Last night at 10:30 PM I was woken from a sound sleep by my older son-- who was on a Zoom call playing Monopoly with his friends and found it necessary to yell at the top of his lungs-- so I trudged downstairs and watched Serena Williams lose to Naomi Osaka in the Australian Open . . . then this morning around 10:30 AM, while I was teaching school in the study-- because of a winter storm I was remote today-- I heard my younger son Ian screaming bloody murder . . . it sounded like a bad burn or a broken bone, and I charged up from the study and my wife ran up from the basement-- where she was teaching-- and we found Ian shrieking on the floor in the aftermath of a fistfight that began over some gummy worms and a two-for-flinching-game, and ended in punching, biting, kicking, and a knee to the groin . . . I directed every expletive in the book towards my children-- who had an actual snow day . . . something which doesn't even exist in my district any longer . . . they had no responsibilities at all-- and luckily both my wife and I had ended our class meetings, or some student would have called DYFS; now the kids are doing chores all day and buying us dinner tomorrow night; the takeaway is that we all need to go back to school and get out of each other's hair . . . I have been back for a week or so and though everything is worse in school: the internet is bad, my room was 50 degrees, the technology is wonky, it's impossible to teach kids in the room and virtual kids simultaneously, etc etc. it's still better to be out of the house; I get way less work done and but I'm much happier, sharing my misery with my colleagues, and far from my children (they went back for a day this week and Catherine actually had the house to herself for a few hours!)
Fast Times at Action Park
Action Park: Fast Times, Wild Rides, and the Untold Story of America's Most Dangerous Amusement Park is a tribute to a bygone era-- a time when the United States was less litigious; a time when hazing, heckling, and ethnic slurs were still regarded as good fun; a time when New Yorkers were a good deal grittier than they are now; a time of freedom and individuality; and a time when a good-hearted but slightly demented man named Gene Mulvihill could single-handedly build a shrine to action, danger, adventure, drunkenness, good times and fun on a mountain in New Jersey; the story is told by his son and despite the broken bones, open wounds, electrocutions, drownings, paralysis, comas, and death-- or perhaps because of them-- Andy Mulvihill appreciated working at Action Park and taking part in the family business; the bonding that occurred between the lifeguards at the Wave Pool-- in between pulling out twenty to thirty idiots a day-- is legendary . . . Dazed and Confused, Fast Times at Ridgemont High type stuff . . . and the chapter by chapter description of the evolution of the park-- from the Alpine Slide to the Cannonball Loop to Motor World to the Wave Pool to an authentic German Beer Hall to Surf Hill-- is the weird history of the obverse Disney World, a place closer in tone to Jurassic Park than the Magic Kingdon . . . this is a book that will make you proud to be from Jersey-- I odn't remember ever going to Action Park itself-- but I did go on an Alpine Slide in the Poconos (which was also installed by Gene Mulvihill) and rode to fast and flew off the chute . . . which can happen, when YOU are in control of the ride . . . the book also reads like a theme park version of Zimbardo's Stanford Prison Experiment . . . there was something about this mix of New Yorkers and New Jerseyans-- many of whom couldn't swim well-- that made them want to ram speedboats into each other, jump off cliffs onto other people's heads, t-bone folks with Lola racers, get drunk, throw garbage everywhere, shit on the floor, race down dangerous slides (water and land-based) and basically ignore danger and forget to assess risk; a must read if ytiou are thinking about travelling back in time to the 80's and opening a shrine to personal autonomy.
Duh
If your electric toothbrush runs out of juice, you can still use it manually (I think this goes for an electric blank as well . . . but not for an electric car).
More Dishes?
Sometimes surviving the pandemic feels like working in a restaurant . . . a diner, in particular-- open for breakfast, lunch dinner, and late-night snacks (with a menu that's WAY too expansive for the expertise of most of the cooks).
He's Fleeing the Interview . . .
