So if you haven't heard, sitting is the new smoking (even if you exercise) and chairs are the unassuming enemies that live among us (for more on this, check out 99% Invisible Episode 139: Edge of Your Seat) and that's why, when I was at the world famous Woodbury Common Premium Outlets, I went to the Rockport store and bought some very ugly (but very comfortable) shoes, so I would be more inclined to stay on my feet . . . but I've suffered some derision for these shoes (from my wife and colleagues) because they're not very stylish . . . but I suppose I'll have the last laugh, because I'll be wearing them when all my stylish friends are dead and gone (which doesn't sound all that appealing, but at least I'll get to throw Rockports on their graves).
Holy Cow! Or Should I Say Holy Owl?
If you haven't seen the documentary series The Staircase then I pity you . . . but if you have seen it, then you need to listen to the first episode of the podcast Criminal (Animal Instinct) because it gives a perfectly logical answer to the Peterson murder . . . The Owl Theory!
If You're Near Phoenicia . . .
If you're anywhere near Phoenicia, New York, make sure to stop at the Phoenicia Diner . . . the turkey chili is the best I've ever eaten (it probably helped that we did a four hour rocky and muddy hike to North Mountain Ledge just before we ate) and I loved my wife's reuben (home-made sauerkraut and corned beef) as well; this joint has figured out how to balance affordable upscale-diner ambience without too much of the hipster farm-to-table Woodstock vibe (and they have a children's menu too).
Aphorism of Ian
My son accused my wife of sitting on his stuffed monkey and she said, "No I didn't!" and then -- much to her surprise-- Ian pulled the monkey from under her butt and my wife laughed when she realized that she hadn't sat on his stuffed monkey, he tricked her and then pretended to pull it from under her rear-end and after she finished laughing, Ian told her: "a day without laughter is a day wasted."
Just Because You Live in Woodstock, Doesn't Mean You Know About Woodstock
For the November long weekend, we rented a fantastic house (Airbnb!) in the scenic little fly-fishing town of Phoenicia up in the Catskills-- and we took a side trip to Woodstock (which is just as you might imagine it: kitschy shops, art galleries, farm-to-table organic restaurants, etc.) and stopped at Peace, Love & Cupcakes and found out that Janice-- award winning cupcake maker-- went to Douglass College (Rutgers) in New Brunswick, remembers Greasy Tony's, and student taught at East Brunswick High School-- quite a small world-- and now she's an old hippie that runs a fantastic cupcake shop in Woodstock, but that doesn't mean she's any kind of authority on the concert that occurred in 1969 on Max Yasgur's farm: for the sake of my children, we were trying to list some of the acts at the show; I said The Who and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young were there and she insisted they were NOT there . . . but they were there (despite this lack of knowledge about the line-up, her cupcakes were still very delicious).
What's Wrong With My Head?
When I wear a rain-jacket, the hood always covers my eyes-- I don't know if my neck is too short or my eyes are too high on my head or my posture is too troglodytic-- and so in order to keep dry and see where I'm going, then I have to wear a baseball cap and the rain-jacket hood . . . this seems like overkill; does anyone else have this problem?
Even Bruce Loves a Reading List
Even though Bruce Springsteen and I only have three books in common on our favorite books list (Moby Dick, Blood Meridian, The Brothers Karamazov) I still totally approve of his list (I've read fifteen of the thirty books on his list and might read a few of the one's I haven't read).
Dave Receives a Compliment Meant For His Wife
My wife has been multitasking like a madwoman lately-- work craziness, packing for our son's school camping trip, making lunches for everyone, cooking all the meals (because I'm coaching all the time) and participating in various community stuff (ice cream socials and School Board election events, etc etc) so I decided to get her some flowers and write her a note to her reminding her how much the family appreciates all she does for us; I called the florist and then got Ian and the dog ready to walk over there, but then we decided it would be more fun to bike over, so I attached the dog to my bike and we cycled over to Main Street, picked up the flowers, and headed home -- and I felt a little overwhelmed, as I was:
1) trying to hold the wildflower bouquet;
2) trying to prevent the dog from wrapping the bungee cord around any trees, bushes, or humans;
3) trying to keep an eye on Ian, since we were crossing some busy roads and navigating some areas where there was no sidewalk--
and I must have looked pretty absurd: biking with the dog, trying to hold the flowers, my son trailing behind me, because a mom pushing a jogging stroller took a look at me, made some inferences, and said "You're a good husband!" and I said, "I think I bit off more than I can chew here" and then she yelled-- because I was flying past her at this point: "You're teaching your son a great lesson! How to multitask!" and when I got home, I realized the irony . . . I was trying to thank my wife for multi-tasking with some flowers, but instead I got complimented for my multi-tasking (by a fairly cute jogger mom, I might add) even though I'm a horrible multi-tasker (and not even very adept at doing one thing at a time).
