I Should Have Been a Bear

The cool weather is finally here (and wow did I eat a lot today . . . I guess my body is getting ready to hibernate).

Ritickulous

I thought it was cold enough to go for a walk with the dog at Rutgers Gardens this morning-- it was in the 40s-- but apparently the ticks were also enjoying the fall weather . . . one managed to get lost in my stomach hair and the other was on the outside of my sweatpants, making a parasitic bloodsucking beeline for some exposed flesh-- how far north do I have to go to avoid these critters?

The Last Policeman

The Last Policeman, a sci-fi/detective novel by Ben H. Winters, is the literary equivalent of David Bowie's impending-- but not too imminent-- apocalypse song "Five Years" . . . in The Last Policeman, a large asteroid will hit earth in six months time, most likely resulting in the end of civilization, but until then there are murders to solve and existential feelings to confront; the story-- like the Bowie song-- is a masterpiece of the mundane confronting the eschatological . . . but there's no big rush, yet (although plenty of folks are committing suicide or going Bucket List or taking early retirement or settling into a life of drugs and alcohol or embracing conspiracy theories, etc. but this is more background to the matters at hand: a murder and a cop who still believes he has a purpose).

The Water Paradox

While this Saturday was less epic than last Saturday . . . and I didn't even report on the $650 bar tab that we ran up, because I drunkenly wandered out before it was settled . . . this Saturday has still been fairly epic: I've been helping Alex with his supplemental college essay prompts all day-- and they are infinite and infinitely annoying-- and we are trying to dry the Mazda out from the sunroof incident and it is proving to be very difficult-- you've essentially got to take apart everything under the seats because the foam and metal and carpet is soaked through underneath; water, you can live without it, but man does it fuck shit up.

 

Very Dark Shadows

Carol O'Connor's second book in the Mallory series, The Man Who Cast Two Shadows, dwells in darkness: the dark arts, Mallory's grim childhood, coerced abortion, feigned blindness, a litany of the worst of human behavior, and the possibility of deep deception at all levels of relationships, imagery, and motivation . . . but there is a kitty cat!

Whew . . .

When I got in my car yesterday after school, I thought I saw a giant spider on the driver-side floor mat, so I stomped it to death-- pretty scary-- but upon closer inspection, it was just a big wasp-- so I was very relieved.

Gladwell Does It Again . . .

I didn't think I was interested in the new Malcolm Gladwell book The Bomber Mafia: A Dream, a Temptation, and the Longest Night of the Second World War until my friend Cunningham recommended it and i started reading it-- and then I was like: how does this guy do it?-- Gladwell claims he's not the greatest writer, but he's the greatest rewriter, and it shows-- he really knows how to take his material and revise it into something perfectly organized, juxtaposed and memorable-- in this one it's the battle of a moral idea in WWII-- let's bomb precisely so we can take out important wartime industries and avoid civilian casualties-- and a pragmatic approach to war: the shorter the duration the better it is for all nations involved . . . and you know what happened: the firebombing of Tokyo and the nuclear bombs Little Boy and Fat Man-- Curtis LeMay's barbaric practicality won out over General Haywood Hansell's faith in the accuracy of the Norden bombsight . . . the book is just the right length for a history book (I couldn't make it through Thomas Asbridge's definitive history of the crusades, though it's an excellent book, because it's just too damn long) and it lays bare the human error in tactics, strategy, and information during wartime . . . for a longer version of this, read Mark Bowden's book Hue 1968: A Turning Point of the American War in Vietnam . . . the moral of the story is, you had to be there, you had to be brave, you had to be flexible, and you might as well throw out all your convictions because you're involved in humanity's stupidest method of solving national problems.

The Good, The Bad and the Very Damp

I can't even keep track of all this stuff-- yesterday we played Rahway in soccer and had a nice 4-3 win; my older son didn't play because he was injured but my younger son got some minutes because the team is banged up and apparently he played great at the end of the game, won some headers, and threaded a through ball to get the game-winning assist-- but I had to attend the all-county selection meeting as a proxy so I missed the second half of the game . . . and when I drove home at 9:30 PM there was lots of lightning from the impending storm, which I had discussed throughout the day with my children-- but apparently this didn't sink into my older son's brain-- because when he was getting White Rose fries he opened the sunroof of my wife's newish Mazda CX-5-- which we purchased recently because my son totalled our Honda CR-V at the start of the summer-- and my son did not close the sunroof when he got home and this was the wrong night to not close the sunroof, because we had a torrential rainstorm-- whcich we all discussed and prepared for-- so this was a major mental error (unlike his first accident in the rain, which was more of a physical error) and so this afternoon we've been shop-vaccing the car and running a dehumidifier inside and this is on top of the fact that he spilled a bunch of epoxy rocket glue inside the minivan, so it smells like a distillery . . . so basically my son is destroying all our cars.

