I am an Idiot, My Wife is a Saint

Friday, as I was pulling into the school parking lot, I felt my cell phone buzz and I instantly remembered what I had neglected to do . . . and then my phone started ringing and I realized that I wasn't going to escape this transgression with a mere text . . . my wife was going to talk to me about this, and so I accepted my guilt, accepted the call, and braced myself for the oncoming tirade . . . "What is wrong with you?" she began and I immediately started apologizing, because there was no excuse-- for the third time in two weeks, I had driven the wrong car to work-- we were trying to take my Jeep to the shop to get the brake lights fixed, but every time she made an appointment (and you need an appointment because our mechanic is so good) I forgot to drive the Subaru to work and instead took the very car that my wife needed to drop off at the garage . . . forcing her to call our mechanic and report to him that her husband was a complete idiot and she would need to reschedule . . . so this time she wasn't going to do that, and so she devised a plan whereby I would drive the car to her school and we would swap cars and I would be able to do this because I had a half day of classes and my parent conference schedule was light in the afternoon-- but there was only one problem, which I explained to her: "The only problem is that I'm supposed to go to lunch with Terry . . . if I drive all the way over there then he won't have anyone to go out to lunch with," and right after I explained the "problem" I realized that it wasn't really a "problem," and more just my concern with eating, but it was too late and so I braced myself once again for a deserved angry rejoinder: "I think it's more important that you get the brake lights fixed on the car that you drive both your children around in, rather than get a slice of pizza with Terry!" and I couldn't agree more and told my wife that I would meet her, and then went into the school and while I was summarizing this book in the English office, and explaining how I was in a System 1 mood, because my wife made me a chart for what I had to accomplish in the mornings (the kids have a chart and I have a chart, and my wife is on the chart, but I don't actually think she needs the chart) and I was very happy that I completed my Friday morning duty (walk the dog) and so I blithely walked out the door and hopped into my car, not thinking that I wasn't supposed to drive my car, and went straight to work . . . and while I was summarizing System 1 and System 2 to a colleague, my phone rang again and my wife told me that she was driving to my school right then, to swap the cars, so that I wouldn't have to drive all over during my lunch, and while I was extraordinarily happy that I was going to be able to have lunch with Terry, I also realized that it might be my last meal on earth and immediately decided that I would send my wife some flowers or perhaps place them in her car at work . . . but then I couldn't even get credit for that, as while I was recounting this story to my first period class, I felt another text arrive on my phone and it was from my wife and it said, "You better send me flowers" and the text also included her school address and the name and phone number of our local flower place, so not only did I know she was serious, but also that she thought I was an incapable idiot . . . but I managed to successfully send the flowers and I have smoothed things over . . . for now.

If You're Going Shopping, It's Best To be Angry

In Thinking, Fast and Slow, Daniel Kahneman shares a wealth of evidence that our intuition works better when we are in a good mood-- we are more creative but also more gullible . . . and he calls this System 1, but if you're going to do something analytic, and you have to consider several positions or the pros and cons of something, then this is called System 2, and to activate System 2, it is better if you are sad or vigilant or suspicious (or perhaps all three, although you might not be much fun to be around) and Kahneman summarizes this by explaining that "a happy mood loosens the control of System 2 over performance: when in a good mood, people become more intuitive and more creative but also less vigilant and more prone to logical errors," and this explains a lot to me; as now I can see why I was in such an ugly mood when I was doing all the shopping around for a new mortgage-- playing one broker off another, crunching numbers, comparing points versus rates, etc.-- and why I'm in such a good mood when I play soccer, which is all intuition, creativity, and spontaneous reaction.

Milestone (From An Outside Perspective)

The other day I went skiing with my two sons, who are six and eight, and it was the first time I took them without the help of my wife, and it was the first time that they didn't take a lesson or even warm-up on the bunny slope; instead, the three of us got on the quad lift, went to the top of the mountain, and all made our way down without incident-- and we did this over and over for four and half hours with only brief breaks for snacks-- and for all intents and purposes the day was a success . . . to an outsider on the mountain it must have appeared as an idyllic boy's day out (aside from one crash getting off the lift, Ian cut me off) and while I do think this was a banner day, I should still warn you people with younger kids who can't wait until they are old enough to keep up with you on the slopes that behind the scenes there is still a lot of grunt work . . . I was on my stomach in the lodge, underneath the table buckling ski boots because their little fingers weren't strong enough, and they still forgot to put on their hat and gloves and they couldn't carry their gear all the way across the parking yet and I had to pull them up hills because they don't give little kids ski poles, and dragging two kids while snowboarding is exhausting, so-- by the end of the day-- I was even more worn out than they were, but I had to drive home while they slept . . . some day it's going to be the other way around.

