We met some friends at Flounder Brewing Company in Hillsborough yesterday, and the beer was great (especially the Fred IPA, the Brown Ale, and the Black Emerald) and the atmosphere was even better-- the tasting room is rustic, all wood and big rough-hewn beams, and there are several nice patios and dogs are allowed-- eventually, a bluegrass-style band started playing and it was hard to tell you were in central Jersey (unless you listened to the conversation) and then, once we had sampled the beers, we wandered ten yards over to Bellemara Distillery and the drinks they made from their single malt gin and single malt "spirit" were, incomprehensibly, even better than the beer next door . . . I had a Herbaceous, which had Thai Basil, Star Anise, Lime, Jalapeño, Lemongrass Syrup, and their single malt gin-- yikes it was good-- so we will be returning to this little complex on the way to the Sourlands, it's scenic, only twenty-five minutes from Highland Park, and feels like a little vacation.
Word in One!
Worth the Spot
Stacey drove me to the library today during school so I didn't have to give up my pole-position parking spot (I need to exit the school in a hurry because I coach tennis in my hometown) and then we stopped at Wawa and I bought her a well-deserved coffee . . . but she also insisted that I buy a jumbo-sized bag of Sour Patch Kids for the English Office, which I did . . . and I ate a bunch of them and realized that though they are delicious, there's no difference in flavor between the different colors-- and we verified this with a Cunningham blind taste test-- and my pole-position spot worked and I got out of the school in a hurry and made it on time for the van-ride to the match in Edison and wow was it cold and then it rained and then it dried and we got started and then it rained again and we got postponed.
F U Cells and Formulas
At least some girl in my college writing class knew how to fix the Rutgers Excel spreadsheet . . . because I sure as hell don't know how to use Excel (I'm an English teacher, not an accountant!)
Potpourri
I returned to my old stomping grounds for a tennis scrimmage match today and while the match was a great success tennis-wise (Ian, Alex, and Boyang won their singles matches, as did our second doubles team-- against a school in the highest division, a school five times our size) but Boyang left his expensive blue puffy winter jacket at the court and he didn't realize until we were well on our way back to Highland Park-- so we'll see how that turns out, hopefully, the coach grabbed it-- and I had a meltdown at school because of this insane Excel spreadsheet that all the Rutgers college writing teachers need to fill out-- what a pain in the ass-- I was ranting and raving about it so much that my boss just ignored me and left (very wise of her) but Brady had a decent solution-- we'll only put the kids on it that want Rutgers credits; also, Stacey had a different Wordle word than the rest of us (we all had "stove" but Stacey had "harry") and I solved it for her-- with some help from Smurphy-- and we figure Stacey is either dead or living in an alternate universe . . . and people are starting to get used to us walking backwards up the terminal.
Something Spooky
Batman: The Long Halloween, by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, is a dark, moody, and surreal graphic novel-- and it's got all the usual villains; the story of how Harvey Dent became Two-Face; several organized crime families; Arkham Asylum; and a serial killer named Holiday . . . who commits grisly murders on holidays . . . highly recommended if you're looking for something fun to read (and your eyes are tired from grading essays).
Tennis Anyone?
I thought it might get up to 45 degrees today-- that was the initial weather report-- but instead the high was a brisk 38 and the winds were nearly 20 mph . . . which made for an interesting tennis practice, but we reviewed some doubles strategy (I made the kids watch a video and take a quiz yesterday, as it was 30 degrees and too cold to even attempt practice) and played for as long as we could stand it; tomorrow is our first scrimmage, so hopefully it will warm up a bit and we can shed the winter gear and work up a sweat (I certainly haven't needed my wristbands).
Not That Sick
I've got some kind of cold or allergies or sinus thing, so I'm all stuffed up and I have a sore throat-- but luckily, I tested negative for COVID . . . and-- also luckily-- I'm not so sick that I can watch "Is It Cake" with my wife and younger son-- I'd have to be in a fever dream delirium to watch that nightmare.
