Reading Joy Williams is like scrambling up a muddy embankment . . . but there is no top of the cliff, it's all scrambling; Harrow is set at a cryptic boarding school with strange slogans and then the school closes and then the main character Khristen-- if you could call her that-- finds herself in an odd post-apocalyptic world, a world that has gone beyond the "verge" that we've been at for so long and falls into a slightly more chaotic state-- there are strange episodes at a bowling alley, where a cake with a depiction of Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son offends a youngster, and then a long strange section about seditious geriatrics living around a toxic lake, plotting revenge against ecologically corrupt humans . . . but these plans come to naught, raising the question: why aren't old people more violent and rebellious? they've got nothing to lose, right? . . . I think Joy Williams might be a modern-day Kafka, and she refers to him-- I don't think this book is her best work-- I was more compelled by The Changeling and now I'm making my way through The Quick and the Dead and that one has some roots and rocks in the mud to hang on to, but it does feel a bit like reading Pynchon, except the vocabulary is right there and easier to ascertain and comprehend-- each sentence a little masterpiece, but how do you connect them together . . . or should you?
The Slow Decay of Summer Begins!
We had a successful graduation party for Alex yesterday-- Catherine did SO much preparation-- salsa bar, three kinds of taco meats, gorditas, chorizo-stuffed peppers, centerpieces, photo decorations, Rutgers decorations, lots of tables and chairs-- and it was the first time we've seen both her brothers in the same location for quite a while . . . a good time was had by all and Alex and Ian were wonderful, social and helpful and appreciative (even though Alex has some kind of sinus congestion and feels like shit . . . they were much better than I was at those kinds of events when I was in high school-- in fact, they're probably better than I am now) and now we can stop cleaning the house and fixing stuff and let the slow decay of summer begin!
People Dreamed of Ohio
Softball Drivers
There's a big softball tournament in the park by my house and some softball parent from South Jersey passed out at the wheel of her Jeep, barrelled through the wood barrier in the parking lot, and knocked the community garden fence down-- and she was headed straight for my wife's garden!-- luckily, her car stopped and a county employee ran over, turned the car off, and got her out of the vehicle . . . apparently she didn't eat breakfast.
Still in the Ending Mode
The End is Nigh (Or Is It The Beginning?)
Alex graduated yesterday-- a lovely ceremony on the front lawn of Highland Park High School-- and then he went to Project Graduation (an event at the Woodbridge Community Center from 10 PM to 4 AM) and so he was coming home when I was leaving this morning for early morning badminton-- pretty weird-- and after my stupid penultimate day of school (a random A day with nothing to do until graduation practice) I came home to a million projects-- my wife is getting the house ready for Alex's graduation party on Saturday, so I shouldn't be writing this sentence, I should be sanding or scraping or fixing the bike shed or something (plus I've got to pick Ian up from work-- he started as a tennis instructor today-- we have four drivers and two cars this summer, so that's going to be kind of nuts until we figure out the schedule).
A Great Father's Day Weekend
Saturday was the big $25 dollar a head random draw cornhole tournament at my cousin Tim's father-in-law's house in North Brunswick and while I was hoping to win two tournaments in a row, it was not to be-- I thought my partner, Manny, might have some potential but after the first round, he couldn't put a bag on the board, but the tournament turned out well anyway, especially for Father's Day weekend-- as both my kids were playing (I subsidized their fee, with the promise that they would pay me back if they won money) and they ended up placing second and third-- Ian was playing with a guy named Chad, who was a North Brunswick alum a year younger than me-- and they eventually lost to Alex's team-- Alex drew the same partner as last year (who might be Manny's brother?) and while he was a disaster last year, this year his guy figured out how to put a few on the board and Alex was on fire-- I had to square off against him and we lost a tight one, which was fine with me, because then Alex and Ian had to play in the semi-finals and they had a close match but most importantly-- the best Father's Day gift-- they were totally civil and didn't get into a fist fight-- so they both made some cash and I got $50 of the $75 I laid out for all of us to play, a win/win, and then I had a wonderful Father's Day-- the kids gave me a framed picture of the tennis team, perhaps the last time I coach both of them together (although we've been playing some pick-up basketball at the park and I still have to tell them where to go) and this is all a reminder that I'm a very lucky dad, with a beautiful loving wife and two athletic healthy kids (and a fairly well-behaved dog) and I've got to remember to enjoy that.
