Sometimes Hard Boiled, Sometimes Runny . . .

It comes from a chicken, not a bunny, dummy . . . and, when I do the boiling-- or when I did the boiling-- more often than not it came out runny . . . sad to say, but until a few days ago, I could not successfully cook a hardboiled egg-- I had read this and that on the internet, but the numbers never took hold in my brain, and I often boiled the egg too long and the shell cracked, spitting white solar flares of egg-white into the bubbling water, or once I boiled the egg, when I tried to peel it under cold running water, chunks of egg came away with the shell, and the final product was a cratered, pock-marked mess, or-- what happened most often-- is that I would crack the shell and the egg would still be gelatinous and slimy and I would toss it . . . but those days are over: my wife learned a simple recipe in her cooking class, and not only does it work, but I've figured out a mnemonic device so that I can actually remember what to do, which is equally as important as the fact that the technique works . . . here it is:

1) put the egg in water;

2) boil the water;

3) once the water boils, turn off the heat and cover the pot;

4) let the egg sit in the covered pot for 12 minutes;

5) remove the egg from the water;

and this not only cooks the egg to perfection, but-- for whatever reason-- this method makes the egg very easy to peel, and it's easy to remember because when you buy eggs, they come in packs of twelve, and the number of minutes you need to leave the egg in the water is twelve . . . so as long as you're at sea level (maybe even if you're not at sea level) this is the method . . . buy a dozen eggs, boil the water, turn off the heat, cover the pot, and let the dozen eggs sit in the water for a dozen minutes.

The Miracle of Norman Who?

Those of you familiar with the life and times of Dave know that I am often at the nexus of miraculous activity (which is odd, because I'm not a spiritual person, nor do I believe in fate, mysticism, or any powers greater than my own intellect) and so, I humbly present to you The Miracle of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Because-No-One-Can-Remember-His-Name; for the past few years, at the end of the Philosophy unit on relative and universal ethics, I've played a short video of the acclaimed cognitive scientist Steven Pinker explaining how technology often solves seemingly impossible moral quandaries . . . and while Pinker acknowledges the value in moral crusaders such as Martin Luther King Jr., he reminds us, that in a utilitarian sense, there are far greater heroes-- and then he mentions one of these heroes in particular-- the father of The Green Revolution-- and he points out that no one knows this guy's name, and I've played this video a few times in the past, and I still can't remember the guy's name . . . but then Steven Pinker says the guy's name and I vow to remember his name from this time forward and I make the class swear to remember his name as well, and then I showed my students the lead article in Wired Magazine, which is written by President Obama and is titled "Now Is The Greatest Time to Be Alive" and I pointed out how similar Obama's piece is to Pinker's video . . . an odd coincidence, because I happened to read the article the night before doing the Pinker lesson-- but not a miraculous coincidence, just a coincidence-- but then, as we were reading through the article, which I had projected on the giant screen at the front of the class, I noticed that Obama mentioned the same guy that Pinker referenced . . . but I didn't notice this on Sunday night when I was reading the article, because-- as Steven Pinker pointed out-- no one can remember this guy's name . . . so, with no foresight or planning, in my class on Monday, both Steven Pinker and President Obama mention the Father of the Green Revolution, who--unfortunately-- doesn't have a very catchy name, but deserves to be remembered as a great savior of humanity  . . . as Obama eloquently puts it: "without Norman Borlaug's wheat, we could not feed the hungry."

This Halloween Goes to Eleven

I generally like to rant and rave about the idiocy of Halloween, but my son Ian made this year's sugar-laced festivities a bit more tolerable; we shaved his head Sunday night, so he could be Eleven from Stranger Things . . . I did have to bribe him with a small sum of cash, but it was worth it, because he really is the spitting image of Millie Bobby Brown, and I think he was just as excited to slip into the pink dress Catherine bought at the thrift store as I was to see him in it . . . and, he noted this was a one-shot opportunity: "I can only do this once because next year I'll probably have pimples and a mustache."

