Dave Is Somewhat Color Blind (But Mainly Dumb)

 

In terms of perceiving color, I am blue-green deficient, but in terms of perceiving detail I am simply defective . . . I bought a bunch of organic Honeycrisp apples from Costco and left them in the fridge in the special plastic apple container-- because they were pricey and I didn't want them to go bad . . . but then I saw one on the fruit tray on the counter, so I cut it into quarters and slathered it with peanut-butter; then my wife walked in and said, "Why are you eating Ian's green apples? You have your own apples!" and I said, "This is one of my apples" and she said, "Your apples are red!" and I denied this and then she showed me . . . and she was right.

The Garden State Achieves the Coronavirus Singularity

New Jersey has finally reached coronavirus nirvana: we now meet the criteria for our own travel ban (10 cases per 100,00) and all New Jersey residents must quarantine all the time-- to infinity and beyond-- you can't leave your zip code nor can you exist within it.

What Planet Are Living On?

Some of you may have noticed that I'm back to single-sentence format over here-- and I'm struggling to even produce a measly sentence a day-- hybrid-virtual school is so mind-numbing and soul-crushing (and mainly, produces so much eye-strain) that I can't bear to look at another screen; yesterday, after the usual digital circus, we had TWO meetings . . . the first was a faculty meeting, and I loaded this meeting up on Zoom on my phone because I had to take my son over to the orthodontist so he could get impressions for a new retainer (the dog ate his old one) which he was paying for because he had been warned to put the thing in the case . . . this was going to cost him $285 dollars (but our orthodontist gave him a 50 percent discount, so he lucked out)  and as I was driving over-- in the pouring rain-- trying to listen to the faculty meeting on my headphones, we got put into "break-out rooms," so then I was chatting with other teachers-- while driving in the rain-- and then I passed the orthodontist office, which is right on Route 27, a busy road, and spun around; Ian hopped out and crossed the street and then they took us out of the break-out rooms and then Ian started frantically waving to me and I opened the window to find out why he was doing this-- it turns out that he had forgotten a mask, and the rain was coming down in sheets and the traffic was so dense that he couldn't get back across the street to get a mask from the car and meanwhile I hit some button so that I was sharing my screen with the 200+ people at the meeting and the principal wasn't too happy about that so he was telling me to unshare and chastising other people for whatever was going on in their backgrounds and the vice-principal was fast asleep in his office--on camera-- and Ian got across the street and got his mask and I managed to stop sharing my screen and then I had another meeting after that where some folks declared this whole escapade as "unsustainable" and now I've got a "Video Protocol" meeting on Microsoft Teams in ten minutes, which will overlap with soccer practice, so this should be interesting as well.

Some People Still Like Donald Trump

Those of you who are appalled by Donald Trump's downplaying of his COVID case and treatment, those of you who are thinking: How could he not acknowledge all those that didn't receive experimental monoclonal antibodies? How could he not sympathize with all those that lost loved ones because they didn't have a team of doctors at their disposal? 

those of you who can't figure out how a reptile got elected President . . . a man with no sense of irony who had the gall to Tweet this:

Don’t be afraid of Covid. Don’t let it dominate your life.

when over 200,000 people have died-- 1 in every 589 people is dead from COVID in New Jersey, it's a hard statistic to understand but the coronavirus is killing people at a greater rate than cancer or heart disease right now-- so you need to think through your life and remember the people who have died of cancer and heart disease-- if you have a decent-sized family and a large circle of friends and colleagues, then you know a few people who have died of each thing . . . not all in the same year-- but in a lifetime . . . if no one you know dies of a heart attack or cancer this year, that doesn't mean those diseases don't exist . . . but a lot of people have trouble with statistical thinking (including our very stupid President) but if you are thinking these thoughts and you are confident that Trump will lose this election, then you need to listen to this podcast:

