6/6/2009

A Micturation Mystery: Ian comes out of the house crying and Ian says that he peed in his pants, and when I go inside, I see pee on the carpet and then Catherine traces a trail of pee across the playroom to just outside the bathroom-- so we assume that Ian held it too long and couldn't make it to the bathroom and Catherine goes upstairs to clean him off and help him change-- but when she comes back downstairs she realizes that the bathroom door was LOCKED and Alex has a track record of locking it shut so we revised the solution; Ian tried to make it to the bathroom but found the door locked and then peed his pants coming back outside to tell us, so I put Alex in time out for the time it took me to unscrew the doorknob, but then once I got the bathroom open, there was pee on the carpet INSIDE the bathroom so Ian wasn't locked out, he got in, but he claims he didn't lock the door and Alex thinks he DID lock the door, but that doesn't make sense, because then how did Ian get into the bathroom?

6/5/2009

It's an honest mistake, especially if you're fresh off the boat and think that an intense Indian burn to the lower back is good for the kidneys . . . and I suppose "That spot's sore" could sound like "do it stronger," which is what the lady at the Asian massage place heard, so that instead of letting up a bit on my neck, she gave me a Vulcan nerve pinch.

6/4/2009

Today is probably as good a day as any to tell you this: this blog is a complete hoax . . . I don't have a wife or any children, I haven't read any of the books I mentioned or seen any of the movies I reviewed, and I didn't bang the back of my hand on a doorknob-- actually, I am holed up in a single bedroom apartment in Milltown, and I have covered all the walls and windows with tin foil, but I'm despite this, I'm going to continue with the blog . . . I hope this doesn't change anything.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far, But Maybe It Should

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree: Alex was reading a Fantastic Four comic book when he noticed that a character in the comic book was reading the very same comic book-- he was so excited that he called me over to see it-- and then we talked about the possibility of a guy inside the little drawing of the comic reading a tinier version of the comic book, and the even tinier guy inside the tiny comic book doing the same thing, ad nauseum; maybe this will blossom into a predilection for meta-fiction like Tristram Shandy and if on a winter's night a traveler . . . maybe he will end up just like his dad, nerdy and well versed in novels that no one else has read.

Dave is Annoying

Certainly one of my most annoying habits is that I am overly competitive, especially when I am drinking-- but what can you do?-- at a recent co-worker's party I was DOMINATING at indoor corn hole, poking that sack right in the hole . . . and though I had drank several shots of Jagermeister, they had no effect on my potency, but eventually no one would play me because, like I said, I'm really annoying when I'm drinking and playing games, but still, it must be noted that I WAS really good.

Gluttonous Incident 328,457

We went for a hike on Saturday morning with the kids at Woodfield Reservation, a reserve a few miles west of Princeton, and the sole reason we went hiking there is so that we could eat lunch at Tortuga's Mexican Village, the best Mexican place around-- but after a long overgrown buggy hike (and I was praying Catherine didn't get poison ivy again, she's just getting over a nasty case of it) where we had to lure the kids out of the woods with the promise of ice cream . . . they walked for over 2 1/2 hours, partly because we got lost, but we did see a big rock, Tent Rock, but it just seemed big because it had a name and because the rest of the hike was comprised of hacking our way through shrubbery, so after all this we get to the Mexican Place and it is CLOSED for lunch, and we knew it was closed for lunch on Sundays but now it is closed for lunch on Saturdays as well and we were very angry and sweaty and hungry but we remembered a little Mexican place on Route 27 on the way home so we stopped there, and in my rage I decided to exact my revenge on Tortuga's Mexican Village by eating an insane amount of food at Casa de Tortilla, which made logical sense to me at the time but makes absolutely no sense now because Tortuga's doesn't even know I cheated on them with the lesser Mexican place because they were closed and unless I write them a letter or they read this blog, they're never going to find out (although I must say, Casa de Tortilla was quite good, especially the grilled shrimp tacos and the chicken quesadilla, which was in soft bread instead of a tortilla . . . I also had a chicken taco and a ground beef taco and black beans and a side of guacamole and a shitload of chips).

A World Without Knobs

I banged the back of my hand really hard on one of our glass doorknobs . . . and I blame society.

The Sixth Sin is the Best Sin

Gluttonous incidents 327,967 and 327,968: this week on the way to school I ate BOTH cashew granola bars that were intended for lunch and snack (yes, I am a grown man who needs to bring a snack) thus leaving me with no recourse when faced with the giant chocolate cake in the English office, and since there were no plates, I worked my way around the outside of the cake, just eating the icing, which was coated with chocolate flakes . . . which leads me to wonder how skinny I would be if there wasn't always random food sitting around the office (and my house and my parent's house and the grocery store).

