Of Podcasts and Analogies

Joe Rogan is the Bruce Springsteen of podcasting; he's indefatigable and manages to be both a dude and a pro-- a weird combination of everyman and talent . . . here are some recent episodes I recommend:

1) #1566 Nicholad Christakis . . . required pandemic listening-- this enlightened me to the fact that pandemics are nothing new-- throughout history, they have been the norm-- and while this current one could be far worse, it's also not going away any time soon;

2) #1555 Alex Jones and Tim Dillon . . . Rogan does a great job fact-checking and slowing down Alex Jones-- he often sounds like a high school teacher, chastising Jones for talking over him and not connecting the dots . . . but he does it in a pleasant way and allows Jones to actually get across what he's all about, uncovering corruption-- some of which may be based on fact-- and linking this corruption into wild insane global conspiracies that sound utterly insane when you put them under a microscope;

3) #1550 Wesley Hunt . . . Hunt is a black Republican that ran (and lost) in Texas's 7th Congressional District; he's a veteran of the Iraq war and former AH-64D Apache Longbow helicopter pilot and he's a great reminder that there are plenty of reasonable Republicans out there-- who are interested in promoting business and creating jobs but still understand environmental externalities-- and have no interest in promoting QAnon;

4) #1554 Kanye West . . . this one takes a while to get going, but it eventually becomes Kanye's beautiful religious twisted fantasy . . . he mentions "God" quite often;

meanwhile, if Joe Rogan is the Boss of Podcasting, Sam Harris is some kind of demanding and complex jazz-- Ornette Coleman-- or perhaps prog rock . . . Harris is the Steely Dan or the Mars Volta of podcasting . . . intellectual, sincere, a little too earnest, and very smart . . . his new one, Republic of Lies, has some excellent logic and analogies about Trump's fight to dismiss the election results:

-- he likens Trump's move to use the courts to challenge the election results to a soccer player late in the game who flops in the penalty box, hoping to be awarded a penalty kick by a clueless referee . . . and he makes the point that the soccer player is acting in bad faith-- he knows he hasn't been fouled but he's going ahead with the ploy anyway-- and the other players on the team and the coaches also know the player hasn't been fouled, but they've got to go along with it as well . . . so Trump is writhing around on the ground in fake pain and everyone on his side is in on the ruse . . . Harris contrasts this with the many liberals who think there is systemic racism everywhere in America-- while he doesn't think this is true (and neither do I, listen to his reasoned take on this) he understands that the liberal who believe this truly believe it . . . they're not faking it and there's more at stake than a game . . . democracy is at stake;

--Harris points out that all this "deception" was all done in plain sight: Trump began setting up the fraudulent claim that mail-in ballots are corrupt early, he tried to defund the post office so they couldn't deal with the ballots, he made no attempt to get the states to begin counting mail-in ballots early, and then he claimed that the results on election night should stand . . . wow;

--and finally, if the Democrats engineered massive systemic voter fraud, they would have also won the House and Senate races . . . he's willing to give Trump voters a "mulligan" and I see his point-- there's no reason no harbor animosity-- the real blame right now lies with the right-wing media demagogues-- who have jumped on the presidential bandwagon-- and all the folks on Trump's team (especially Rudy Giuliani) who are going along with this particularly egregious and high-stakes "flop" in the penalty box of American democracy.

9/11 and the Pandemic

The current Covid pandemic and 9/11 are probably going to loom large in my lifetime-- the significant events that will leave their mark on my consciousness-- and I feel the same about both of them:

1) I've experienced both events from an unusual perspective . . . I was teaching in Damascus when the planes hit the towers, and I am coaching and teaching through this pandemic;

2) I feel like both events are common occurrences that Americans haven't normally dealt with . . . pandemics have been the norm throughout history, and most developing countries (including Syria) still deal with deadly infectious diseases on a daily basis-- malaria, typhoid, yellow fever river blindness, chikungunya, etc-- and many countries outside the US cope with plenty of terrorism . . . so the pandemic and terrorism were both events where we joined the rest of the world . . . I wish my looming significant event was Woodstock but that's not how it's going down.