1) trying to hold the wildflower bouquet;
2) trying to prevent the dog from wrapping the bungee cord around any trees, bushes, or humans;
3) trying to keep an eye on Ian, since we were crossing some busy roads and navigating some areas where there was no sidewalk--
and I must have looked pretty absurd: biking with the dog, trying to hold the flowers, my son trailing behind me, because a mom pushing a jogging stroller took a look at me, made some inferences, and said "You're a good husband!" and I said, "I think I bit off more than I can chew here" and then she yelled-- because I was flying past her at this point: "You're teaching your son a great lesson! How to multitask!" and when I got home, I realized the irony . . . I was trying to thank my wife for multi-tasking with some flowers, but instead I got complimented for my multi-tasking (by a fairly cute jogger mom, I might add) even though I'm a horrible multi-tasker (and not even very adept at doing one thing at a time).
Trick and Treat
Despite being exhausted from non-stop soccer events, I decided to so something fun and ambitious at my son Ian's Thursday night soccer practice: Soccer Olympics! with prizes for the winning team! . . . I figured it was the day before Halloween and the kids would enjoy some friendly competition-- and I had a funny joke planned; I was going to award the winning team oranges and then give the losing team candy, though my wife said this was a bad idea and the kids wouldn't get the joke and might kill each other and/or me-- but she was wrong, the kids tried to kill before the prizes were awarded-- the friendly competition wasn't so friendly: there was an actual fight, kids were cheating, bickering, etc. and my son got busted for an f-word violation, and so it turns out you shouldn't have Soccer Olympics the day before Halloween, but once we sorted out the mayhem and announced a winner, I forged ahead with my joke and said, "Okay, for the winners, who did so well at all the events and are such great athletes, we have something healthy and delicious: oranges!" and the kids were happy to have them-- for a moment-- but then when I said, "Okay, and we should punish the losing team and give them something bad for them . . . candy!" and then there was a fun moment of cheering and complaining, from the losers and winners, respectively, but there was no outright fighting, and then I gave the winners candy and the losers the rest of the oranges and everyone was happy.
Dave Makes His List
My buddy Rob over at Gheorghe: The Blog assigned his staff an impossible task: make a list of your ten all-time favorite songs; though I'm awful at making decisions, I finally completed my list (after much hemming, hawing, and hedging) so if you want to check it out (and a lot of other verbiage about music) head on over and read Dave Beats Around the Bush Before Listing a Dozen Songs (FU Base 10!)
Too Much Perspective
A few weeks ago, I got an outside perspective on my personality (and it wasn't particularly flattering) and while I've processed it and learned from it, I wasn't quite ready to do it all over again, but just last week, I received another piece of the fascinating puzzle that I call "How the World Views Dave"; last week, I ran into an old student at the Wawa-- I taught her four years ago in Creative Writing class-- and after the usual stereotypical pleasantries, she said, "So . . . are you letting your kids watch TV yet?" and I told her that I was . . . a little bit . . . and so now I know that a bunch of students know me as "the crazy guy who deprived his children of video games and television" because once you're a few years out of high school, you only retain one idea about each teacher (because that's all your brain needs) and so once again, I've got to revise my view of how the world views me . . . I thought all my students remembered me as that "really fun guy who was also smart and taught us lots of valuable lessons, but in a totally creative and engaging way" but they actually just felt bad for my children.
Ironic Kid Holiday Collision
My son Alex lost his tooth at school on Halloween, but the Tooth Fairy must have been working overtime because she forgot to take it and leave some cash (and you can see why Halloween would be an extremely busy time for the Tooth Fairy, because of all the Tootsie Roll consumption . . . also, The Tooth Fairy and her spouse stayed up late binge-watching The Walking Dead, which was totally in the spirit of one kid holiday, but made it difficult to remember TWO kid holidays in one day; as an unrelated addendum, I would like to add that I would be way more careful than the people on The Walking Dead . . . they're constantly splitting up, investigating insignificant tight spaces, and holing up in spots with no good exit . . . if there's a zombie apocalypse, stick with me).
