Happiness

My wife was extremely pleased with the Jets after last week's victory, but not because she is a fan . . . her pleasure came from from the spectacle of enormous grown men running around the field with their arms out, pretending to be jet-planes.

Will Success Go To My Head?

My editorial on charter schools was published in both the local paper (The Sentinel) and the regional paper (The Home News/Tribune) and some students told me their parents read it and agreed with my views . . . so the question is: will my successful foray into local activism go to my head? will I become a serious participant in local educational reform? will I start attending PTO and Board of Education meetings? will I continue to write editorials in an attempt to influence legislation? will I continue to fight the good fight? . . . or will I go back to recording psychedelic music with annoying monologues and make videos for them with stop-motion dry erase animation? . . . I would bet on the latter.

Am I A Narcissist?

I always assumed I was a narcissist (exhibit A: this blog) but perhaps I am wrong; Jennifer Senior's article "The Benjamin Button Election" defines a narcissist as someone "impatient, vainglorious, easily insulted, and aggrieved: they'd never dream of making sacrifices on anyone else's behalf, unless it simultaneously advanced an agenda of their own" and I don't really think that describes me at all-- I am certainly not easily insulted and aggrieved, and I sacrifice plenty for my kids . . . but to make sure of this, I took an Online Narcissism Test and I scored a 13 out of 40, which is actually below the average score for an American (15) . . . but I wonder: does taking time to take an Online Narcissism Test automatically make you a narcissist?

Some Aid For Governor Christie

I've been very critical of Governor Christie's treatment of teachers, so in the spirit of fair play, I'll give him some ammunition to wield in his next attack on us: teachers are paid in salary and benefits, but we are also paid in moral superiority and no one accounts for how much this is worth monetarily when they are computing school budgets . . . I know when I'm done teaching a lesson about Shakespeare's Henry IV pt. 1-- one of great works of Western Civilization-- that I feel pretty damn superior; my self-esteem is riding high, my body is full of all kinds of positive hormones, and I feel as though I'm contributing something fantastic to the world . . . and that's worth a lot of money . . . of course, I don't feel as morally superior as one of those doctors without borders or someone who volunteers to work with the homeless or a scientist who has just cured leprosy . . . but I certainly feel morally superior to a gun runner arming a genocide or a guy who tranches synthetic CDO's or an elephant poacher.

An Elegant Grocery Analogy

My wife called the new H-mart on Route 27 in Edison, "Wegmans for Koreans," which is Donald Draper-like in its poetic brevity . . . and I recommend taking a stroll through the store: it's full of weird sea-food (much of it alive!) and exotic packaged food, unusual produce, rows and rows of dumplings, employees giving out free samples, stacks of strange condiments and Asian conviviality.

David Mamet and I Share A Moment

Once you wade through the nautical terms (including the most awkward word in the English language: fo'c'sle . . . and a rope splicing term that will make you blush) then Patrick O'Brian's novel Master and Commander is less about sailing a brig in the Napoleonic Wars-- although there is plenty about sailing-- and more about how Commander Jack Aubrey navigates his great authority over men, while still being under the authority of his ranking officers; it is the first book in a series of twenty-one and I will certainly read more of them, though they are, as David Mamet calls them in a Times article, "Humble Genre Novels," but he argues that they will last longer than any of "today's putative literary gems," and then Mamet decides he will write a fan letter to O'Brian, thanking him for the great series, only to read in the newspaper that O'Brian has just died . . . and this reminds me of when I "discovered" Mitch Hedberg on a comedy DVD from Netflix, thought he was brilliantly funny, and went on-line to check if he was coming to The Stress Factory any time soon, only to find he had just died.

Some Predictions

My clairvoyance is well documented, so pay close attention to my Predictions for 2011: jeans will get even tighter, the accordion will NOT make a comeback,  the debate over how much a corporate entity can tranche a synthetic collateral debt obligation will bore people, Americans will forget about soccer until the next world cup, Leonardo DiCaprio will not make a screwball comedy, many people will go on diets, and I will eat more tacos.

Charter Schools and Vouchers: The Math Doesn't Add Up

Once again, I have written an argument against charter schools and vouchers, but this might appeal to more conservative minds, as it deals with the financial consequences of Governor Christie's legislation; please read it, get involved, sign the petition, write letters to the newspaper and your political representatives, and I promise to return to my usual stupidity.

Born on the Fourth of July

Last weekend I watched Born on the Fourth of July-- and though I'm usually not an Oliver Stone fan, except for Platoon-- this film really moved me, and while I was watching I was unaware that it is based on a true story, and so at the end, when Ron Kovic speaks at the the 1976 Democratic National Convention, I thought it got a bit far-fetched, but apparently truth is stranger than fiction; thi film should be shown in high schools throughout the South, to discourage sincere, honorable, well-intentioned youth from joining the service and being used as fodder for the lunatics that start wars . . . Ron Kovic's naive patriotic attitude and gradual transformation to an informed activist reminds me of the more recent tale of NFL safety turned Army Ranger, Pat Tillmon . . . aside from the fact, as my friend Terry pointed out, that Tillman didn't have to deal with his knowledge about the war, because he was killed, not crippled.