Home Computer Advantage

A bonus of doing school from my home-bunker is that when I use my iMac, I don't have to remember to click the dreaded "share computer audio" button when I share my screen and want to play a video clip . . . for some reason, Apple computers do this automatically (I don't know why they wouldn't).

First Day of School All Over Again

It was the first day of school all over again today . . . the first day COVID caused remote school-- and I had first day jitters-- I was holed up in my study/music studio/junk room, which has a survivalist-bunker vibe (because of the cardboard boxes, the tools, the do-it-yourself-shelving, and all the cans of dog food) and Microsoft Teams wasn't playing all that nicely with my iMac . . . but I got it together and delivered the goods-- including an especially appropriate lesson on conspiracy theories (unshaven and poorly lit, I looked the part)) and while I missed my colleagues and the spaciousness of my classroom, I enjoyed fast internet, hot coffee, mask-free teaching, frequent snacking, walking the dog on my free period, no commute, time to sleep until the late late hour of 6:30 AM, and a sense of empathy with the majority of my students-- who have been virtual since day one . . . we'll see what I think of this whole endeavor when January rolls around.

Heeeere's David!

Winter is coming, it's getting dark before 5 PM, the pandemic is worsening, and my school has gone all remote so I'll be teaching at home until January 11th-- and my children are also doing school virtually as well-- so we'll all be home . . . for a while . . . I'm getting a Shining vibe about this winter (and I can't even think of an alternative winter-vibe that is fitting . . . Fargo? Dumb and Dumber?)

Modernist Poetry Helps Your Backhand?

I'm nearly done with Timothy Gallwey's classic The Inner Game of Tennis: The Classic Guide to the Mental Side of Performance, and while I won't reveal any of the secrets I've learned (because I might have to play you in tennis) I will let you in on one thing: this is probably the only instructional tennis book that refers to T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men."

The chances are now even greater that there will be a split between memory of theory and memory of action. (I am reminded of the lines from "The Hollow Men," by T.S. Eliot: "Between the idea/ And the reality/ Between the motion/ and the act/ Falls the Shadow.")

Dave Encounters Three Dangerous Things

As I was cleaning out our kitchen-junk-drawer I noticed dangerous thing number one:

1) Krazy Glue looks like Chapstick . . . which can lead to this error;

and while I was reading my library book A Memory Called Empire, I created dangerous thing number two . . . I was eating a Honeycrisp apple slathered with peanut butter and:

2) I got peanut butter all over the fore-edge of the book and the page I was reading (which, coincidentally, was about an intergalactic diplomat who died from an allergic reaction) so if someone with a severe peanut allergy checks out the book once I'm through with it, they are headed straight for anaphylaxis;

3) dangerous thing number three happened when I was driving to work this morning . . . I was in traffic on Route 18 and it was raining and foggy and a medium sized spider-- I won't call it large because I've seen large spiders and they are obscene . . . but it was certainly the size of a quarter-- and this spider descended on a thread of silk from the driver side window and was headed straight for my arm hair . . . so I grabbed my lunch bag and swatted at it, but also nearly hit the divider and slowed down-- I was lucky not to cause an accident-- I think I finally got the spider out my window, but I'm not sure . . . we'll see if it's gone on my ride home today.

Twice? Only When It's Double Twenty

For the second time this year, the school where I teach is going completely virtual (and while this will be easier for me and probably simpler for my students-- the hybrid model is really difficult to execute, technologically-- but all-remote schooling going to be really tough for certain special needs students-- especially those that have been attending our school five days a week; I covered a class down in that world yesterday, and those kids desperately need in-person school . . . my younger son could also benefit from some structure-- I got home yesterday and found him making fresh pasta in the kitchen-- which is an ambitious endeavor, especially since he was supposed to be working on some kind of history assessment, which he blew off . . . I guess now I'll be home to keep an eye on him).

