Hail Fellow Well Met?

I saw a lot of myself in Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking-- while I'm not a full-blown recluse, I always trend introvert on those Myers-Briggs type tests; Cain explains that while introverts need down time to recharge, they can be quite comfortable socially-- once they're familiar with the situation-- and that one of the main factors may be that introverts don't need as much stimulus as extroverts . . . introverts can be easily over-stimulated, so while many can do a pretty good job acting "hail-fellow-well-met"-- an odd compound word I learned in the book-- they salivate more when they taste something sour, they don't need the volume as high, and they stick to the sides in a roomful of people (something I definitely do) and I think this explains why I can't watch two TV shows in a row and why even a graphic novel is sometimes too much stimulus . . . my kids get annoyed that I can't plow through them (although I just finished The Walking Dead . . . holy shit! it's over!) and why I read a lot . . . I love reading because it's just the right amount of stimulus for me . . . but I don't have many of the great traits that some introverts possess: while I like to deliberately practice things when I'm alone, I'm not necessarily most organized and focused person to have on a project, I'm not super-detail oriented, and I do things fast and cut corners, so while I'm definitely an introvert, I've got to embrace the type a bit more and perhaps I'll get better at some of the characteristics I'm missing.

Hail Fellow Well Met?

I saw a lot of myself in Susan Cain's book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking-- while I'm not a full-blown recluse, I always trend introvert on those Myers-Briggs type tests; Cain explains that while introverts need down time to recharge, they can be quite comfortable socially-- once they're familiar with the situation-- and that one of the main factors may be that introverts don't need as much stimulus as extroverts . . . introverts can be easily over-stimulated, so while many can do a pretty good job acting "hail-fellow-well-met"-- an odd compound word I learned in the book-- they salivate more when they taste something sour, they don't need the volume as high, and they stick to the sides in a roomful of people (something I definitely do) and I think this explains why I can't watch two TV shows in a row and why even a graphic novel is sometimes too much stimulus . . . my kids get annoyed that I can't plow through them (although I just finished The Walking Dead . . . holy shit! it's over!) and why I read a lot . . . I love reading because it's just the right amount of stimulus for me . . . but I don't have many of the great traits that some introverts possess: while I like to deliberately practice things when I'm alone, I'm not necessarily most organized and focused person to have on a project, I'm not super-detail oriented, and I do things fast and cut corners, so while I'm definitely an introvert, I've got to embrace the type a bit more and perhaps I'll get better at some of the characteristics I'm missing.

Journey to the Center of the Suburbs

Yesterday, the boys and I watched the episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when Mac and Dennis move to the suburbs . . . it's one of my favorites and Alex and Ian loved it: the rage, the boredom, the pool filter, the mysterious chirping that Dennis heard the whole time, the neighbor, the naked storm, the commute, the cable guy, Frank's bet, the old black man, and the truth behind Mac's famous mac and cheese; then-- that evening after soccer practice-- in serendipitous parallel, Alex and I drove from our densely populated town deep into a bosky township aptly named Branchburg-- we wound through small leafy lanes and emerged into a wide-lawned development of absolutely giant suburban homes-- and we were tired and hungry (it was the first day of double sessions) so when the tree-lined road yawned open into pristine lawns and shrubbery and McMansions, I said, "It's like Always Sunny!" and Alex said, "I said that five minutes ago . . . don't you listen?" and then we pulled up to the address and there was a perfect tableau in the driveway: some preppy adults, a couple of tow-headed kids, and a fluffy dog-- we were there to purchase a used surfboard that Alex had found on Facebook Marketplace and it was already 8 PM so I was hoping to get in and out quickly, but the couple and their twins (and their dog) were incredibly nice (and so was the surfboard, according to Alex) and so we ended up chatting with them for a good half hour before we bought the board; the dad -- a fit little guy wearing a tucked in polo shirt and pressed jeans-- was a big surfer and had just gotten a new board and I think he really wanted this board to go to a good home, so he was very pleased that my son was buying it with money he earned walking dogs and pulling weeds; we got on the topic of Costa Rica, where my son did some surfing this summer, and-- of course-- they go every year, to Nosara (one of the places we went this summer) and they almost bought real estate there and they grew up in South Brunswick before they upgraded and moved to the serious suburbs and their kids play baseball and do dance and on and on . . . three cars passed by while we were chatting and they waved at all three vehicles and Alex just couldn't believe it-- how suburban the whole scene was-- the entire family out on the big lawn, the one girl with her brand new iPhone lounging in a giant lawn beanbag chair, the casually well-dressed mom and dad (although Alex was disappointed that the mom was drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade . . . he thought it should have been chardonnay) and the general atmosphere of trust and good-nature and being so far off the map that nothing bad could ever happen . . . it's amazing that Branchburg is only a thirty minute drive from New Brunswick.