In the Money
Another fabulous EBHS end-of-the-year party: the Victory beer was free, the pool was warm, and Kristyn and I finally won the corn-hole tournament-- we usually make it to the finals, and then-- because we have over-served ourselves on free beer-- we collapse . . . but not this time!
Two Things I Learned Late in Life
Here are two things I learned very recently:
1) leftover wings are delicious if you reheat them on the grill;
2) when you're in the shower and you depress one nostril with your index finger and shoot snot out the other nostril, even if you aim for the drain, the snot might end up on your body so if you don't spray yourself thoroughly after you do this, you might get out of the shower with some snot on you.
It Took A While
My brother, an accomplished jazz pianist, has always sung the praises of Steely Dan, but I never got it-- until today, in the car . . . I put on "Aja" and I really dug it, so you never know when your taste will change (and unless you go back to stuff, you'll really never know if your taste changes).
Am I This Guy? I Guess So
As an adult, at some point while reading a sci-fi series, you ask yourself:
"Am I really the kind of person who reads an entire sci-fi series?"
and I'm at that point with Cibola Burn, the fourth book in the Expanse series by James S.A. Corey-- this was my favorite season of the TV show and the book fills in a lot of gaps-- a LOT of gaps . . . it's a bit interminable in spots, but there's also so much good stuff: the protomolecule built a ring gate that gives humans access to thousands of worlds across the galaxy, and this book is mainly set on New Terra, a planet that seems habitable and rich in lithium and other resources . . . but it's not habitable at all- there are conflicts between colonists/squatters and official security, there are poisonous slime worms and blindness inducing bacteria, there is ancient technology built by the protomolecule which is starting to awake, there are volcanoes and storms and technologically crippling defense systems . . . so it was a lot of fun, but also LONG, long enough that I wanted to get back to some quality non-fiction or something . . . I will say it's a better fourth book than the fourth one in the Game of Thrones series-- and I was asking myself the same question-- am I really this kind of guy?-- but I forged on and the fifth book was better (I think there are a couple more books slated to come out soon, I'm going to need a recap) and so I might continue on with this Expanse series, I love the characters and all the hard sci-fi stuff, though I think the action scenes could be pared down and so, despite the fact that I'm a grown-ass man, I might be the kind of grown-ass man that finishes an epic sci-fi series.
It's Been a Day, A Birth Day . . .
Short and Old
The more my kids have grown, the more they've gotten into basketball-- and while they're not very good, they have long arms and can kind of play now, and when we play one-on-one, their arms are so long that I can't shoot over them unless I step back to Steph Curry range, so I have to bang forward and try for hook shots, which is exhausting and ugly . . . but I'm glad they're getting into hoops again so that they can play pick-up ball in college-- it took me four years of playing on the ugliest team in intramural basketball, the Nicks (named after Nick Huth) to achieve any kind of skill in the sport-- and now it's all downhill for me.
It's Friday, I Think
The closer we get to the end of the year, the more time becomes elastic and the longer the 84 minute block schedule classes seem . . . this week felt beyond eternal, every moment a mini-infinity, so that when Friday finally ended, it seemed as if the year reset and it was a dry September afternoon in 2022.
Epic Hump Day
I Have a Dream . . .
I have a dream to make the side of my backyard like the back of my backyard . . . to make a similar leafy green wall of fargesia clumping bamboo along the fenceline so I can't see my neighbors and they can't see me-- but I suffered for my dream today, while I was transplanting a smaller bamboo plant to a cramped slot behind a plastic storage chest when I bent over to shape some soil around the roots of the plant and a pointy bamboo stalk poked me in the eye; it hurt, my hands were covered in dirt, and I needed to shower to get the remnant of the stalk out of my eye socket . . . but it will all be worth it in a couple of years (but why didn't I do this years ago?)