Dave The (Pretty) Good Samaritan
I was on my way to the store, and I was in a bit of a rush because I wanted to get some chili cooking and I did not plan ahead and defrost any meat so I had to buy some unfrozen meat, and while I was driving by the synagogue near the intersection of Third and Benner, I saw an older man sitting on the ground and a woman crouched behind him and their body language was so weird that I stopped the car and got out and asked them if everything was okay . . . and it was not, the man had been visiting the woman-- he drove from Manhattan-- and he was walking back to his car, which was two blocks up, and he felt dizzy and collapsed, but then he said he was feeling better and we tried to get him up, but he collapsed again, so I called 911 and I stayed there until a policewoman came-- and she had actually given him oxygen a few minutes previous and then he seemed okay, and then the ambulance came, so I took off . . . and I might not have stopped in the first place if we hadn't just read an excerpt from Malcolm Gladwell's book The Tipping Point in class, in which Darley and Batson's "Good Samaritan" experiment is described . . . and the gist of the findings are thus: if you are in a hurry, you are less likely to help someone in trouble, even if you are a seminarian about to do a presentation on the parable of "The Good Samaritan"-- fairly ironic, BUT since I knew about the experiment, I was able to short-circuit the impulse to let someone else take care of the issue-- though I was in a rush-- and so I DID stop and help . . . my knowledge of human nature helped me to reverse typical behavior (so I didn't really stop to be helpful, I stopped because I didn't want to behave like the ignorant seminary ding-dongs in the experiment . . . but I did stop and help as much as I could, which makes me a pretty good Samaritan).
Caliban's War: Expanding on the Expanse
My memories of The Expanse TV show and the series of novels are beginning to combine and unravel-- perhaps I have been infect by the protomolecule and soon I will be paid a visit by Detective Miller-- anyway, I can't help imagining all the folks from the show as I read the books, and this one (Caliban's War) gets far more in depth with the politics between Earth, mars and the Belt and there are many more scenes with protomolecule monsters; this book ends with the formation of the Ring (which might be in Season Three of the show?) and I think I will be forging ahead at some point, and perhaps even checking out the prequels, as this is some kick-ass sci fi-- nice job James S. A. Corey (including the Shakespeare allusion in the title, in reference to the half-man/half-monster protomolecule monster soldiers).
He's Your Pusher (Final Tennis Notes of the Winter Season)
Today, in the last match of the EBRC Winter A-League, I played Chinmoy for third place-- we were both 7-4, I think, and folks were excited to see us play because we are both known for getting everything back-- but Chinmoy is more of a classic pusher/moonballer while this week, I've been teaching the high school players how to beat that kind of player, so I've been practicing along with them-- basically, you need to abandon your normal game plan-- if the moonballer hits you a moonball, hit a moonball back and sneak up to the net-- you'll most likely get an overhead or a swinging volley-- and in general, you need to hit the ball deep and up-the-middle with heavy topspin and be very patient, then when you get a shallow ball, you can slice a short shot to the backhand side and rush to the net; Chinmoy also has a directional flat serve that he can hit to your backhand or off the side on the deuce serve, but as long as you poke it back fairly deep, he's not going to kill the next shot; so I used all the strategies and I beat him twelve games to two . . . I've never run to the net so much in a match, never hit so many overheads and swinging volleys, and I definitely ended up in no man's land once in a while, but it really disrupted his game-- he wants to hit it back and forth forever and then maybe hit a weird spin shot but I made the point go fast when I could, and I hit the ball deep with topspin when I couldn't waited to throw him off balance and get to the net, so I was very happy with my mental game (and my leg is not 100% yet but it held up) meanwhile in the championship match on the court next to us, Rey and Dhiraj were in a battle that went to a tiebreaker, then there was a disputed call and they almost came to blows and there was some chest-bumping and lots of cursing -- and while Dhiraj won the match, they both lost their minds-- you have to remember tennis is a cooperative sport, even though you are competing against the person you are playing, and you need to remember the big picture (no one wants to play with a lunatic).
Two Things I learned Today from Podcasts
Two things I learned today:
1) Freakonomics taught me that we all need to stop tik-tokking and playing video games and start hunting white-tailed deer because white-tailed deer cause between one and two million vehicle collisions per year . . . or we need to embrace wolves, which do a decent job of culling the population and patrolling near roads, which make deer retreat (and wolves don't seem to get hit by cars very often)
2) Lydia Davis, on Conversations with Tyler, taught me that the English language is wonderful in its variety because you can use straightforward and visual Anglo-Saxon words like "underground" or you can utilize the Latinate counterpart, such as "subterranean"-- depending on if you want to sound more abstract and intellectual, or more blunt and muscular.
