Probably Better Not to Know
Alex tossed a shield bug in the toilet, but Ian (who STILL refuses to let us use live worms as fishing bait) rescued the drowning bug, not thinking twice about fishing him from the toilet water with his bare hands, and the only reason I found out about this daring and bacteria-laden rescue is because Alex offhandedly mentioned that he had tossed said bug in the toilet-- they were both pretty nonchalant about the incident-- and their nonchalance made me wonder how many other bugs Ian had saved from being flushed-- as he's always walking around with a bug in his hands . . . and so I did a little investigative reporting; I interrogated Alex and Ian about this matter, and they immediately-- without shame or disgust-- admitted that Ian often rescues bugs from the toilet.
Take a Deep Breath . . .
We started watching the second season of Breaking Bad, and it is just as excellent and intense as the first-- if you like to sit tensely wiithout breathing or moving for forty five minutes, this is the show for you.
3/25/10
There is nothing more serene to me than running barefoot on the beach with my iPod, or that's how it used to be, but I think I will be more anxious in the future: last week a South Carolina man was jogging with headphones on a Hilton Head beach, and he was struck in the back by a small airplane that was making an emergency landing, and, of course, the plane killed him instantly-- and-- this is the awful part-- he was probably just trying to burn some calories before eating cake, because it was his daughter's third birthday . . . so look both ways, and then look out behind you as well..
3/24/10
I rarely post videos, but I'm sure that this is the most important film since Citizen Kane, and it inspired the kids and me to build a Rube Goldberg contraption, though ours pales in comparison to this; we had a battery powered Thomas the Train ride out of Alex's room and then nudge a Matchbox car on orange track so that the car raced down the stairs and jumped into a Folgers can strung to a balloon wedged between the banister, which pulled a string that raised another piece of track heading into the living room, so that a little car zipped down that track, and hit a Lego lever on a hinge, which pulled a string attached to a train switch, so that the train engine that was going round and round the whole time, veered onto another track and made its way towards a card house, which it knocked down . . . and we got it to work (and here is the video to prove it!)
3/23/10
On St. Patrick's Day, my son Alex had some questions about Ireland, and so I showed him a map and put on some Irish music (Horslips) and the next thing I knew, I was plunged into my personal nightmare-- Alex heard the music and decided he wanted to learn to play the flute, and asked if he could take flute lessons . . . and fans of my blogging know how I feel about the flute in general and Jethro Tull in particular . . . but what could I say except "sure," and as long as no one reminds him, I'm sure he'll forget about it.
We've Got Computers . . . Let's Use Them!
Because of all the flooding, I forgot to mention just how much I hate daylight savings time-- it's not just the darkness in the morning, and the fact that it's difficult enough to teach high school students at 7:26 in the morning without throwing a monkey wrench into the schedule-- those things are bad enough-- but the thing that really gets me is that we allow the government to control time, and-- for once-- I'm not just complaining, I actually have a solution: since it's the digital age and we've built all these tiny computers and placed them in everything from toasters to clock radios, why not have Daylight Saving Month-- if we subtracted two minutes a day for a month, we wouldn't miss them a bit, and we'd accomplish the same goal without inconveniencing the working population (because if you're retired, then who gives a shit?)
3/21/10
If you can stomach it, you should read The Good Soldiers, David Finkel's account of his time with battalion 2-16 during "the surge" in Iraq-- and if you can't stomach it, you better learn to.
The Seven Ages of Friendship (Or Six . . . Whatever)
The older you get, the longer it takes to become friends with an acquaintance: kindergarteners at the park become friends in minutes . . . in elementary school all it takes is proximity . . . in middle school you need to have a common interest . . . high school students need charisma and patience in order to infiltrate a clique . . . in college friendship is ritualized into fraternity pledging and such, and now, as an adult with a job and kids, it seems as if it takes years to get to know someone new (and you pretty much need to work with them or have kids in common or play in an adult sports league or belong to a historical reenactment society together or something drastic like that).
3/18/10
Chop Shop takes you to a fantastic world, yet it feels completely natural . . . it begins with day laborers hustling for jobs-- is it Bolivia? Turkey? Mexico?-- and then it takes you to the auto parts bazaar, some kind of Middle Eastern soukh for cars . . . but it's much closer to home, this is Queens, New York-- the industrialized area near Shea Stadium, full of unauthorized auto parts shops . . . and you follow a true hustler, 12 year old Ale, and his 16 year old sister, as they navigate this tiny universe, living together in a plywood room inside an auto paint shop . . . a must see: four stolen hubcaps out of four.
Stuck
I grabbed Anneli Rufus's new book Stuck: Why We Can't (or Won't) Move On on an impulse because it has the same title as a new Greasetruck song, and it has essentially the same theme; the reviews on Amazon run the gamut-- some claim she is unsubstantiated and opinionated and other claim that her perspectives are brilliant; I'm somewhere in the middle but I did love reading the book because there was so much to think about-- you end up debating yourself about the choices you have made and the conflict between how stuck you really are and how stuck you perceive yourself (often because of the media) to be-- and essentially, her mantra is "get over it," and I fully agree with this, she rails against the whining and blamelessness and infinite wishing and choice of our society (and I love her take on American Idol, she thinks America is obsessed with the show, because in a land where we tell people,"Anyone can be anything they want, follow your dreams," Simon is a breath of reality, which is what we yearn for but are afraid to tell people-- essentially, you will never achieve your dream because you don't have the skill) and perhaps I like her book because I am essentially happy stuck in my situation: steady job, beautiful wife, healthy (albeit annoying) kids, nice kitchen, one sentence blog, and Greasetruck-- who could ask for more?