Wild Weekend

Quite a weekend in our house . . . no internet Friday night (the horror!) because a wire fell and then Homecoming on Saturday-- so our boys got dressed and went to a dance, while I cruised down to DC and met my rugby buddies and-- after many pints of Guinness at the newly gentrified Wharf area of the District, we went to see the New Zealand All Blacks do the haka and dismantle the US Eagles in 15 v 15 full side play . . . the final score was 104 to 14 and it was actually kind of wonderful to watch, the overlaps, the quick decision making, the great runs, the touch on the pop-kicks, etc. and then some tequila was consumed and things got hazy . . . but I'm back home and alive to tell the tale.

Random Soccer News (That Might Only Be Interesting to a Few People)

Tough loss to Calvary Christian on Tuesday afternoon on a rather rough grass field . . . and in an interesting turn of events, my younger son Ian actually started the game-- my older son Alex has a pulled quad so he joined the brigade of starters who sat and watched, injured-- while an oddball line-up of youngsters and the several uninjured seniors tried to patch together a win-- Ian hustled, pressured, got back on defense, and had a few chances-- but couldn't find the net . . . he needs to gain some weight to make a major impact on the varsity field, so he will have to hit the gym this winter (and, even weirder-- this is the first time all season that we are practicing down at Donaldson Park, the park right next to my house . . . it was devastated by Hurrican Ida and the field is finally lined and usable).

Tone? Term? What? Who?

I realized today why I've been so fried and exhausted at the end of every school day this year-- and it's not the new schedule of 84 minute periods-- the problem is the sensory deprivation: I can't wear my glasses with a mask (they fog up) so I can't really see the students (and it's hard to discern who is who when they are all wearing masks) and I can't really tell who is talking-- every class wide discussion begins as a ventriloquism act because you can't see anyone's mouth moving . . . and even once you figure out where the sound is coming from, you might not be able to parse the words . . . teenagers are often mumblers . . . AND they might not have clearly heard what I said, so that adds to this muffled game of telephone . . . I told them to find a "term" and they were looking for the "tone" and so I had to remember to really enunciate the ending letters of words (and today was hat day, further obscuring any visual recognition-- when you wear a hat AND a mask, there's no much identifiable face showing) but my only solace is that perhaps I'm developing super-sensory powers because of this intense obfuscated sensory training.

Dave Uses an Umbrella?

Yesterday afternoon my wife and I took the train from New Brunswick to Princeton Junction and then we ran like hell to catch "the Dinky," a two-car train that travels back and forth from Princeton Junction to downtown Princeton-- and, anticlimactically, after we ran like hell to catch the tiny train, it sat there for another ten minutes-- but then it dumped us right where we needed to be-- a two-minute walk from the Dinky Bar & Kitchen . . . we were meeting our friends Mel and Ed there-- and it's an awesome spot, they converted old train station into a bar/restaurant with excellent tap beer and specialty cocktails and a delicious assortment of small, shareable plates-- highly recommended-- and because we took the train, we got to Princeton a bit faster than usual and we avoided driving in the storm (and we could drink copious amounts of alcohol) but the real reason I am writing this sentence is to explain how I have reflected and changed my opinion about something: instead of wearing a hat and a rainjacket-- it was too damned hot for that-- I brought and used an umbrella . . . and this is a big deal for me because nomrally I'm an umbrellist . . . I hate walking near people using umbrellas (they can poke you) and they are annoying to deal with once you get to where you are going, but I am starting to see when they could be useful-- and once we got to the restaurant, I folded it up and put it in the little umbrella stand, like some kind of Victorian lady, and I wasn't wet and I wasn't sweating and I didn't have to deal with a hat, so it was a decent experience so I might add this to my repertoire of annoying accouterments for the weather (like the scarf).

We Are the Walking Dead

Our soccer team has so many injuries-- bad knee, hip flexor, concussion, broken collarbone, pulled quad, etc-- that my younger son Ian got to start today . . . and he was playing well but ten minutes into the game he got elbowed in the face, right under his eye-- pretty much a knock-out punch, and while we bandaged up his face and he went back in, it wasn't for long . . . soon enough he was sitting on the bench with all the other injured folks, including my older son (pulled quad) . . . what a mess (although we did win our first GMC tournament game).

Ice Cream Epiphany

As I was driving to work this morning, I realized the main reason the Median Voter Theorem doesn't work is because voting (like getting an ice cream cone) isn't required-- you can decide not to participate at all-- especially if the ice cream is shitty and the vendors serve flavors that only particular segments of people enjoy . . . so maybe, in order to avoid this kind of absurd brinksmanship and game theory, we need to act like Australia and Belgium, and compel everyone to vote.