I've been walking Lola exclusively in the snowy fields in the large park adjacent to my house-- because of salt-covered roads and icy sidewalks-- and I generally just let her loose so she can romp in the snow and then we make our way over to the dog park . . . this way she never has to expose her paws to the road salt (which burns her paws and allows liquid water to descend below the normal freezing point, freezing her pads) but the other day while I was tramping through the snow, watching her frolic, I heard a single "WHOOP" from the road-- the Park Ranger had observed a dog off-leash, which is forbidden, and was alerting me of my infraction from his vehicle; the last time I had an off-leash run-in with the ranger he REALLY wanted to give me a ticket (and Lola was hundreds of yards away from me-- she was chasing squirrels-- so I didn't have a leg to stand on) but, fortunately, I was walking with a nice lady and her nice dog and I think my company saved me from an expensive fine; this time, I was a couple hundred yards away from the ranger, across a a soccer field covered in a foot and a half of snow, so I decided not to look in the direction of the ranger and instead slowly wander towards the dog park . . . Lola was ahead of me and it took me a while to get her back on the leash, meanwhile the ranger was driving slowly, parallel to us, on the road-- we were going to intersect at the dog park-- so I had to decide if I was going to head in the opposite direction, into the trees, and actually flee the possible interview . . . but I waited out the ranger in the snow, he drove the loop by the dog park and headed back the way he came and that's when I darted through the gate and into the fenced confine full of canines-- and I'm pretty sure that once you are inside the dog park fence, it's some kind of sanctified ground (this might not be legally correct, but it's morally sound) and now we've got another walking alternative: Lola has her own hiking booties, so she can walk on the roads-- she took a little while to adjust to them, but then she started trotting along in them, sounding like a little horse.
Snowmark Day?
I know it's a big deal when your progeny graduate high school or go off to college or get married or get their first full-time job and while my kids haven't reached any of those milestones, today is some kind of landmark: this afternoon, my son Alex-- a sixteen-year-old high school junior-- went snowboarding with his friends, the first time he's ever gone off to the mountain without me . . . and I certainly put in a lot more work teaching him to snowboard than I did explaining to him how to woo women or helping him navigate school, so I'm very proud and happy-- and I'll also be a lot less anxious when he gets home tonight.
What Happens to a Ship Once it Reaches Its Destination?
The third book in Becky Chambers' Wayfarer series, Record of a Spaceborn Few, is slower and more philosophical than the first two in the series; the Exodans left earth, traversed the galaxy, encountered various alien races, and were admitted into the GC (Galactic Commons) and while most humans have colonized planets and assimilated into the galactic community as best they can (despite the rank smell that humans emit) there are still folks living on the generational ships that sheltered the earthlings on their long voyage-- they maintain the ships as a tribute to the journey but sometimes life seems futile to these people, as they when live onboard something that has already fulfilled its purpose-- this is a slice of life type of sci-fi novel that covers a number of characters in various circumstances aboard an Exodan ship-- it's smart and well-written but not as funny as the first two in the series.
Dave's Triumphant Return to Hybrid
I heroically returned back to the classroom today-- as I am deemed essential . . . but not quite essential enough to rate a vaccination-- but my classroom was NOT deemed essential enough to heat over our hiatus; my thermometer read 53 degrees at the start of first period (and perhaps it was colder than that . . . the thermostat on the air conditioner read 47 degrees) so the three intrepid students that decided to attend hybrid school and I sought a warmer room-- and found one, for a moment, but then another teacher-- who was covering for a teacher with a child awaiting a covid test-- claimed that room so we went on the move once again (this could end up a contact tracing nightmare!) and settled into a third room; my other two periods I had zero in-person students, so I elected to teach in the cold with my mask off; I must admit it was fun to see my friends again and although I won't be as productive a teacher in hybrid mode, I will be more relaxed (and chill) because the wifi is slow, the building is deserted, and summer is coming.
Another Winter Day in the Pandemic
Despite our superintendent's best efforts, today was another all-remote school day . . . too much snow and ice to get hybrid started; this afternoon, my son Ian was bored enough to accompany me to Costco-- and when a fifteen-year-old volunteers to go to bulk shopping (actually, I think it was his idea) then you know we are all close to madness; our first stop was the pet store, to buy some booties for Lola because her feet froze this morning (and were also burned by excessive road salt) but they didn't have her size; then we ventured into Costco, which I assumed would be barren because it was so cold out and it was the day after the SuperBowl, but the usual crowd was there, blocking the aisles and milling around-- but having a skinny and agile teenager as a shopping partner was a real benefit-- he found the dishwasher pods and the mixed nuts (unsalted) while I braved the crowd around the rotisserie chickens and searched for seltzer (they love to move shit at Costco) and then-- once we had all our stuff-- we tried the new self-check-out line . . . but we failed at self-checking-out because we had a case of wine and an employee came over and pretty much scanned all of our items-- so we were in and out quickly; then I took Lola to the park, avoiding the salty roads and we trekked through the snow to the dog park, which was full of people and dogs-- a nice surprise-- and she romped around for a bit, did her business, and now we are home-- I'll work out after I write this sentence and then we'll prepare yet another home-cooked meal and I'll pack for school and see if I end up there tomorrow (although it's supposed to snow again tonight).