Journey to the Center of the Suburbs

Yesterday, the boys and I watched the episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when Mac and Dennis move to the suburbs . . . it's one of my favorites and Alex and Ian loved it: the rage, the boredom, the pool filter, the mysterious chirping that Dennis heard the whole time, the neighbor, the naked storm, the commute, the cable guy, Frank's bet, the old black man, and the truth behind Mac's famous mac and cheese; then-- that evening after soccer practice-- in serendipitous parallel, Alex and I drove from our densely populated town deep into a bosky township aptly named Branchburg-- we wound through small leafy lanes and emerged into a wide-lawned development of absolutely giant suburban homes-- and we were tired and hungry (it was the first day of double sessions) so when the tree-lined road yawned open into pristine lawns and shrubbery and McMansions, I said, "It's like Always Sunny!" and Alex said, "I said that five minutes ago . . . don't you listen?" and then we pulled up to the address and there was a perfect tableau in the driveway: some preppy adults, a couple of tow-headed kids, and a fluffy dog-- we were there to purchase a used surfboard that Alex had found on Facebook Marketplace and it was already 8 PM so I was hoping to get in and out quickly, but the couple and their twins (and their dog) were incredibly nice (and so was the surfboard, according to Alex) and so we ended up chatting with them for a good half hour before we bought the board; the dad -- a fit little guy wearing a tucked in polo shirt and pressed jeans-- was a big surfer and had just gotten a new board and I think he really wanted this board to go to a good home, so he was very pleased that my son was buying it with money he earned walking dogs and pulling weeds; we got on the topic of Costa Rica, where my son did some surfing this summer, and-- of course-- they go every year, to Nosara (one of the places we went this summer) and they almost bought real estate there and they grew up in South Brunswick before they upgraded and moved to the serious suburbs and their kids play baseball and do dance and on and on . . . three cars passed by while we were chatting and they waved at all three vehicles and Alex just couldn't believe it-- how suburban the whole scene was-- the entire family out on the big lawn, the one girl with her brand new iPhone lounging in a giant lawn beanbag chair, the casually well-dressed mom and dad (although Alex was disappointed that the mom was drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade . . . he thought it should have been chardonnay) and the general atmosphere of trust and good-nature and being so far off the map that nothing bad could ever happen . . . it's amazing that Branchburg is only a thirty minute drive from New Brunswick.

Street Smarts

My friend was sick of getting parked in by spatially incompetent parallel parkers, so he painted his own parking lines on the stretch of road in front of his house-- each space is ample enough so that you can't get parked in, and neatly delineated . . . brilliant.

Street Smarts

My friend was sick of getting parked in by spatially incompetent parallel parkers, so he painted his own parking lines on the stretch of road in front of his house-- each space is ample enough so that you can't get parked in, and neatly delineated . . . brilliant.

Two Ways of Looking at Dave Looking at a Bird

It's rare you get two viewpoints of stupidity, but Friday afternoon days at the park, Catherine and I spotted some kind of large raptor and it was behaving oddly: perching on low branches, walking around on the grass, acting dumbfounded and perplexed . . . it was weird; we couldn't tell if it was an eagle or an osprey (and now we think it was a Cooper's hawk) so I approached it and got very very close, and then it seemed as if it was going to fly right at me-- perhaps to tear my face off-- but it wasn't interested in me (or my face) and it turned out the bird was stalking a snake in the grass, which it finally grabbed with both claws and then flew off . . . perhaps it was a juvenile hawk and not sure if a snake was good eating; anyway, I got a good shot of the bird up close, and my wife-- from a safe distance-- got a good shot of me approaching the bird so here are both videos (as a side note, later that afternoon, when we were walking in New Brunswick, we saw a very tall young lady, her legs were just endless, wearing short shorts riding an adult sized electric powered kick-scooter . . . quite an afternoon, but we didn't get a video of that . . . or of the fat guy ambling down the street sporting a "Busy Doing Nothing" t-shirt).

Two Ways of Looking at Dave Looking at a Bird

It's rare you get two viewpoints of stupidity, but Friday afternoon days at the park, Catherine and I spotted some kind of large raptor and it was behaving oddly: perching on low branches, walking around on the grass, acting dumbfounded and perplexed . . . it was weird; we couldn't tell if it was an eagle or an osprey (and now we think it was a Cooper's hawk) so I approached it and got very very close, and then it seemed as if it was going to fly right at me-- perhaps to tear my face off-- but it wasn't interested in me (or my face) and it turned out the bird was stalking a snake in the grass, which it finally grabbed with both claws and then flew off . . . perhaps it was a juvenile hawk and not sure if a snake was good eating; anyway, I got a good shot of the bird up close, and my wife-- from a safe distance-- got a good shot of me approaching the bird so here are both videos (as a side note, later that afternoon, when we were walking in New Brunswick, we saw a very tall young lady, her legs were just endless, wearing short shorts riding an adult sized electric powered kick-scooter . . . quite an afternoon, but we didn't get a video of that . . . or of the fat guy ambling down the street sporting a "Busy Doing Nothing" t-shirt).

