7/21/2009

My friend Rob manages a silk-screening office and I gave him a great suggestion, so let's see if he follows through-- and I thought of this extemporaneously!-- ready? here it is: authentic Plaxico Burress football pants with a bullet wound and blood silk screened right onto the fabric, so you always appear to have just shot yourself in the leg . . . maybe it wasn't such a great idea.

OBFT XVI

A few Outer Banks Fishing Trip highlights (in no particular order) 1) Bill sings karaoke to a teeny-bopper song he doesn't know the words to while doing a little jig in between the two other members of the karaoke sensation, The Shenanigans 2) games of "corn-hole" on the deck at Mulligan's and repeated use of the verb to "corn-hole" for the entire weekend 3) man vs. paddleboard: I got hit on the head with it, but surprisingly, it didn't kill me 4) Rob's prediction that the long crew at Tortuga's would be driven home by Lacy, which was exactly correct 5) Chris knocking down Jerry's neatly stacked poker chips 6) Dave getting seven bull's-eyes in a row at darts 7) Dave getting seven of eight washers in a row 8) Bruce sleeping on the roof 9) T.J. and his healthy snacks -- the apple 10) Dave winning the mustache contest 11) seeing all the mustaches around the horshoe bar at Tortuga's 12) trying to figure out who people looked like with their mustache 13) Whit coming out of the surf with his hair slicked back and his mustache 14) many other things I can't recall, but thanks again Whit!

7/19/2009

Driving and swimming have something in common: for most, once they are adequate, they consider themselves expert, and they never seek instruction for the rest of their days (unless they are forced by the Department of Motor Vehicles . . . but there is no such governing body for poor swimmers).

7/18/2009

The Rutgers Swim Club is already a retro-looking place, with a flat roofed blue and white pool shack and a tether-ball court, but when my son Alex started hurling a Track-ball (purchased by a friend at a Kay-Bee Hobby close out sale) with his buddy, I felt like I had been teleported back to my own youth in the '70's.

7/17/2009

My father went overboard and bought a fourteen pound lobster, which the man at the fish market said was over a hundred years old-- and it was delicious-- but I can't imagine how stringy and tasteless a hundred year old human would taste, even if you marinated him.

7/16/2009

There will come a time-- in a dozen years or so-- when it will be tempting to teaching my students the wrong things, as this will give my own children a better chance at getting into college . . . I'll have the power to make the competition appear stupid; I could tell my students the wrong definitions of difficult words so they bomb the SAT's, I could give them poor advice about their college essay topics (mention the time you committed arson! show them you learned a lesson!) and I could even screw up their sense of time and history . . . this is going to be a difficult ethical dilemma, I hope I make the right choice.

My Wife Does This Fairly Often

Two successful hikes on the Cape: the first was to Coast Guard Beach in Eastham-- which is part of the Cape Cod National Seashore-- and we were rewarded with high sandy cliffs and seals in the water, and the second was to the edge of the spit on Lighthouse beach in Chatham, and again we saw several seals up close and, as a bonus, a kind old man gave us a sand dollar, which Catherine left on the roof of the car . . . we learned this when it fell off as we turned onto Main Street so she made me stop the car and I got to watch her in the rear view mirror as she ran into the intersection to retrieve it, slightly chipped, and I mention this for the rabid fans of The Sentence of Dave, as this incident hearkens back to the very first entry of this blog.

7/13/2009

I totally forgot about the scene in E.T. when E.T. gets drunk on Coors and his brain is connected to Elliot's brain, and so Elliot, who is wasted by proxy, frees the frogs that are about to be dissected in biology class (like they would make sixth graders watch frogs die in a jar!) and then stands on top of the bully and kisses the tall blond girl-- in the 80's movie genre, everyone under the age of 17 was always big trouble.

7/12/2009

For the first time ever, I had a beer at the Chatham Bars Inn, which I suppose has the best view in Chatham, but it always seemed too elegant for me, and I certainly didn't feel at home there-- there were cloth hand towels in the bathroom and lots of wood paneling and sitting rooms and old couches-- but Catherine really liked the lotion in the bathroom and one of the girls we were with caught a woman applying it to her legs; I suppose I have to remember that I am thirty nine and no longer look like trouble, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was going to be asked to leave.

7/11/2009

Some numbers to remember: 1) it is over 300 miles and takes five hours to drive from Bolton Valley, Vermont to Cape Cod-- I always think it's less, but it is a haul and it seemed like we traveled even further because we went from five days of cold Vermont rain (and a hailstorm) to a crisp sunny New England day 2) it took me 19 minutes and 38 seconds to run from the condo to Hardings Beach, and seeing the kites and the sand and the waves made me remember how odd it is that we possess motor vehicles and can traverse such vast distances in a day 3) I found a razor with only TWO blades in my travel bag, an ancient, misplaced sad razor with an acute case of blade envy, since I usually use a three blade razor and have contemplated the four blade razor, and even though I had no shaving cream and had to use soap, it shaved me cleaner and faster than my Mach III.