Ahh . . . Denim Days
My buddy sent me this picture yesterday . . . I think it's circa 1990 but we are celebrating some romanticized version of the 70's that we cooked up at Pi Lam-- but now this photo just evokes nostalgia for getting together with a bunch of people in a poorly ventilated space (although we were sick in college all the time) especially because I got so bored this afternoon that I actually sorted out my sock drawer and searched for mates for all my single socks . . . mainly to no avail.
A Wattersonian Ending to an Epic Week . . .
I will be brief because I have exceeded my screentime limits this week and my brain is fried, but things were fairly epic this week:
2) my school is slated to go back to the trainwreck that is hybrid school-- the snow delayed us until Monday-- but the day of reckoning is coming and the majority of teachers are not happy about it;
3) we had the craziest faculty meeting I've ever witnessed . . . teachers are very nervous about covid and feel very betrayed about the not particularly reassuring quarantining, sick day, paid and unpaid leave policies (but our union did get some concessions)
4) the message seems to be: if you get covid, you better prove you got covid at work, or you could be in for a rough ride (or maybe you should lie)
5) I'm less worried about covid and more worried that I'm not going to be able to do as good a job in hybrid-- I've been crushing remote, I've got everything figured out and my students are really doing quite well-- but hybrid is a lot of juggling and multi-tasking and glitchy internet and fogged glasses and muffled voices;
6) the new mask rules are Draconian (15-minute break per school day . . . fifteen minutes total . . . and you can't take your mask off even if your classroom is empty-- this defies all logic and science but seems to be coming from the state level) and I hate teaching in a mask;
7) I reeled off a couple of crazy letters, one to the union and another to the superintendent . . . I can't believe I pressed send on that one: I assigned the superintendent a podcast and gave him a link to a covid room calculator . . . things are not as dangerous as people think (unless this new variant is an ass-kicker) but I don't think I'll get fired as no one wants to become a teacher right now;
8) I erased an entire semester of student work (some of which I had to grade) trying to switch my content from one semester to the next-- we really didn't get much training on this-- and it took three days for the people from Canvas to retrieve this data . . . which they finally did after many chats and emails (and now I still have to grade the stuff!)
9) I started the new semester, in which I teach four preps . . . and I thought I had everything in order so I went out drinking in New Brunswick last night-- the walk home was pretty crazy as no one shoveled the hill after the bridge-- it's no man's land . . . but I made it up and watched Rutgers win again;
10) I woke up this morning with a bit of a headache and found that nothing was in order-- I hadn't merged my Creative Writing and Philosophy classes and they were much larger than I thought and I hadn't invited all these kids into the proper Microsoft Teams . . . it was quite a circus but everyone eventually got where they needed to be;
11) I finished grading the Rutgers essays-- in the nick of time-- grades are due Tuesday;
12) I went out hiking in the snow with Lola after school today and it erased all the stress from the rest of the week because dogs and snow are the best (almost as epic as stuffed tigers and snow).
St. Thiswhere?
I shoveled three times today, to no avail . . . it's like we're living in a snow globe-- you get rid of the stuff and it keeps coming back.
Yikes . . . But Impossible?
Description
I present for your snowpocalyptic viewing pleasure, the current storm warning for New Jersey, while I think some big snow is headed our way, I also think the statement "travel could be very difficult to impossible" is a bit hyperbolic-- some methods of travel might be impossible-- such as commuting to Manhattan in a Mini Cooper-- but plenty of travel WILL be possible . . . if you own snowshoes or cross-country skis or a snowmobile or a dog sled (or a good pair of boots and a heavy jacket).
A Loss is a Win . . .
Although I lost my tennis match 10 games to 9 today, I was happy to survive it without mishap-- I squandered my lead on Lee but made the match competitive by hitting some forehand winners, some precise serves, and some long backhand slice shots; I did NOT hustle, I did NOT get to the net, I did NOT chase drop shots, and I did NOT reinjure my hip/quad . . . it was a little stiff and tight, but it held up (and it held up snowboarding on Wednesday . . . so I've just got to continue to take it easy and I might be able to make it through the winter without further damage).
Dave's Back! Sort of . . .