You Can't Call an Ambulance for Your Dog

I find that the "do you drive on empty or stop for gas when there's a quarter tank left?" is an excellent (and politically neutral) debate topic that you can use to break the ice in any situation; we were discussing this at the dog park last week and a woman gave a rather unusual rationale for keeping a good amount of gas in the car . . . she said that she used to drive around on empty, but then she realized that the emergence veterinary clinic wasn't nearby and-- as she noted, "You can't call an ambulance for a dog"-- and so she keeps gas in her car in case there's a canine catastrophe and she has to rush to the animal emergency room.

You Can't Call an Ambulance for Your Dog

I find that the "do you drive on empty or stop for gas when there's a quarter tank left?" is an excellent (and politically neutral) debate topic that you can use to break the ice in any situation; we were discussing this at the dog park last week and a woman gave a rather unusual rationale for keeping a good amount of gas in the car . . . she said that she used to drive around on empty, but then she realized that the emergence veterinary clinic wasn't nearby and-- as she noted, "You can't call an ambulance for a dog"-- and so she keeps gas in her car in case there's a canine catastrophe and she has to rush to the animal emergency room.

If You're Gonna Get Shot, Get Shot in the Shoulder

Walter Longmire is definitely a candidate for "Protagonists' Hospital"-- a Demetri Martin bit about a medical facility that only treats shoulder injuries-- and so am I, in fact, last night my aching shoulder kept me awake and ploughing through the intensely plotted Hell is Empty-- Craig Johnson's seventh Longmire mystery . . . this is my favorite one so far, although there's nothing new: the small town Wyoming sheriff braves a snowstorm, chases fugitives, makes rash decisions, messes around with guns, suffers horrible injuries, and has a spiritual experience in the Bighorn Mountains, a land that wasn't always under the jurisdiction of the white man . . . I think you could start with this one and work backwards.

If You're Gonna Get Shot, Get Shot in the Shoulder

Walter Longmire is definitely a candidate for "Protagonists' Hospital"-- a Demetri Martin bit about a medical facility that only treats shoulder injuries-- and so am I, in fact, last night my aching shoulder kept me awake and ploughing through the intensely plotted Hell is Empty-- Craig Johnson's seventh Longmire mystery . . . this is my favorite one so far, although there's nothing new: the small town Wyoming sheriff braves a snowstorm, chases fugitives, makes rash decisions, messes around with guns, suffers horrible injuries, and has a spiritual experience in the Bighorn Mountains, a land that wasn't always under the jurisdiction of the white man . . . I think you could start with this one and work backwards.

Anand Giridharadas is Hard to Say

While I can't pronounce Anand Giridharadas's name, I did read the article version of "Winners Take All" and apparently TED talks by "thought leaders" aren't all they're cracked up to be: they are actually sanitized, perpetrator-less, micro-tweaked, anti-solutions that have risen to the top of MarketWorld because they give corporations exactly what they want . . . and if you can give the plutocrats what they want, then you'll make a hell of a lot more money giving speeches than you could as a "public intellectual" who has written a good book.

When You Get Old, Go Out into the Universe and Kill Stuff

If you're looking of something fun, fast, and thoroughly entertaining, I highly recommend John Scalzi's sci-fi novel Old Man's War . . . it definitely has a Starship Troopers feel, but it's even funnier (and also-- at times-- quite touching, especially about the subject of marriage) but mainly it's about old folks abandoning earth for the Colonial Defense Forces, where they will be somehow outfitted to fight hostile aliens throughout a "dark forest" type universe-- I won't spoil just how these geriatrics are transformed into soldiers, but once it happens, then the fun begins-- so much fun that there is quite a bit of criticism and debate about the book . . . some liberal reviewers claim the book lauds jingoistic fervor and overly-aggressive, xenophobic tactics towards the other, and these ideas certainly weigh on the protagonist-- especially when he's stomping the one inch tall (but highly aggressive) Covandu to death . . . supposedly, the rest of the series sorts out these controversial themes, but this book is also great as a stand-alone.