Several Pandemic Firsts

A few minutes before our JV team was about to step on the field for today's home game against Sayreville, the opposing coach jogged over to me and told me their team had to cancel-- as his AD had called him and told him that a kid who missed the bus had tested positive for COVID-- and then they beat a hasty retreat to the bus . . . this was the icing on the cake for today's game, which qualified for several firsts:

1) the first time I ever simultaneously coached and attended a faculty meeting . . . I kept one earbud in while I organized warm-ups and chatted with the refs;

2) the first time I ever had a game canceled due to a pandemic when both teams were on the field and ready to play;

3) the first time I ever took a phone call from the school that employs me as a coach while attending a meeting for the school that employs me as a teacher, while attempting to coach my team . . . 

the lesson here is that multi-tasking makes me feel like my heart is going to explode; I'm a one-thing-at-a-time person.

Another Scary Poem

 This one is a bit shorter than my Halloween 2020 special . . .

Two Four Six Eight

Trump is gonna litigate!

Seven Eight Nine Ten

We will count the votes again!

Eleven Twelve

I tire of this.

Escape from New York (After Willingly Going There)

Catherine and I went to NYC today-- we drove in instead of taking the train because covid cases are rising around here-- and the drive was fairly traffic-free--weird-- and the streets were fairly deserted, which I prefer to the normal throngs of humanity (but the economy doesn't prefer this, which is pretty tragic) and after a stroll through Central Park, we went to the MOMA . . . it was mainly empty and quite pleasant to browse all the famous and wacky art . . . then we went back to Central Park by way of Fifth Ave-- a lot fo the expensive stores were all boarded up in preparation for protests, riots, and God-know-what-else, and we encountered some brazen squirrels on a nature trail in Central Park and then we went for a late lunch at Westville Hells Kitchen  . . . best veggie burger of my life-- and then we went back to the lot, took off our masks, and beat a hasty retreat back to Highland Park . . . in time for Ian and I to hit some tennis balls at the lovely and large p[ark right next to our house . . . had to be tough to wait out the pandemic in the city and it's going to be a long winter there.

Both Ends of the Sci-Fi Continuum Distract Dave

In order to distract myself from all this election nonsense, I've been listening to Tom Petty and reading science-fiction; I just finished one of the most difficult sci-fi books I've ever read-- William Gibson's The Peripheral-- usually I'm down with Gibson's prose, but this novel that seems to be about cyber-space and controlling three-dimensional peripheral avatars is actually about quantum information time-travel through a server-- surprise?-- and I was never comfortable with the plot, the characters, or what-the-hell-was-going-on . . . but I made it through and the end finally made some sense (this article with spoilers helped) and then I shifted gears and read one of the funniest, easiest, most entertaining and illuminating books I've read in a long while: Set my Heart to Five by Simon Stephenson-- a screenwriter for Pixar-- who takes a dental bot named Jared on a poignant and cinematic journey through human emotions, culture, and connection . . . it's so much fun that I watched election coverage from 9 PM to 9:20 PM last night and then went and finished the book and fell asleep, only to awaken to more ambiguity, so I'm starting another sci-fi novel: A Memory Called Empire.

Fall Break Coronavirus! Whoo!

Fall Break was off to an auspicious start-- Friday afternoon, I participated in the 9th Annual Scary Story Contest (and took third with my scary poem!) and Saturday Cat and I were about to attend an outdoor Halloween Party when I got a text from a JV player informing me that he had tested positive for covid (and so had his entire family . . . they were getting hit pretty hard by it) and so I switched from party mode to contact tracing mode . . . luckily, the player was very responsible and stopped coming to practice right when his mom grew ill, so the last contact was eight days prior-- but the head coach and the AD and I  still had to make a spreadsheet of emails, inform all the players and the administration, and tell folks that we might have contracted the virus . . . the JV team ended up getting quarantined for six days-- which would be fourteen days from the initial contact-- but it was highly unlikely that there was any spread since we were outside and no one had any symptoms . . . my family got tested, just to be on the safe side-- we went to a fairly grubby old school doctor's office in a desolate strip mall-- lots of old leather furniture, a big fish tank, and yellowed linoleum on the floors-- and we had our first experience with the nasal swab . . . it wasn't too bad (I said I would do it again if someone paid me $20 and Cat and the boys said they would do it again for $5 . . . I said I don't need $5 dollars that badly) and we all turned out negative . . . we got results in 24 hours; hopefully we will get back to soccer at the end of the week; in other pandemic news, I bought a portable cheap exercise bike from Amazon, so we could ride it while we watch TV-- I think it's going to be a long winter-- and for 104 bucks the thing is miraculous, but they didn't ship us the seat, so while we wait for that, we duct taped a bunch of towels to the metal frame where the seat is supposed to go and that works pretty well.