In case you've been following my "brutal, crippling quadriceps injury," you'll be glad to know (or-- if you're my opponent this Saturday-- loath to know) that I'm back in action; the combination of a massage, two acupuncture sessions, the purchase of a muscle gun, some exercise biking and stretching, and plenty of rest has given my quad new life; I went snowboarding yesterday with Alex and I played tennis today with Ian . . . I'm stiff and a little sore, but I'm still moving and that's all that matters (although I won't be getting to any drop shots this Saturday, I'm going to have to hit winners).
Dave Keeps It Real
I went snowboarding with my older son Alex today, so we had plenty of time in the car for him to describe his grand plans to become an aerospace engineer and then eventually retire into professorship-- he's the president of the Rocket Propulsion Club and an A.P. Physics kid so these are attainable goals-- but he also took the time to thank me for teaching him to snowboard and play other sports, giving him the ability to "hang out with normal people too."
Hidden Valleys of the Brain
I'm not even going to attempt to summarize Robert Kolker's meticulously reported and compassionately told story of the Galvin family, Hidden Valley Road: Inside the Mind of an American Family-- it's one of those books you have to read (like Andrew Solomon's Far From the Tree) plus, it's a family with twelve children, six of which are diagnosed with schizophrenia, so there's no short version of this disquieting saga-- but I did learn a few things:
1) in 1908, Eugen Bleuler coined the term schizophrenia because the root "schizo" implied a harsh splitting of mental functions but this turned out to be a poor choice-- popular culture has confused schizophrenia with the idea of split personality, but this is a mistake: schizophrenia is "a divide between perception and reality . . . it is about walling oneself off from consciousness . . . until you are no longer accessing anything others accept as real"
2) schizophrenia is a multiplex genetic disorder-- it's caused by a number of genes and they also need to be expressed, often by environmental factors or drug use-- and it might be even less tangible, it might be "a collection of neurodevelopment disorders" and not even one single disease . . . it might be like a fever, a symptom and not a disease at all-- schizophrenia might just be a reaction that happens to consciousness when a brain is broken for any number of reasons;
3) the children in the book were born from 1945 to 1965 . . . so they span a wide variety of treatments and a wide variety of failures in treating the disease, every theory more screwed up than the last: shock therapy, institutionalization, madness as a metaphor, madness caused by over-parenting, madness caused by under-parenting, tranquilizers, induced catatonia, medicines that did as much damage as help, the return of a kinder, gentler shock therapy, possible wonder drugs that couldn't get funded (because schizophrenics don't advocate very well for themselves) and finally the realization that there is no magic bullet yet for this disease-- because it is caused by so many genes and so many factors . . . and while wilderness-based youth therapy and therapeutic boarding schools have been found to curb the disease before it fully sets in, these treatments are extraordinarily expensive and only available to the very wealthy . . . as for the rest of us, we have to cross our fingers, avoid toxic environments, and hope for the best.
Hyberbole and a Half
If your dog and your brain don't always obey your commands, you're going to thoroughly enjoy Allie Brosh's memoir/web-comic Hyperbole and a Half . . . but you don't have to go on my word alone-- Bill Gates and Marc Maron both gave the book glowing reviews-- Brosh's intentionally primitive illustrations and candid prose absolutely kill it . . . there's a moment at the start of the book when Brosh reminisces about writing a letter as a ten-year-old to her twenty-five-year-old future self-- the letter is mainly concerned with dog breeds-- but the last line is what seals the deal on just how weird and funny Brosh is (and was)
"please write back."
It's Comment Appreciation Day!
zman quoted me . . ."it's all in the revision and editing . . . very few people do anything good not he first try"
Well said.
zman said...Parts of this "sentence" remind me of the time I checked into the Fairfield Inn in Raleigh NC, a low-slung place near the airport. I went to my room on the third floor, set my stuff down, started to unpack, and realized that there was a swarm of ants on and around the desk. I brought all my stuff downstairs and told the guy at the desk. He said "Yeah we have ants on the third floor." I asked him why he put me on the third floor given the formic situation and he replied "Well there's no view on the second floor." I told him I would trade the view and the ants for no view and no ants, so he moved me to the second floor. There were no ants in my new room but when I flushed the toilet the bowl didn't fill up and the sink didn't have any water. I called downstairs and the guy at the desk said "Yeah there's no water on the second floor right now." I asked if he had any rooms with water and without ants and he moved me to the first floor. You would think he would've run through all this beforehand.
then I chimed in . . . and Zman graciously gave me permission to do something very weird:
Dave said...holy shit. i was rushing my post because I had to go to acupuncture . . . i think I may make your comments into tomorrow's post-- they deserve to get front-page treatment that's an exceptional anecdote--i might-- with your permission-- set it to music.
zman said...You have my permission to make a song out of my experience at the Fairfield Inn. Not only is it near the airport, it's between a Cracker Barrel and a Hooters.
i will turn the dial down on my customary snark to say that this is a very cool thing that happened in daveworld and i appreciated hearing about it.
