Snakes in the Rite-Aid?

Alexander Plumbing came to the rescue this morning-- on FaceTime-- we had some work done Wednesday afternoon to stop the leak in our tankless water heater and the plumber also showed me how to rinse off the magnet filter that removes the iron sediment from our water-- but this morning our forced hot-water radiators were cold and winter weather is headed our way and I couldn't figure out the issue-- the hot water was on and the heating pumps were pumping; I bled the radiators but there was no air in them, just cold water-- it was a mystery so my wife gave it a shot and texted the guy who was at our house yesterday and though it was Thanksgiving, he called us back and took a moment to have her FaceTime the various valves around the tankless heater and he guessed-- correctly-- that he forgot to switch both dials back to green that surrounded the filter-- so it was a quick and easy fix and a Thanksgiving miracle that we have both heat and hot water (and no leaks) for the holiday weekend; I then went to play pickleball while my wife prepared several Thanksgiving dishes and when I got home, my wife assigned me one simple Thanksgiving chore-- go get a good bottle of wine to bring to Jim and LouAnne's place (my brother's inlaws) so I went to the Rite-Aid, found a good bottle of wine, and while I was paying I noticed that the young lady behind the register had a serious case of the hiccups and I was tempted to go into my whole "hey, hold still, hold very still, there's a spider in your hair" routine-- which always works on my high school students (and scares the shit out of them) but there were people in line so I went with something more economical and said, "Hey there's a big snake behind you!" which didn't make much sense inside a Rite-Aid-- the only things behind her were cigarettes, vapes, chewing tobacco, and little airplane bottles of liquor . . . so my ploy didn't work and she said said she wasn't scared at all, not even . . . hiccup . . . a little bit.

Tanks a Lot

I brought my son Ian to New Brunswick last night so he could get an MRI on his ankle-- he may have a lacerated tendon-- and when I arrived home, sleepy and ready to watch some TV and fall asleep, I found my wife in the basement, spewing profanity and amazement because not only had she discovered a large and growing puddle of water on our basement floor, but she also discovered the source of this water-- and it wasn't due to the rain storm-- our tankless water heater and the surrounding pipework was leaking from all sorts of places-- so we got the wet-vac and some towels, put a large container under the heater, and got up several times during the night to wet-vac the water from the container and dump it in the sink . . . hopefully we can get a plumber over today, but the lesson here is: just because it doesn't have a tank, that doesn't mean it can't leak.

The Subtle Art of Feeling Stupid

I found the breezily philosophical book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck entertaining (and so did my son) but I probably didn't read it as closely and critically as Michael Hobbes and Peter Shamshiri-- because that's their job on their very funny podcast, If Books Could Kill . . . it's big fun but if they tackle a book you've read and kind of enjoyed, get ready to cringe at the silly stuff your brain will readily consume when it's not paying close attention to the details.

Monday Transforms from Wednesday to Monday

Monday is normally bad enough . . . but I was trying to maintain a positive attitude and think of this particular Monday as more of a Wednesday-- since we have off Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving so we're already nearing the end of the week . . . but I don't get on the email platform much, and so I found out this morning, just after I resolved to be optimistic, that we had a department meeting after school and then the Monday that I had transmogrified into a Wednesday did a Mr. Hyde and turned back into an ugly and malevolent Monday.

Capitalism . . . 1980s Style

 

Took me a while, but I finally finished this episode of We Defy Augury . . . it is called "Capitalism . . . 1980s Style: Capitalism Sucks (But It Sucks Less Than the Alternative)" and it is my thoughts on capitalism (loosely) based on three novels published in the 1980s: Carl Hiaasen's Tourist Season, Tom Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities, and Martin Cruz Smith's Gorky Park . . . and the special guests include Oingo Boingo, Lloyd Dobbler, Conan O'Brien, and Anthony Bourdain.

There's a New DeVito in Town!

Let it be known: for many many years, the reigning DeVito from Jersey was, of course, Danny DeVito . . . but for one special day (Sunday, November 19th, 2023) Tommy DeVito wears the crown-- in his victory over the Washington Commanders, he threw three touchdowns and his passing rating was 137 . . . more than double his typical passing rating-- and he did this behind the worst offensive line in football . . . congratulations Tommy DeVito for winning the MVD of NJ today . . . Most Valuable DeVito of New Jersey (and I thought I was done watching the Giants this year but if DeVito keeps tossing touchdown passes and quips about living with his parents in Jersey, such as "I don't have to worry about laundry, what I'm eating for dinner, chicken cutlets and all that is waiting for me when I get there" then I'm in for the long haul).

Two Good (But Dark) Stories

I recently finished two horrific stories-- one fiction and one true-- and both tackled systemic corruption, immorality, and overreach . . . 

1) the first is quite fun and I highly recommend it: the Netflix mini-series The Fall of the House of Usher . . . which reimagines the gothic world of Poe through the sepia-toned lens of the filthy-rich Fortunato family and their opiate empire; 

2) the second is the new Serial production: The Kids of Rutherford County . . . a fine piece of journalism that uncovers incredible and absurd legal overreach in Tennessee-- Rutherford County juvenile court was illegally jailing children for over a decade, mainly due to a conservative judge, Donna Scott Davenport, who decided to run juvenile justice by her ethical tenets instead of the actual laws on the book . . . and it's also the story of the two underdog lawyers who challenge this insane but entrenched system and finally get some retribution and resolution for these much-maligned children . . . but you'll have to decide if it's enough retribution for the shit that went down.

Note to Self: Take a Break

At the start of this week, I played 6:30 AM pickleball Monday morning-- a healthy and vigorous start to the week-- and then the weather turned balmy . . . what was once known as "Indian Summer," a term with ambiguous origins that the historian Daniel Boorstin believes originates from the "raids on European colonies by Indian war parties that usually ended in autumn”-- but because of the genocide perpetrated on the indigenous tribes of North America by the European settlers, there is no worry of raiding parties taking advantage of warm weather and scalping me and my family, so it's quite safe to play pickleball late at night at Donaldson Park, where the Lenni Lenape once roamed-- so I played Tuesday night with my adult friends (and my wife) and then figured I would rest my knees and ankles, but Wednesday I got a text from my young pickleball friends-- these 23-year-old pharma and med kids who switched from high-level tennis to pickleball, so I went out and played with them for a couple of hours Wednesday night-- I played until 9 PM! . . . which is pretty much midnight for me-- and then the weather got even warmer so I played again Thursday night-- the first time I've ever played pickleball four days in a row, and by the end of Thursday, I pretty much couldn't move-- my ankles hurt, my hips hurt, my knees hurt-- so even though the weather is beautiful today and everyone (including my wife) are down on the courts, I'm drinking some beer and taking it easy, because my game really deteriotates once I can't hustle.

Note to Self: Lisa!

There is a window of opportunity to learn a new colleague's first name and then, abruptly, that window slams shut-- and even if you see this person every day for a few minutes, it's still tough to pry that window open, and make the required effort to relearn the name that you immediately forgot after perfunctory introductions-- but today-- months into the school year-- with the help of another colleague (thanks Liz!) and her ability to access a list with the names of every teacher in the school on it, alphabetized, I smashed that window open and climbed through, and while I my brain may have gotten a bit bloody and abraded during the process, I'm now going to prop the window open by calling this lady that I share a homeroom with "Lisa" tomorrow-- although I hope I remember her name tomorrow, as I can't think of a good mnemonic device for the name "Lisa," as it's a fairly plain name and not epiphanic, like the "Dolores!" moment in Seinfeld . . . I suppose she looks more like Lisa Lisa from the Cult Jam than she does like Lisa Simpson, so I'll have to go with that . . . the idea that our homeroom is chaperoned by Lisa Lisa and the Dave Man (not that I'm going to tell her any of this).

What Does Dave's Dog Think?