3/16/10
Everyone is grouchy at work because of contract negotiations and expected budget cuts, and we wear buttons that say "No Contract, still working, always caring" but after what happened last week, the buttons need to be amended to "No contract, still cleaning up menstrual fluid, always caring"-- that is correct, after a student noticed something red and shiny on a desk seat and correctly identified the fluid (though the teacher, who knew the student was right, intelligently and curtly denied what it was) and so the teacher had to teach her lesson with the fluid in the corner of her eye, and then, once the students had left, she bravely wiped it up-- certain (as only a woman would know) that it was the blood of the unspoken cycle, and the worst thing is, the ensuing discussion (which I had to endure while eating a turkey London broil sandwich smothered in BBQ sauce) brought to light that OTHER female teachers had cleaned up similar "spills."
Points Are Everything (and Nothing)
Odd combination of events: high school play, high winds, and fairly high flooding . . . and a new English office chart and "points" game that rewards people for attending social events (this was prompted by the aforementioned chart, a colorful and much disputed bar graph of who goes out the most-- I won the "most social with kids" category, which might not be something to be proud of . . . and this ensuing points game reminds me of a contest between the second and third floor of our fraternity . . . also something I'm not proud of) and so on Saturday night Terry and I were meeting at Sandy's for food and then attending the school play, but it was rainy and windy and once I hit East Brunswick, all the power was out, so I had an especially fast but scary drive down Ryder's Lane-- all the lights were dark but you couldn't predict when someone on a cross street was going to pop out or try to make a left, and we couldn't eat because all the restaurants were closed and the high school was blacked out as well, so we tried to get to Stacey and Ed's party in South Amboy, but we got stuck n 45 minutes of traffic because Bordentown road was flooded out and by this time I was claustrophobic and hungry and angry and had to urinate, but we made it back to the Cambridge in Spotswood for beer and food and then there was much texting about who was receiving "points" for which event, and how many English teachers it took to warrant points-- because then Eric and Liz showed up and it was a party . . . four English teachers at the Cambridge, as opposed to the two English teachers at Stacey's place . . . so does our stormy gathering trump Stacy's party because we couldn't get there . . . and where will this chart lead, to what depths of socialization, and if it will end up with everyone forming factions and eventually hating one another . . . only time will tell.
3/14/10
Getting a massage is my favorite form of entertainment, not only because it feels good, but also because it is entertainment without negative externalities-- there is no pollution, or carbon fuel use-- I am contributing to the economy but not consuming anything, it relieves stress so I am nicer to my wife and kids and students, and, most importantly, there is no nagging or quid pro quo involved when you pay for a massage, unlike when you get one from your spouse.
Why Don't People Aske Me About This More Often?
Yesterday, when the teacher I share a wall with asked me to come in and say a few words about the singularity, this made me increibly happy . . . because no one EVER asks me to say a few words on the singularity and if there's one thing in the world that I like to say a few words about, it's the singularity . . . the singularity and Moore's Law and the possibility of intelligent machines in our near future and Ray Kurzweil and the possibility of downloading one's self into a virtual universe and the odd paradox that we are most likely living in a virtual universe because if the computer exists then in some real universe the singularity has already been achieved and everyone has a tiny populated Matrix-like simulated universe on their desk-top-- and what are the chances that you were in that original universe where the original computer was invented?-- there's a much better chance that you are a virtual person inhabiting a Matrix-like virtual universe in one of the billions of model universe nested within the one and original universe, but does my wife ever ask me to say a few words about this?-- never, nor do my co-workers or my friends or my children . . . so this was a very exciting day for me.
3/12/10
I am beginning to think that Hamlet is a little like Neo, from the film The Matrix; Hamlet is somehow subconsciously aware that he is in a play called Hamlet, he realizes that there is a larger reality than the word he inhabits, and this makes him so much larger than any other character int he play--and so he tries to direct the play's action, tone, and content, and eventually he realizes that forces beyond him (Shakespeare? God? Morpheus?) control his fate-- that he is embedded in some kind of five act program.
3/11/10
Thank God the good playground is a block away from our house, as this spares me the humiliation of having to organize "play dates" for my children.
Super Freaky
Superfreakonomics is just as entertaining as Levitt and Dubner's first book, but it's a bit more controversial-- amidst its "economic" analysis, it touches on the WHO's assessment of penis size in India, the dangers of drunk walking (better to drive), the declining price of oral sex, why you don't have to worry about global warming, why you don't have to worry about buckling your toddlers in car seats, and the first recorded case of monkey prostitution . . . and like Freakonomics, it is too short, but I think that is intended; hopefully, they will write another: nine big ass volcanoes out of ten.
Hyperion
There's nothing more fun (for an English teacher) than reading the same book at the same time as someone else, especially if it's obscure-- and so it was with some regret that I finished Hyperion, Dan Simmon's 1989 Hugo Award winning science-fiction novel, which in Canterbury Tales fashion (each character tells a story) recounts the pilgrimage of a soldier, a detective, a priest, a scholar, a poet, and a diplomat to the remote planet Hyperion, home of the Lord of Pain, otherwise known as the Shrike, a three meter tale robotic many bladed creature which lives outside of time and may have been created in the future by humans or AI computers, and comes back into the past where it has spawned religious cults, inter-galactic mythology and speculation, and, of course, fear . . . and I'm sure there was nothing worse than being trapped in the English office listening to me and Mike talk about the intricacies of the plot . . . it reminds me of the old days when Celine and I would discuss Battle Star Galactica until people started screaming bloody murder.
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