Emphasis is Everything

The documentary My Kid Could Paint That is about a precocious four year old abstract painter named Marla Olmstead-- and there are two ways to interpret the title: My Kid Could Paint That or My Kid Could Paint That . . . and that makes all the difference.

Do Kids Dream of Electric Robots?

Lots of sleep-related problems this morning: Alex had his "worst dream ever" about a giant man-eating robot (which, not so coincidentally, is what Ian wants for his birthday-- Alex said the idea "got into his head") and I rolled over in a weird way while I was sleeping last night and squashed my left testicle and it feels like someone kicked me in the jewels.

Gladiators Make Me Sleepy

Spartacus is the first Stanley Kubrick movie I've ever bailed on-- otherwise, I've seen them all (the furniture got me through Barry Lyndon and the nudity got me through Eyes Wide Shut).

Did You Sneak a Peak?

An old student spotted me while we were out Friday night, and it turns out she now teaches in Edison-- and what Catherine and the group thought was odd (and in retrospect, it is kind of funny) is that this petite girl was displaying a bodacious amount of cleavage, and the first thing I said to her after she asked "Do you remember me?" is "Of course . . . you and your friends made that "13 Ways of Looking at a Bra" video" and she remembered exactly what I was talking about-- she made video parody of a Wallace Stevens poem "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" with her two wacky friends, but to my wife and the ladies it appeared that I was commenting upon her ample rack.

Naked or Nude?

If you like looking at naked ladies in the woods, then Grounds for Sculpture is the place for you.

Women's Clothes Are Weird

Even though Stacy is several inches taller than me, her track jacket does not flatter my figure.

Enough Already

Last night I went to my first retirement dinner, and it made me want to retire-- would anyone like to pay me my salary so I can retire?

Sorry Mr. Murphy

Tomorrow is senior cut day, but it is done East Brunswick style-- the parents call the kids out sick so they don't get in trouble-- but it still reminds me of when I cut school with friends and we got caught and I had to meet with the vice-principal at NBTHS, who-- coincidentally-- is now the principal at East Brunswick-- which sort of makes me feel like I never left high school (although I didn't get in much trouble for cutting, my dad had coached him.)

A Pinata Made of a Plethora of Lego Pieces

I don't let my kids watch TV on rainy days (I find it entertaining to see what they'll do when they get stir crazy); yesterday afternoon Alex built a piesta (he meant a pinata) out of Legos and put it on a shelf and then he covered his eyes and whacked it with a Lego stick-- which crumpled on impact-- but after a couple of turns, including a devastating blow by yours truly, it broke into pretend candy pieces.

Mind the Monkeysphere

Yesterday, in my endless third period (stalled by some standardized biology test) the Levitsky twins introduced me to the term "monkey-sphere" . . . and now I must reflect: who will make the cut, who is in my monkey-sphere?

Time Travel Through Blogging

A student of mine had a good idea for my blog, but I'll never be ambitious enough to do it; he suggested that for each day I post, I also post a sentence that pre-dates the first entry, so that I'm extending the blog in two directions-- the future and the past-- and then I can blog my way back through the birth of my children, dial-up access, The Presidents of the United States of America, etc.

The Natives Are Getting Clever

Watching Who Killed the Electric Car made me very angry last night, but my children cheered me up this morning-- the first thing Alex said to me today was "I'm not bored of you yet, Daddy, I still love you" and then later, during breakfast, Ian couldn't make up his mind about which cereal he wanted, so rather than wait at the beck and call of a two-year old, Catherine and I both left the kitchen-- and as I was about to write this sentence Alex yelled "Oh no, we made a big mess" and Ian concurred and I started cursing: "God dammit, you can't leave them alone for a second" and when I went into the kitchen looking for a puddle of milk Alex said, "We tricked you, we didn't make a mess, Ian just wanted some cereal."

I Behave In A Mature Manner

Despite the fact that Catherine and I have been arguing about the merits of my push lawn-mower-- she claims my beloved push-mower doesn't really cut the lawn-- this morning when I read in Wired that a gasoline-powered mower emits eleven times more pollution than an automobile-- get this-- I didn't even mention it to her . . . I made a very mature executive decision not to open that can of worms on a peaceful Saturday morning while we were drinking our coffee (but I can't promise that I won't mention the fact at a later date).

A Good (Bad) One

We finished the BBC series Jekyll last night, and I give it four thumbs up.

Dave Does His Civic Duty (Begrudgingly)

Jury duty effectively combined a trans-Atlantic airplane flight, the DMV, and a Kafka novel: I sat on an uncomfortable seat in a stuffy room with strange people for eight hours waiting for my number to be called, but it never was-- which is good, because I don't have to serve on a trial, but my eyes still hurt from reading so much (if I owned a cell-phone I could have called random people and talked about my daughter's science project, like the guy next to me) . . . I read an entire novel (Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies-- very funny and appropriate title for the day) and as much as I could handle of The Cosmic Landscape, but then it got too hard and I bought a random magazine about science culture called Seed at lunch.

Just Look Serious For the Camera

After three hours of tension, nothing much happens at the end of The Good Shepherd-- but I will hand it to Matt Damon for picking the easiest three hour movie script to memorize in the history of cinema: he's on-screen for then entire epic, and I think he says ten lines.

First World Decisions

I think we're going with the Magellan green quartz counter-top.

Teenagers . . . They'll Eat Anything

Last week, I took some store-bought beef jerky and put it in a crumpled plastic bag, and told my philosophy class it was Alex's pet rabbit "Hoppy" and that had died over the winter-- his hutch got too cold-- and that in order to teach Alex about recycling, we gutted Hoppy, jerked the carcass, and then ate some of him . . . I expected a dramatic emotional response, perhaps even a threat to call DYFUS, but no one thought anything of it and a handful of kids actually ate some.

It's Hard to Be a Straight Man

Friday night there were a couple of Rutger's football players sitting next to us at the bar, and the blond girl sitting with them with was so distractingly good-looking that I wished she would leave so I would stop leering (but, of course, she didn't leave, and instead took off her sweater so then I had to avoid the temptation of leering at exposed cleavage as well).

Grolar vs. Pizzly

Like string theorist Leonard Susskind, I prefer the sound of "megaverse" to "multiverse," but I also prefer the moniker grolar bear rather than pizzly bear-- and we all know what happened with that one.