Dave is Headed for a Book Binge
I read Don Winslow's tour-de-force drug cartel novel The Power of the Dog over the summer, and I just finished his surfing/crime thriller The Dawn Patrol, and it was so good that I am going to keep going and read all of Winslow's books-- next on my list is The Winter of Frankie Machine . . . Winslow combines elements from two of my favorite writers: Elmore Leonard and James Ellroy (and since Elmore Leonard is dead and James Ellroy takes a long time to write his books, I'm very happy to have discovered Don Winslow).
Best Halloween Treat Ever
My dog Sirius provided me with a delectable Halloween treat-- two engorged ticks-- each the size, color and consistency of a plump blueberry (I had to pry them from his stumpy tail with a forked stick . . . yuck).
The Greatest Thing Since Racism?
Maybe you love white bread or maybe you hate it, but either way, you're making a statement . . . and if you need some help deconstructing exactly what that statement is, then you need to listen to the latest episode of 99% Invisible "Good Bread" . . . because white bread and brown bread have been around for thousands of years, and for thousands of years your choice of bread has had a subtext to it.
The Manfridge is Compromised
We have an extra refrigerator in the basement, which I have populated with craft beers and home-pickled delicacies; these things go perfect together: hoppy high-alcohol beers and hot peppers, radishes, red onions and beets in salty brine . . . manly stuff, to be sure, but last week my wife went to Buy-Rite and came home with blueberry ale and raspberry "smash" cider and now my fridge has a totally different feel . . . and I can only imagine the dirty things going on in there in the dark now that the shelves are co-ed, and I assume I'm going to find some baby beers (8 oz nips?) on the bottom shelf in a few months (or days, what is the gestation cycle for beer?)
Snowpiercer! The Greatest Something Ever!
Okay, I agree that it might have been hyperbole when I claimed-- halfway through the film--that Snowpiercer is the greatest movie in the history of cinema, but now that I've had some time to reflect, I will make this claim . . . and I dare you to dispute it: Snowpiercer is the greatest post-apocalyptic/class commentary/ultra-violent/revolutionary/metaphorical-allegorical on-a-train movie ever made (by a huge margin!)
I Might Remember This
So Stacey rushes into the office and proclaims it's the best day of her life and then she pulls an essay anthology out of a bag, and slams a boxed set of leather-bound classics (Dracula, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, etc) onto the table and then she goes into a long-winded and detailed account of how it's teacher appreciation week at Barnes and Nobles and how she got so many discounts because how she got the box of leather-bound books for next to nothing (two dollars? I can't remember) and I realized that this was some kind of woman thing -- "saving" money when you've actually spent money -- and I insisted that the books she bought weren't actually real books, they were prop books, and to prove this I read from each of them in a pompous British accent, and then I threw my apple at the trash and missed, and when I retrieved it, Stacey dared me to throw it at a helium balloon floating above the computer, and I took her up on the dare (and nailed the balloon from all the way across the room, a spectacular shot I might add, if I were a prick . . . which, apparently I am) and unfortunately the apple was a little mealy and it exploded all over the place when it hit the balloon and so I had to get down on the floor and clean up the apple shards and I'm recounting all this not because it's particularly profound, but because most off periods in the English office are uneventful and not memorable at all; aside from this one particularly weird off-period, I 'd have trouble discerning between any of the other ones from this year . . . and this is the theme of the first episode of a fantastic This American Life spin-off podcast-- how hard it is to remember a particular moment in any day of your life-- the podcast is called Serial, and I highly recommend it: a reporter revisits the alleged 1999 murder of a high school student and finds holes in the case (and if you know what happens, please don't spoil it, because I'm right in the middle of this thing and I love it).
Gimme Shelter (and Robots)
It took me a while (and my book reading rate has been pretty lame through soccer season) but I finished Susan Palwick's sprawling sci-fi novel Shelter; while it's got plenty of entertaining sci-fi tropes: AI, robots, brainwiping, compassion as a crime, and a strange virus, I should warn you, besides all the futuristic stuff-- which is engagingly imagined-- the book also contains a bunch of feelings and emotions, artificial and otherwise.
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