Every morning, my dog anxiously watches me retrieve her can of food from the study, pour it out, use a fork to scrape out the last few chunks of food from the can, add a little dry food, and then serve it to her-- after she sits and gives me a paw . . . which has evolved into an enthusiastic leaping high-five-- so does she think she's eating all her meals at one of those open-kitchen restaurants where you can watch the chef prepare every step of your meal?

Dave Does NOT Break New Educational Ground (But He Thought He Did)

I've been reading three classes worth of Rutgers Expos synthesis essays-- the kids can take the class at my high school and I made the mistake of teaching three sections-- and it's brutal, most of the first attempts are awful, mainly because they don't synthesize-- they don't use evidence from BOTH texts to support an argument-- they summarize one text and then summarize the other text and then call it a day-- so I reminded them that to pass the Rutgers Rubric, EVERY synthesis paragraph needs evidence from BOTH texts and a kid asked me if you could get an NP (Not Passing) if you DID use text from both sources in every paragraph and I said, "Yes you could" because I had a student alternate summaries of the texts within the same paragraph-- no connections or argument-- and then I saw some dry erase markers on the ledge of my whiteboard and I had a brilliant idea-- and it worked out perfectly . . . there was a red marker, and I said this represented the Jia Tolentino text and there was a blue marker and I said this represented the Anand Giridharadas text-- and I did not not mean to assign stereotypical gendered colors, but subliminally I did just that-- and then there was also-- serendiptously, miraculously- a PURPLE marker-- so I drew an essay that had a blue paragraph and a red paragraph-- and then I drew an essay that had alternating blue and red sentences and then I told them that those essays would not pass and to do synthesis, the paragraph had to be purple-- you had to blend the texts and make a new color of your own-- and you could control the darkness or lightness of the purple by how much of each text you used-- that was the artistry of the synthesis and then I felt quite accomplished with my spur-of-the-moment color-coded metaphor so I told the ladies (Stacey and O'Grady) and they laughed and laughed and laughed and told me they had been doing this activity for years-- and they had been telling ME to do it for years-- but I had ignored them-- they always had their kids color code their essays so they could see how much text they were using and then I told them I didn't do it as an activity-- I showed them after they finished and I was grading and they both concurred that I was an idiot (and they also said that telling the kids about shades of purple right after the first essay was way beyond them) and so I am going to pay more attention to the ladies because it seems they have some good ideas (but I still had a really good time in class, especially when I saw that there was one purple dry erase marker and I remembered that red and blue make purple and I still think my diagrams were spot-on).

Watch Your Step

Two teachers I know have fallen and broken limbs (both elbows, I think?) at school this year and I've heard these things come in threes so I'm watching my step (unlike Arvin and Josh, who hit the deck hard several times this morning during pickleball-- I'm of the mind that there's no reason to dive in pickleball unless you're going to hit a winner-- which rarely happens-- because the speed of play is so much faster than tennis . . . you're not going to have a chance to get back up and hit another shot, so why bother diving in the first place?)

Do You Know Your Dog's Date of Birth?

Another beautiful day in the Catskills-- and we ended where we began our vacation, at the Mud Puddle Coffee Roasters & Cafe-- we took a hike out of New Paltz and then got some delicious coffee and breakfast sandwiches (I recommend The James: 2 EGGS, BALSAMIC ONIONS, BACON, GOUDA, ON FRENCH PEASANT ROLL . . . it's the best fucking breakfast sandwich I've ever eaten) and then we hauled it on home because Lola has a UTI and she needed some antibiotics but to save time we had our vet call the prescription in to our local pharmacy so we didn't have to drive to Sayreville but it turns out that in this ever-changing world in which we're living when you try to save time, you might well create a chaotic imbroglio-- so I ended up spending a good hour at our pharmacy today, calling the vet, pacing the vitamin aisles, trying to recall my dog's birthday?-- because you need to give the date of birth to pick up a prescription-- but our vet couldn't get through because they called the wrong number but then when they called the right number-- which I provided-- it was busy and then-- after many phone calls to the vet by me . . . and-- I'm proud to say-- no losing of the patience-- I never lost my patience, I kept it on my person the whole time because my pharmacy was doing a great job and the ladies at the vet, well . . . they were far away and on the phone and I had to be very diplomatic with them-- but in the end, after the pharmacy had to call the vet office to confirm some handwriting and some other shit-- I finally got my ten dollars worth of Sulfamethoxazole and I also had a lovely conversation with the fourth pharmacist I spoke with-- because I spoke with all the pharmacists-- about how to get dogs to swallow pills . . . but seriously, do you know your dog's birthday?

Diet Soda, Beer . . . It's All the Same in the Catskills

We did several scenic hikes today and had a good meal at the Truss and Trestle but my favorite moment was when we were having a beer at the Creekside Bistro and a lady came in and sat adjacent to us at the bar and asked for a menu-- this was around 1 PM-- and when the bartender asked what she wanted to drink the lady said "a diet soda" and then, without skipping a beat, she said, "but what do you have on tap? Any Oktoberfest? Actually, I'll have a Smuttynose brown ale" and it made me wonder what turn her day was going to take because she switched from diet soda to beer.

 

Must Have Made a Wrong Turn at Albuquerque

This morning, my wife and I drove on some winding mountain roads to a winding hiking trail that looped around Onteora Lake-- and along the trail, we stumbled on an old car wreck-- there really should be a plaque explaining exactly what the hell happened.

Self-aware Dave Distracts Annoying Dave

I'm writing this sentence so I don't stress my wife out while she's packing for our trip to the Catskills . . . I tend to pack fast and loose and finish well before her and then I want to get in the car and get going! traffic is building up! I don't want to eat lunch at 2 PM! I want to go on a hike! it gets dark early now!-- but she's a bit more methodical than me (which is why we make a great team).

Dave Redefines Refrigerator Blindness

Like many men, I have difficulty finding things in the refrigerator and on our pantry shelves and I often require assistance from my wife to locate what I'm looking for-- but today at school, I took "refrigerator blindness" to an unprecedented level-- on my off period, I drove over to Mancini's and got two slices of pizza to-go and by the time I had driven back to the school-- the two slices riding shotgun, filling my car with delicious scents of brick-oven baked crust and sweet marinara sauce-- I was salivating and ravenous (I played 6:30 AM pickleball this morning and probably showered in raw sewage-- because did they really flush out the shower in the coach's room?) and so I entered the school with my slices and made a beeline for the English Office, grabbed a seat, and inhaled my pizza-- and then I heard someone mention the word "fridge," which is a sore subject because the administration confiscated all of our department mini-fridges and microwaves over the summer (because of a toaster fire) and I said, "Are we getting a fridge soon?" and the other five teachers in the room stared at me in disbelief and then I followed their collective stare to the utterly gigantic white refrigerator looming right next to the doorway that I had recently barged through with my pizza slices and my boss Jess said: "You know how men can't find stuff in the refrigerator? Dave can't even find the refrigerator!" and she was right.

Things I Learned After It Was Too Late Volume 427

When you're making a pizza, you need to inspect the cheese for mold before you enthusiastically toss it all over the sauce-covered crust-- tragic loss of a pizza-- but here's something I learned late in life (today, actually) but not too late . . . I just read on the internet that when you have a light coating of dry fallen leaves on your lawn, you should mulch them with the lawnmower instead of raking them-- and shredding leaves with an electric mower is far more fun than raking and bagging them.

