with his supercharged portable battery jumper-- but he said I needed a new battery so I drove straight to my mechanic and dropped the van off there and then walked home through the haze-- and since it was a long half-day, I decided I deserved a treat so I stopped at the coffee place and got a cold brew ($5.86 for a cold brew? yikes) and while it was expensive, it was very delicious-- but what a weird couple of days here in Jersey-- I guess this is what it's like when you live in L.A.-- and I can't wait for some typical hot humid rainy weather; also, my students taught me about the "point five" feature on my phone camera-- which allows you to take a wider picture--but it's "point five" on their Apple phones, but on my Oneplus 8-- much to my students' amusement-- it's "point six".

And It Was All Yellow

Canadian wildfires and the yellow haze they produced made for a strange penultimate day of class (and the final "A" day) but despite the glowing hazy apocalypse, we managed to finish ACT V of Hamlet and watch everyone die (except Horatio, of course, because he's a good friend) and then I realized that I forgot to vote for mayor yesterday (because of the haze . . . I blame the haze!) and I really hope this shit clears out tomorrow-- I was supposed to play tennis today but we canned that idea and Friday is the end of the year party (and cornhole tournament) but it won't be much fun in this fug.

AI vs. the English Office . . .

The EBHS end-of-they-year party is fast approaching and Kristyn and I have to defend our hard-won cornhole tournament title . . . the bag-tossing competition is fierce but the competition for clever team names is lame-- people usually go with cliche monikers like "The Cornholios"-- but I wanted our team to have a more creative and unique title . . . so I asked Bard AI for some cornhole team names and, sadly, I got a bunch of bullshit . . . stuff like this:

--Corn on the Cobb

--The Kernels of Truth

--The Maize-ing Masters

--The Cornhole Ninjas

--The Bean Bag Bandits

so I told Bard I needed even funnier names and the AI gave me:

--The Cornhole Whisperers

--The Cornhole Crüe

--The Cornhole Mafia

--The Cornhole Jedi

-- The Cornhole Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

so then I tried to think of some clever names all by myself, but everything that I thought of was filthy and this is a school-sanctioned event and you have to put the team name on a Google Sheet, so I didn't want to incriminate myself . . . I was thinking of genital-themed stuff along the lines of "One Bag, One Hole," because Kristyn takes a lot of shit from the men (making our victory all the more sweet) and also basic and filthy names like "Jam it in the Hole" but then I got the other English teachers working on the project-- Stacey, Terry, Denise, Eric-- and we spent a good 45 minutes brainstorming every possible pun . . . first Stacey and I worked out the actual math for "One Sack, One Hole" and we determined that between the two of us, the proper name should be "One Sack, Fifteen Holes" . . . don't ask how we figured it out . . . and here are some of the other names that surfaced during this session:

--Sack-religious

--Sack-a-jawea

--The Holy Shots

-- Stuff it in the Hole, Shoot it in the Hole, Put it in the Hole, etcetera

--The English Tossers, The Underhanded Tossers

--Lick My Cornhole, The Money Shots, Flaming Ring of Cornhole, Fire in the Cornhole

--Bilbo Baggins

--Sack Up

--The EB Sack Exchange

and in the end, Terry went the Onanistic route and chose "The English Tossers" and I went the very obtuse, very annoying route and chose a name only the history teachers will appreciate: "The Visigoths" . . . the Visigoths are  the barbarians who sacked Rome for three days in 410 AD . . . I think "Three Day Sack" is also a good name, but not as irritating as "The Visigoths" . . . and the English department definitely defeats AI in clever cornhole team naming . . . for now.

I Feel Like a Crippled Waterfowl

Teaching seniors in June is like being a lame-duck President-- you're still the President but you can't enact any new legislation and you don't hold any actual power-- you're just a figurehead.

Sunday Wrap-up

The end of an action-packed anniversary weekend: my wife and I made it out after getting lost in the Sourlands-- we walked over the bridge to Cuzin's-- and, as usual, the drinks and the seafood (and the eggplant tower) were all fantastic (if a bit pricey) and the vibe in that place is nuts-- as opposed to Salt, which is a bit fancier and stodgier, Cuzin's always has people dressed casually who are there to spend some money-- the people next to us at the bar were particularly amazing-- a very Jersey couple . . . who may or may not have been a couple-- they frequently cursed each other out and referred to each other as "an asshole" and they required a TON of attention from the bartender-- the dude started out with a $55 tequila shot, then he needed to charge his phone, then his date needed the bartender to come around and show her the channel where there was a hook to hang her purse, then they had a lot fo questions about every drink and item on the menu-- but the woman-- who was 37 but didn't look it  . . . according to the bartender-- was a particular kind of fit petite peroxide blonde Jersey girl from Manalapan with a fucking priceless "real housewives of New Jersey" accent that made everything she said hysterically funny-- anyway, Cuzin's is a lot of fun if you've got some money to spend-- it's more like a club that serves seafood than a restaurant, especially if you sit at the bar . . . so a good end to our anniversary-- we finished out the night watching the finale of The Diplomat . . . thumbs up on that show, and then this morning I got up early and played basketball with my son before he had to head to work lifeguarding-- and then he dropped me off at the pickle ball courts-- so I played sports for four hours and then came home, did some requisite cleaning of the house, and then took a two hour nap-- and when I awoke, Ian was back from prom weekend and mowing the lawn!-- he actually read my wife's note and did a chore-- pretty sweet-- and now he's sleeping . . . he must have had quite a weekend-- he started out in Wildwood and then ended up in LBI, staying at a rental organized by one of my EB students-- so maybe I'll get some gossip on Monday.