Dave Should Be a Future Leader (According to Obama)

I was pleased to learn that Hillary Clinton agreed with me on the importance of Robert D. Putnam's new book Our Kids: The American Dream in Crisis, but President Obama trumps her with his reading list for future leaders . . . I've read four of the ten:

The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert;

Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman;

Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo;

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari;

and these were definitely some of the best books of the past decade (read my reviews if you're in need of some hyperbole) and so Obama either really loves to read, or he reads my blog and respects my reviews, or perhaps he's got really good reading advisers-- it's probably a combination of the three-- and I realize that this is a political "signal" to release this list, as it indicates that the President values high quality non-fiction, just as Donald Trump could never admit that reading books is necessary, as it would alienate his constituency and mark him as an elitist intellectual communist, which is why he gets his information from "the shows."

Diving Header > Brain Damage

My son Ian scored his first header goal yesterday-- he launched himself into the air to connect with a line drive corner kick, headed the ball just inside the far post, and landed on his stomach . . . the goal was a big one-- it allowed us to tie a much better team 1-1, and judging by the celebratory jig that Ian did after he got back onto his feet, it was well worth the loss of brain cells.

A Solemn Vow

I hereby declare that next year I will NOT participate in fantasy football, which is not fantastic at all and actually wallows in its mundanity-- the tenderness of Dez Bryant's knee and the merits of Coby Fleener and the injury status of Eric Ebron-- and so I will NOT let these minor thoughts aggravate my valuable and limited consciousness, and, instead, during the time I would have spent shuffling my digital line-up around, I will brush up on my Spanish or learn to play the xylophone or train my dog to skateboard or even simply take a nap, but next fall, I will be doing something slightly more fantastic than fantasy football . . . you hear this Alec?

Dave Loves the Gas Tax (and So Do Economists)

Planet Money Episode 387: The No-Brainer Economic Platform may be four years old, but it's more relevant today than ever-- the show presents a "six plank" platform on which economists from across the political spectrum agree, but the problem is that no presidential candidate will ever espouse these things, as they are political poison; here they are, no particular (or political) order, and I've paraphrased the arguments from Planet Money and added some of my own:

1) get rid of the mortgage interest deduction . . . readers of this blog, who I am guessing are mainly educated, middle class homeowners, will NOT want to hear this one at all, but it's true-- the interest deduction distorts housing prices, it subsidizes mansions and second homes, it encourages people to take risky loans, it doesn't help renters (who are vital when there is a recession because they can move and adjust to changing job markets) and it's generally unfair in its distribution of wealth;

2) reform the tax code . . . eliminate all the loopholes and deductions and, like Thoreau said, simplify, simplify, simplify . . .  this  would put all the accounting firms out of business, but allow the government to do a much better and more equitable job of collecting taxes;

3) eliminate taxes on corporations  . . . progressives hate this one, but it behooves the country to allow corporations to reinvest tax free income into things such as hiring more employees, improving product lines and R&D, instead of hiding it overseas or distributing it as dividends to rich people;

4) decriminalize drugs . . . it's extremely expensive to fight the war on drugs, and it's even more expensive to let underground criminal syndicates collect all the drug revenues . . . plus, it's costly on many levels to keep people in jail for nonviolent drug offenses;

5) stop subsidizing health care . . . health care is not taxed as income for the user, nor is the provider taxed . . . so people who are given health care by their job are incentivized to use as much of it as possible (I have NOT been taking advantage of this, stupidly-- I should be getting acupuncture, going to the podiatrist, getting check-ups and physicals, and generally spending this money that is part of my salary) when there should be various plans, some more expensive, some less expensive, some with higher co-pays;

6) we should stop taxing good things and start taxing things we want to discourage . . . so end the payroll tax and income tax-- because creating jobs and working is good-- and increase taxes on cigarettes and pollution and carbon emissions . . . which is why I'm totally in favor of New Jersey's gas tax increase-- cheers!-- because it might discourage driving, and should help with infrastructure;

sadly, the only candidate who supports several of these measures is Gary Johnson, but he's not into taxing carbon emissions and he doesn't know what's going on in Aleppo . . . and I have an inordinate fondness for Aleppo . . . so I'm not voting for him; anyway, listen to the episode, it's fantastic, especially the fake presidential speeches introducing all these wonderful new reforms, and remember: no one actually wants to fix anything, they just want to act sanctimonious when their candidate trounces the opposition.