The Field: The Battle for Pennsylvania's White Working Class

and realize that a number of working-class lifelong Democrats felt abandoned in 2016-- mainly white people with a high school education-- and they have not changed their mind about Trump; he speaks to them, he doesn't categorize them as "a basket of deplorables," and he has tried to save their coal-mining jobs-- thought it's an exercise in futility-- and he is on-brand with these people . . . you may think the Democratic Party means one thing but that's not how much of the country sees it-- the Democrats are the coastal elites, they want to curtail freedom, they care more about identity politics than jobs, and they are weak and vulnerable and fearful . . . which is why Trump needs to present a strong, callous front about the virus . . . many of these people don't have health insurance so they can't get sick . . . so neither can their leader . . . you should also probably start listening to Rush Limbaugh . . . in the conservative world, Trump did the best he could with COVID, the disease wasn't his fault, he implemented Operation Warp speed, and he acted the best he could with the information he had, and he's fighting to preserve our Constituional Freedoms . .  it's a neat trick, but a corrupt circus clown from New York City who inherited loads of money and squandered it on terrible business deals may beat a native of Scranton with working class Pennsylvania roots . . . policy means nothing, this election is all about emotion-- I can't wait until it's over.

Train to Busan: The Pandemic Could Be WAY Worse

Last night, after a long week of virtual/hybrid school and soccer, we watched Train to Busan, a South Korean zombie flick that combines the "fast zombies" of 28 Days Later and the fight-your-way-through-a-train action of Snowpiercer into a perfect cocktail of apocalyptic mayhem and magic . . . I had a Creative Writing class with one actual real-life student in it on Friday and she wrote about how she liked movies but she had never seen Pulp Fiction or any Quentin Tarantino film and explained that she was probably never going to watch any of his films and I told her she was nuts and missing out and I asked her why and she said she refused to watch them because a certain kind of pretentious film-buff guy would always lose his mind when she said she had never seen Pulp Fiction and she loved the reaction-- it made her laugh-- and I said, "I'm THAT guy!" and then I told her she should at least give Reservoir Dogs a try (because I'm that guy) and then I asked her for a film rec and she said she liked Train to Busan and though we were all very tired, we watched the whole thing (except for Alex, who eschews horror movies) and everyone loved it . . . including my wife, who made an apt comment at the end: "You see . . . the pandemic could be WAY worse."

During the Pandemic, A Loss is Still a Win

During the pandemic, we're considering every game we play a win-- but today's trip to Middlesex was a tough one . . . it was the third game of the week and varsity got spanked 5 to nil and my JV squad was a wreck; we lost 4-0 and I've never run on and off the field so many times for injuries--many of which were already present before the game and were compounded by extreme effort against an excellent team-- here's a quick rundown: Tyler with an ankle sprain,; Ian got the wind knocked out of him and has plantar fasciitis; Anthony twisted his ankle, Sebastian with a tender hamstring; Theo had trouble with his back and also got close-lined; Max got elbowed in the eye; Jake has turf-toe, and Eric has a pulled groin . . . with only thirteen players on the roster, these numbers don't add up (but it was still better to have an adventure and lose rather than the alternative . . . so despite the drubbing, we're staying positive: at least we are getting games in . . . there are plenty of games being cancelled . . . especially at East Brunswick, where I teach; also, my son Alex played the game of his life at left back . . . it was a full throttle assault from Middlesex because we had no midfield).

Dave and Arthur Hastings in the Same Boat

While reading Agatha Christie's first published novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, I was in the same boat as Hercule Poirot's rather guileless companion (and the narrator of the story) Arthur Hastings; the plot is a bit byzantine for my taste-- so many possibilities, so many characters-- and if you are a bit dim-witted (like Hastings and me) then you will certainly think this:

“Still you are right in one thing. It is always wise to suspect everybody until you can prove logically, and to your own satisfaction, that they are innocent."

and I suppose Christie plays fair-- if you follow the clues then you can unravel some of the mystery-- but Hastings doesn't feel this way and neither did I:

“Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me.” 

“I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it is a question of ideas.”

I even missed this utterly simple education (and I hate the heat and I'm really not fond of fires . . . I should have picked up on it)

“The temperature on that day, messieurs, was 80 degrees in the shade. Yet Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire! Why? Because she wished to destroy something, and could think of no other way."

in the end, the inscrutable Hercule Poirot decides that romance must be the final arbiter of morality, which is kind of cute (considering an old lady got poisoned) and he reasons thus

“Yes, my friend. But I eventually decided in favour of ‘a woman’s happiness’. Nothing but the great danger through which they have passed could have brought these two proud souls back together again."

Analogy of Dave

VIRTUAL SCHOOL: REGULAR SCHOOL 

1) online shopping: the mall;

2) watching porn: sex;

3) YouTube: the movies;

4) watching Jaws: shark attack.