Short Attention Span Literature

It's nice when an excellent author writes something easy and fun . . . so though you may not have had the literary endurance to digest Cormac McCarthy's masterpiece Suttree, at least you can breeze through No Country for Old Men or The Road . . . and I never made it through Denis Johnson's Vietnam epic Tree of Smoke but I whipped through his new one, Nobody Move, a dead ringer for a classic Elmore Leonard novel (complete with precise Leonardesque vocabulary, the car door squeaked because the bushings were shot).

Birth School School Death

Back in the 80's I thought The Godfather's tune "Birth School Work Death" was dark and funny, but now that I'm 75% of the way through the song, it's more than a little scary, especially because if you're a teacher-- as I am-- then the second and third stages are essentially the same: Birth School School Death (unless you insert summer vacation in there-- Birth School Summer Vacation School Summer Vacation Death-- and then things don't seem as grim).

Midgets? Hieronymus Bosch?This Just Might Be The Film For You

If you like midgets, medieval architecture, old-style Quentin Tarantino flicks, and Hieronymus Bosch, then In Bruges is tailor-made for you-- I give it six canals out of a possible seven-- but I do admit that I may be biased because I love medieval architecture, old-style Quentin Tarantino flicks, and Hieronymus Bosch . . . and I certainly don't mind a movie with a midget or two (or more, just watched Time Bandits the other day with the kids).

Here I Am to Save the . . . Ugh, Sorry . . .

Awkward Moment of Dave #21,987: walking towards the cafeteria, I heard one of the school aides chastising someone-- the aide was standing in the door frame talking firmly to a person just beyond the door, saying, "That's not how you act, even if you're having a problem, you don't behave like that!" and so I decided to step in and give her a hand with this recalcitrant student-- since they often don't treat the aides with the same respect they afford the teachers . . . so I opened the other door and stepped through like Superman, and said in my most resounding baritone, "What seems to be the trouble here?" and then realized that the older aide was talking to another lunch aide, about some personal problem, I suppose, because she looked at me funny and said, "I think we can handle this" and I had no coherent reply ready, so I beat a hasty retreat.

Thinking on Pink

If you say the word "pink" to me, I think of the color pink, and feel a little fruity, but if you say "Pink Floyd" I think of the cover of Dark Side of the Moon and don't feel fruity at all-- why is that?

Near Death Pun

Yesterday, I was pushing Ian in the stroller to the post office, and while we were in the middle of the street (in the crosswalk, I might add), a car with handicapped plates didn't wait for us to finish crossing-- he revved his engine and crossed South Third, so he was essentially heading right at us-- but all I could think was "if this guy hits us-- a dad and his kid in a stroller walking within the confines of the crosswalk-- after running through a STOP sign, then when we go to court, he's not going to have a leg to stand on."

Hmmm . . .

Yesterday, a student was falling asleep in class-- let's refer to him as John Doe-- and so I told him to take a walk and wake up or I would have to "send him to the nurse"-- which is a euphemism for send him to get drug tested-- and a few minutes after he left class a student said, "There's John Doe in the courtyard, he's sleeping!" and there he was, in a state of complete repose on the grass, headphones in his ears, asleep just outside my classroom window.

Sometimes a Cigar is Just a Tree

My tree was wilting but once I irrigated the root ball and dribbled in some water, it sprung right back up (seriously, I'm talking about an actual tree here!)

I Might Need to Make a Big Poster

There is a propagandistic war going on in our house: Alex noticed a fruit roll-up wrapper on the floor and asked me who threw it there and I said, subtly, ever so subtly: "I don't know, maybe mommy" and he said he didn't think so because I like to "litter" and throw wrappers and garbage on the floor of my car and that all I do is "eat and litter, eat and litter, eat and litter" and even though I was the one who threw the wrapper on the floor (it was during a VERY exciting movie) I still don't think a five-year-old should be making assumptions like that-- especially since he rarely rides in my car so obviously he didn't get this information first-hand (even though it's true) so I'm going to have to step-up my disinformation program.

5/19/2009

Tell No One is a sharp, emotionally draining French thriller in the vein of The Fugitive, and I give it sixteen croissants out of a possible seventeen . . . but the only complaint I have is that the Frenchman who plays the lead looks WAY too much like Dustin Hoffman, to the point where at times I thought Dustin Hoffman was making a cameo in the film, but then I would realize that it was just Francois Cluzet again-- this was very distracting, and I'm not sure what the remedy is-- maybe the foreign film market is only big enough for one of them, and they should shoot it out at high noon or maybe they should only appear jointly in movies where they always play separated twins, one raised in France and one in America . . . the odd thing is, everyone seems to know about this uncanny resemblance (thus the split image, it popped right up on Google) BUT NO ONE HAS DONE ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

5/18/2009

While I was driving back from Wawa, I saw a mailman look at a piece of mail, then throw his hand in the air, then look back behind him angrily-- but then, get this, he didn't turn around and walk back to where he looked: so that piece of mail is definitely in the sewer.

5/17/2009

Young people having sex is pornography, old people having sex is slapstick: what kind of movie are you in?