Dave Tries to Act Like a Normal Person

Someone at work (who will remain nameless) said they were enjoying the Netflix show "Clickbait" and I watched an episode with my wife and we found it to be a mildly entertaining digital-kidnapping-thriller (and it stars Adrian Grenier! who I hadn't seen since Entourage) and we slowly continued to watch-- though it's often slow and repetitive-- and because I had a theory about who about the perpetrator of the crime, I avoided looking at reviews or talking about the show-- which is VERY out of character for me . . . I normally only watch things that are vetted by both my friends and smart reviewers . . . I don't want to waste my time-- but I decided to act like a normal person and just watch the show and-- SPOLIER-- the ending is absolutely dumbass, so stupid and cheap and I can't describe it without profane ad hominems for the writers that would impugn my good name-- but it seems like the original writers got swallowed up in an earthquake and they hired a bunch of drunk people who had not read or seen the earlier episodes-- and so they introduce a couple of new characters in the fading minutes of the penultimate episode-- a middle-aged childless secretary and her chubby old model-train building husband-- and THEY DID IT . . . she catfished Nick Brewer and then her husband killed him . . . and then they kidnap Nick's kid and the chubby old model-train guy might kill the child . . . holy shit, what a cheap and stupid ending . . . and if I would have just read the reviews I would have saved all this time and rage.

Godot Actually Shows Up

Elvis Cole is a wise-cracking sleuth who has a way with the ladies and while generally speaking The Monkey's Raincoat  is a typical hardboiled detective mystery, there is an odd "Waiting for Godot" type feeling about Joe Pike . . . except that he actually shows up.

Mini Coke Joke

Last Friday, Kristyna went into the mini-fridge in the office to grab her Diet Coke and she started cursing-- her 12 oz. Diet Coke was missing, but there was a 7.5 oz. mini Diet Coke in its place . . . and while we couldn't solve the mystery of the shrinking soda, I am hoping this was a clever practical joke-- and I would like to replicate this and miniaturize someone else's food-- replace a full sized Hershey Bar with a Hershey Miniature, etcetera (and Kristyna did blame me for the mini-Coke at first, until I convinced her otherwise, because of this incident).

The Week in Some Sort of Review

Looking back, this was quite a week:

1) started on Sunday with an outdoor wedding-- hot but fun;

2) Catherine and I both took off Monday-- she had to get oral surgery and I had to do all the stuff that didn't get done all weekend . . . lamest combined day off ever;

3) Tuesday we had a home game against Timothy Christian-- they weren't very good and we won 5-0 but Alex couldn't attend because he had his court date for his car accident-- the driving with an expired provisional license was waived but he got two-points for reckless driving;

4) Wednesday we had a home game against an excellent South Plainfield team-- Alex played the entire game (aside from when his calf cramped) and we got spanked 4-0; Ian got to play a bit of garbage time and received a pass from Alex streaked down the sideline and megged a defender and then rolled in a perfect pass to the far post (which got skied over the goal) but he should have shot and scored-- then there would have been a brother to brother goal and assist;

5) Thursday we had a day off-- I was supposed to play tennis but my shoulder hurt so Ian subbed in for me (and lost to a guy I've occasionally beaten-- so by the transitive property, I beat Ian . . . which doesn't happen much these days)

6) Friday was an away game at Metuchen-- tons of traffic-- it took 50 minutes to drive the five miles and the bus was hot-- and once again we gave up a goal in the first couple of minutes-- Alex had to play the entire game again because we were missing another defender; our team is really really banged up and we can't seem to score-- we lost this one 3-0 . . . and the goalie saved Alex's butt because after our center back got beaten, Alex lunged in and tripped a kid in the box but our goalie completely layed out and saved the PK . . . and then Alex got a ride home with Catherine because he was going to see his girlfriend's play-- what?-- and there was some miscommunication because I didn't check my phone-- we were supposed to switch cars?-- I had no clue and then once the bus finally got back from Metuchen the football game had started and I found out my van--parked in the school lot-- was parked in by two buses and a marching band and I had to weave through that mess -- and it was dark but I had on sunglasses and I didn't want Ian-- who has his permit-- to try to navigate the tight quarters (I almost hit a saxophone) but once we all got home (Catherine had to go to a wake) we watched the season finale of Ted Lasso and remembered that win or lose, it's a privelege to get to play and coach and watch (and one of the referees at the game has stage four throat cancer-- he's on death's door yet he ran the lines but couldn't talk at all . . . pretty wild, he's spending his final days on the planet reffing high school soccer matches-- I guess there are worse ways to go)

7) today I got to reteach my college essay unit to my son because they don't do it in school-- and then we edited his essay (which was in the present tense, needed a better opening, was too long, required a bit of humor, etc . . . it felt just like school!)

Someday I Will Be Smart(er)

 Yesterday I needed the vinegar/oil salad dressing for my salad and I had a choice between two corner cabinets in my kitchen, one way on the left and one way on the right-- and one of the cabinets contains all out spices and baking supplies and such (on a lazy susan) and the other contains all out pots and pans (on a lazy susan) and despite living in this kitchen for a decade, I chose the wrong cabinet (I chose left and the dressing was in the right cabinet).

Soccer IQ

If you coach soccer, play soccer, or a interested in soccer tactics (but you don't want to lose your mind looking at inscrutable charts and diagrams in a book like this) then I highly recommend Dan Blank's Soccer IQ . . . it's chock full of pithy coaching tidbits (including lots of stuff that you probably already intuitively know but did not know how to explain to players) and simple diagrams and concepts and tactical philosophy boiled down to practical application-- I'm sure I'll read both volumes several times and I've already recognized that our team often plays "the impossible pass" and tried to explain how to remedy this.