Ill-Suited Adjective

The marketing department at Herr's needs to have a stern word with the advertising genius who decided to add the adjective Creamy-- written in florid script-- in front of their "Dill Pickle" flavored chips; there are literal problems, of course, as pickles can be "zesty" or "crunchy," but they should never be the consistency of cream . . . and I'd love to analyze the connotations of the phrase "creamy dill pickle," but this is a family friendly blog, so I'll leave the symbolic interpretations to your collectively perverse imaginations . . . the only possible explanation for this filthy and unappetizing moniker is that Herr's is trying to acquire market dominance in the pregnant demographic.

A Bad Choice Followed By A Good Choice

I made a bad when choice when I ate the entire bag of All Natural Kettle Style Sweet Potato Chips in a fit of gluttony after work on Tuesday, not thinking that might my wife might have wanted some of these chips, but when my wife was chastising me for eating all the aforementioned chips, I made a good choice and did not complain to her about my stomachache (which was caused by eating all the chips) because I knew she would not have had any sympathy for me, and in fact, might have gotten even angrier when she realized that, though I was full, I kept eating the chips just because they were there.

Dead Letter Etiquette

What is the requisite length of time you should keep a card? . . . birthday, Christmas, or otherwise . . . and does it matter who gave you the card? does it matter that you're not going to read it again? does it matter if it has a picture of someone's family on it? . . . I believe that this story makes a case for keeping personal correspondence for a great length of time and for destroying it immediately . . . but I feel like I stash holiday cards in a basket for what I consider to be some arbitrarily polite length of time, and then I finally toss them, because some part of me feels like it would be rude to just read them, look at the picture, and then immediately chuck them in the trash . . . stupid card industry causing me more grief.

More Stuff High School Kids Wouldn't Like

Every three years the teachers at my school put on a "Faculty Follies," and though I participated my first year teaching (I played the harmonica and begged for money in a faculty room skit) this made me realize that the theater isn't for me-- I get too nervous and I don't enjoy being on stage-- but last faculty follies I did submit a brilliant idea for a comedy sketch, knowing full well it would be rejected . . . here is the sequence of events:

1) I begin by juggling three balls (I can juggle)
2) I do several basic juggling tricks-- under the leg, over the shoulder, etc.
3) my two beautiful assistants walk out on stage, one wheeling a unicycle and the other with three long-handled axes,
4) I take the axes and heft one of them, testing the weight,
5) I motion for my beautiful assistant to wheel over the unicycle
6) I lean two of the axes against the unicycle and hold the other by the handle
7) the tension builds as I prepare to mount the unicycle
8) instead I smash the unicycle to bits with the axe, take a deep bow, and walk off the stage

and I submitted the form with this description, but never heard back from the organizers, so this year, though I have another brilliant sketch idea, I'm not even going to submit the form: this was a collaborative effort inspired by my colleague Rachel, who was having a very hard time peeling an orange, and it goes like this:

1) Rachel, dressed in black, sits at a table and struggles to peel an orange . . .
2) meanwhile, the PA is blasting Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries . . .
3) Rachel finally peels the orange and then tosses the fruit over her shoulder,
4) she takes a large bite of the peel, makes a disgusted face, and walks off the stage,
5) the orange remains on stage for several skits,
6) Rachel reappears, having trouble peeling a banana . . .
7) she finally succeeds and this time eats the fruit,
8) she tosses the banana peel near the orange and exits,
9)  several minutes later, Eric comes on stage
10) instead of slipping on the banana peel, he slips on the orange,
11) Rachel and Eric bow . . .

this would be a magnificent piece of theater, but I am afraid the humor might be lost on the students.

Sometimes You Need to State the Obvious

I went to a Wizards game Saturday night and Gheorghe Muresan made an appearance in our suite: he is tall, very tall.