Just Do It Donald: Clean Up the Mess Alanis Morissette Made!

I know it's gauche to root for someone to kick the bucket-- even our crass and incompetent President-- so I'm wishing him a speedy recovery . . . but I'm wondering if Trump recognizes that dying of COVID is the gateway to all his dreams . . . certainly all Trump wants is fame and notoriety-- at any cost-- he obviously has no interest in policy, diplomacy, or running our nation . . . if he's ready and willing to give up the ghost from the pandemic that he has denied, mismanaged, and demeaned then he will gain his deepest desire: Trump will be the definition of irony for hundreds and hundreds of years; he will be the one thing that children remember from this era in history: the man who said the virus would disappear and then-- months later-- died from it . . . so consider it Don, forget the good fight and succumb . . . you'll achieve exactly what you want, you'll be remembered for time immemorial, and you'll provide literature teachers far into the future a concise and clear definition of a term that's been muddied by an Alanis Morissette song.

Please Recover, President Trump! What Would Big Coal Do Without You?

It goes without saying that my hopes and prayers are with President Trump . . . I wish him a speedy recovery from COVID-19 so he can return to the important work of rolling back E.P.A. rules limiting toxic waste from coal plants; if Trump were to grow heinously ill and die, then coal-fired power plants might not be able to conveniently dispose of wastewater laced with lead, selenium and arsenic . . . if Trump were to be incapacitated and placed on a ventilator, who would champion the cause of contaminated rivers and streams?

Many Americans Are Walking on a Tightrope

 Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope Hardcover is a tough read; Pulitzer Prize-winning husband-wife-super-journalist team Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn trace the lives of a number of Kristof's childhood friends, all from the vicinity of Yamhill, Oregon and they end up reporting on income inequality in America . . . one of my favorite phrases I learned from the book is "talking left and walking right," which a number of successful liberal families employ . . . they are all for divorce and abortion and legalized drug-use, but rarely need these in their own lives-- it seems conservative values about family and school make the difference in who escapes poverty in places like Yamhill . . . anyway, here's a couple of excerpts that I pulled by taking a photo of the page with my phone and then opening that photo with Google docs . . . the Google AI "reads" the photo and does a decent job making it text:

When so many Americans make the same bad choice, that should be a clue simply individual moral failure. It is a systemic failure.

Here's one way of looking at what happened: Daniel was injured on the job, and then doctors in and out of the military prescribed highly addictive opioids that got him hooked. That was because the government, through lax oversight, empowered pharmaceutical companies to profit from reckless marketing. Once Daniel was addicted. didn't try adequately to help him, but rather spit him out, and the became a target not of public health efforts but of the criminal system. The government failed him, blamed him, and jailed him. 

A couple of generations ago, the United States rewarded veterans by affording them education and housing benefits. More recently, the United States helped get veterans hooked on drugs and then incarcerated them.

    *    *    *    *    *

We Americans are a patriotic tribe, and we tend to wax lyrical about our land of plenty and opportunity. "We have never been a nation of haves and have-nots," Senator Marco Rubio once declared. “We are a nation of haves and soon-to-haves, of people who have made it and people who will make it." We proudly assert, “We're number 1!" and in terms of overall economic and military strength, we are. But in other respects our self-confidence is delusional.

Here's the blunt, harsh truth.

America ranks number 40 in child mortality, according to the Social Progress Index, which is based on research by three Nobel Prize-winning economists and covers 146 countries for which there is reliable data. We rank number 32 in internet access, number 39 in access to clean drinking water, number 50 in personal safety, and number 61 in high-school enrollment. Somehow, "We're number 61!" doesn’t seem so proud a boast. Overall, the Social Progress Index ranks the United States number 25 in the well-being of citizens.

Pandemic Planet (Fitness) Gets a Thumbs Down from Dave

I just took an early morning trip to Planet Fitness-- my first visit to the gym since early March-- and it wasn't much fun . . . working out in a mask is uncomfortable (even my fake flappy mask) and all the joys of the gym are gone-- I like to circuit train: move from machine to machine, station to station in a fast and chaotic fashion-- if I wipe the equipment down it's in a perfunctory manner . . . but if I'm on something for one set, then I usually don't wipe it down at all-- but now it seems like you are expected to wipe stuff down (or at least pretend to) and I also love when the gym is a bit crowded, there are people to look at-- cute women, fat people, ripped people, people doing weird exercises that you might want to emulate-- but it was fairly desolate this morning . . . so I froze my membership until December; judging by the rising case counts in New Jersey, gyms will probably be closed by then, making this decision much simpler (for a better-written version of this, head to Medium).