A Bit on the Snout

 

On my way home from school the other day, I was able to snap a picture of an endangered species: the extraordinarily rare, extremely literal, proud and unreserved, completely-on-the-nose, totally lacking self-awareness Jaguar owner (and Jaguar vanity plate owner) who never learned the lesson Chip Kidd presents at the beginning of this TED Talk.

Scary Story Contest 2020: The Safety Dance vs. The Chinese Curse

Yesterday afternoon, the EB English Department held our 9th Annual Scary Story Contest. Thanks to the Soders for hosting! They had a stand-up propane heater, a fire, and a few well-placed umbrellas to shield us from the rain. We will certainly remember the Covid Scary Story Contest for time immemorial-- as the stories were great and the mood was spooky.

To summarize the contest: we write scary stories on a theme, throw in twenty bucks, read them anonymously, and then vote and award prizes.

This year's theme was "It's Perfectly Safe" and I had no desire to write anything, let alone a fully developed short story. I was sick of screen time because of the technological soul-sucking abyss of hybrid school. Stacey and I usually collaborate, but we couldn't find time to flesh out her idea.

So instead of a story, I wrote a scary poem. I framed it as a Facebook post, ostensibly written by a woman who thought she might have some magical powers and wanted to use them to change the course of this fucked up year. Over the course of the post, she descends into madness (of course).

It was fun to write, but, I didn't realize how hard it would be to read. The poor lady who was randomly assigned my piece (Cunningham) nearly descended into madness trying to perform it. I snagged third place, which was an accomplishment-- the stories were really good this year.

Here it is-- I think it's both appropriate for Halloween and the looming thing which may not be spoken of. If you like it, post it on Facebook . . . maybe it will work.

                                                 The Chinese Curse

What’s on your mind, Blair?

video photo feeling

What’s on my mind? Do you really want to know, Face-suck? 

Or do you just want to mine my data? 

What’s on my mind?

The Chinese Curse, that’s what. May you live in interesting times. 

October 31st, 2020. Interesting times. Four more days until the election. Two more months left in this mess of a year.

Interesting times suck. I can't get them off of my mind. Or out of my mind.

But maybe, I can change things. Have some control. Do some lexical magic. 

At least over you, my so-called Facebook friends . . . in my so-called life during this so-called pandemic. Maybe you’ll pass my incantation along and this year will turn itself inside out.

What if I could cast a spell?

Dissipate this weary hell?

I should at least give it a try. My mom used to do tarot readings. I might have some kind of gift.

Hocus-pocus, maybe I can learn to focus?

Zuckerberg’s clairvoyant vision

Find this with your algorithm:

Make my post go super-viral

Pull us from this deadly spiral.

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It is the year of twenty-twenty . . .

Twenty-twenty, twenty-twenty

Why do you rub me

in this way?

Why can’t you love me?

You push and shove me

Day by fretful day by day.

Boil and bubble, Trump is trouble, 

O Lord don't let him win the double

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

If he were dead, if he were dead.

Banish these thoughts from my head!

My busy brain should not be fed

By such bitter vengeful bread.

Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies 

covid covid we all fall down . . .

Safety, safety, safety first

Safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

But is it better than the hearse?

Lady liberty not Trump tower

Used to give our country power.

Hippies filled their hair with flowers.

Now . . .

abortion makes Coney Barrett sour.

Blues and reds, they all glower--

Children at the border cower.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

But what if the Populus is polarized and bored?

Pandemic, plan-demic

A fiction Democratic.

You have my word 

November third

It disappears like magic.

Meatpackers work, shoulder to shoulder

The policy gets colder and colder.

Carcass, virus, 

virus, carcass . . .  

Cut that meat or they will fire us.

Covid covid, we all fall down.

Black lives matter, blue lives matter,

George Floyd’s ashes we must scatter.

Pitter-patter pitter-patter

The blood of Rayshard Brooks did spatter--

Tasers, guns I’ll take the latter.