Erich Pratt Reminds Us of Our God-given Rights

Erich Pratt, the director of communications for Gun Owners of America, recently made an interesting claim: "These politicians need to remember that these rights aren't given to us by them; they come from God; they are God-given rights; they can't be infringed or limited in any way-- what are they going to do: limit it two or three rounds?-- having lots of ammunition is critical, especially if the police are not around and you need to be able to defend yourself against mobs," and I'm wondering what other rights God has given us that I've overlooked and not exploited to the fullest . . . certainly He has given us the right to urinate on a tree when there is no bathroom nearby, and I think He has given us the right to eat a slice of pizza from the pie while you are driving aforementioned pizza pie home from the pizzeria, but I wonder if He has given us the right to go without underwear while walking to get bagels before 8 AM . . . I will have to contact Erich Pratt and find out.

Somewhere Between The Matrix and Inception I Learn How To Communicate With Women

Twelve years ago, my future wife and I went to the movies to see The Matrix, and during the film my future wife expressed her confusion with the plot, and so I whispered a long-winded explanation to her: beginning with Plato's cave, mentioning Tron and Lawnmower Man, citing William Gibson, and finally explaining how this ancient theme of living in a world of created shadows was being used by the Wachowski brothers . . . and I don't think this explanation helped her enjoy the film and, looking back, I'm sure she thought I was an annoying wind-bag, but she still married me, and--get this-- I have IMPROVED myself; last weekend we started watching Inception and because I had the flu, my wife had been minding the boys all day, so she was exhausted, and after about an hour of watching, she started falling asleep and she called the movie "stupid" and "full of itself," and I had been paying very close attention and I could have explained exactly what was happening, but instead of attempting a long-winded explanation,  I AGREED with her, because she was right-- the film is full of itself, and she just wanted some validation of her emotions-- and the next day, while our kids were at the movies with my parents-- she let me explain the plot to her and we sat down and watched the rest of the movie together and had a great discussion about it afterward . . . and so, slowly  but surely, I am learning how to communicate with women.

My Very Own Original Thoughts on Inception (I Think)

There is nothing new I can say about the plot of Inception that isn't said here or here, but I do have a few tangentially related points that I'm pretty sure originate from my own consciousness . . . although I can't be completely sure . . .

1) In both of his 2010 films, Leonardo DiCaprio plays a role where he is married to an insane woman who detaches herself emotionally from her children . . . I think his agent should recommend a romantic comedy with Jennifer Aniston, not only to lighten things up a bit but also to prevent him from being type-cast as a guy who's always married to a deranged child neglecting filicidal woman;

2) Like Memento, Nolan's other mind-bending film, Inception is a far better idea than movie-- it's more fun to reflect on it than it is to actually watch it . . . and for pacing and action in this genre, I prefer The Matrix, and for shared dreams, I prefer Dark City;

3) None of the aforementioned movies is as good as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and the reason is this: if you are going to be trapped in someone's mind, it's far more entertaining to dash about with Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey than to knock around with Leonardo DiCaprio and his somber crew.

Bonus: I Write Something Serious . . . Blechh.

I spent yesterday venting my anger towards our Governor by writing this editorial about charter schools-- I'm sending it to our congressmen and the Home News, but I suppose it's just as easy to post it on the internet and see who stumbles on it; tomorrow I will return to my usual stupidity (and there is a petition to sign with the letter, if you want to get involved).

My Public Service For The Month

From time to time, I like to ask my students general knowledge questions, both to get an idea of what they know and to make them more "culturally literate," and so last week I asked them to estimate the population of the United States and while a few students were fairly accurate (and some had heard the census results on the news) the range of guesses was rather astounding; it went from 600,00 to 300 billion, and there was even a teacher who guessed way over the top (9 billion) . . . and so in a self-less and truly philanthropic effort to promote number sense-- an effort that should warrant some sort of award or at least coupons for free meals in the Prytaneum-- I have filched the graphics from Greg Mankiw's Blog-- he's an economics professor at Harvard-- and they illustrate, in terms of 100$ bills, what a million dollars, a billion dollars and a trillion dollars (note the little dude on the left to get the scale) look like; you can read his whole post on this here.

The Professor and the Madman Lives Up to Its Subtitle

The subtitle of Simon Winchester's book The Professor and the Madman is "A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary," and it comes through brilliantly on all accounts; there is a mysterious murder in the "louche and notoriously crime-ridden" London neighborhood of Lambeth Marsh; there is a detailed account of American military surgeon Dr. Minor, who-- despite his paranoid fantasies of Irishmen and pygmies living beneath his floorboards, depraved folk waiting until dark to come out and commit lewd and indecent acts on him-- manages to be the most significant contributor to the OED; and, as any book that is about making the OED should, it has some really hard vocabulary words, here are a few that I had to look up: louche, tocsin, breveted, and (warning! spoiler!) autopeotomy.