More (Capricious) News in the World of Tennis

My shoulder hurts . . . I think I need to reevaluate my rash abandonment of the two-handed backhand: while it's a bit inconsistent, apparently-- once I've played for over an hour-- I need two hands to get the ball back over the net.

Blinded with Science

The nefarious Pruitt/Wheeler/Trump EPA recently dropped restrictions on a pesticide that kills bees; my acupuncturist told me this, so I took it with a grain of salt, but she was right:

"sulfoxaflor, manufactured by DowDupont’s Corteva agricultural division, can now be used on a wide range of crops, including corn, soybeans, strawberries, citrus, pumpkins and pineapples, the EPA said . . . sulfoxaflor has been found to be “highly toxic to honey bees at all life stages,” according to the EPA’s own studies — and harms wild pollinators like bumblebees even at low doses; yet Alexandra Dunn, head of the EPA office that oversees pesticides, said the agency was 'thrilled' to approve new uses and lift past restrictions on sulfoxaflor, which she called “highly effective . . . Dow contributed $1 million to President Donald Trump’s inauguration committee"

and this taps into the larger (and very weird) culture war that's happening . . . if you're pro-Trump, you may very well be anti-science . . . because scientists are now pointy-headed liberals who want to tell you what to do and how to live . . . so if you love Trump (and hate science) you might purchase Trump brand plastic straws to show the hippie environmentalists just what they can do with their assault on plastic-- it's right out of The Graduate; this stuff all fits into the new conservative brand-- global warming is a Chinese hoax, etc. -- and while at least Trump has shifted his stance on vaccines (his old take, from 2015, is that vaccines are meant for horses and cause autism) because of various measles outbreaks, I think that shift was pragmatic-- he didn't want to preside over a plague-infested country-- but I still find it a shocker that this is the Trump-brand: the scientific-method is fake news, a plot cooked up by the liberals to restrict your rights.

Blinded with Science

The nefarious Pruitt/Wheeler/Trump EPA recently dropped restrictions on a pesticide that kills bees; my acupuncturist told me this, so I took it with a grain of salt, but she was right:

"sulfoxaflor, manufactured by DowDupont’s Corteva agricultural division, can now be used on a wide range of crops, including corn, soybeans, strawberries, citrus, pumpkins and pineapples, the EPA said . . . sulfoxaflor has been found to be “highly toxic to honey bees at all life stages,” according to the EPA’s own studies — and harms wild pollinators like bumblebees even at low doses; yet Alexandra Dunn, head of the EPA office that oversees pesticides, said the agency was 'thrilled' to approve new uses and lift past restrictions on sulfoxaflor, which she called “highly effective . . . Dow contributed $1 million to President Donald Trump’s inauguration committee"

and this taps into the larger (and very weird) culture war that's happening . . . if you're pro-Trump, you may very well be anti-science . . . because scientists are now pointy-headed liberals who want to tell you what to do and how to live . . . so if you love Trump (and hate science) you might purchase Trump brand plastic straws to show the hippie environmentalists just what they can do with their assault on plastic-- it's right out of The Graduate; this stuff all fits into the new conservative brand-- global warming is a Chinese hoax, etc. -- and while at least Trump has shifted his stance on vaccines (his old take, from 2015, is that vaccines are meant for horses and cause autism) because of various measles outbreaks, I think that shift was pragmatic-- he didn't want to preside over a plague-infested country-- but I still find it a shocker that this is the Trump-brand: the scientific-method is fake news, a plot cooked up by the liberals to restrict your rights.

Four Funerals and a Divorce

Mindy Kaling's reboot of Four Weddings and Funeral is headed in the wrong direction . . . Hugh Grant and Andie McDowell are old-- and so are the people that saw the original romcom in the theaters (way back in 1994 . . . my wife and I are part of this crowd) and so it's time for the inevitable: Four Funerals and a Divorce . . . the film (or TV series) could have horror overtones, as you wait to see who the lucky survivor is (who then gets divorced) or it could just be a straight-up depressing cancer/heart attack/stroke type movie . . . either way, someone get on this, it's going to be the feel-good hit of next summer.

Four Funerals and a Divorce

Mindy Kaling's reboot of Four Weddings and Funeral is headed in the wrong direction . . . Hugh Grant and Andie McDowell are old-- and so are the people that saw the original romcom in the theaters (way back in 1994 . . . my wife and I are part of this crowd) and so it's time for the inevitable: Four Funerals and a Divorce . . . the film (or TV series) could have horror overtones, as you wait to see who the lucky survivor is (who then gets divorced) or it could just be a straight-up depressing cancer/heart attack/stroke type movie . . . either way, someone get on this, it's going to be the feel-good hit of next summer.

Breaking News in the World of Tennis

I have officially decided to give up on my two-handed backhand.