Sometimes You Need a Moon Safari

For once Google Play Music recommended exactly what I desired-- though I had no clue that I desired this thing-- an album by the French electronica band Air called Moon Safari; I especially love the first track: "la femme d'argent" . . . and while there doesn't seem to be any straightforward way to translate this song title from French (it seems to mean "silver woman" or "woman of silver" or a "gold digger" or perhaps something less insidious) but since I don't know French, I'm going to pretend the song is eponymous with the album, because this song took me on a moon safari: I was walking the dog in the park and the next thing I knew, I was on the moon, wearing a pith helmet, which is just what I needed, because I couldn't listen to any more election podcast shit . . . and usually Google Play Music just recommends some ersatz band in place of the last thing you listened to, e.g. you like Lemon Jelly . . . so why don't you listen to Mr. Scruff (this is an actual example, and I did NOT take Google Play Music up on the offer to listen to Mr. Scruff) and perhaps the algorithm is slowly learning my taste more and more, and there will be excellent recommendation in my future (unless my wife and kids get on it and sabotage all my carefully cultivated selections).

Ira Glass, Futility, and Politics

The new episode of This American Life preaches to the choir, and will definitely not be heard by people that need to hear it (like the people who live behind me-- they are proudly displaying a Trump/Pence sign on their lawn, the only one I've seen in Highland Park) but the candid sincerity in which Ira Glass investigates the lies propagated by the Trump campaign and sad, almost futile conclusions he arrives at will make you wonder what happened to facts, the truth, and the general knowledge of your average American; the show starts with Trump's claim that Hillary Clinton started the birther movement and he ended it, which is so patently ridiculous that it seems to belie further exploration-- aside from the fact that now 1/3 of Americans believe this "fact"-- and worse than this is Trump's assertion that NAFTA was the worst trade agreement in the history of the universe, because before Trump both Democrats and Republicans believed that trade agreements were good for the economy, created new markets, put money in everyone's pockets (because of lower priced goods) and strengthened diplomatic relations between countries . . . but now, despite the fact that 95% of economists (polled by the University of Chicago) believe that NAFTA is good for our economy and 5% are undecided and zero point zero percent of economists believe that NAFTA is bad for our economy, despite this, Clinton has backpedaled on trade agreements and has entertained the idea that manufacturing jobs might actually return to the U.S. (and I'm sure this is just a public position for debating Trump, but it's still disturbing that he could have that much influence over a policy discussion that anyone with any expertise regards as a no-brainer . . . certainly trade agreements cause some specific economic pain, but it's actually far cheaper to pay-off and retrain the people who lost their jobs than it is to punish the entire economy) and so now you've got both major parties taking a contrary position on trade agreements, when that was usually only a radical maneuver-- remember the 1999 WTO protests in Seattle? . . . anyway, the episode doesn't even get into the email "scandal" and the fact that the Bush administration lost five million emails (or 22 million . . . it doesn't make it right, but politicians get rid of emails and politicians use private emails to communicate to avoid the public records act, so unless you're going toss George Bush and Dick Cheney and Colin Powell and lots of other people in jail, Hillary Clinton does not belong in jail) and the episode also didn't discuss the thing that out-trumps all the other Trump stuff, his anti-vaccine stance: this indicates a complete disbelief in the scientific method, peer reviewed experimentation, and logic in general . . . and while disbelief in global warming is typical right wing silliness (Dan Levin just said that there is NO proof whatsoever that there is global warming . . . pretty bold and incredibly dumb, but who cares) not vaccinating children is extremely dangerous and a possible return to plague times is as good a reason as any not to vote for Trump; I'm considering voting for Jill Stein, despite the fact that the Green Platform is against trade agreements, but that's for environmental reasons-- which just might be the right reason to be against trade agreements (despite the fact that trade agreements help foreign countries, though they often use environmentally unsound methods of manufacture, and while helping foreign economies doesn't make America great,  that doesn't mean it's an awful thing) but then I heard that Jill Stein is an anti-vaxxer, but it seems the accusations that she's against vaccines were taken out of context so she's still a viable choice for me . . . I don't think I'm going to decide until I get behind the curtain, but the super sad thing, the thing that made Ira Glass so depressed in this episode (especially when he's talking to his Uncle Lenny, an 81 year old plastic surgeon who has consumed a whole host of right wing conspiracies and lies about President Obama and thus will vote for Trump) is that even if Trump is crushed in this election, it isn't going to help the cause for truth, logic, the scientific method, and the facts . . . social media and niche journalism have made it so people on the left and the right (and everywhere in between) can find exactly what they want to hear and then believe it.