Dave Builds a Standing Desk

I built a standing desk in my post-apocalyptic hybrid classroom but I didn't really think about how it looked from an outside perspective . . . there's so few students coming in that I'm hardly concerned with appearances . . . in fact, I played tennis in between periods yesterday and though I was all sweaty and gross, I threw my slacks and work shirt back on-- there were only three kids in the room and I told them to keep their distance and while Microsoft Teams is CPU intensive, it still doesn't deliver quality smells to the audience-- so there's a general lack of concern for how things look in the building-- but then a fellow English teacher (who is home now in quarantine because she came in contact with a student who came in contact with a person with Covid) got a look at this disaster of a desk and she asked me if I had "built it out of objects I found in a landfill."

My Son Needs Barbarian Therapy

My son Alex said the strangest thing yesterday:

"I wish I were a little worse at ping-pong so I could have more fun playing with my friends"

and I'm not sure if this is the kind of thing that warrants therapy, but obviously-- in my family-- I don't tolerate poor table-tennis play . . . if you're not going to crush your enemies, see them driven before you and to hear the lamentation of the women then why would you play?

Yup . . . Had to Happen

When the aliens sift through the wreckage of our civilization and find my son Ian's battery-powered skateboard, this will be their analysis: "This object looks like a lot of fun, but if the battery runs out while you are zooming up a hill and the skateboard stops suddenly, the laws of physics will cause the rider to wipe-out" and the aliens will be exactly right . . . luckily, Ian was wearing a helmet and so he only suffered road rash to his knees, elbows and hands . . . but I think he should only use this contraption on flat ground (with grass nearby).

Has Anyone Seen the Old iPad Charger?

When the aliens sift through the wreckage of our civilization, they will certainly be impressed (and bewildered) by our vast variety of electronic charging cables . . . after stumbling upon a tangled trove of these wires, an especially perplexed insectoid from Andromeda will turn and click to his friend, "They obviously understood electricity, but why did they make it so hard to harness it? Why? Why?"

Pandemic School: Lesson #1

 

At school yesterday, I got quite close to this fox that was hanging out on the softball field . . . then someone informed me that maybe I shouldn't be approaching wild animals that don't exhibit fear . . . they might be rabid; I told my class about this encounter with a possibly rabid animal and showed them the photo and one of my students said, "That's not a rabbit, it's a fox" because I was wearing a mask and when you are wearing a mask, the words "rabid" and "rabbit" sound identical, so I had to say the word "rabies" and talk about foaming at the mouth and Old Yeller and a bunch of shots in the stomach and all that . . . and the takeaway is that teaching with a mask on is absurd (I'm recording stories that I usually tell in class beforehand, without a mask, and then playing them for the class . . . so then I'm watching myself tell a story with the students, it's surreal).

Two Teachers; One Household

One of the teachers in our household was complimented doubly today-- the district tech team saw this person's virtual teaching set-up and they were astounded (they called this person McGyver) and then when they were leaving the building the district tech people commented on the beautiful landscaping around the school and they were informed that the very same teacher runs the gardening club and did all the landscaping-- so this teacher is killing it both indoors and out; the other teacher in our house received an admonitory note from the principal today because this person missed the digital faculty meeting on Monday (this person may have slept through the start of the meeting, totally forgotten about the meeting and then drove his son to the orthodontist . . . so that when he received a text that the meeting was happening, it was too late to attend) and I'm sure you can guess who did what (especially since I just planted some lovely bamboo clusters all along our fence line).

It Took a Global Pandemic . . .