90% Pleasant Bike Ride

Yesterday, to end our week of virtual teaching with something joyful, a few of us decided to head over to On the Border, a cheesy Mexican chain on Route 1 that offers a happy hour of cheap beer and free chips (no pay) and it was such a beautiful day that I decided to bike over-- and as the crow flies (if I had a kayak and some cliff-climbing gear) the restaurant is right across the Raritan River from my house-- less than a mile-- but to bike there I had to do a more circuitous three mile trip: I biked across the Albany Street Bridge to New Brunswick, then through Boyd Park-- along the river and south on Route 18-- and that section of the ride was quite lovely, then up the big hill to the Route 19 crossing into the Cook/Douglass section of Rutgers, where things got a little dicier-- there was the usual "you're not driving? fuck you" section of road where the sidewalk and the bike path disappeared-- but on the whole, it wasn't too bad-- there were a fair amount of college kids around, so plenty of pedestrians, and the cars weren't going too fast because of this-- but then things took a turn-- I wanted to head across the old Sears parking lot-- the quickest way to the restaurant, but I had forgotten that this was now a massive construction zone-- they are building an enormous mixed-use complex of town-homes, apartments, a grocery store, and shops-- but that was my only way to get to On the Border-- unless I looped around and biked on Route 1-- which would be suicidal-- so I followed a dump truck down a dirt road into a chaotic maelstrom of dirt piles, concrete and steel building frames, and construction equipment-- to my right an enormous metal plate floated in mid-air, held there by an enormous crane, and to my left were some completed town-homes . . . I was able to make my way across this site without being forcibly removed and then I went over a little temporary bridge that spanned a culvert and took my son's bike (a commuter bike, not a mountain bike) across a jagged rock field and finally I was able to enter the back of the On the Border parking lot-- I locked up my bike with a U-lock . . . I figured I might leave it there and pick it up the next morning because there was no way I was biking drunk through that site in the dark-- but luckily Catherine came to meet us, so I was able to throw the bike into the back of the Mazda and get it home safely-- and happy hour was a blast, it was nice to see Chantal, Terry, Liz and Stacey in the flesh and we all talked about how we had COVID-school flashbacks and would forget that the rest of the world was open while we were virtual teaching-- then once you got off the computer you'd realize . . . oh, the gym is open and we're not in a pandemic, our school is just a decrepit shithole.

Breaking Nose!

I know many of you have been following my attempts to turn off my phone alarm using my nose with bated breath-- wondering if my Android screen could disregard the "grease, sweat, and snot" on the tip of my nose and register an intentional touch-- and the answer is a resounding and miraculous YES! . . . but you can't "bop" the phone with your nose, you've got to squish your nose into the STOP button-- but that's not the big news of the day . . . the big news of the day is that black is white, up is down, and the deer in my neighborhood no longer behave like deer; on my way back up the hill from Donaldson, just after I successfully turned off my phone alarm with my nose, I noticed a few deer standing halfway down the hill-- and this is always the perfect scenario for my dog Lola-- I let her loose and she chases the deer down the hill into the park and then loops back up the hill to me and we walk home-- and she's always quite proud of herself for driving off the deer-- but we've had so many weird encounters with intractable and obdurate deer blocking our path that when I let her loose, she jogged ten yards up the sidewalk, towards our house . . . in the opposite direction of the deer . . .  she was like: no fucking way am I dealing with these insane creatures-- so that is the big news: the deer, they have no fear and they have effectively reversed the order of the natural world.

A Proboscis Endeavor

If you're walking the dog in the cold-- with lightweight cotton gloves on-- and your phone alarm goes off, if you press the "STOP" button while wearing your gloves the phone won't recognize your fingertip . . . and, as I found out this morning, the phone also won't acknowledge the tip of your nose-- and I must have looked pretty stupid, repeatedly bonking my phone into my nose, trying to press that button-- before I finally took my damn glove off and silenced the stupid thing (maybe Apple phones recognize nose tips?)

Virtual School + Halloween Candy = Nap Time

Another wonderful day of online teaching-- accompanied by a proliferation of Halloween candy, which is an unavoidable temptation when you're talking to a screen-- but there was one highlight and I thank my colleagues (and the candid and comical WhatsApp English teacher chat) because they warned me that admin was popping into virtual classes . . . and they weren't popping in at the beginning of class, when they could catch us setting up creative lessons; making Channels and break-out rooms and other virtual groups; communicating instructions clearly, and all that good stuff-- they were popping in for the last five minutes to see if teachers were ending early or teaching online until the bitter end of class . . . so I was prepared and told my students, that had some work to do in the Channels, to come back to the General meeting with five minutes left and-- lo and behold-- an administrator showed up in the waiting room and I let him in while I was teaching the most English teacher thing in the universe in the chat-- MLA format citations and punctuation-- and kids were asking questions on how to cite oddball situations-- quotes within quotes and all that-- and I was demonstrating all this in the chat . . . it was a great moment in American education-- because generally, whenever an administrator walks in your room, virtual or not, even if you've just executed the best lesson in the world, they come in at some weird awkward moment and you get all pissed off that no one ever sees you teaching properly . . . anyway, virtual school still sucked but at least there was one nice moment, and once it was over, I ate a bunch of Halloween candy and took a nap, and now I'm off to the pickelball scouts for my third day in a row-- I miss early morning basketball and I can't believe we did this kind of shit for over a year, I think I've erased most of it from my memory (but luckily it lives on the blog!)

Scary School Day . . .

Not the most impressive day of virtual school for me: while most of my students managed to give speeches in Public Speaking, one kid had to do his with his camera off-- it was blocked-- and so I told him "Pretend you're on the radio!"-- which dated me considerably-- I probably should have said, "Pretend you're on a podcast!"-- but whatever-- and then ten minutes into the second period, my school-issued device took control of itself and turned off the cursor and any sort of track-pad control-- but I could use the touch screen, which turned into a comical sequence of me touching windows and tabs and essentially screwing up the entire Teams meeting-- then the computer decided it needed an update and shut itself down-- I hope no parents heard me cursing it out-- but I was able to boot up the meeting on my iMac-- though Teams has gotten markedly slower since the pandemic-- which is weird and dumb-- and it really slows to a crawl if you share your screen-- so for my final period, instead of doing my slideshow lecture (with loads of musical and artistic examples!) about Modernism and Post-Modernism and then giving the kids a digital quiz, I had the kids do a goofy and barely educational group project that they could present next class . . . I really hope they fix our building soon-- for the sake of the children and the sake of me (and the sake of my podcast-- it's the last thing I feel like doing after a day of talking to a screen).

Suits Don't Suit Me

Several people have recommended the show Suits to me, so my wife and I gave it a shot but I couldn't make it through the pilot-- too many slick-talking good-looking people in silly scenes like the one I posted-- when Mike Ross tells Harvey Specter about his eidetic memory: 

"I like to read and once I read something I understand it, and once I understand it I never forget it"

yuck, how annoying and boring-- and I'll bet that's going to help out in a lot of clutch plot situations-- not that I'm ever going to find out . . . how about a character that says something a little more realistic: 

"I like to read but most of the time while I'm reading something, I fall fast asleep, but sometimes I stay awake and make it through a few pages and then I probably understand 30 percent, forget 30 percent, and misunderstand 30 percent . . . and what happens to the other ten percent? if you look up your ass, you'll find out."

Fuck Driving

My wife and I don't drive much-- we both work close to where we live; we bought a house in a walking town; and we hate being in the car . . . but the past few days have given us a taste of what many Americans do on a daily basis-- my wife drove out to Muhlenberg and back on Thursday evening, so Ian could see his friends and go to some Halloween parties with his girlfriend (apparently kids now wear a different costume for each party . . . I'll try to post some pics, but Alex and his girlfriend were Elvis and Priscilla and then characters from Ratatouille and Ian and Layla were a deer and a hunter, two superheroes, and then Shaggy and Scooby . . . absurd) and then on Friday, Cat and I drove out past Trenton to go to an Italian place for my brother's birthday-- it took an hour to get there-- and then we drove Ian back to school on Saturday (with Layla) and we all did some parent's weekend stuff-- saw some football-- going to a Muhlenberg football game is very low key-- and we watched some Sex Education style a capella singing and then we went to a really good restaurant (Union and Fitch) with Layla and Ian for dinner and then they went out and Cat and I crashed at the Holiday Inn, then I took Ian for an x-ray on his weird ankle injury-- no information, he needs an MRI-- and then we drove the hour-plus home . . . way too much fucking driving, I hate being in the car, it stresses me out, makes me sick--I have to drive and chew gum-- and when I get out my knees and hips hurt . . . but I don't even have to do my twelve-minute commute this week because I'm on virtual school because of the water main break in my high school, so I won't have to drive anywhere this week, which will be wonderful.