Breonna Taylor’s door got battered.

Some say the world will end in fire,

But for migrant workers, 

ICE will suffice.

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake,

Birds and snakes and aeroplanes,

Dave Chapelle is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn

While the outback burns and burns.

It’s the end of the world as we know it,

Grandma don’t feel fine at all.

Covid covid, we all fall 

down.

Fly of Pence, tongue of Stone,

Bannon’s nose hair

Kushner’s throne

Ivanka’s fabric

Mnuchin’s money

Tongue of Miller

Pompeo’s arm

Mix these for a deadly charm.

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

I make this bargain readily,

Like Faustus with Mephistopheles . . .

I wear my mask and then I sneeze

Don’t stare at me, pretty please.

Here we are now, entertain us.

TV shows to make us famous,

Social feeds will try to change us

We bare our souls, can you blame us?

Bail out the airlines and the banks,

To Donald Trump we give our thanks.

The rest of us must share the wealth--

And hope he subsidizes health.

Plumes of smoke, tear-gas, fire

Men in armor, guns for hire

We're all so very very tired

But am I preaching to the choir?

Twenty-twenty when you end

Will our fractured country mend?

Or have we gone around the bend?

I see two paths, both portend.

Yes, two roads diverged in yellow wood . . . 

One repulsive, one not so good

Three roads, four roads, five roads, six,

There will be no easy fix

Epstein’s minors turn their tricks.

Safety dance, safety first

Safety is the Chinese curse

Will November make it worse?

What rough beast slouches towards Washington to be reborn?

Once I pondered weak and weary, on a scientific theory

Then I learned of QAnon and thought: “Fuck yeah! IT IS ON!”

Now I fight the pedophiles,

Me and Trump, we do battle

The rest of you are sheep and cattle

Do your research on Seattle

Protesters, they mass and gather

Law or chaos, would you rather?

Widening on the turning gyre, 

the center cannot hold

Things fall apart, it’s getting cold

The virus once again grows bold

Airborne particles

Fake news articles,

Winter is coming, enjoy the carnival.

My thoughts grow wild, I can’t control them, 

I wish that I could turn them off,

I wish I were allowed to cough 

I wish that I could turn them off 

I wish I were allowed to cough 

until my lungs come out my ears and throat

The devil is inside a goat

Bubble, bubble Trump is trouble

Will he be elected double?

Twenty-twenty, a dozen more?

Will he change the terms to four?

Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan

Let’s enact a travel ban!

Illhan Omar and AOC

Want us all to work for free.

Socialism . . . not for me . . .

We mourn the mighty RBG.

Twenty-twenty, you have offended,

But in a year, will all be mended?

Perhaps we have just slumbered here

While these visions did appear?

No . . . this is no idle theme--

It’s not a dream, it’s not a dream

I give you full consent to scream.

Stop these thoughts, away begone!

Yet they continue on and on . . .

What’s on my mind, Facebook feed?

I can’t choose which way to proceed.

I cannot do a single deed.

I’m paralyzed and by booze and weed

Safety safety, safety first

The safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

My brain won’t stop until it bursts.

I poke and scroll on my phone

There’s no such thing as home alone.

O lord I feel so weak and weary, fatigued and futile, eyes so bleary,

My mask lies soiled and forgotten, dirty, dusty smelling rotten

Fallen from the special spot on my car mirror to the floor--

Now I need it, I must retrieve it, I’m on an errand to the store.

But can I enter? Dare I enter? I do not want to touch the door--

The doorway entrance, a deadly sentence, full of germs I can’t ignore.

What’s on my mind?

Only this and nothing more.

Facebook-- make this post go super-viral,

Release me from this deadly spiral,

I’m feeling mad, my mind is wild,

Like a surly red-faced child--

I want to stomp and throw a tantrum--

Redrum, redrum! REDRUM!

Murder mayhem bloody-mary

Twenty-twenty, you shock and scare me

Like some spider black and hairy.

I can’t sleep my way through this disaster

Twenty-twenty: you are the master

Of my whirling anxious brain--

Release me from this grisly reign.

Dash these thoughts against the stones,

Let them live among your phones,

Free me from these dreadful times

Cast this spell, release these rhymes.