There's a new hashtag of ideas that begin "it took a global pandemic" and I've collected a few of them here . . . thanks to all the contributors-- if anyone has any ideas, throw them in the comments . . . I might make this a post for Medium;

1) it took a global pandemic for us to learn how fun it is to drink with far-flung friends on Zoom;

2) it took a global pandemic for us to realize there's still some systemic racism in America;

3) it took a global pandemic to learn how fast you can traverse distances in central New Jersey when there is no traffic;

4) it took a global pandemic to truly value quality home appliances, especially the dishwasher;

5) it took a global pandemic for me to plant more bamboo along our fence line;

6) it took a global pandemic to motivate me to do mosquito control in my backyard;

7) it took a global pandemic to realize how unsanitary and disgusting schools are;

8) it took a global pandemic to get me to subscribe to the NYT and start doing the daily crossword;

9) it took a global pandemic for me to learn the joy of online poker;

10) it took a global pandemic to cross the street and avoid everyone and not be judged as a total douchebag;

11) it took a global pandemic for me to fix the crazy-ass chip in my front tooth because I kept seeing myself on Zoom; 

12) it took a global pandemic to get alcohol to go;

13) it took a global pandemic to discover just how misanthropic and introverted you could be;

14) it took a global pandemic to recognize what a pain-in-the-ass timesuck club soccer is;

15) it took a global pandemic for people to start doing jigsaw puzzles . . . yuck;

16) it took a global pandemic to get people to wash their hands after going to the bathroom . . . yuck;

17) it took a global pandemic for New Brunswick to realize it's fun to close down George Street to traffic, put a bunch of bands out there, and let everyone eat and drink in the road;

18) it took a global pandemic to find out who believes in the scientific method and randomized gold-standard double-blind trials;

19) it took a global pandemic to truly understand how incompetent Donald Trump is . . . or maybe not, maybe he's been exactly the same level of incompetence the whole time;

20) it took a global pandemic to realize it's more fun to wait in the parking lot with your dog, rather than in the vet's waiting room . . . which is always a disaster;

21) to be continued.

Two Reasons Why I Will Never Get a Vasectomy

I will never get a vasectomy.

My rationale is based on two very solid reasons. They’re not the two reasons you are thinking, although I do value those two things as well.

I acquired one reason from a TV show and the other from a movie.

That’s where you learn stuff, right?

Reason #1 is obvious.

I don’t want anyone — advanced medical degree or not — going near my testicles with a pair of surgical shears. Michael Scott expresses this better than I ever could during “The Dinner Party.” If you haven’t seen it, you need to (especially if you are thinking about getting a vasectomy).

This is what he tells his girlfriend/condo-mate/ex-boss Jan Levinson (in front of an audience of co-workers).

When I said that I wanted to have kids, and you said that you wanted me to have a vasectomy, what did I do? And then when you said that you might want to have kids and I wasn’t so sure, who had the vasectomy reversed? And then when you said you definitely didn’t want to have kids, who had it reversed back? Snip snap! Snip snap! Snip snap! I did. You have no idea the physical toll, that three vasectomies have on a person.

My second reason for refusing to get a vasectomy is much more profound.

I should point out that I’m certainly a vasectomy candidate. I’m fifty. I’m happily married with two children. My wife and I are done procreating. Once in a while, when I see a cute little infant I turn to my wife and say, “We should have a baby!”

My wife wisely says back to me: “That store is closed.”

She’s right. We’re done with that stage in our life.

Or she is . . .

My wife uses some kind of hormonal IUD that I should know more about. I do know that birth control is often left up to women, and it’s often a pain in the neck (a pain in the vagina?) There are plenty of side-effects. Headaches, weight gain, nausea, pelvic pain, irregular bleeding, acne, breast tenderness, etc.

The United States is not particularly good at subsidizing sex education and birth control, which is ironic, because a huge swath of our country is violently opposed to abortions. Male sterilization should be another tool in the box to prevent unwanted pregnancies. A better understanding of birth control of all types will decrease abortions, allow more women to finish school, and prevent infants from entering the world in a state of poverty. Men should understand this. Birth control should not be solely left up to women.

So I get it. Undergoing a vasectomy is not a big deal. I don’t want an old man poking around in my mouth with a drill, but I still go to the dentist. One in ten American males has been voluntarily sterilized. 500,000 men a year. I have friends that have done it. It’s not supposed to be that bad. I’m all for vasectomies. In fact, I urge YOU to get one.

If I really wanted to, I could get over Reason #1.

The MAIN reason I’m not getting a vasectomy is inspired by the ending of the classic Kubrick film Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb.

Reason #2

I might be called upon to repopulate the planet.

