Reality Returns
I Feel Like Pip in Daytona
This morning I went to the gym and I did some rowing and some upper-body lifting; then, on the way home, I stopped at the pickleball courts and there were people there so I figured I play a bit and then head over to the girl's soccer game-- but after I played a few games, I walked to my van and I couldn't find my keys anywhere-- so I assumed that I locked them inside the van; I called my wife, told her I needed her to come over and unlock the van, and then went back to playing pickleball . . . and it took my wife a while to get to me because she didn't have a van key and Ian did and he had slept over a friend's house and she had to track him down-- so by the time she got to me, I had played a lot more pickleball and when I was finished, my back started to hurt-- my lower back-- which never happens to me and then my wife arrived and I opened the van and my keys were NOT inside the van . . . so we searched the premises-- the courts and the path and the parking lot and the grass, and this nice Indian dude foudn them for me-- huge-- but by this time my back was really starting to hurt, and by the time I got home it was in full spasm-- I took a nap, but it didn't loosen up-- so no sports for me tomorrow (and I also doubt I'll climb the ladder with the electric chainsaw and cut down those limbs infested with lantern flies . . . I think I need to be in prime condition to do that stupid job).
Really?
If I'm in such good shape-- which I am . . . I still play soccer, badminton, basketball, tennis, and pickleball; I lift weights, I run, I swim, and I snowboard-- then why did I strain a quad muscle karate-kicking a lanternfly on my maple tree?
End of Era
Highland Park lost a 1-0 heartbreaker and was eliminated from the state tournament tonight, but I'm so proud of my son Ian-- he had a rough high school soccer career, after being an exceptional youth player . . . this was the first high school season that he didn't get injured and he fought his way into a starting position and scored some big goals and had a few exceptional assists; tonight he had to start at left back (because our left back had a doctor's appointment) and then when the left back arrived he went up and played right wing and then when our center back got hurt he played center back, and then when our center forward cramped he switched to center forward, then went back to center back and then ended the game at left wing . . . Highland Park dominated possession but we couldn't punch through the back line-- we had a number of great shots, and at one point, Ian actually headed a ball into the goal-- but it was was called back because apparently the ball glanced off the football crossbar, not the soccer crossbar -- and we had one frantic rush at the end of the game, which resulted in a corner, and with the clock winding down, Ian got to take a shot off a carom just outside the eighteen-- right footed, unfortunately, as he's a lefty-- and it floated high and just over the crossbar and then time ran out . . . but he had a great season and this team was a blast to watch and at least his career ended with a classic soccer match, an ugly 1-0 loss, where the only goal was an incomprehensible mess in the back and the goalie got out of position and Point Pleasant poked it in-- that's soccer and there's a part of me that's happy never to watch a match with one of my kids playing again-- it's too damn stressful-- and so now it's time to start practicing for tennis season.
F&%$ing Shuttlecock!
My wife claims I am "too dramatic" and "curse too much about silly things" and if there was a video record of today's early morning badminton session, she would have been correct.
Time and Tranquility
Work . . . Boo
We had an in-service teacher education day today, and while it was quite productive, I imagine this is what having an actual job is like: meetings, normal hours, lots of discussions with smart adults, some collaboration and turn-keying and such . . . definitely mind-numbing and soul-crushing-- I'll be glad to be back to the chaos of teenagers tomorrow.
Horse Shit
A new episode of my podcast We Defy Augury is up and streaming . . . the episode is called "All the (not so) Pretty Horses" and it focuses on a brilliant book by Jaimy Gordon, Lord of Misrule, which is about a down-and-out horse track in West Virginia in the early 1970s; the book captures the language, the characters, the consciousness, the cons and the gritty feel of a run-down horse track . . . the podcast also features cameos from Michael Scott and Mike the glue factory guy.
Go Rutgers! From a Comfortable Distance . . .
Hazy Friday
Although I love Mr. Pi' sushi, I am starting to have my doubts about the tap beer-- for the second time, after having two Sierra Nevada Hazy Little Things, I was rewarded the next day with a headache and some stomach issues . . . and, of course, as my punishment for drinking beer on a weeknight, I had to cover PE class today-- with the new block schedule, 82 minutes of high school kids playing "badminton" is a recipe for a headache.
Fuck Lantern Flies!
The maple tree in my backyard seems to be generating a never-ending supply of lantern flies-- every afternoon, I go out and squish dozens of them with a long-handled broom and the next day there they are again; apparently-- according to my dog-park buddy Bill-- they crawl up from the ground and go up the tree to try and lay eggs, which turn into scaly egg masses, and the lantern flies bore a hole into the tree under the egg mass, so the sap of the tree can feed the eggs and young lantern flies-- which will eventually damage the tree (plus the sugary lantern fly excretions, which land on the plants below the infested tree, attract aphids and black moldy gunk) and nothing seems to eat these critters (aside from praying mantises, and there aren't enough praying mantises to eliminate the never-ending supply of lantern flies) so if I can't figure out some way to quell these creatures, I'm going to have to cut this tree down and replace it with an evergreen (even though it's the primary shade tree in our backyard-- fuck these things!)