If You Like Pina Coladas and Making Love to Yourself

In my creative class, we listened to Allen Ginsberg read a poem called "Personals Ad," and many of the students had never heard of a "personal ad," as they are of the Match.com generation, and this led to me summarizing the plot of "Escape," by Rupert Holmes-- you might refer to this as "The Pina Colada Song" and you know the story: a guy who is "tired of his lady" reads a personal ad in the newspaper that describes his perfect match-- a woman who loves "Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain"-- and so he organizes a rendezvous with this lady at a "bar called O'Malley's" where they can plan their escape; so I set all this up and lead them to the dramatic moment in the song and then I asked them: "Guess who he finds in the bar?" and a student who was either only half listening or only had "half a brain" yelled out "Himself"-- an answer which made us laugh, but also an answer that does make sense in a weird way-- and this led to us creating a revision of the song, where instead of reuniting with his lady, the narrator of the song instead meets a cloned version of himself-- perhaps a mad scientist stole his DNA when he was an infant-- and this is what the narrator yearned for all his life: to date himself . . . and then his lady eventually runs into him, and he is hooking up with a cloned version of himself and he is very happy about it, and she is completely disgusted with his vanity and rather bizarre and incestuous behavior . . . Rupert Holmes hasn't had a hit in a while, so perhaps he can record this version.

High School Kids Don't Care About This

Daniel Kahneman's new book Thinking, Fast and Slow, describes and contrasts two "systems" in our brains-- fast thinking and intuitive System 1 and deliberate, tedious, and often lazy System 2-- and he describes his comprehensive research and experimentation observing how System 1 (though brilliant at detecting emotions, recognizing objects, and jumping to fairly accurate conclusions) often screws up our System 2 thinking . . . and I found this example at the start of "Chapter 10: The Law of Small Numbers" both fascinating and indicative: Kahneman explains that the lowest incidence of kidney cancer in the United States is found in counties that are "mostly rural, sparsely populated, and located in traditionally Republican states in the Midwest, the South, and the West" and then he asks you what you make of this information . . . perhaps you speculate that people are exposed to less pollution in these places or lead healthier lifestyles or do more physical work . . . but then he reveals something paradoxical: the highest incidence of kidney cancer in the United States is found in "mostly rural, sparsely populated, traditionally Republican states in the Midwest, the South, and the West" and he asks you to make sense of this conflicting data . . . and perhaps your mind can resolve this-- maybe it has to do with poverty, or tobacco use, or access to poor medical care-- and so both these populations exist in the same regions, but the fact of the matter is that there is no causal reason why this is so-- the reason is purely statistical, and the important part of the statement is "sparsely populated"-- when you have smaller numbers there is a greater chance for statistical anomaly . . . I have a better chance of picking two students at random that both have blue eyes then I do having an entire class of thirty that all have blue eyes-- the two person sample is too small to indicate anything-- and so the only reason that the highest and lowest incidence of cancer occurs in the same type of county, demographically, is that these counties tend to have less people than other regions; this logical fallacy is common, the Gates Foundation determined that smaller schools are often more successful and invested substantial funds in creating small schools, sometimes even breaking large schools into smaller units, but what they neglected to realize is that small schools are often the most successful and they are also often the least successful . . . because their smaller populations are more likely to vary statistically; I found this idea compelling enough to explain to several of my classes, and I made a discovery of my own: high school kids DO NOT find this interesting at all . . . they don't want to guess why the incidence of kidney cancer is low, they don't want to guess why it is high, they don't want to speculate on the nature of the paradox, and they are certainly not excited to find out that there is NO causal reason for it.

A Number of Universal Significance

Today is the day,

I turn forty-two--

the meaning of life

but according to who?

and if you know,

I'm willing to bet

that you have read

all the books in the set--

you know that the dolphins

had such simple wishes,

they just wanted to say

thanks for the fishes.

Glad I'm a Dad

Dads talk about what they did with their kids, while moms talk about what they neglected to do.

Teacher of the Year

Sometimes being a great teacher is about what you DON'T do . . . the other morning I was using my guitar to illustrate how form often overpowers content . . . I played my creative writing students "Delia's Gone" by Johnny Cash, which is upbeat and kind of fun, though it is about murder, adultery, and revenge, and I also played "Goodbye Earl" by the Dixie Chicks-- another song that is catchy and cute, despite the fact that it is about poisoning an abusive husband, wrapping him in a tarp, and tossing him into a lake-- and then I was about to launch into "Last Kiss," a sixties song about a fatal car crash with a catchy chorus that was famously covered by Pearl Jam . . . I have fond memories of all the high school girls on the Spotswood soccer team joyously singing this tragic song on a bus ride home, smiling and laughing as they hollered the description of the car accident that kills the narrator's girlfriend, but not before he is able to give her one "last kiss" as she fades into the hereafter . . . but then I remembered that one of my students recently lost her boyfriend in a car crash, and-- miraculously-- I remembered this before I played the song . . . and so I actually averted an awkward moment instead of producing one, and for this amazing decision, I think I should win Teacher of the Year.

