Lydia Millet's novel A Children's Bible is a modern, environmental take on the classic-- finally!-- and while Biblical elements abound . . . a flood, a plague, a surprise birth a crucifixion, an exodus, some kind of weird rapture, an angry force from above, a bunch of wild animals living together, innocence, corruption, revelations, etc . . . there are also plenty of modern references: cell phones, Amazon Prime, MDMA, and Fendi; the adults have given up even attempting to worship creation and have instead turned hedonistically inward, while the children who have inherited the earth need to deal with all the problems . . . and one of the youngsters-- Jack-- actually reads a children's Bible and tries to connect the old narrative to the new issues that arise (my family--a bunch of Philistines-- struggled with this . . . they really hated the title of the book and thought I was actually reading a children's version of the Bible and no amount of explanation could convince them that the book IS a new bible . . . allegories aren't for everyone, this book is surreal and symbolic and reference-laden, but it's also a beautifully written dramatic page-turner . . . give it a shot).
This Land is Your Land, This Land is Nomadland
Jessica Bruder's book Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century is an eye-opener to another America, an America of a wandering people, who-- usually due to some setback-- are houseless (but not homeless) and move through our nation "like blood cells through the veins of our country" in tricked out camper-vans, small RVs, handmade trailers, and converted house-cars . . . these people-- who are mainly white . . . perhaps because it's hard to "boondock" as a person of color-- meet at desert rallies like the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous and move from one grueling temporary job to the next-- the sugar beet harvest, shelving and scanning items at the Amazon warehouse, cleaning the toilets at campgrounds, short order cook at Wall Drug . . . the work is hard and you are reliant on your tribe of van dwellers, your own resilience, Advil, and the ability of ride to endure wind and weather; the financial crash of 2008 sent many of these people on the road, but so did lack of pensions and unions and healthcare, lack of decent lower-middle class jobs and lack of a safety net to care for these folks-- and these are spirited people, many of whom are over sixty, and couldn't bear to live without freedom; Linda May has dreams greater than living in a van, she purchases some desert land in Arizona to build an Earthship homestead-- a self-sufficient, off-the-grid house; she's a grandmother of 64 and wants some place to call her own, but she struggles with how to go about it . . . these are her words:
Someone asked why do you want a homestead? To be independent, get out of the rat race, support local businesses, buy only American made. Stop buying stuff to impress people I don't like. Right now I am working in a big warehouse for an online supplier. The stuff is all crap made somewhere else in the world where they don't have child labor laws, where the workers labor fourteen to sixteen hour days without meals or bathroom breaks. There is one million square feet in this warehouse packed with stuff that won't last a month. It is all goin to a landfill. Our economy is built on the backs of slaves we keep in other countries, like China, India, Mexico, any third world country where we don't have to see them but where we can enjoy the fruits of their labor. The American Corp. is probably the biggest slave owner in the world . . . there is nothing in that warehouse of substance. It enslaved the buyers who use their credit to purchase that shit. Keeps them in jobs they hate to pay their debts.
despite the tone of this section, there is also a pioneering spirit in the book-- there is a shared tone with the favorite pieces of literature of the Rubber Tramp crew; I was proud to say I've read ever book they mentioned as a favorite: Travels with Charley, Blue Highways, Desert Solitaire, Into the Wild, Walden, and Wild; if you don't want to read about all this, definitely watch the movie-- it's a masterful amalgam of the real stories in the book (and the real people) and some quality acting by Frances McDormand . . . and if you don't want to deal with any of this but still want to get the idea, listen to a recent episode of The Indicator wherein they explain that the Simpsons-- once representative of the lower middle class in America-- now live a lifestyle unattainable by that demographic.
Birthday Shots, Cold Showers, Long Lines and a Perfect Score.
