Photo Hunt for Mom




The boys and I made a side-by-side photo-reproduction for Catherine for Mother's Day, and while she appreciated it immensely (especially the Photoshop work my son Alex did to make the scale parallel) there are a few noticeable differences-- if you've played PhotoHunt, then I'm sure you can spot them (but I'll put the answers in the comments).

Photo Hunt for Mom


The boys and I made a side-by-side photo-reproduction for Catherine for Mother's Day, and while she appreciated it immensely (especially the Photoshop work my son Alex did to make the scale parallel) there are a few noticeable differences-- if you've played PhotoHunt, then I'm sure you can spot them (but I'll put the answers in the comments).

Believe It Or Not . . .



I'm working on an acoustic cover of this gem.

Believe It Or Not . . .



I'm working on an acoustic cover of this gem.

That's Not a Bird




This morning, perhaps for the first time ever, my dog noticed a plane . . . a low flying jet airliner-- and she was properly impressed by it.

That's Not a Bird


This morning, perhaps for the first time ever, my dog noticed a plane . . . a low flying jet airliner-- and she was properly impressed by it.

Reading = Napping

These days, whenever I read a book, I end up taking a nap (and if I read a book at the end of the day, I take a really long nap and my alarm wakes me up for work).

Reading = Napping

These days, whenever I read a book, I end up taking a nap (and if I read a book at the end of the day, I take a really long nap and my alarm wakes me up for work).

He's No Fortinbras

But I do prophesy the election lights on Bran?

He's No Fortinbras

But I do prophesy the election lights on Bran?

See Bill Murray Play Himself Pretending to be a Zombie

I finally watched Zombieland last week-- I had been meaning to watch it for years, mainly because it stars East Brunswick alumnus Jesse Eisenberg, who I generally consider to be the poor man's Michael Cera but he's great in this movie, as are Woody Harrelson and Bill Murray; the movie is what happens if The Walking Dead had a baby with Fight Club and then those two movies get divorced and then The Walking Dead gets remarried to Sideways and those two raise the child . . . or something like that, I'll ask my friend Stacey to figure it out (movies having babies is her purview) but anyway, it's funny and entertaining and the whole family loved it: 8 double-taps out of 10 (and apparently there's a sequel on the way).

See Bill Murray Play Himself Pretending to be a Zombie

I finally watched Zombieland last week-- I had been meaning to watch it for years, mainly because it stars East Brunswick alumnus Jesse Eisenberg, who I generally consider to be the poor man's Michael Cera but he's great in this movie, as are Woody Harrelson and Bill Murray; the movie is what happens if The Walking Dead had a baby with Fight Club and then those two movies get divorced and then The Walking Dead gets remarried to Sideways and those two raise the child . . . or something like that, I'll ask my friend Stacey to figure it out (movies having babies is her purview) but anyway, it's funny and entertaining and the whole family loved it: 8 double-taps out of 10 (and apparently there's a sequel on the way).

Park Rangers: Do Not Read

Yesterday afternoon, I took the dog for a spin around the park adjacent to my house on my new rollerblades and I'm pleased to report that she was very well-behaved-- to celebrate, I stopped back at the dog park for Dog Park Happy Hour . . . while I cannot reveal the name of the park that hosts this Dog Park Happy Hour, for fear that the park rangers might descend upon it, apparently every Friday afternoon (once it gets warm) the dog park crew brings coolers of beer and wine so that they can imbibe while the canines frolic; a retired teacher from Staten Island offered me a Long Trail IPA-- my favorite!-- so I couldn't refuse . . . a few moments later my son Alex called me, asking for a ride home from tennis practice and I told him I couldn't get him for a while, and so he should either start walking or call his mother because someone had given me a beer at the dog park and I hadn't finished it yet; he said: "Dad, they told us in Health Class that you should never accept alcohol from strangers" and I told him that was very good advice (with the exception of Dog Park Happy Hour).

Park Rangers: Do Not Read

Yesterday afternoon, I took the dog for a spin around the park adjacent to my house on my new rollerblades and I'm pleased to report that she was very well-behaved-- to celebrate, I stopped back at the dog park for Dog Park Happy Hour . . . while I cannot reveal the name of the park that hosts this Dog Park Happy Hour, for fear that the park rangers might descend upon it, apparently every Friday afternoon (once it gets warm) the dog park crew brings coolers of beer and wine so that they can imbibe while the canines frolic; a retired teacher from Staten Island offered me a Long Trail IPA-- my favorite!-- so I couldn't refuse . . . a few moments later my son Alex called me, asking for a ride home from tennis practice and I told him I couldn't get him for a while, and so he should either start walking or call his mother because someone had given me a beer at the dog park and I hadn't finished it yet; he said: "Dad, they told us in Health Class that you should never accept alcohol from strangers" and I told him that was very good advice (with the exception of Dog Park Happy Hour).

Dave: The Bo Jackson of Blogging?

While I'll still be writing all my long-form stuff at my new blog, Park the Bus, I think I'm going to resurrect Sentence of Dave for my more mundane (yet still incredibly brilliant) thoughts . . . I figure I owe it to humanity to write down as much stuff as possible before I shuffle off this mortal coil-- so that future generations can use my words live morally, happily, and wisely (especially all my knowledge of Food Safety).

Dave: The Bo Jackson of Blogging?