Fuck Capitol One!
Capitol One double charged us a week ago-- my wife paid $3823 two days early so she could sort out our budget and then Capitol One automatically took another $3823 two days later-- their auto-pay extracted that amount again, even though our balance was zero-- so that our bill was now negative three thousand and some dollars-- and when we called to rectify this, their customer service was atrocious-- NOBODY could do anything . . . apparently they can take your money but they can't give it back-- and the fucking customer service people just read and read from their script and no one could bump you up to anyone with actual power . . . we were finally promised that after an "investigation" they would return the money they stole from us-- at first they said they would return it in the form of a check, but we were like: "you fucking took the money digitally so you can return it digitally" so the rep said he would do that ASAP-- but he was a liar-- and then a week went by and we received nothing so I called again this Saturday-- and now we were in worse shape because our credit card statement no longer reflected that we were three thousand in the negative . . . but we didn't have the money-- and I must point out that we were lucky enough to have enough money to pay our Rutgers bill, as this double-charge was enough money to cripple some families financially-- and the lady couldn't even see that there was some weird payment correction pending and she also had no supervisor working she could refer us to-- so after much yelling she finally figured out that Capitol One had sent us a letter-- a letter!-- informing us that they would soon be sending us a check-- a fucking check, though they stole our money digitally-- and this is obviously because some percentage of people never get the check and never follow up, so Capitol One makes even more money by bilking people . . . so it's going to take a couple weeks (I hope) to get our money back that they stole by double billing us, though they extracted it digitally, so as soon as we get the money we'll be cancelling our account and I implore everyone to cancel their Capitol One accounts and forward this story and tell your friends and family to FUCK CAPITOL ONE because they are crooks with atrocious customer service.
Feeling Old
I covered for the special education teacher in an environmental science class today and when I walked in I assumed the skinny, masked child behind the desk was a student-- but he turned out to be the teacher, a rather diffident brand-new hire who looked no older than my younger son . . . and then one of my other students said, "I was telling my mom how you needed to use a phone cord as a belt because your pants were falling down and my mom's friend said that you taught her-- her name is Julia and her daughter is a freshman"-- so that's what's coming down the pike, children of the kids I taught in my early years . . . yikes.
Beers, Bars, and Stumps
This weekend was much mellower than last weekend, but Cat and I did manage to go out after the senior night game on Friday-- and though we were very tired, the scene at the bar at Mr. Pi's sushi place woke us up-- first we were chatted up by a very energetic lesbian couple-- Stacey and Nerissa-- and we found out that they were older than they looked (50 and 46 no kids will do that . . . and for Nerissa, black doesn't crack) and Nerissa played basketball at St. Peters back in the day and knew folks that my brother played with at North Brunswick-- Wayne Cruz and Daryl Banks and such-- and then it was more small world game, Nerissa runs the after school program at the school where my wife works, so they will run into each other again-- and there was also a book club happening and there were some younger soccer moms that we knew, and the Deatz family wandered in-- they were eating dinner on the restaurant side, and then Sleepy Dan ambled in to complete the bar scene . . . and the bartender was a trip-- she's planning all sorts of jazz and karoake and footabll specials-- and we talked to one of the chefs, a Japanese guy who was very hungover for the previous night's sake tasting; Saturday I actually went grocery shopping and succeeded in getting everything on the list and then we went to Flounder Brewing and the Bellemara distillery next door-- really the best beer and drinks around (but a little pricey) and Sunday morning Cat and I played pickleball and then I watched the Giants while she worked on curriculum for some program (and Ian worked, yardwork and he gave a tennis lesson) and we got sandwiches from Sapore Deli in Middlesex after pickleball-- this place is HIGHLY recommended-- I got a broccoli rabe, hot pepper and chicken cutlet sandwich, ridiculous amount of food for 13 bucks-- it's two meals-- and then I successfully killed and bagged a stump from a dead tree (see the trophy photo above).