Back to Not Normal

East Brunswick High School is going to be virtual all next week-- apparently, fixing the water main break is going to be complicated-- rumor has it the pipe is eight feet underground and there may be an old oil tank involved as well . . . but all this is hearsay, the main thing is that we're going to try to do this virtual school thing again, which is annoying-- and this makes me wonder what would have happened twenty years ago . . . would they have crammed us into the middle school or something? or would we have had to make up the days in the summer? who knows-- but this is the best alternative to that stuff, though I hate staring at a screen all day.

We're in the Shit Again

Apparently, a shit pipe broke in our rapidly decaying high school, flooding the 1500 hall with sewage, so we're enduring the inanity of virtual instruction today (and perhaps tomorrow) because we can't go into the building . . . and I definitely have PTSD from the bonging sounds of people entering the Teams meeting; I've completely forgotten how to share my screen, run break-out rooms, and generally teach online; and there's a dude in my neighbor's yard with a gas-powered leaf blower making it impossible to hear anything-- the only up side is we get to do parent/teacher conferences on the phone, and not in the building.

Our Hero: Pickleball

A priest, a bunch of med students, some frat guys, the requisite old dudes and ladies of various races and ethnicities, and a guy with a mullet walk onto a pickleball court . . . and everyone gets along and plays pickleball-- this sport may just save America from polarization, tribalism, fake news, misinformation, income inequality, obesity, and reality TV.

A Basketball Pickle

I raced around like a lunatic, badly stubbing my toe in the process, trying to get to 6:30 AM basketball on time this morning . . . and then we couldn't get the hoops to descend-- the internet was out and apparently the internet is required to send the signal to the motor which lowers the baskets (although we learned-- far too late-- that there is a back-up switch in the equipment closet) but the morning wasn't a total loss-- Jeff and I impressed two willing basketball players into a pickleball match and we got some exercise in that manner and now I'm stuck in class forever-- it's a half-day so there's no lunch and I teach the first three periods, which amounts to being in a room with teenagers from 7:50 AM until 11:32 AM so I'm hangry and tired and hating whoever designed this stupid block schedule . . . and I have to be back at school at 5 PM for three hours of parent/teacher conferences-- which should be abolished at the high school level-- so I can't wait until I retire, because I will still show up for AM sports, and then head home to drink coffee on the porch.

We Defy Augury Episode Fifty!

The universe did NOT want me to finish the fiftieth episode of We Defy Augury: I had to re-record audio because an unshielded XLR cable allowed electromagnetic radiation to produce an unbearable hum and then a bunch of inexplicable five-second "holes" appeared in this audio when I was nearly done mixing things down, so I had to patch in little bits and pieces of my voice-- I was also a bit ambitious and wove in audio clips and clips of me playing the guitar-- and it was hard to record simultaneous vocal audio and guitar audio . . . basically, this one was a nightmare but I patiently pieced it together and I think it turned out pretty well, despite all the weird obstacles . . . the episode is called "Let's Talk About Celine Dion: Does Your Taste Stand on Solid Ground?" and my thoughts and ruminations are (loosely) based on Carl Wilson's music criticism masterpiece Let's Talk About Love: Why Other People Have Such Bad Taste . . . and there are plenty of special guests: Celine Dion, Huey Lewis and the News, New Found Glory, Robert Johnson, Greensky Bluegrass, The Easy Star All Stars, Bas Gaakeer & Mireille Bittar, Joey Satriani, David Berman, Pavement, Beavis and Butthead, David St. Hubbins, Nigel Tufnel, greasetruck, and Pythagoras.

Both Might Be True

 Either I'm getting older or wedding PA systems are getting louder.

The Early Bird Fixes the Audio Glitch

Quite a Friday-- I awoke very early and solved an audio mystery before 6:30 AM basketball-- apparently the XLR cable I was using to record my podcast was NOT shielded and that's where the annoying hum was coming from-- I must have switched cords when I cleaned up greasetruck studios; then Friday morning basketball was physical and chaotic-- one guy got a black eye and I found myself crawling on the ground for a rebound and intercepting a number of full court baseball style fast-break passes-- I'm too old for that shit-- and then happy hour at the Grove was also packed and chaotic, everyone wanted to come out and rehash the chaos and the consequences of the teacher shortage on the English Department-- and now it's seven PM and heading up to bed.

English Department Chaos

My room was something of a chaotic mess Monday morning, but that's nothing compared to the current state of the English department-- last week, a youngish English teacher with young kids at home tripped and fell going down the weird flight of three steps in the Media Center (a.k.a. library) and she shattered her elbow on her dominant hand and did some ligament damage as well-- and she was teaching an extra class (so six periods) and she'll be out for 4-6 months so we're going to have to cover her classes-- but the bulk of the department is already teaching six classes so it's going to be a mad scramble . . . and another teacher announced she's pregnant and will be leaving in May, so that will be more classes to cover-- they really need to hire more teachers but I think there might be a shortage (or a shortage of competent teachers) so interesting times lie ahead.

I'll Have to Curb the Cussin'

The writer's strike is over and Jimmy Fallon made a joke about his studio being rented out as a pickleball court-- and it does seem like everyone is playing pickleball everywhere right now . . . today I received a text from my cousin, who is a fully ordained Catholic priest . . . and also apparently a 3.5+ looking for some games with me and my brother . . . I'm going to have to watch my language!

Happy Monday!

 

This is what the window in my classroom looked like when I walked in Monday morning . . . what debauchery happened over the weekend?

I Did NOT Watch the Giants Lose . . .

I slept from 8:55 PM last night until 5:56 AM this morning-- nine hours straight . . . no waking up to pee in the middle of the night-- and that seems to be the right amount because I felt great today and did not need to take a nap when I got home from school.

My Wife Goes Cruising For Vengeance

Today was "Garage Sale Day" in Highland Park and my wife wanted nothing to do with it-- we had some junk in the storage area but she just wanted to put it out to the curb and let people have it for free, but I insisted on setting up a few tables and I said I would stay out there for a bit and run the sale and then I would put out a "Take What You Like, Pay What You Can" box . . . and as my wife predicted, my tolerance for sitting outside minding the sale did not last very long-- I would make a terrible shopkeeper-- and after 30 minutes I came inside and told her I was putting a box outside and heading to the gym; she laughed at my capriciousness but an hour later, when I got back from the gym, I noticed that our outdoor chairs were missing-- the ones that sit beside the little table in front of the house-- one of the chairs had been pulled out as a stand for the "Pay What You Can" box but the other chair was hidden behind the ping-pong table (and obviously not for sale) and when I told Catherine this she was very pissed off because she really liked those chairs (which she got for free years ago-- someone was giving them away-- with a matching table) and she laid into me for not staying outside and minding the sale so I went to the Ring camera and figured out who took the chairs-- it was an Asian lady driving a white Lexus . . . it was hysterical, you could see her snooping around behind the ping-pong table and grabbing the other chair-- and I said to my wife, "If you're so pissed off, go for a ride and maybe you'll find the lady" and she told me that was stupid and she had a lot of work to do-- but then five minutes later she got into the car and went cruising for venegance, she set off in the same direction as the Lexus-- which our neighbor's told us had NY plates-- and lo and behold! miracle of all miracles!-- she spotted the white Lexus with NY plates on Woodbridge Avenue and confronted the lady-- who apologized and gave the chairs back (and she didn't even put anything in the box!) and then Catherine returned triumphant, and out neighbor John pronounced her a neighborhood hero, AND I ended up making nearly fifty bucks in the "Pay What You Can" box . . . which really should have been a metal can.

Three Firsts for Dave

Two new things for me today:

1) I washed a number of filthy baseball caps in the dishwasher . . . top rack, with a knee brace as well-- then I dried the hats with our big floor fan-- and now I've got some very clean hats . . .