Quite a pair of birthdays for Alex and me: on Alex's birthday had a 1:30 PM appointment at the DMV for his road test with a borrowed car (thanks Johanna!) that had an accessible parking brake-- a requirement-- but the photocopy of the insurance card wasn't enough proof for the DMV dude-- and after much searching and fumbling, and we found an old card in the glovebox-- no good-- and got a rejection form with an allowance to come back at 2:30 . . . but at this point, my wife was driving over with ANOTHER borrowed car (thanks Ann!) and Alex had also called his buddy to borrow his car but then Johanna found her current insurance card and sent a photo of that-- also no good . . . we would have needed her passwords and access to her insurance website-- so Alex got in Ann's car-- which he had never driven-- and the other DMV guy with the Irish accent barely looked at this stuff and Alex took his test and passed (and did an A plus job parallel parking . . . which he's been practicing, which has been torture) and then we went over to the main building to get his real license (he has a 60 day temporary license) and the DMV security guy laughed at us and said there were no more appointments and to come back at 5 AM and maybe you might be able to get a ticket and then wait four or five more hours to get in-- so he's got that to look forward to . . . my students have many epic stories about this-- and then yesterday, my birthday-- Catherine and I drove to the Meadowlands to receive our first Pfizer vaccine shots-- and while it took a decent amount of time, everything moved quickly and was very well run-- you DO NOT need to arrive early, you get in line ten minutes before your appointment and it takes about ninety-minutes of various lines and check-ins-- like a Disney ride about pandemics . . . and everyone is very nice-- we were impressed (and I got every fuckign word on the NYT Spelling Bee!) and then my birthday dinner was a Tastee sub I ate on the way home and then I tried to shave and there was no hot water so we had to take the tankless hot water heater apart and clean the airfilter and reset the pilot light and then I was able to take a shower and go to bed . . . but some good news along the way, my cousin Geoff had a bad case of covid and ended up in the hospital but he's out now and feeling better.
If I'm Lucky, I'll Have Another Thing in Common With Theodore Geisel (Thanks Pfizer)
I share my birthday with a cat named Seuss
a man I respect for his creative juice
his rhymes were tight, his mind was loose--
and while the good Doctor liked to imbibe
Prohibition didn't feel his vibe--
I also like the occasional shot,
but on this birthday, alcohol is a NOT--
the shot I partake will go in my arm--
a present from Pfizer that might make me feel warm,
Seuss survived a pandemic: the Spanish flu--
Soon enough I might say: I survived too!
Dog Jenga? Dog Tetris?
The mud season is here (and the rain along with it) and the dog park has quickly transformed from a winter wonderland into a swamp-- but the larger snowbanks remain-- so in my small, densely populated town, when the rain lets up and everyone takes their dog for a walk at once, there's quite a bit of strategizing and maneuvering on the streets and sidewalks-- no one wants to walk their dog head-on into another dog on a strip of sidewalk surrounded by snow; there are starts and stops, sallying forward and turning tail, heeling and pulling, hopping from the sidewalk to the street and back again and I'm not sure what this is like . . . Frogger? Jenga? Tetris? . . . I don't know-- but it's like something other than walking the dog.
Read Some Allie Brosh! No Excuses . . .
When I tell people to read some Allie Brosh-- a young lady who writes primitively illustrated memoirs that are so funny even Bill Gates laughs-- I get a lot of:
"I can't read things with pictures because I get confused and don't know when to look at the words and when to look at the pictures and I tried to read Watchmen and it was good but just too much stimulation"
and-- quite frankly-- I want to smack these people . . . I just finished her second book, Solutions and Other Problems, and it's funny and dark and weird and profound and full of Brosh's neuroses and her dogs and her existentially overly-energetic brain. . . you can read the words and/or look at the pictures or any combination of those two . . . but who doesn't like funny pictures?