Test Your Chronological Acumen

This YouTube clip (thanks Adam) contains fairly ancient Super 8mm footage of the high school where I work . . . and the question is this: using only hairstyles, cars, and clothing . . . what year was it shot?

Roger Ebert Screws Up (And I Catch Him!)

My wife and I watched another art documentary (and this one, though very well done, isn't as gripping as Exit Through The Gift Shop . . . Catherine feel asleep for a portion) but The Art of the Steal certainly documents a complex story in a fairly comprehensive-- albeit one-sided-- way; Albert C. Barnes amassed an incredible collection of post-impressionistic art (valued at 25 billion) and created a trust and and what seemed to be an iron-clad will with the purpose of keeping these paintings in the art school he created in Merion, Pa-- outside the hands of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the art establishment that he despised-- and the film documents the political machinations that will finally lead to the art being moved to a new building in downtown Philadelphia . . . from the perspective of the Barnes Foundation it is a sad story, but here is a alternate view to the one the documentary presents . . . and though the film is pretty complex, I was able to make it through the entire thing, unlike Roger Ebert, who either fell asleep or didn't finish watching: he claims in his review that the paintings are now in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, although they are never going to end up there . . . and as of this moment they are still in Merion and you can make an appointment and visit them so while I usually think Ebert is right on about movies, he botched this one (but I'll give him a break since he's certainly had his troubles for the last four years and it's impressive that he's still churning out the reviews).

True Grit

Though I wanted to see True Grit, the plan was to see The Fighter: I think the ladies wanted to watch Mark Wahlberg with his shirt off, but The Fighter was sold out, so we had to settle for True Grit, and Jeff Bridges did not take his shirt off, which was probably a good thing, because he appeared to be pasty and fat under his dirty long-johns, but he was an excellent Rooster Cogburn and Hailee Steinfeld played his vengeful fourteen year old sidekick Mattie Ross pitch perfectly and Matt Damon (who also did not take his shirt off, but did pull back his vest to reveal his Texas Ranger badge) was surprisingly droll as LaBouef and Barry Pepper (who reverse eponymously played Lucky Ned Pepper) and the rest of the bad guys looked as snaggle-toothed and depraved as they should have; the movie is faithful to plot, language, drama, and dry humor of the Portis novel and the images of the aged Mattie Ross are unforgettable . . . ten corn dodgers out of ten (my only complaint is that Mattie never said, "Men will live like billy goats if they are let alone," which is my favorite line from the book).

Super Sad True Love Story Is Not A Love Story

Gary Shteyngart's new novel, Super Sad True Love Story, presents itself as such, but, like the great film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, it is actually not a love story at all, it is science fiction (if you use my definition) and though the romance between Lenny Abramov (another Russian Jew, but nearly as cool as Misha Vainberg) and Eunice Park fuels the plot, it also fuels Shteyngart's satirical view of the near future; Lenny is embarrassed that he is nearly forty and growing old, that he still likes books and has trouble with the credit rankings and "F*ckability" scores that everyone is receiving on their "äppäräti,"that he occasionally enjoys alcohol and carbs, and that he can't live up to his boss Joshie's dream of eternal youth, while Eunice-- the youngster-- has trouble "verballing" with Lennie and her parents and her sister, can't imagine a place for herself in a rapidly failing America, can't decipher an actual text-- she majored in Images at school and is effectively textually illiterate, though she can read to mine data-- and loves to shop at "AssLuxury," though she doesn't wear translucent "Onionskin" jeans . . . I give it eight credit poles out of ten.

Beans, Beans, They're Good For Your Heart . . .

Catherine made some delicious yellow lentils with sauteed onions and butter in the crock-pot a few days ago, and I took the remainder to work with me yesterday, but because of my lack of Tupperawareness, I packed far more than a single portion into my container, and I also had a sandwich (baked chicken and hummus, which is delicious, but hummus is also made from a legume . . . this will be significant later) so I decided to eat the lentils during my snack-time (around 9:15 AM) and I held up the medium sized Tupperware container-- which was filled to the brim with lentils-- and said to the new teacher, "There's no way I can eat this many lentils this early," but every spoonful was so smooth and buttery and delicious, and so fifteen minutes later the lentils were gone; I felt as if I had swallowed a medium sized tortoise, shell and all, but I had to go teach Henry IV, and I guess I didn't realize that lentils are in the bean family and have the same digestive effect, and it probably didn't help that later in the day I threw the chicken and hummus sandwich on top of this mound of beans, but luckily it wasn't bitterly cold outside and I was able to open my classroom windows, so no students suffered the consequences of my gluttony and I have learned a valuable lesson.