Exercise Your Right To Plagiarize . . . or Plagiarize Your Right To Exercise?

I often see people doing interesting exercises at the gym-- sometimes with weights, sometimes on the mats, sometimes with unusual equipment, such as medicine balls or rope attachments, and sometimes with the machines and contraptions that I never use-- and whenever I see someone doing an exercise that I've never done before, I have the urge to immediately attempt it, before I forget all about it and go back to my normal routine, but I feel weird about stealing someone's "move" right in front of them, so I always wait until they are out of sight before I copy what they were doing . . . should I feel weird about this?-- about stealing an exercise?-- I probably shouldn't because it's not actually "stealing," as you can't copyright an exercise move . . . or can you?

A Question for Counsel

On Friday afternoon, my son Alex-- who is almost eight years old and fully literate, and who has been warned many times not to play with food-- brandished a sleeve of Go-Gurt brand yogurt snack over his head and yelled "LIGHT SABER!" and then he swung the aforementioned sleeve of Go-Gurt down in the manner of a Jedi Knight using a light saber, but the tip of the sleeve of Go-Gurt caught the counter-top, and blue Go-Gurt splattered all over both the kitchen floor and all over everything else in the kitchen (including Alex and myself) and I am wondering what legal recourse I can take in this matter . . . i.e. what is the maximum punishment I can exact and still be within the letter of the law . . . for example: could I liquidate Alex's college fund and use it to buy a vintage guitar? could I abrogate his snacking privileges for life? could I appropriate his birthday swim party as my own and invite fifteen of my friends to splash in the pool and eat pizza?-- those of you familiar with the law, I thank you in advance for your advice (and I should also point out that the kitchen floor was recently swept and mopped).

Yikes

Last Wednesday, I drove all the way from New Brunswick to Highland Park with my car door open . . . this is partly because my Jeep is so loud and porous that it doesn't sound any different if the door is open or closed, and partly because whenever I get any time alone, I recede deeply into my thoughts . . . and I must have noticed something odd, but when I looked over my left shoulder to see if the window was open on the driver side passenger door, because I didn't see a half-open window, I assumed that it was closed, but in reality, I was actually looking at air and thinking it was a closed window, and so I drove right across the Albany Street Bridge with my door jutting out at a 45 degree angle-- as Jeep doors lock into place at this angle-- and it's something of a miracle that the door didn't strike another car, as the bridge is narrow (although I guess people were giving me a wide berth as they thought I was insane, and now I know why that guy beeped at me . . . I thought he was an asshole).

Serpentine!

I am teaching my dog Sirius to heel-- which essentially means that he needs to stay on my left side with his front legs even with me and he needs to adjust his gait to my movements-- and Sirius, although very good-natured, is also fast and athletic, so it's easy for him to get ahead on the leash, but I have been reading a lot of dog training books and one of the methods to get your dog to pay attention is to frequently change direction, which is what I have been doing-- I execute a left turn, then a right turn, walk to a tree, walk to another one, walk in a square, walk in a circle, go forward, go backward, etc.-- and I am sure everyone in the park thinks I am a lunatic who likes to torture his dog, especially when I'm executing the "serpentine," but I just channel Peter Falk and Alan Arkin from The In-Laws for inspiration.

Dave Invents Keyboard Therapy!

I am having trouble expressing how angry I am with words fit to print on a family-friendly blog, and I don't want to resort to kicking my dog, beating my children, or taking an axe to my computer to dispel these feelings, so, in order to convey my outrage at McAfee's policy of automatically renewing one's anti-virus subscription (despite the fact that I don't own a PC nor have I used McAfee anti-virus for four years . . . and I realize this is my fault, but the automatic renewal e-mails all got sent to spam and so I never noticed I was being charged until now) and also to convey my general outrage of living in a digital society that makes me feel detached and alienated from all financial processes, in order to convey all this ire without the use of four letter words or random violence, I am going to pound on this keyboard for a few seconds and let the pounded jumble of letters and numbers signify my emotions towards McAfee, my own incompetence, and the society we live in: " hio;efg3 RQ \M=we ra NI]0- 4 4T U]9- fq I0-  Y89PWE TA BY89PSE  BY89PS RGA8N]0-6J=U90  - RTWE 4TAWE TAI]0 NI]0- RG ]90 Isrg I]0-E G NI]0-we r90W 4T B89-  MI]0- RN890we rq \,= WERQCBFNU90N94E YU90 RYUIO[NI0RA0NU=90" and now, hopefully, I will be able to go on with my day in an even-keeled manner; Serenity now!