While I'll still be writing all my long-form stuff at my new blog, Park the Bus, I think I'm going to resurrect Sentence of Dave for my more mundane (yet still incredibly brilliant) thoughts . . . I figure I owe it to humanity to write down as much stuff as possible before I shuffle off this mortal coil-- so that future generations can use my words live morally, happily, and wisely (especially all my knowledge of Food Safety).

Is This Weird?

After I go to the pub on Thursdays and drink beer and laugh with my friends, my habit is to come home, make a snack, and watch Cheers . . . a show where actors pretend to drink beer and laugh with their friends in a pub (and Cheers used to air on Thursday night . . . weird, right?)

Is This Weird?

After I go to the pub on Thursdays and drink beer and laugh with my friends, my habit is to come home, make a snack, and watch Cheers . . . a show where actors pretend to drink beer and laugh with their friends in a pub (and Cheers used to air on Thursday night . . . weird, right?)

Food Safety Update!

I've been recently appointed the King of Food Safety in my household. This is because I am the only person in the house that knows The Golden Rule of Food Perishability. I have it memorized.

Here's Abby Perreault's‌ synopsis:



Last Monday we decided to have tacos. But Monday is a very busy night for us. Soccer, tennis, zumba, etc. So two of us had to eat at 5:30 PM and two of us had to eat at 8 PM. This was a food safety dilemma fit for King Solomon. I had to figure out what to do with the meat between the split feedings. Someone not versed in the Golden Rule of Food Safety would have left that stuff out, allowing it to become a Petri dish of multiplying bacteria. But I know better. And I was in charge. I refrigerated the meat and then reheated it for the second mealtime.

Safety first.

I have also been designated as The Biggest Hypocrite in our house, and I have something to report an that front as well. Even though I am the King of Food Safety, I do not subscribe to Divine Hygiene. I recognize that I can make mistakes (and I reflect upon them).

Today, when I got home from school, I conducted a thorough investigation of our dog's "hot spot." Do not be confused. She is not a sexy dog. This is canine terminology for a raw sore that won't heal because of incessant licking. She has one of these "hot spots" on her groin, she licked it raw during the doldrums of the recent rainy days.

Here it is:


Lola's festering sore

My investigation was both visual and tactile, and I am pleased to report that the spot is no longer oozing pus-- or maybe just a slight bit of pus, but it's certainly not festering-- and the sore mainly felt dry to the touch. So it's healing.

I was so pleased with her progress, that I grabbed a celebratory bag of potato chips, sat down in the good chair, put on a podcast, and started chomping away. After I few minutes, I realized I hadn't washed my hands after sticking my fingers in her raw sore. So I got up and washed my hands (though I realized it was too late, far too late).

I do this belated post haste‌ handwashing all the time (and I'm sure my readers do it as well). I replace the ballcock assembly in the toilet, go downstairs, toss the old ballcock in the garbage, see a cookie on the counter, eat the cookie, and then realize I haven't washed my hands. Then I rush to the sink and wash my hands, like the washing can retroactively remove the bacteria from the food, though I've already swallowed it.

This is medieval logic, similar to the belief that if you rub a special ointment on a dagger that has caused a wound, you will heal the wound. I will keep you posted on the consistency of my diarrhea.

Winter is NOT Coming (and Mike Pompeo Rejoices)


The English teachers in my department have been arguing about Game of Thrones minutia all week-- some people aren't happy that Daenerys finally exercises the nuclear option with such cavalier disregard for civilians-- but I think she's just making the best of things. She realizes she has no allies, and decides that inspiring fear is her best course of action. It's the utilitarian ethics of Hiroshima, and while it's horrific (and depicted as so) she does it so that there will be mercy toward future generations who will never again be held hostage by a tyrant.”


Perhaps Winterfell will be Nagasaki?


And if you don't want to think Realpolitik, then there's also the fact that John Snow wouldn't kiss her . . . hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.









All this conspiracy and betrayal and loss has is enough to flip the coin of her madness switch. There's enough of an objective correlative for her to behave the way she does. She is down to her last dragon.





So let's stop arguing about a fantasy saga, and open our eyes to reality. Winter is NOT coming. And Secretary of State Mike Pompeo is making the best of it.





Like Daenerys, he's exercising some rather sketchy utilitarian ethics, but no one in my department is losing their shit over what he said: "“Steady reductions in sea ice are opening new passageways and new opportunities for trade . . . this could potentially slash the time it takes to travel between Asia and the West by as much as 20 days.”





Summer is coming.





And Pompeo is loving it. He made these remarks at a summit of the Arctic Council, which is comprised of eight representative countries bordering this region and several indigenous groups that live there. He was NOT preaching to the choir. There was no alliance. For the first time ever at the Arctic Council, there was no joint declaration. These countries and peoples aren't really interested in the upside of global warming. They're too close to the hot zone.





Pompeo wouldn't mention climate change by name, of course, but his point was: if the climate is changing, then let's make the best of it. Some future generations will live in devastation and epic floods, but others will enjoy economic prosperity. Smooth sailing through ice-free polar seas. It may take something apocalyptic to achieve this, but future generations will get their plastic goods from China even faster.





Daenerys has a better build for the hot weather than Pompeo, but you have to admire the both of them: optimistic and inspired, even in the face existential defeat.





Better loosen that collar . . .





A New Sentence Every Day, Hand Crafted from the Finest Corinthian Leather.