7/10/2009

Our first bowling trip with the boys, and also with Rob, Tammy, Parker and Baby Dominic, was a success, although the boys refused to use the wooden ramp and instead developed various unorthodox methods of chucking their balls, and Ian got his fingers smashed (of course) and I remembered the satisfaction of throwing a strike and the frustration that accompanies pretty much every other kind of throw.

Dave is Legend

I've used this blog to reference the titles of books I've read and movies I've watched, but while we were in Vermont last week, for the first time I used this blog to reference my own idea-- which I forgot, but I knew that I had had an idea; my friend Rob turned on the movie I Am Legend and I remembered that the ending was lame, and that I had come up with an alternate ending, but I couldn't remember what it was . . . so I used this blog as my cyborg memory and looked it up . . . 1/25/2009 if you are interested, but I guess eventually, I'll need a digital version of the blog implanted into my brain.

Would You Adopt This Kid?

It doesn't take much to scare me, and The Orphanage (El Orfanato) was enough to do the trick . . . it's pretty damn creepy and it also has an excellent plot-- my wife and I were still talking about what happened in the closet the next day-- so I'm giving it nine deformed sack wearing bastard orphan children out of ten.

7/7/2009

I was excited to learn the derivation of the phrase "beyond the pale" but no one else was-- my wife and friends had never heard this idiom before-- but perhaps you have, and it comes from when the English were colonizing Ireland-- in th elate 1500's-- there were rules about consorting with the "wild Irish"-- it was generally not allowed, and so the English colonists were not to go "beyond the Pale," a region surrounding Dublin, and into the weirdness that was rural Ireland.

7/6/2009

It's frustrating to read Daniel Boyle's book The Talent Code: Greatness Isn't Born. It's Grown. Here's How at age thirty nine, when my myelin production is soon to wane, and realize that I could have been whatever I wanted, a cartoonist, a guitarist, a ballerina, if I had only practiced deep enough and long enough-- that there really is no such thing as talent, only perseverance, failure, time, and persistence-- and that if you put in your 10,000 hours practicing the right way, with the right motivation-- you need to be in a situation that keeps telling your brain better get busy, as opposed to "better watch TV" or "better be well rounded"-- then you will be a world class talent, and people will look at you and think you are "gifted"-- so since it's too late for me to truly master anything (and judging by this rambling sentence, I could use 9000 more hours of writing practice) all I can do is start torturing my kids and it's never too soon to start . . . so what do I want them to master?

A Macho Solution

Now that it's summer, it's time to dig out my roller-blades, and, of course, there's a certain stigma attached to them-- thus the old joke . . . What's the hardest thing about roller-blading? Telling your parents you're gay . . . not that there's anything wrong with being a gay-blader, but I like to look manly in all my endeavors, and so when i presented my dilemma in the English Office, my friend Eric gave me an elegantly simple solution: I'm going to purchase a hockey stick, and whenever I roller-blade, I'm going to carry the hockey stick with me, so it looks like I'm on my way to a roller hockey game, a very macho event . . . and as long as no one ever presses me as to where the game is, the plan is foolproof.

I Hate Residual Glee

I'm sure there are other dads out there with the same opinion, but they're probably afraid to admit it, so I will be the grouch: I hate bubbles . . . I hate bubble-making paraphernalia, I hate bubble-making liquid, I hate the sticky mess, I hate the way the soap kills the lawn, and I don't even like looking at bubbles very much (and since it's Independence Day, I should also mention that I don't like watching fireworks either).

I'll Miss You The Same Way I Miss Richard the Third

Sometimes when a relationship is abusive, it's better if it just ends . . . and I've decided I can no longer be friends with Vic Mackey . . . though there were times when I was rooting for him, especially when Forrest Whitaker was hot on his tail, but the final episode of the The Shield reminded me that hanging out with Vic wasn't good for either of us-- it made us both into something worse than we already were.

7/2/2009

Along with a sense of accomplishment, there also comes sadness when you finish a long novel: I just finished-- after two tries-- Denis Johnson's Vietnam saga Tree of Smoke and though I'm happy that I'm getting it back to the library on time, I'm going to miss William "Skip" Sands and his rogue Colonel uncle; the novel is certainly Pynchonesque, it has tunnels like V, it investigates information theory-- including propagation, distortion, and chain of command-- and it has an inscrutable quality, like Gravity's Rainbow (but not nearly as difficult and without as many characters) but by the end you understand these people that fell into the cracks of the Vietnam war and want to spend more time with them, 614 pages isn't enough.

Random Idiotic Thoughts

During graduation, while they read the seven hundred plus names of the senior class, you are alone with your thoughts . . . mainly, I thought how strange it was that every speaker had a quote from Dr. Seuss in their speech and that if I ever have to give a graduation speech, I won't quote Dr. Seuss, I will instead quote the Random Idiots song about Dr. Seuss-- you know, the one where the good doctor uses his faux doctorate to open a gynecology clinic and have his way gullible women . . . and that day, of course, will be my last as a teacher.