Sometimes It's Best To Keep Quiet

So on Monday, my wife and I took separate cars to the LA Fitness because I had to leave before her, and while I was walking across the parking lot, I overheard a little girl talking to her mother about what went on in the Kid's Club that morning . . . and my children were still in the Kid's Club, waiting for my wife to finish her spinning class and retrieve them-- so neither the little girl nor the mom recognized me-- and the girl said to her mom: "Ian head butted me" and that is my son's name, and the mom asked the girl, "Who's Ian?" and she replied, "Alex's younger brother . . . Alex was choking him and they got in trouble-- I told the lady," and for a brief second I thought about apologizing to this little girl for the atrocious behavior of my children, but I only entertained this for a second, and then I got into my car and made a clean escape (although I did question my children about it later, and Ian said he ran into the girl with his head by mistake while they were running around).

Your Secret is NOT Safe With Me

This is a long one, but if you're a fan of awkward moments and bad decisions, then it might be worth your time: once we finish Act II of Hamlet, I have my students rate the artistic, practical, and ethical nature of the various schemes in the play, and we discuss how Polonius forces his daughter Ophelia to turn over Hamlet's love letters, so he can read them to the king, and I always provide a real example-- for educational purposes, of course-- and ask them if this sort of behavior is ethical, to take someone's private, romantic writing and make it public . . . unfortunately, my example involves my friend Kevin, who teaches next door (and we are only separated by a thin, temporary accordion wall with an foldable opening, so we often pop in and out of each others classrooms through this "secret" entrance) and he was kind enough to sit in my class while I told my students this "case study" last week: so here it is . . . once upon a time, many years ago, before I was married, a "small world" coincidence occurred-- I met my wife on the streets of New Brunswick outside The Corner Tavern Bar, and I was with my childhood friend Rob, and Catherine-- my future wife-- was with her good friend Tammy and-- wildly-- eight years later Rob and I ended up married to these two lucky girls . . . and if we had walked out of the bar moments earlier or or stayed for last call, then we would have never met our future spouses . . . so after several years of dating Catherine and Tammy, we learned-- another weird coincidence-- that my long-time friend and colleague Kevin (who teaches next door to me) dated Tammy-- Rob's future wife-- in high school, when Tammy was a freshman and Kevin was a senior, AND-- miraculously-- Tammy had kept all the notes and correspondence that anyone had ever sent her in high school in a shoe-box . . . in other words, she had love notes that my friend Kevin wrote in high school-- which was the greatest news ever-- BUT, she wouldn't actually cede the notes to me because she knew I would use them for nefarious purposes (perhaps photo-copy them and give them to Kevin's students) so Tammy just gave me a quick glimpse and then hid them, but I was able to ascertain one fantastic piece of information: he signed all his love notes to Tammy "TTFN" (Ta Ta For Now) and so when I finish telling the students the story, I reveal his "signature" valediction and they laugh and laugh and scream it through the thin wall at him and taunt him with the information whenever they get the chance, causing him much embarrassment (although he's used to it by now-- since I do it every year-- and I think he actually enjoys the whole charade, which is why he sat in my class last week while I told the story . . . so he could face the "Ta Ta For Now" taunts head on) and then I remind the students that this was an educational case and I ask them if it was ethical for Tammy to let me see the letters, and if it was ethical for me to tell them the story, and then we compare the case to Hamlet and everyone is happy except Kevin-- but he knows the deal, which is that I will pretty much use any example that connects in my class to prove a point, but, unfortunately, not everyone knows this and my big mouth can lead to some awkward situations, such as last Tuesday, when I was explaining to my Creative Writing class how I am often a terribly illogical arguer and that I often make points that are rhetorically powerful but lack substance, I told them the breast milk example from the other day, and the fact that I shared this rather personal story found its way back to Rachel, the woman who tasted her own green-tinted breast milk, and she was NOT happy with me using that example because her students mentioned it in class and it made her truly embarrassed and red-faced . . . so there's a lot for me to learn here and I think I've learned it, but in case I haven't learned it, please remember: your secret is NOT safe with me.