What’s on my mind, what’s on my mind?

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It IS the year of twenty-twenty.

Only this and nothing more.

Post                                 

Tom Petty Lives On, Somewhere

If you need a cure for the pandemic/election blues, put the new Tom Petty reissue Wildflowers & All the Rest on shuffle and let the fifty-four (!) tracks wash over you . . . the original album is a masterpiece, and this sprawling, epic, and intimate collection of live tracks and demos, songs that were intended for another album and outtakes will take you to another world . . . another planet really, where Petty still lives and things are a whole lot mellower.

It Is Friday, Right?

This week has been a black hole of endless parent-teacher phone conferences, college recommendations, online training, tech support-- my device had a number of rogue apps on it, digitizing the curriculum, and soccer (but I did get some positive feedback: a couple administrative notes in my mailbox telling me to stop signing-in and signing-out at the same time . . . I sent a couple more irate emails-- which is becoming de rigeur for me this year-- and I was told that this is for building safety and security . . . so then I went to sign out at the end of the day like a good citizen-- though we haven't had to do this in my twenty-five years of teaching . . . and I learned that we don't have to sign out this week because of parent/teacher conferences!)

Much to the Chagrin of Our Beloved Leader

 

The migrant caravan disappeared, but the coronavirus didn't (although, to the chagrin of the Democrats, neither did QAnon . . . and it seems a number of Latino men are buying the inane narrative that Donald Trump-- the last bastion of manliness-- is bravely battling a ring of coastal-elite pedophiles . . . I wish I made that last bit up . . . but wow).

One For the Rollerbladers! Booyah!

 

Big news if you like to rollerblade and you live in Highland Park: they paved South Adelaide . . . I live on Valentine, which was paved a couple of years ago and is still smooth, so now-- aside from one bumpy hairpin curve, I have a contiguous 1.2 miles of smoothly paved rolling hills connected to my driveway . . . which is pretty sweet . . . wicked hella sweet . . . it's all that and a bag of chips . . . booyah!

A Coach's Notes on a JV Soccer Game

Some items I'd like to note for posterity about our home JV soccer game against South Plainfield on Wednesday:

1) we started the game with exactly eleven players because of sickness and a couple injuries;

2) our goalie was injured so my older son Alex-- one of our best defenders-- had to play goalie (he's a good goalie, but he hasn't played there in years, since he broke his thumb)

3) twenty minutes into the game, Max sprained his ankle, so we were down to ten players;

4) any time players are sick, we wonder if we are all going to wake up with coronavirus (so far, so good)

5) playing with ten is brutal-- Jake ran so much that he needed a sub . . . but I reminded him that we didn't have any subs; he told me he was going to puke and I advised him to get back defensively and just stand there; instead, he ran off the field and put his head into the trash can and threw up for a minute or two-- this was in full view of the fans-- and then, heroically, he went back into the game;

6) my son Ian has grown a couple inches and put on ten pounds in the last two weeks, which is great, but his feet are killing him-- they're a couple of sizes too large for his body-- so he couldn't really run by the end of the first half;

7) Ian went into the goal in the second half-- he hasn't played goalie since he was a little kid-- so this is the first game that both my children have played goalie in the same game;

8) we lost 5-0 . . . the best thing about Highland Park is you get plenty of playing time . . . but that can also be the worst thing about Highland Park;

9) Alex and I raced up to see the end of the varsity game . . . it went into overtime and we lost 2-1;

10) there were plenty of injuries on the varsity squad as well; a player got cleated in the temple, another may have broken his leg, another got a wicked cramp, etc.

11) I forgot the corner flags at the JV field and I didn't realize this until I was walking the dog in the park the next day . . . but luckily they were all still there; it's nice to live right next to the field at which I coach;

12) the next day at practice we had 19 able-bodied players-- for both JV and varsity-- and Ian didn't make until the end. his feet started to hurt again;

13) Ian came to acupuncture with me Thursday night-- I'm proud of him, as the first time is a little scary . . . he said the only needles that hurt were the ones she put in his ears, so maybe this will help his feet . . . or he's got bone spurs;

14) we got rained out today . . .  a godsend, so maybe we will be healed and rested for Monday's game.