Late Adopter

Sometimes, when I'm bopping around, I get really happy and think: "My phone plays music!"

Some Stuff on Creativity

I did an assignment in Creative Writing called "Where Do Good Ideas Come From?" and my students had four reading/listening options; I'll list them here, but since you're not taking my class, I'll also give you the thesis of each-- they are fascinating if you're into this kind of thing:

1) "Groupthink" by Jonah Lehrer: a New Yorker article on how traditional brainstorming does NOT work, and how good ideas are usually  formed through debate, criticism, and the random collaboration of the right kinds of people;

2) Slowing Down: TED Radio Hour, especially the segment "Can Slowing Down Make You More Creative" by Adam Grant: this podcast examines the links between procrastination and creativity, and the problems and pitfalls with efficiency and getting things done early;

3) Song Exploder: Weezer . . . Rivers Cuomo reveals his songwriting process and it is nothing like you'd imagine, especially for the front man of an emo band-- definitely worth listening to, whether you're a fan of Weezer or not;

4) Flash Forward: The Witch Who Came From Mars . . . an investigation on the future of creativity, and how collaboration with computers might boost our creative powers and send our writing process hurtling into unknown domains.

The Test 65: Peppered

I'm going to go out on a limb here: this is the best episode of The Test  we've ever done . . . it contains the most brilliant question ever written in the history of quizzes, a culmination of everything we've learned on this podcast (the question quite possibly ties everything in the entire universe together, an enormous version of Lebowski's rug) and not only that, but we cooperatively solve a pepper-related mystery AND the ladies fall into my cunningly laid pepper-related trap-- and refuse to be extricated--this one is funny, informative, and bizarre: you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll shoot mucous from your nose, and if you're not careful, you might actually learn something (pepper-related).

Which is Scarier: President Trump or a Creepy Clown?

While reality has been scary enough recently: I just learned that Trump is an anti-vaxxer, which is more disturbing than the racism, the sexism, the "grab them by the pussy" and the "nasty woman" and the "Mexican rapists" because it indicates outright ignorance and poses a far greater threat to our country then generally gauche and classless behavior-- the possible resurgence of plagues and epidemics . . . but despite the combined looming threat of President Trump and killer clowns,  the English teachers still got together last night for our Seventh Annual Scary Story Contest, and I think we are actually getting better and better at writing these things (which would make sense) as all of this year's stories were terrifying and consistently well-written; the prompt was "The Cellar" and the stories were various in plot and theme: giant worms, uxoricide (by use of giant worms), a changeling baby with a man-sized nose, a Nazi surgeon/wine connoisseur, a grand Gatsby-esque gala, a haunted house and a complicit landlord, an indigenous tribal ghost payback, and much suffering by children, who were drained, dragged to hell, possibility molested, shoved into an oven and a dryer, burned in fires and generally tortured and neglected; Stacey and I took second, which made us quite proud-- it was a tough field-- and Liz K, always the bridesmaid and never the bride, finally took first place . . . Stacey and I were also pleased that for the second year in a row, our story was deemed the most horrific, and we now know that our combined voice is the only one that is easily identifiable: Cunningham described it as "sort of fucked up and funny."

Use Your Allusions?

Tuesday, a student played a song by Twenty One Pilots in class for a presentation, and this was the first time I heard the band and I told the students that Twenty One Pilots sounded a lot like Neutral Milk Hotel and the class said, "What?" and I had to explain to them about Neutral Milk Hotel and Jeff Mangum, and the next day one of the students, in preparation for "improv night," was dressed all in white: white shirt, white socks, white shorts, white tennis sneakers and a white headband and I told him he looked ready for Wimbledon and, once again, the class said "What?" and I had to explain to them about Wimbledon: the grass courts, the strawberries and cream, the fact that it's a tennis tournament . . . and I think I'm going to stop alluding to things in class, because it's too exhausting.