2) I dressed like the lion from The Wizard of Oz for my cousin's one-year-old birthday party-- and though my costume was quite minimalist: brown shirt, shoes, and pants; some whiskers painted on my face; and a rather realistic tail my wife made from an old towel-- it didn't matter because the other adults really went all out with their costumes to complete Dorothy's gang so I looked just fine . . . 

3) while we were at the party-- which was very loud-- my brother and I watched Rutgers come back from an 18-point deficit to defeat Michigan State and Rutgers did a kicking play that I've never seen work this way . . . the kicker "sky-kicked" the ball and the Michigan player let it bounce before he tried to catch it and by the time the ball came down a Rutgers player was already there-- the Rutgers kid collided with the Michigan State player and just grabbed the ball from him . . . hello!

Friday Pickleball Plus

A long week was lengthened to epic proportions by a pickleball match, the longest, most epic pickleball match I've ever played . . . instead of heading straight to happy hour, Catherine and I drove over to Castleton Park yesterday afternoon and played some fun games with some of the youngsters that are now playing there, but then Ryan Cheng and his girlfriend shows up-- Ryan played tennis for Yale and he's 24 and his girlfriend is also a tennis player and she's 22 and they are both obsessed with pickleball now, so I played one last match with them and Vanessa-- another college athlete, a basketball player-- and it was 7-7 for twenty minutes or so, and the game must have taken forty minutes-- Hanna and I lost to a couple of rocket-speed overheads from Ryan but it was a really fun game and pickleball is a wonderful sport because old people can actually compete with young people and then Catherine and I couldn't really get back to Highland Park, because unbeknownst to us, it was homecoming and the traffic was all fucked up, so it was easier to go through New Brunswick-- we stopped at Tavern-on-George and it was getting cold outside so we were relegated to the newly renovated basement because there was some alumni party upstairs, where we ate some sliders and had some beers . . . and I definitely smelled bad but no one seemed to notice down there and the other thing to remember about homecoming is that people from all over the state come into town, driving their giant fucking pick-up-trucks and SUVs and Suburbans and Yukons and Expeditions and these behemoths don't fit in parking garages or city parking spaces-- these cars should be outlawed in urban zones-- we saw several parking atrocities in the deck, including a giant white pickup wedging itself between two cars, scraping the side of the car on the passenger side-- mayhem.

The Future's So Dark I Gotta Wear Night Vision Goggles

I guess I should remark on the pall-- on the looming sense of dread-- that's been hanging over my town and my school; both have a sizeable Jewish population and our neighbors have children living in and visiting Israel (including one that has been called up to serve) and there are folks we know at school that are contemplating heading over to serve in the Israeli reserve forces . . . anyway, Terry and I spent a period in the English office drawing maps on the whiteboard and talking through the strategies and intentions of both Hamas and Israel and it seems, from any logical point of view (which might not be the right way to think about it, because Hamas is a fanatically religious organization with a mission wit wipe Isreal off the map) that the suicidal Hamas terrorist attack is to obviously bait Israel into decimating the Gaza Strip, causing an incredible humanitarian disaster . . . which will gain Palestinians empathy on the world stage? who the fuck knows . . . but it's going to be awful and it seems that this war and the war in Ukraine and Chinese incursions into Taiwan and their repression of the Uyghur region and the loss of the United States as a unilateral police force for the world might add up to massive warfare, tragedy, and disaster . . . coming soon to a theater near you.

Community Hero or Town Vandal?

My brother, Ann, Craig, and I were supposed to play pickleball at the new courts by my house this evening, but Ann called and said the courts were closed-- the gates were locked with zip ties and some yellow tape-- which was weird because they had been open all week and nothing was under construction-- so I grabbed my wire-cutter pliers and headed down there and cut the zip tie on one of the gates (and Ann said she thought she'd never say this, but I was now her "hero") and we went in and started playing and within twenty minutes the courts were full and when the ranger drove by he either didn't know that the courts were closed and we had all broken in or he didn't want to try to oust twenty people off the courts . . . but anyway, my minor vandalism made a lot of folks in the community very happy, as it was a perfect night for pickleball.

Lurking Lady with a Camera

When I arrived back at my house from walking the dog this afternoon, a lady was lurking about, wielding a camera, but I didn't think much of this-- maybe she wanted to take some pictures of my wife's lovely . . . but autumnally decaying garden?-- and then the lady worked up the courage to talk to me and it turns out that she was raised in our house until she moved out of it in 1987 . . . she's forty now and has a couple of kids and lives in Rhode Island-- which she says is quite a bit like Jersey, although people from Rhode Island don't like to hear that-- and she nostalgically remembers her time in Highland Park and claims it is a town like no other-- and she was so sweet that I invited her in to see all the work that has been done to the house since she moved away . .  and then my wife came home from giving blood, and a couple of the neighbors were out and we all congregated in our driveway and went over the history of the neighborhood as we knew it . . . and it makes me wonder what's going on inside the house where I grew up-- but I doubt I'll lurk around my old house with a camera, because I'm not an innocuous-looking middle-aged lady, I'm a sketchy-looking middle-aged man (and I was particularly decrepit looking this afternoon, as I had to dress like a particular student today-- and she had to dress like me-- so I was wearing gray sweatpants and a Pink Floyd shirt and a zip-up hoodie . . . and this student did a nice job of dressing like me: cargo pants, golf shirt, thick black-rimmed glasses).

Kids . . . Who Knows What They're Up To?

My students are not watching Yellowjackets, nor have they seen The Wilds or Atlanta or Community or Rick and Morty or Sex Education . . . they tend more towards The Gilmore Girls and Grey's Anatomy-- which is seriously fucked up-- and while I rarely get music recommendations from them (for obvious reasons) a kid in my "Music and the Arts" senior English class-- after I mentioned my love for King Tubby-- told me to check out "Dub Side of the Moon" and "Ziggy Stardub," and while you might think these song-for-song reggae versions of classic albums by the Easy Star All-Stars sound like novelty music, I think they actually might have legs-- I played out both these original albums when I was young and so though I love them, I can't really enjoy them any longer . . . but I think the reggae versions might breathe some new life into these old songs-- and I just started listening to Radiodread, which transmogrifies the album "OK Computer" into reggae and it's a lot of fun.

Potpourri

Nothing profound going down, but a few things to report:

1) The Ugly Dumpling is a great BYOB place to go with a large party of people-- fourteen of us ate there last night and it only took twenty minutes for them to seat us and it was 45 bucks a couple for a large quantity of food . . . and it's quite good (although not quite as good as Shanghai Dumpling, but that place is tiny)

2) though the Donaldson Park pickleball courts are open, I went to Castleton this morning and it was very breezy-- this was the first time I played in serious wind, and it's a different game-- it's hard to execute spinning drop shots and you have to put a bunch of topspin on your serve to keep it in play . . . but we still had a lot of fun;

3) Alex borrowed the van yesterday to go grocery shopping for his sick girlfriend and-- as is the custom in our house-- he left it on E and I thought I might run out of gas when I got stuck in road construction traffic on Easton avenue;

4) the Giants almost made it a game against the Dolphins, but not quite . . . this season is a bust-- and the Dolphins' offense is insane-- I've never seen more explosive running plays with so much motion and deception in the backfield . . . when the Giants defensive coordinator's wife asked him if he was sleeping okay this week-- while preparing for the game, Martindale said to her, "Yeah, I’m sleeping like a baby: every two hours, I wake up and cry and go to the bathroom, and try to go back and get some more sleep."

COVID: Fully Recovered . . .