Right According to Plan
So things are preceding as expected:
1) Ian beat Alex in the three-set challenge match to determine first and second singles on the tennis team;
2) Boyang beat Raam so we have the same top three singles players as last year-- so now we can get down to hashing out the doubles teams;
3) I got in hot water when my wife was chastising the children for not checking their email and signing up for some job-training meeting because I inadvertently called my wife an idiot . . . I was trying to make the point that efficient people check their email once a day-- but they really check it that one time and reply back to whoever needs replying to and deal with whatever issues are there-- and then they don't check again until the next day, but I somehow said, "those people are idiots who check their email all day long" and my wife said, "I'm one of those people" and I tried to pontificate some but I just came off mean and judgy . . . so I just need to keep my mouth shut after tennis because I'm dumb and tired (and I had just gotten off a phone conference with a senior girl's parent-- a senior having a conference!-- and I was fairly mean to the day because he wanted his daughter to get credit for some very old assignments and he wanted me to give her another opportunity if she didn't do well on the upcoming paper and I told him she was an adult, you couldn't force her to do things, and the paper was being evaluated on the Rutgers rubric and it would be graded once, calibrated with Rutgers, and that would be the grade . . . so I was in a bad mood).
Tennis vs Soccer
I have coached soccer my entire adult life and can organize and arrange a practice for four to forty people in my sleep, but I am finding tennis to be a different animal entirely-- practice is much more chaotic and disorganized: there are challenge matches going on, and they end at various times; there are drills and fun games; there are balls EVERYWHERE; there's a court for our absolute beginners, who are just working on hitting the ball; plus, I try to work with some kids individually on particular shots . . . and there's no culminating scrimmage to end things-- practice start out organized but slowly fall apart as different matches and drills end at different times, so then you can end practice with whacky large group games like "around the world" and "lob doubles touch the net or fence" challenge and maybe some fitness . . . I really like coaching tennis so far, but I'm learning to go with the flow a bit and I can't wait for our first scrimmage to see the kids in action.
Suspicion Confirmed
As I was leaving the dog park this afternoon, I walked past three witches-- or at least I assumed they were spellcasters of some sort . . . they were wearing all black, had on Goth outfits, and they had the aura about them-- and one was carrying an odd black wooden box, and carrying it in a significant formal manner-- and since they were smiling at Lola (she has that effect on people, even witches) I asked what was in the box and the box-carrying witch replied, "ritual gear!"
Tennis and Scooping
Weird tennis match this morning-- I hurt my quad last week playing soccer, so I promised myself I wouldn't run too hard at tennis this morning because I need to stay healthy for coaching tennis, and I played a good player this morning, Jonathan, a skilled and fit Asian guy in his thirties who has played a lot of tennis and I was hoping he'd kill me so I wouldn't get competitive and hurt my leg, but in between killer shots, he made some unforced errors and near the end, I was ahead 7-6 but he tied it at 7-7 and we had to play a tiebreaker-- and my leg was really starting to get tender, but I went ahead 3-0 in the tiebreaker, only to finally lose in the end 7-5 . . . and the whole time I was trying not to run down drop shots or get into long rallies and I'm just glad I survived without injury-- though I really could have beaten him if I was at full strength . . . and then I got bagels for my family and my wife gave me a very complicated order involving a "scooped out" bagel, a term which I never heard but seems to be something they are familiar with at the bagel shop.
Ring Out the Bells
Let it be known that Dave put in a full work week-- five full school days, four tennis practices (one canceled because of rain), the filling out of the brackets, the watching of the busting of the brackets, and several coverages (including a reverse schedule Friday double coverage, complete with car relocation).
I Am Sleepy
Tragic double overtime Rutgers loss to Notre Dame last night . . . and the lateness of the game made it so much worse; Alex and I stayed up and watched the entire nightmare and we knew Rutgers was in trouble when the game went past midnight and into St. Patrick's Day-- you don't want to play The Fighting Irish on St Patrick's Day-- it seemed like Rutgers hit the game winning shot four or five times-- Geo Baker, Ron Harper hit two insane three pointers, including a bank shot, Caleb McConnell hit a clutch shot, and Paul Mulcahey . . . but Notre Dame answered every time, ending a great era of Rutgers basketball . . . but at least it ended with an epic game.
Where Do memories Go When You Can't Recall Them?
Ian didn't have the best day at tennis practice today-- perhaps because he had a dentist appointment at 7:00 AM to have a cavity filled and then ate a spicy chicken sandwich from the new spicy chicken sandwich place right before practice-- but otherwise, things went well . . . although I'd like to remember the secrets I learned when I read Timothy Gallwey's classic The Inner Game of Tennis: The Classic Guide to the Mental Side of Performance to pass these along to the team . . . but I don't.
It's All Happening in Dave's Brain
Things are pretty wild right now in my consciousness-- there's Semantle and Wordle and Globle and Worldle, plus transferring my Henry IV plans from analog to digital and learning to coach varsity tennis (and a bunch of healthy eating because my wife spoke to s nutritionist) and Ian starting to prepare for college applications and Alex is figuring out his Rutgers stuff . . . I keep thinking next year will be the one where it's easier, where everything is figured out . . . but I'm not so sure that's ever going to happen.