My friend Ann finds this portion of my argument silly, and it’s not. It’s deadly serious. So let me explain.

Dr. Strangelove was made in the 1960s. The world was worried about the madness of MAD. Gigantic nuclear arsenals were supposed to deter nuclear war, but in the film, an Air Force high alert mission goes awry — with the help of the homicidal General Ripper — and his breach of authority sets off a cascading chain of events that results in an impending nuclear disaster.

If you haven’t seen this movie, you need to.

Dr. Stranglelove — an ex-Nazi in charge of U.S. military weapons R&D — suggests that the survivors of the initial nuclear blast could hide out in “some of our deeper mineshafts.” Radioactivity wouldn’t penetrate down there and in a matter of weeks, sufficient improvements in the dwelling space could be provided.

In the plan that he proposes to President Merkin Muffley, several hundred thousand citizens would need to remain in the mineshafts until the radiation subsides: one hundred years.

Peter Sellers plays both roles.

PRESIDENT MUFFLEY: You mean, people could actually stay down there for a hundred years?

DR. STRANGELOVE: It would not be difficult Mein Fuhrer! Nuclear reactors could, heh… I’m sorry. Mr. President. Nuclear reactors could provide power almost indefinitely. Greenhouses could maintain plant life. Animals could be bred and slaughtered.

The plan then takes a more eugenic slant.

Dr. Strangelove suggests a computer program should be used to determine who gets selected go down into the mine shaft (besides present company in the War Room . . . they get a free pass, of course).

And then we get to the real mission. The population in the mineshafts would have a “ratio of ten females to each male” and the women would be selected for “highly stimulating sexual characteristics,” Dr. Strangelove estimates that within twenty years the U.S. will be back to its present gross national product.

Even the highly distractible General Buck Turgidson finds this plan interesting. As does the Russian liaison.

GENERAL TURGIDSON Doctor, you mentioned the ratio of ten women to each man. Now, wouldn’t that necessitate the abandonment of the so-called monogamous sexual relationship, I mean, as far as men were concerned?

DR. STRANGELOVE Regrettably, yes. But it is, you know, a sacrifice required for the future of the human race. I hasten to add that since each man will be required to do prodigious service along these lines . . .

Since the Cold War ended, we haven’t been as concerned about all-out nuclear war. But COVID-19 has given us a sneak preview of another kind of apocalypse. And this one kills men at a higher rate than women (though it’s negligible).

But what if it wasn’t negligible?

What if there were a highly contagious virus that targets the Y chromosome and kills all the men? Or nearly all of them. This COULD happen. I read about it in a comic book.

What if this hypothetical virus kills all the men except me?

Or me and a couple of guys who have had their tubes snipped?

Then it will be up to me to repopulate the planet!

Regrettably, this will “necessitate the abandonment of the so-called monogamous sexual relationship.”

I’m willing to make that sacrifice and do “prodigious service” for the human race.

Here’s how I envision it. I’m lounging on a beautiful white sand beach of some lush tropical island, being tended to by a cadre of incredibly beautiful women from around the globe. Occasionally — perhaps once a week or so — a boat sails into the harbor.

A number of bikini-clad attendants lower one especially beautiful specimen into the water. Then they all stride through the surf, beads of saltwater on their bronze or brown or black or white skin.

I beckon them to come forward.

They present some delicacy from wherever they hail: Iceland, France, Zimbabwe, Egypt, Goa, the Sudan. I taste the food. I admire the women. The queen bee smiles coyly at me. She rubs my tan feet. Then we head into my candlelit bamboo hut and get to down to business.

Perhaps — if I’m feeling up to it — I bonus impregnate a few of the attendants as well. Why not? This is my job. I embrace it. Then they sail off, my future progeny lodged in their uteruses.

Though my friend Ann found my description of this scenario ludicrous, she was still willing to play along. “If you’re pretending this could happen, couldn’t you pretend that you were fertile? Even if you had a vasectomy?”

For a little while. But in nine months, the gig would be up. That’s too soon for such a sweet post.

Plus, who would be a better Adam for the planet than me? I want to do this. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. So though it’s highly unlikely, I’m playing this lottery. Not having a vasectomy is the golden ticket.

I haven’t run this by my wife yet, but I’m sure she’ll be on board. If she trusted me to be the father of her offspring — if need be — why shouldn’t I father of the entire human race?