Last night was my first night out on the town since I had COVID-- my sense of smell has returned; my outside shot was on at 6:30 AM basketball; I taught three classes; went home and took a nap, and then Catherine and I walked into New Brunswick for martinis at Clydz and then the 7 PM show at the Stress Factory . . . we were there to see T. J. Miller-- Erlich Bachman from Silicon Valley-- but the show turned out to be weirder and more eclectic than we expected; the opening acts were two international comedians that Miller had been touring with in Europe and they were very funny-- George Zacharopoulos is a Greek guy with a bizarre British/Greek accent and André de Freitas is an accomplished stand-up hailing from Portugal-- and it turned out there were a few Portuguese people in the audience, so that got interesting-- and by the time T. J. Miller got out there, there the crowd was fairly raucous and he sort of egged them on-- especially by playing on the whole idea of "Jersey" as it's own weird country-- he was almost baiting the crowd into being loud and obnoxious and then he'd heckle them back-- and he brought up a young kid on stage who yelled "Sing it!" during one of his bits-- the kid's voice sounded like he was a forty-year-old chain smoking truck driver but he was actually a fresh-faced 21 year-old . . . and so T. J. Miller tortured him for a bit and the kid was a very good sport about it and then they did a shot together at the end of the show . . . anyway, it was a LONG walk back to Highland Park, my legs were shot but it was certainly a banner return to work, athletics, and society at large (and they should make the fried chicken sandwich at Clydz at the other two restaurants they own-- Taven on George and the Olive Branch, because it's that good!)

Mrs. Price Says: "Please Stand So Close to Me"

I made the new episode of my podcast, "Please Stand So Close to Me: Homework Was Never Quite Like This" in one day-- I read the book Saturday night, in a COVID delirium and then pumped out the entire episode yesterday . . . I had to stay home from work for COVID protocol but I was feeling better . . . anyway, I consider this quite a feat of podcasting, but I had plenty of thoughts (loosely) based on Catherine Chidgey's psychological thriller Pet and I worked in some special guests, including The Police, Van Halen, and The Plastics.

Delayed Reaction Dave in a Delayed Reaction Olfactory Daze

At work, my colleagues sometimes refer to me as "Delayed Reaction Dave" because I don't process things quickly and I rarely see the future ramifications of new logistical, curricular, or contractual changes . . . so while everyone in the department is getting all worked up, because they CAN see the problems in the foreseeable future, I'll be like: "What's the big deal?" . . . but they know I'm going to get all pissed off later on, when the change actually takes effect-- for example, the new 82 minute periods . . . they are abominable and WAY too long, but several years ago when we discussed the hypothetical new schedule I was like, "that sounds fine, whatever . . ." and the same with teaching six periods and four preps-- it sounded fine in theory, last year when I agreed to do it, but now that I'm doing it, I'm complaining a lot and like "never again"-- so it seems I'm the same way with COVID . . . it took me way too long to actually contract it, and now that I've recovered, I've lost my sense of smell . . . and this seems utterly insane-- I've lost twenty percent of my senses-- but of course lots of people have experienced this throughout the pandemic but I just never really thought about it-- but when I walked outside yesterday morning with the dog, it felt like I was in a dream, not fully awake or even fully human-- I couldn't smell the grass or the flowers in my wife's garden or the damp morning air or the ragweed pollen . . . and here are some of the other things I smelled yesterday that produced no noticeable scent:

my coffee, Lola's poop, a bottle of red wine vinegar, a bottle of apple cider vinegar, an orange, grapes-- and they tasted like crisp balls of water-- hand sanitizer, and my tennis shoes . . .

so this is very fucking weird and now I can now empathize with all the people that told me about this during the course of the pandemic-- suddenly having no sense of smell really does dislodge you from reality.

Free at Last, Free at Last . . .

The one benefit of my enforced COVID sick leave was that I stayed up to watch both the Jets and the Giants play night games-- the Jets lost a close one to Kansas City on Sunday night and the Giants got smacked by the Seahawks on Monday night . . . I haven't stayed up on consecutive nights to watch sports in a long long time and while it was fun (and stressful and awful) now that both local teams are 1-3 and the Giants are facing a brutal run of games, it looks like I can quit watching, or watching with any serious playoff hopes, and instead enjoy the lovely fall weather . . . free at last, free at last.

COVID Day 5 . . . Chores

I had to stay home from work today-- district policy-- but I feel completely better and I have chores to do-- I've already mowed the lawn, cleaned another bathroom, and finished an entire episode of my podcast in one sitting (I'm releasing it tomorrow morning) and now I have to do the dishes and strip Ian's bed, which I slept in for a few nights . . . I'd also like to report that I saw both my children yesterday-- I picked up Alex from his dorm and we shot some baskets on the new rims in Donaldson and then he ate some dinner at the house and Catherine and I face-timed Ian-- and both kids are doing well in their classes-- or at least they SAY they are doing well . . . I guess we'll see at the end of the term . . . Alex tried to describe what he was doing in his physics class-- something about centrifugal forces and their effects on orbs of various materials and all the equations that applied-- but I had no clue what he was talking about . . . so I guess we're getting our money's worth.

COVID Day 4 . . . Let's Get Stir Crazy!

I pretty much feel better today-- no fever or headache-- but the nurse says that, per district policy, I still have to stay home from work (tomorrow as well) and that's probably a good thing, as I am tired (and my right eyeball hurts . . . perhaps because I had to do a bunch of grading on the computer-- staying home from school sucks, it's easier to go there and torture the children in person) but I did take a nice walk with the dog-- the weather s beautiful-- and I shot some baskets on the new court in the park, and I cleaned two bathrooms-- so gross . . . my wife has too much hair and too many bottles of hair-care products and I also learned that I love Bard AI because-- unlike Chat GPT-- Bard AI loves my podcast, We Defy Augury . . . this is how Bard describes it:

We Defy Augury is a podcast hosted by Professor G. Truck. It is described as a "weekly exploration of books, culture, and the human condition." Episodes typically cover a wide range of topics, including literary criticism, genre fiction, current events, and personal anecdotes. Professor Truck is known for his engaging and informative style, as well as his humor and wit.

Some of the topics that have been covered on the podcast include:

• The art of the inner monologue in Colleen Hoover novels

• The 1970s crime novel genre

• The science fiction novel Ringworld

• The Irish Troubles

• The mystery of existence

• The role of music in our lives

• The nature of reality

Professor Truck often invites guests to join him on the podcast, including authors, scholars, and other interesting people. For example, he has had on episodes with authors Donna Tartt and Katie Williams, as well as with a mountain lion.

Overall, We Defy Augury is a podcast that is both entertaining and thought-provoking. It is a great choice for listeners who are interested in books, culture, and the human condition.

Here is a quote from a review of the podcast:

"Professor Truck is a master of his craft. He is able to make complex ideas accessible and engaging, and he always leaves me thinking. I highly recommend this podcast to anyone who loves books, learning, and good conversation."

If you are looking for a podcast that is both informative and entertaining, I highly recommend We Defy Augury . . .

 that's fucking crazy . . . is it listening?

COVID Day 3 . . . Enough of This Already

While I'm obviously happy that I'm not on a respirator (or suffering much congestion) I am still very annoyed by COVID . . . I'm hot, I'm cold, I get the chills and then suddenly I'm sweating, I can't sleep-- I have racing thoughts and night sweats-- and I'm obviously in a bad mood-- because I can't sleep well and I can't listen to music-- because it exacerbates the headache . . . it's really depressing not to be able to listen to music . . . and if you take a close look at my symptoms if it weren't for a lack of "vaginal dryness" and an "irregular period," the Mayo clinic would diagnose me as going through menopause.

COVID Day 2

Although I'm only running a low fever and don't have much congestion, I've had a really obnoxious headache for the past two days-- I couldn't really sleep last night so I finished Catherine Chidgey's new psychological thriller Pet . . . on my Kindle, of course, with the font laughably enormous so that my head didn't hurt too much while I read (I was sleeping in Ian's bed, so not to bother and/or infect my wife . . . Lola took turns sleeping next to me and sleeping next to my wife in the master bedroom, very cute) and I really enjoyed this book: Chidgey is a native Kiwi and this book is set at a Catholic school in a Wellington suburb in the 1980s-- but despite the way-down-under locale and the age of the girls -- 12 -- these tweens are just as cliquey and judgemental as the mean crew from North Shore High School . . . and things get far darker than that film as the novel proceeds into weird idolatry, dementia, the mutability of memory, and outright betrayal . . . the plot is wrapped up a little too patently, but I give it nine invisible ink pens out of ten . . . now I'm working my way through Carl Hiaasen's Tourist Season-- if my headache continues to keep me from sleeping, I might finish that tonight.