/unsnark
Dave said...that helps with the setting . . . and thanks for turning down the snark, rob!
his snark goes to 11
The Things You Find Important? Most People Don't Give a Fuck . . .
I was very excited for school today because-- due to a serendipitous string of coincidence-- my senior English class was expecting a visit from Academy Award-winning director Marshall Curry; Curry won the Oscar in 2020 for his short film "The Neighbor's Window"-- which is based on this amazing true podcast-- but we were having him in because my students watched Street Fight, which is the story of the 2002 Newark mayoral election . . . a charismatic and intelligent grassroots candidate named Cory Booker took on machine politician and uber-charlatan Sharpe James in a profound battle of political rhetoric; the documentary was nominated for an Oscar and it's one of my favorite movies of all time-- if you haven't seen it, check it out . . .
anyway, I've used this documentary for many years at school and it's an excellent primer to teach kids about the reality of elections and political rhetoric-- it's also nonpartisan: both Booker and James are Democrats . . . Republicans aren't really a factor in Newark, so that makes it perfect for the classroom as well . . . so this year I wanted the kids to watch it and connect it to our skepticism unit-- conspiracy theories, fake news, logical fallacies, etc.-- but school is remote, so to ensure diligent viewing, I made an epic forty question digital quiz about the documentary-- it's partly humorous but it definitely checks to see if you fell asleep during the video-- EVERYTHING is in there-- and my friend Ann went to school with Marshall Curry's wife so she has a connection to him, and she sent him my quiz and he thought it was hysterical and offered to visit the class and do a Q and A session . . . very nice of him;
I was REALLY excited for this event-- I had the kids draft questions and I sent a detailed email to the principal explaining my lessons on political rhetoric and how I connected the film to them, and I gave him examples of the assignments the kids were doing-- the kids always love the film and do great work-- and I wanted to alert him that we were getting a surprise visit from a very successful director; oddly, the only thing I got back from the principal was a forwarded email that said "Fill out the guest speaker form" . . . that's it . . . nothing else . . . no "wow!" or "cool!" or "these are really great lessons and I'm impressed that you managed to get an Oscar winner to come to virtual school" and while I shouldn't be surprised-- it's rare that anyone cares about what you care about-- the disconnect seemed pretty weird; he should have at least feigned some enthusiasm; so I filled out the guest visitor form and sent it to the vice-principal in charge of guest visitor form (and received no "nice job!" or kudos from him either) and I set up my Teams Meeting, sent the link to Marshall Curry, put his phone number in my phone-- in case of emergency, he graciously provided it-- and then met with my class a bit early and set up a Google Doc Question Queue so we wouldn't have any dead time or repeated questions . . . and then 10 AM rolled around and . . .
he couldn't get in . . . despite the fact that we had tested the link from an outside email, it wouldn't work . . . so I had to set up a Zoom Account and meeting on the fly-- I had to click on captcha boats and stop signs to get things running;
in the end, we got a meeting going and Marchall Curry and my students were fantastic; he talked a lot about how taking 200 hours of film-- captured over five months-- and eight months of editing (and learning to edit because he couldn't get a grant) made him a much better writer . . . he learned that everything is perseverance and revision and his words of advice: "you can fix something, but you can't fix nothing," will work really well in all my classes;
anyway, after the presentation, I emailed the vice-principal and told him my guest visitor couldn't get into the meeting (despite the fact that I had filled out the form) and he wrote back, "yeah, we've had some trouble with that" and while I refrained from sending a follow-up email, I was seriously wondering why he didn't tell me that BEFORE my guest visitor . . . but despite the apathy of my admin for such a cool event, everything went as well as it could and hopefully it will be something the kids remember in a very monotonous year; my big three takeaways are this:
1) it's all in the revision and editing . . . very few people do anything good on the first try;
2) choose a topic that has a narrative arc built into it-- like an election;
3) you can fix something, but you can't fix nothing.