Tomorrow is the 10th Annual Scary Story Contest and Stacey and I are still way over the word limit on our story and we are giving up and going to bed . . . we will finish this thing on the clock during school tomorrow-- and thus be professionally paid writers-- and I can't wait to get upstairs into bed and read my professionally written novel Countdown City . . . because I truly enjoy reading fiction far more than I enjoy writing it, and this stupid contest makes me appreciate the time, energy, logic, revision, editing, and passion that goes into writing a great book.
Rage, rage! Against the dying of the light!
My wife has banned me from ranting about Daylight Saving Time to her, so I'll do it here instead: New Jersey is experiencing the finest fall weather possible-- mid-60s and sunny and dry-- and this lovely sunlight has been stolen . . .. stolen! . . . by these bureaucratic time manipulators who need to justify their job by changing the clocks . . . I could be enjoying several hours of this beautiful weather after school lets out but because we decided to "fall back," now it gets dark at 4:30 PM . . . why? why? why not just leave the clocks on Daylight Saving Time, use lights in the morning, and enjoy tennis, hiking, dog-walking, etc. in the evening . . . this seems like a no-brainer-- plus we avoid the shitty feeling of feeling "off" because the clocks have been moved . . . I just don't get it.
The Midnight Library
I'm not sure if I accept the Borgesian premise of Matt Haig's novel The Midnight Library . . . but I'm also not sure if Nora the narrator-- or Matt Haig himself-- accepts the premise either . . . but the adventure of parallel universes and the many, many, many possible lives of Nora-- the rock star lives and the depressive lives and the addicted lives and the successful lives, the jobless lives and the Arctic lives, heaps and heaps of lives . . . and perhaps this is how the forking paths of time branch, but I think things might tend a bit more towards the mean-- I could be wrong of course, especially seeing the way my best friend and I met our wives (in the middle of the road in New Brunswick, after the bars emptied out) and understanding my life might be completely different if that moment didn't occur . . . but it's worth getting to the end and seeing how things resolve-- because maybe all these possible lives aren't that important anyway.
New Jersey . . . It's Dense
Soccer season is over . . . tragically . . . so Catherine and I went on an adventure today in our newly detailed (and dry) Mazda . . . lots of contrast in a small area:
1) we went to the Jersey Shore Outlets and I bought some golf shirts at the Under Armour outlet because they gave an additional 40% off to frontline workers-- including teachers!-- and a pair of running shoes at Saucony . . . most places are giving big discounts to veterans, teachers, hospital workers, etc . . . wild
2) then we hiked around the Manasquan Reservoir-- quickly-- because we didn't have the kids or the dog;
Sports (Can Be) Extra
Yesterday we played Middlesex in the second round of the state tournament-- they are the two seed and possibly the best team in the section-- they have two huge center backs and the best goalie in the county-- athletically, skill-wise, and in fashion-- and a number of skilled and physical players-- but we only lost 2-1 to them last time (and my son pulled his quad in that game and was out for two weeks) but yesterday we were playing them on their hilly grass field so it was going to be an ugly game-- they like to pack it back and play over the top, but they can also knock the ball around-- the first half we avoided a couple of scary opportunities and we had a couple of nice shots, which their goalie snagged, and so it was 0-0 into the second half . . . my son Alex went in at left-back and a few minutes later someone collided with him and kneed him in his bad quad and he had to be taken out of the game and our only other experienced defensive sub had a midl concussion, so we were down to no subs that could really deal with this level of physicality but we hung on and scored a nice goal fifteen minutes into the second half, to go up 1-0 . . . our big center back has been playing striker (Luke) and he knocked it over to Tekoa, who finished low and away on the super-keeper . . . everyone mobbed Tekoa-- I was so excited, I slipped and fell on the wet grass-- it was mayhem . . . and then, a few minutes later, the head ref decided the game with an absolutely abominable call . . . the ball was rolling into the side of the box and out big striker Luke was trotting after it and the goalie called it and came at it from an angle and he did something very clever: he scooped up the ball and then leapt forward into Luke-- so he initiated the contact (which was very mild) and the ref saw it differently and gave Luke a yellow card . . . it was his second yellow-- so he got sent off and we had to play with ten men-- and we were still generating chances-- our most skilled players, Robin and Matt, were connecting and getting shots off but to no avail and then the inevtiable happened . . . Middlesex scored on a bouncy shot to the corner from outside the eighteen and we were headed to overtime . . . Golden Goal . . . and we were playing with ten men and without our best defender/striker and a few minutes in, on a long free-kick, one of our defenders got thrown to the ground and three big guys got goal side and one of them scored on a header . . . a tough tough loss-- the kids were stunned, they sat in silence on the bench for fifteen minutes and it was an emotional bus-ride home . . ., especially for the seniors and the varsity coach; andf this would be the last away game bus ride I would take with these guys and my older son (aside from tennis season!) and they were truly a great crew to coach and while it was a hard way to go out, at least it was epic and against the best team in the section, but it was an emotional rollercoaster, yikes . . . and while we got knocked out this year, we all fondly remember our undefeated middle school season back in the day . . . sports, sports, sports . . . they're something else.
Valentine Street Massacre
This morning, my son and I absolutely annihilated a couple hundred frost-bitten lanternflies that adhered to the two small maple trees in the front of our house; I would post a picture but the carnage was too gross (and there were some giant wasps feeding on the carcasses . . . so we beat a hasty retreat once we were done with the squishing).
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.
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