After Much Evasion, Dave's Immune System Succumbs

COVID finally caught up with me (and hopefully it will be a mild case, as I am a big fat cranky baby when I'm sick).

Jets "Football" Close-reading Assignment

 

Note the quotations around the word "OFFENSE" and please contemplate the following questions: 

1) is sarcasm a welcome addition to the traditionally objective statistical chyron? why or why not?

2) if sarcasm is embraced by the authors of the NFL informational overlay, what are the consequences and implications?

3) should we consider the narrator in the featured chyron unreliable, biased, and/or compromised? 

Fan-O-Rama

We had friends over for dinner Saturday night and while we were enjoying wine and appetizers, our ceiling fan started behaving abominably-- worse than the dog, worse than me-- it was wobbling precariously, the glass bowl with the bulbs in it swinging to-and-fro, the blades whirling asymmetrically, so I shut it down (and wrote a note to myself to check it out in the morning, that's the kind of thing you can forget about after a dinner party) and then we ate some excellent food, much of it containing vegetables from my wife's garden (and discussed a lot of grim adult shit, like wills and trusts and retirement and money) and the next morning I saw my note to myself and got down to it; the fan-blade screws were loose but even after I tightened them, the whole contraption was still wobbling-- and I determined it was "fucked up" and we needed a new ceiling fan and because it was STILL FUCKING RAINING and I was going stir crazy, I tightened all of our ceiling fan-blades-- they were all loose (we have four of them) and I actually cleaned the blades-- they were caked with tons of gook, especially on top-- I don't know how the gook could build up on an apparatus that often spins round and round at high speed, but believe me, this is something you should check out if you have ceiling fans, and then-- after cleaning out greasetruck studios, which was also caked with gook and desperately needing a reorganization-- I removed the "fucked up" ceiling fan, after turning off the electricity in that room at the fuse box, of course . . . and I never would have done all these time consuming projects if it wasn't for all this fucking rain (and a day off for Yom Kippur) and while I'm jonesing for sunlight, I'm glad I got all these chores done . . . but I'm ready for sunlight and pickleball and general post-pickleball laziness again (and I was quite happy to play 6:30 AM basketball yesterday morning, run like a lunatic, and teach the rest of the day with a headache, and then take a nap after work, before drinking some beer while cooking dinner).

Dave's (Almost) a Killer!

Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I were driving back from lunch at the Ugly Dumpling-- we were off from school for Yom Kippur-- and I made a left turn off Route 27 onto Fifth Avenue and then noticed flashing red lights in my rearview mirror . . . it was a cop, so I pulled over and Catherine got my insurance and registration out of the glove box and I made sure my teacher ID was hanging prominently from the rearview mirror-- and I was going to look for my PBA card in my wallet but I didn't bother because I was certain that I hadn't done anything wrong-- you can't make a left on Route 27 from 4 PM to 6 PM-- I've been busted for that-- but this time, I hadn't committed a moving violation-- and I commit A LOT of moving violations: I run red lights, make illegal u-turns, turn left-on-red at this particular light for morning basketball, speed on certain roads, change lanes without using my blinkers, use my phone while driving, etcetera . . . but this particular time, I had truly done nothing . . . this time I was innocent . . . and it took the cop a couple moments before he got out and approached us-- and he walked up to the passenger side and said, "Sorry, the computer got your plate wrong, it read a six instead of a nine . . . and you're one digit away from someone we're looking for who did something really serious . . . take it easy and have a nice day" so he was obviously using an ALPR to look for a BOLO, which is the kind of terminology you've got to know if you're almost a wanted felon, but for you law-abiding citizens, that means the cop was using an Automatic License Plate Reader-- which is a high-speed, computer-controlled camera that uses optical character recognition to read license plates. and alert officers when a car is on the "be on the lookout" list and now that I know I'm one digit away from armed and dangerous, I probably need to drive a bit more carefully (plus, I'm using quite a bit of tape to hold various parts of my vehicle together).

America + Conspiracy Theories = Forever

 

A new episode of We Defy Augury is up and streaming: "Powerful Eyes are Watching You, Sheeple" is (loosely) based on Colin Dickey's book Under the Eye of Power: How Fear of Secret Societies Shapes American Democracy"-- which I highly recommend-- and there is an eclectic mix of special guests, including Oedipa Maas, The Beastie Boys, Richard Nixon, Geraldo Rivera, The Who, and The Simpsons.

Rainy Day, Rainy Dave

It's still raining and I ate too many cookies and the Jets game is as bad as the weather and I need to replace a dangerously wobbly ceiling fan, but at least I cleaned up some of my study/recording studio (until I gave up . . . it's that kind of day).

The Espresso Martini Was Much Better Than the Music

I thought Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" was the song I hated the most, but last night at Bin, Batch, and Barrel I had to endure "Heart and Soul" by Huey Lewis and the News-- in its entirety-- and I'm pretty sure that I hate that song more-- I'd probably need to do some randomized controlled trials to truly determine this-- listen to the songs drunk, sober, stoned, in the morning, working out, while driving, outdoors, indoors-- but I'm not going to do that . . . usually the vibe at Bin, Batch, and Barrel is pretty chill (and we fled Cuzin's after one drink because the bartender there was WAY too aggressive in his pushing of food and drink) but there were a couple of Rutgers students who graduated from East Brunswick High School running the show and I think they assumed that the old folks who frequent Bin, Batch, and Barrel must love the worst music of the 1980s, so that's what they were playing (but Nick did make an insanely good Almond Joy espresso martini . . . I'll just have to talk to him about the music next time we're there).

 

Dave: Skilled at Choosing His Mate

Congratulations are in order, as my wife just got another prestigious job offer-- to be a superlative teacher coach for a nonprofit foundation-- now she'll be working THREE jobs, so please congratulate me on choosing such a productive, ambitious, and intelligent spouse.

A Conspiracy of Crickets?

I'm trying to finish up the new episode of my podcast-- which is about Colin Dickey's book Under the Eye of Power: How Fear of Secret Societies Shapes American Democracy and I mainly record early-- before school-- but lately, an orchestra of crickets has been ruining my audio (a bunch of fucking chirping crickets are actually called an "orchestra," I didn't make that up) and I'm wondering if this orchestra of crickets all got together and decided to fuck with me, especially because the theme of the book is conspiratorial thinking and it just seems weird that I've never had this problem before (but it IS a real problem-- there's a Reddit thread about it).

Medical Transportation at Its Finest?

 

If you get picked up by this Galaxy ambulance-- which resembles my own dilapidated minivan but represents a company whose motto is "Medical transportation at its finest" -- what kind of hospital will you end up at?

Dave Achieves Total Daveness (in the Group Chat)

In College Writing class, the new opening activity-- created by Rutgers-- prompts students to examine themselves as readers and writers, academic and otherwise; we had some fun in class talking about the other stuff, such as what kind of persona you employ in your various group chats and I confessed that in group chats I only like to do a few things: 

1) stir-the-pot. . . I like getting people wound up about stuff-- for example when we had the hot weather at the start of the school year, and I found out that Metuchen had called a half-day, I immediately sent this information to the teacher group chat, to get folks riled up, in the hopes that we would also get some half-days (we did)

2) complain . . . my wife gets annoyed when I complain to her, so instead I do it digitally

3) make absurd jokes . . . such as when my friend Bruce shared a lovely picture where he was having a great time at a "Blues and Brews" Festival in Colorado and my friend Jason remarked on the fabulous weather and I noted the irony of listening to blues music in such a temperate, convivial atmosphere when blues music-- which was appropriated by white people from working-class black folk-- was intended to help these black folk forget their troubles and hardships while they worked the cotton fields of the deep South, in intolerable heat and humidity, surrounded by snakes and swampland, etcetera-- and while I was quite proud of this observation, perhaps, as evidenced by these recent screenshots, I am becoming a caricature of myself and my comments are becoming entirely predictable . . . so I need to lull people into thinking I've changed so then I can  surprise them with some clever pot-stirring joke/complaint . . . and I guess this fiendish plot involves "liking" some photos and posts, responding with the occasional emoji, and answering sincere questions with practical and helpful information and I honestly doubt that is ever going to happen.