Dave Commands the Weather Gods to Ameliorate His Foul Disposition

I've got nothing to offer today, I'm still recovering from yesterday's unseasonably warm weather-- which, combined with proctoring the PSAT in a hot classroom to a bunch of angry 12th graders who were being made to retake the test for graduation requirements; a meeting with thirty English teachers in an even hotter classroom, and an un-airconditioned bus ride with a bunch of middle school soccer players, has put me in a sour mood, which will not dissipate until the weather becomes seasonable again . . . so listen closely, weather gods, you need to get your act together and change summer to fall, or I'm going to lose my shit (and take everyone down with me).

Dave = Man?

It was a manly day: I bullied my friend Rob for tweeting this silliness, ran a morning soccer practice, then I took the dog for a bike ride-- without wearing a helmet-- and when I got home, though I was tired, I installed a ceiling fan-- alone and with much profanity-- and I didn't use a grounding wire, after a short nap, I made chili, and then drank some beers and watched some football and ate that chili, and topped it all off by watching the Keith Hernandez Seinfeld episode with the kids . . . in the annals of machismo, this day would have have gone down as an eleven out of ten on the masculine meter . . . had I not pulled a stomach muscle because I was overly vigorous using my new hula hoop.

Rest in Peace, Robert Peace

The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace by Jeff Hobbs is true story of grit, determination, and social class, and -- oddly-- one of the most interesting plot twists occurs within the narration, but I won't spoil that, just promise me you'll read the book . . . it's a gripping account of why you can take the boy out of Newark, but you still might not be able to take the Newark out of the boy, and while you can obviously enjoy this if you're not from New Jersey-- The New York Times, Amazon, and Entertainment Weekly named it book of the year-- but familiarity with Newark, Sharpe James and Cory Booker will make you appreciate the milieu even more; this is a story for the ages, epic in scope, picaresque in a Tom Jones/Breaking Bad fashion, and a revision of the American Dream that Fitzgerald would have appreciated . . . ten Sour Diesels out of ten.

My Wife Has No Respect For My Cup Holder

I was driving my car, learning about the architecture of the human brain (apparently the difference between the human brain and a desktop computer is that the hardware and software of a desktop computer are separate and discrete, while in the human brain, the hardware is the software, that tangled collection of networked synaptic wires is the whole shebang, nothing is writ large controlling it, the brain simply is itself, hardware and software combined) and while I was thinking these deep thoughts, I tried to put my coffee back in the cupholder, and if anyone appreciates the cup holder, it is I . . . but this time there was something amiss, there was something wrong when put my cup back in the holder, the cup wouldn't go all the way in, and it sat lopsided, leaning precariously, full of hot coffee; so I lifted the cup up and out, put it in the cup holder next door, and then blindly reached down to find the culprit, the thing that was making my driver-side cup holder malfunction, but I kept my eyes on the road, of course, and so when I felt something slimy, I was quite surprised-- I thought I might find a quarter or a miniature golf pencil, not something slimy . . . that was something I should not have felt, and when I lifted this surprisingly slimy thing up for closer inspection, I recognized it as a half of a strawberry, someone had eaten the good part and left the bit with the leaves . . . yuck . . . not only do I detest slimy things, but I also don't really like strawberries all that much, and so I wrapped the offensive parcel in a napkin and drove on, wondering how it got there-- at first I assumed it was one of the children, because they like strawberries and they often leave strawberry halves around the house, but this half-strawberry was in the front left cup holder, which was odd spot for one of the kids to leave trash, unless they were driving the minivan without permission or one of them tossed the half strawberry up from the back seat, which would have drawn attention from my wife, so I decided that she was the most likely suspect, and accused her by phone and she texted back "Can't I blame one of the kids?" which was quite fishy, and she later admitted, under interrogation, that after she had gone to Costco, she dropped a package of strawberries, and they spilled out onto the floor of the van, so she pulled over to clean them up, but she was so hungry that she ate one of them (five second rule, she claimed, which is insane-- I wouldn't eat anything that even grazed the floor of my minivan) and then she tossed the leafy half into my cup holder, knowing that it would not only turn to a mushy pulp, but also make it impossible to place a cup properly into the holder.