The End is Nigh
In class today, Hamlet-- who recently returned to Denmark from a near-death adventure with pirates-- confronted Yorick's skull today and the inevitability of decay . . . and my seniors, who returned from their near-death adventures over prom weekend, must now also face their own imminent decay-- they are graduating and growing older by the minute and will never look this way again (also, I'm writing this over the din of professional lawncare equipment-- that shit is so LOUD).
Crowded Bridge, Noisy Bridge, Deserted Bridge, Little Bridge
Yesterday's Man Hike (led by Dave Tulloch) started out reminiscent of the day my wife and I spend in New York a few months ago but the reason this is called the Man Hike is not sexist-- only men would be stupid enough to spoil a good day in NYC by walking way too far (although not as far as this one and better weather than this one) and so while we started out in known territory-- we took the train to the Oculus, carefully examined the treescape (pretty incredible irrigation system) and the survivor tree at the 9/11 Memorial (and then saw a clone of the tree that inspired Anne Frank and the church where George Costanza attempted to convert to Latvian Orthodoxy) and then we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with the throngs of people-- this was the crowded bridge-- then did NOT stop in DUMBO for pictures, beer and food-- instead we zipped right back across the noisy bridge-- the Manhattan Bridge-- shouting above the roar of the train-- beautiful views, anyone who was anyone was riding around on their yacht in the East River-- and then we walked a bit (and Pete and I lost the group when we stopped for Asian pastries) and crossed back into Brookly on the Williamsburg Bridge (which was empty) and walked through Greenpoint and other Brooklyn neighborhoods and saw ALL the hipsters and young people, out and about, we stopped for some amazing pizza, and then crossed the small(ish) Pulaski Bridge into Queens-- and I had never really wandered about in Queens so that was new and then we made out way to the a park on the water near Roosevelt Island and caught a ferry all the way back down to Wall Street, had a few beers and a burger, and hitched a ride home with Doug, who took a shortcut through Staten Island . . . so we visited four of the five boroughs, walked some 35,000 steps, and only neglected the Bronx.
Geoff Dyer Gives Up on Giving Up
Geoff Dyer-- famous for Out of Sheer Rage, his anti-biography of D.H Lawrence, which becomes a mediation on procrastination-- has written another weird and wonderful and obscure and profound book, The Last Days of Roger Federer and Other Endings . . . I often struggle with some of his references, and he alludes and refers widely, from literature and jazz and French film to soccer and tennis and Beethoven and Nietzsche; but mainly this book deals with something from a Joy Williams story, when an adult tells a young girl:
"I hope you're enjoying your childhood. When you grow up, a shadow falls. Everything's sunny and then this big goddamn wing or something passes overhead."
and this book is Dyer contemplating life under this shadowy giant wing, as the end approaches-- the end of his tennis playing, the end of Roger Federer's career, the end of movies and films and books and musical pieces, the never-ending non-ending of Bob Dylan, the odd endings that happen when some people are still young-- such as Bjorn Borg and fighter pilots in WWII-- the end of stealing shampoo, the end of artistic purpose, and the end of The Tempest . . . the book ultimately asks the question "when should a creator stop creating?" and the answer is never, never stop until you stop.
Hamlet is Perfect for Seniors in June
It must be getting near the end of the year, as we finished Act IV of Hamlet today; Ophelia finally met her tragic, but beautiful, flower-strewn, mermaid-like demise . . . and after three hours of planning, procrastinating, and pontificating, you'd think that the play would be near the end-- but Shakespeare really lost his mind with this one: he figured out how to get Hamlet back to Denmark-- oddly friendly pirates!-- but he isn't quite ready to resolve things, Laertes still needs to do the whole jumping in the grave thing, Hamlet needs to do "alas poor Yorick" and "the readiness is all" and we also need the weird interlude with Osric (played by Robin Williams in the Branagh version) before we get the final violence and the endless last words . . . it's a perfect play to do at the end of the year because it seems as if it will never end and the seniors keep asking what we will do in class after Hamlet and the answer is "the rest is silence."