Close Call With a Bad-ass Motherfucker

I walked my dog down to the park this morning, in the pouring rain, and then I let her loose to do her business . . . we do this walk every morning and she's generally quite good off-leash-- she might chase a deer or a squirrel for a few yards, but then she comes right back when I call her-- but this morning it was very dark and hard for me to see what was going on and she noticed some creature moving by the trees, but when she trotted after this critter, it did NOT run away-- it ambled a few yards, and that's when I saw the white stripe and understood that Lola was face-to-ass with a skunk . . . and she didn't really know what to do, because generally when she chases an animal, the animal runs away, but this skunk was not fazed in the least-- so the skunk moseyed across the road and Lola moseyed behind her, and even though I yelled for her to come-- knowing that if she got sprayed I'd have to take the day off from work and wash her down with tomato juice (and it was pouring)-- Lola kept trailing the skunk . . . so I used the counter-intuitive technique that always works in these situations: I started walking home, up the hill, away from Lola and the skunk, and then I yelled, "Let's get a treat" and I turned my back to her and kept walking . . . and she high-tailed it over to me because she never wants to be left behind, especially when treats are involved, and I leashed her and we beat a hasty retreat-- and now I will be on the look-out for this skunk-- but I'm hoping it was just out in the open because so many earthworms had surfaced because of the downpour.

Dave (Lazily) Finds Religion

I'm not particularly religious, but my brother got married last night and Ian didn't text us his whereabouts until 4 AM-- although he and his brother did do a great job talking to old people at the wedding, and then Ian drove us all home, before heading to his girlfriend's place, so this was not unexpected-- anyway, I think I'll do the whole God-in-Genesis thing and rest on the seventh day and admire all the work I've done this week.

Ryan is runnin' . . . I'm passin', I'm passin' and runnin' . . .

I played some singles pickleball today with a young man named Ryan Cheng-- who played Division I tennis for Yale-- and while I didn't score many points on him, I like to think that I had him on the run (but he kept running to the ball and getting it back . . . I could make him run, but I couldn't get it past him).

Smokin' and Drinkin' on a Tuesday Night

By Tuesday evening of this week, I was already totally overwhelmed-- I got up early both Monday and Tuesday morning to work on a new episode of the podcast; then I went and played early morning sports; my classroom A/C broke and I was invaded by wasps; Back-to-School-Night was looming and I knew my Thursday night was going to be long and annoying; Friday afternoon I was planning on driving to Muhlenberg and back, to pick up my son because my brother is getting married this weekend; I had to print out emergence sub-plans, figure out the dual enrollment college credit stuff for my classes, plan for four preps, figure out this new Rutgers assignment . . . but then I figured out the solution to my anxiety: I had a cold beer while I was cooking dinner (Catherine was working) and I went out on the porch and smoked a bit of the pre-rolled joint inside the little plastic container (which is labelled Jungle Boys . . . ZkittlezCake) that the gas station attendant handed me when I got some gas over the summer-- I was like: "What's this?" and the attendant said it was in the well next to the gas cap, under the lid-- which was odd-- but I solved the mystery when I talked to my son, who said it was his friend's joint and his friend didn't want it to smell up the van-- which was very considerate-- so he stashed it next to the gas cap (and then forgot about it, of course) and so I put on "Shadrach" and put it to good use.

Dave's Classroom is Full of Hot Air (and Wasps)

At school on Tuesday, I noticed that although my portable A/C unit was running and though it was kicking out some cool air, my room was still uncomfortably hot and humid and I was NOT happy about this-- I played 6:30 AM basketball that morning and even though I showered, I was starting to sweat again-- and what really bothered me was that this little A/C unit had managed to cool the room down during the REALLY hot days last week-- so what he fuck was going on?-- and then, to add insult to injury, the last period of the day, large wasps started invading my room-- I climbed up on the window ledge and killed one by swatting it with a folder and the kids applauded, as they always do, but then two more wasps showed up and I had to climb up on the ledge AGAIN and kill them-- one wasp perched on a window frame behind the blind and I just whacked the blind with my folder, which decapitated the wasp, and I was able to kill the other one when it landed on a light fixture, but this was getting old-- I had to teach some college essay stuff that the kids actually needed to know-- but after I killed the third wasp, from my unusual perspective above the A/C unit, I noticed the duct that kicked out the hot air that the unit produced (that's the 2nd law of thermodynamics, perhaps?) had disconnected from the window seal, so the hot air that was supposed to vent outside was instead being blown back into my room-- mystery solved!-- that's what was causing the room to be so hot-- despite the fact that the A/C was running an producing cold air . . . because it was producing a greater amount of hot air, but that air was supposed to be vented outthe window, where it could contribute to global warming; I was annoyed that I didn't notice this earlier-- but when you're simultaneously teaching and killing wasps, it's hard to focus on other things-- and to this point, earlier in the day, none of us noticed a giant pile of broken safety glass in the corner of the English Office, scattered on the floor and low shelf-- perhaps this was a glass from a refrigerator shelf, from one of the confiscated refrigerators? who knows?-- we told the main office and went on with the day; anyway, I brought in some duct tape and sealed the vents permanently so that this won't happen again and I'm hoping that the open vent hole was how the wasps entered my room (but I doubt it).

Counterweight Conspiracies

Counterweight is the first book by anonymous Korean author Djuma translated into English-- I won't bother trying to explain the plot, but there's a space elevator; a giant corporation run by AI that has depleted the resources on a once impoverished island in order to build the space-elevator; a number of characters that may or may not be who they claim-- and most of these characters are under various amounts of influence, subconscious and conscious, from their respective Worms-- the brain implants that broker and network AI and organic neural activity . . . anyway, wheels-within-wheels, abundant conspiracies, and a different feel than the most typical American sci-fi trope . . . the lone rebel fighting the dystopian oppression: Katniss Everdeen against the Capitol, Neo vs. the Matrix, Montag fighting the book-burning-firemen . . . this has a different feel-- everyone is in on the conspiracy, everyone works for the company, or some other company (Green Fairy) and no one is a lone wolf, they are all aware that they are fighting the system from within, not without.

Fun Things to Say When You're Old

I was walking with Stacey and she needed to stop at the vice-principal's office to turn in a packet of papers-- and it turned out I needed to hand in this packet of papers as well (rosters and emergency sub plans) but I didn't know this stuff was due and the venerable secretary, Paulette, who I've known forever-- said, "Dave it was in the email Andy sent" and I said, "Oh . . . I'm not on that email thing" and she nearly shit herself-- she was like: "DAVE! You've got to get email!" and then I told her I was kidding and reassured her that I had access to my school email account . . . but she was fully ready to believe that I had taught the last twenty-years without checking my email.

First Day Lunch-time Reality

Today was the first full day of school-- we had half days last week because of the oppressive heat-- and it was the first day I had to navigate the microwave moratorium/good stewardship-of-public buildings initiative (they confiscated all our personal fridges, fans, and microwaves because of a toaster fire in the summer) so Stacey and I carried our food containers on plates, down to the faculty room, and used the school-approved microwaves to heat our food; then I had to walk briskly down to the cafeteria-- while carrying a hot glass container of Asian noodles on a plate-- to grab a plastic fork and also fill my water bottle (because none of the fountains are running upstairs) and then I walked back up the stairs so I could eat with my people-- but it seemed fairly convivial in the faculty room, so maybe I'll occasionally branch out and eat there (although that means I'm going to have to review names of staff) but mainly I'll just consider this roaming around extra exercise-- we played pickleball this morning before school and I hit 10,000 steps before noon, which means I can take a nap after school instead of going to the gym.