Alex Does His Impression of David Dunn

When you're napping on the couch on a beautiful fall afternoon, but you want to get motivated, so you can enjoy the day, one of the fastest ways to get upright is to hear your wife say: "Alex got hit by a car . . . he's okay . . . but he got hit by a car"; I went from sleeping to very very awake in a matter of seconds, and I'll spare you any of the anxiety we suffered in the short drive up 5th Avenue to the intersection with Benner Street and assure you that Alex is okay, and lucky for it; anyway, we arrived at the scene and there were police and a crowd of kids-- he was at a birthday party at a friend's house and they were taking  a walk to town-- and Alex was sitting upright on the curb, being questioned by an EMT, and the car that hit him was still there, a gray Honda Civic, and it was the typical story: Alex wanted to catch up with his friends and he took a cursory glance in either direction on Benner, but didn't see a car turning from 5th (there's a tall set of bushes that obstructs the view) and he darted across and this guy turned right, so luckily the car was moving fairly slowly, and even more luckily, it was a small car with a rounded hood and not an SUV, so Alex got hit on the right hip, bounced off the hood and fell on his left side, he scraped up his left hip, abdomen and both his wrists-- but he didn't hit his head-- and after a couple hours in the emergency room, Dr. Pepper pronounced him good to go (I'm sure they placed Dr. Pepper in pediatric emergency because his name is a surefire way to cheer up nervous parents) . . . no broken bones, no blood in his urine, and no head, neck, or spine trauma . . . while they were checking him over, Dr. Pepper asked my son about this particular wound and that particular wound, trying to ascertain what he sustained when he got hit by the car, and Alex had to explain that some of the abrasions were from when he recently was attacked by a swarm of yellowjackets, as he had picked at some of the scabs, and a cut on his hand was from when he fell on a sharp pencil at school, and his ankle hurt from the accident but also when he got cleated at soccer, and I realized that he's taken a real beating this school year, practically auditioning for the Bruce Willis role in Unbreakable . . . and that kids can be really tough, much tougher than their parents-- because I had nightmares last night and didn't sleep very well, but Alex took some ibuprofen and is still sleeping like a baby as I post this . . . the doctor said he'll probably be a bit sore today, especially his hips, and he'll probably skip his soccer game, and I hope he'll look both ways twice now before he crosses the street (and I think the group of his friends who witnessed this will also be a bit more cautious) but in the end, he was excited to have a great story for school on Monday -- I got hit by a car!-- and maybe when he's older, I'll have him listen to The Modern Moloch and try to explain to him how lucky he was, but for now I'll just have to believe that he learned his lesson, and will take his time crossing in the future (and we had plenty of time to think about this and discuss it in the emergency room, because things move fairly slow there, and this also made me realize that we spent the bulk of this beautiful fall day waiting around, because that morning I took the kids to the ski shop for their seasonal ski and snowboard rentals, which is a long and boring process, and the thought certainly crossed my mind in the emergency room that renting snowboards and skis could very well be setting up future visits to emergency room and future discussion about making good decisions and taking your time when you're doing something dangerous . . . but what are you going to do: keep your kids inside all the time?)

Ian Following Instructions . . . With Alacrity

My son Ian may not do a lot of things that we tell him-- e.g. brush his teeth, pick up his shoes, do his homework, practice his trombone-- and oftentimes, even when he does do what we tell him, he doesn't do it with alacrity, he does it SLOWLY, with the intent to passive-aggressively drive us crazy, but I will say this, there is one thing that he always does of which I am an annoyingly repetitive proponent: he runs through the ball on the soccer field, and now whenever I'm annoyed with him for not doing any of the things my wife and I tell him, at least I can look at these beautiful photos of Ian running through the ball, on the way to scoring a big goal (shot by South Amboy photographer Gerry Poland and kindly sent to me . . . thanks!) and I will remember that he does do one thing that I tell him (with alacrity) and that my advice often pans out for him.