The Tennis Season Wears On
Today I left for my Saturday morning tennis league looking like an athlete long past his prime-- I was wearing two knee braces: a neoprene sleeve on my left knee to keep my recently injured quadricep warm and a bulky thing with straps on my swollen right knee-- I'm not sure why it's swollen, probably a combination of tennis and hiking around with the dog in the slush (which I did repeatedly this week, despite knee pain) and I figured I wouldn't be mobile enough to beat Scott-- an accomplished regular at the club with a fast and whippy serve with a big kick, a killer down-the-line-backhand cut shot, a hard forehand, and good touch at the net . . . and though I was down three games at one point in the match, I leveled things at 8 games to 8 and then we played a tiebreaker and I beat him handily, 10 - 4 . . . this is a nice win for me, especially because I wasn't shifting my weight at the start of the math because of my knees, so I hit a bunch of unforced errors deep-- but I corrected things, backed up on his serve and hit a bunch of forehand winner to avoid having to run around like a maniac (which I did the first match, and I still lost by a game) and now I have to rest my knee for my snowboarding trip in a few days-- hopefully the swelling will go down just in time for me to aggravate it again.
More Behind the Scenes Stuff
I remembered a couple more chores that generally fall in my purview and aren't particularly lauded . . . I tend to fill the gas tanks of both our cars with fuel-- if you weren't aware, most cars need gasoline to power their internal combustion engines-- and I'm also the one who stocks the upstairs bathrooms with toilet paper (if you weren't aware, it's extraordinarily difficult to retrieve toile paper from the side-room once you've committed to a bowel movement in an upstairs bathroom . . . so it's imperative that the toilet paper is already within reach).
How to Clean a Bowl (if your wife rarely reads your blog)
I eat a bowl of Greek yogurt, peanut butter, and granola every morning-- and it's delicious-- but the down side is that it's very difficult to clean the bowl; even the dishwasher struggles to remove peanut butter and yogurt residue . . . so I've found the best, most environmentally copacetic way to remove this residue (without resorting to using a paper towel) is to let the dog lick the bowl clean . . . but my wife finds this gross-- luckily, she rarely reads this blog.
Sometimes Kids Learn Things Without My Help
I've taught my older son Alex many valuable things:
1) how to juggle a soccer ball;
2) how to serve a tennis ball;
3) how to throw a football
4) maybe something about writing an essay?
but I certainly didn't teach him how to run a Rocket Propulsion Club, use modeling software and 3-D printing technology, launch rockets into the stratosphere, assign teams to build the various components of these rockets, buy large amounts of rocketry and electronic equipment and get reimbursed for it, work in conjunction with the Rutgers Rocket Propulsion Club and use their facilities, and finally:
propose and win a two-thousand dollar grant (largely aided by him filming and painstakingly editing a really sharp video . . . though he doesn't wear glasses-- he just put some on so he would look smarter)
he learned this stuff all on his own, with no input or advice or help from me . . . crazy right?
How to Combat Winter Madness: A Video Tutorial
The weather just jumped the shark here in New Jersey-- the lovely blustery snowflakes transformed into large pellets of 33-degree rain-- so here a few suggestions for combatting Winter Madness:
1) Watch the "Winter Madness" 30 Rock episode . . . duh
2) watch Nomadland . . . it's streaming on Hulu and it's not as depressing as you might think; if you're feeling a little stir-crazy in your house, imagine if your house was a van . . . Frances McDormand isn't homeless, but she is houseless-- after her husband's death, she becomes untethered from all her social connections and there's only one way to go . . . down the road.
Behind the Scenes?
Even More Tennis Notes
Today was the first day since I injured it that my leg felt 100% . . . which was a good thing as I had to play Uday, the best player in the league-- but I wasn't at full speed because I jammed my toe on a piece of molding and ripped the nail off, so I decided that I was going to play a power game and hit winners (since I've gained some weight and lost some mobility since I pulled my quad) and I went up 2-0 on him . . . but his net play, consistency, and big first serve were eventually too much for me-- I lost 9-7, a result I'm perfectly happy with (especially because last week I played Rey-- probably the second-best player- and he slaughtered me-- I hit the ball, okay but I was slow and stiff, and he punished me for it . . . this is what made me realize I've got to start hitting winners to hang in with these club players) and Uday showed me what I need to work on: I need to hit a deeper two-handed backhand, I need to follow the ball to the net more-- not just get to the center of the court-- and I need to go for it on my first serve more (and I need to go for it whenever a hard first serve is in my wheelhouse).
It's Time For Everyone To Leave the House
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.