Beginning of the End, Sort Of
Last night was "senior night" for the HP Boys Soccer Team-- Catherine, my mother and I went out on the field with Ian-- who gave my mother a bouquet of flowers-- while my dad looked on from the fence on his scooter (it would have been difficult for him to navigate the turf on that thing) and then Highland Park cruised to a 5-0 victory over Timothy Christian in the first round of the county tournament; little Michael Volpert was the hero, scoring all five goals; Ian gave him a nice header assist for the first goal and Ian started at left-back instead of wing so that all the seniors could start the game-- it was fun watching him play there (the same position Alex played last year) and while there are still a few regular season games left, another county game to play, and the state tournament, this is the beginning of the end of watching high school soccer with a kid on the field (although the stands were packed last night, with plenty of HP fans whose kids have graduated, so I'll probably be watching games in the future, but it won't be the same of course).
Gender Stuff
We read Jia Tolentino's "Athleisure, barre, and kale: The Tyranny of the Ideal Woman" in College Writing class-- and the descriptions of barre class, while mildly erotic, are also depicted as training that helps "you adapt to arbitrary, prolonged agony," similar to the hyper-accelerated modernly optimized feminine lifestyle-- which led to a class discussion about why most women-- even if they played sports in school-- don't participate in pick-up basketball and soccer and other joyful sporting activities and instead subject themselves to yoga-pilates on a reformer (as my friend Cunningham does) and perhaps it is because-- as evidenced in the contrast between Tolentino and our other text, "The Naked Citadel," that men haze each other while women haze themselves.
There Are Two Sides to Every Conflict About a Rubber Doorstopper
Earlier in the week, my friend and colleague Terry was sitting morosely in the English Office (as he is wont to do, we don't call him Eeyore for nothing) and he said to me:
"Liz just called me a dick, in front of our homeroom!"
I asked him why this happened and he said:
"We've got this stupid rubber doorstopper and I couldn't get it to work because you have to fold it over or something and after she showed me how to do it, I said 'I still don't like it,' just joking around and she blew up at me!"
I said that was odd and maybe she was upset about something else-- she was teaching an extra class and had a lot of different preps and maybe she was just in a bad mood-- and then for the sake of Denise, who was also in the office and hates all men, I said:
"You know, not everyone is as calm and rational as us in these kind of situations"
and then I went on my merry way
the next day, Liz said to me, "I don't want you taking Terry's side before you hear the entire story" and so I gave her a recap of what Terry said happened and then-- because she has a dramatic bent-- Liz acted out what happened-- or what she thinks happened-- and it was a bit more compelling than Terry's story . . . apparently Terry is the extra teacher in the homeroom and he doesn't contribute much to running the show-- and Liz claims he was hunched over the doorstopper, fooling with it and muttering and complaining for like five minutes-- and she showed him how it worked but he continued to complain so she told him to "fuck off" . . . and she did admit she got pretty pissed-- which can certainly happen to Liz, who generally exudes school spirit and positivity, but when she's confronted with enough masculine fatalism she can lose it-- longtime fans of this sentence may remember when Liz kicked me out of the department because I did not want to "dress like a holiday" . . . and now, coincidentally, I share homeroom with Haim, the guy who prevented me from redeeming myself in that debacle . . . anyway, something happened between Terry and Liz in homeroom and the catalyst was a rubber doorstopper . . . the rest is shrouded in a profane mystery.
The Orchard . . . You Know, Behind the Tennis Courts
Today the sophomores and juniors had to take the PSAT (interminable and the script that admin made for us was riddled with typos and errors-- it was actually difficult to read-- you had to correct spelling, verb tense, and actual wrong wordage on the fly) so we had a half day, and to escape traffic quickly I brought my bike-- right when the test ended, I ran out of the building and jumped onto it and rode over to the used book sale at the mall and bought some books . . . when I returned I saw one of my friends from the History Department walking to his car and stopped my bike and entered into a very strange conversation:
"Hey what's going on?"
"I just rode over to the used book sale at the mall, got some good cheap books . . . now I'm headed over to the orchard to bike the trails"
"The orchard? I don't live around here . . ."
"The orchard . . . behind the tennis courts? where the track team runs?"
"Cranbury Road is behind the tennis courts"
"Not exactly . . . you go over a bridge, there's a large piece of land, that used to be an orchard-- with trails-- it's high school property"
"I've never been back there"
"Behind the tennis courts? There's a bridge over a little stream?"
"I don't know man"
"How long have you worked here! Twenty years?"
"Twenty years"
"Well . . . there's an orchard-- I used to walk across it to the old Blockbuster if I needed a movie for class"
"Alright, sounds cool, maybe I'll eat my lunch back there"
"Watch out for ticks"
and then I went biking in the orchard, a place I often run, walk, and bike . . . wondering how he made it twenty years without hearing about the orchard, a large chunk of multi-use land on our high school campus . . . weird . . . I wonder what stuff I don't know about our high school.
Gross Stuff Part II
In the comments yesterday, Zman wondered if cleaning out the wood under my deck would eliminate cave crickets-- and my answer is yes, I think it will help-- they like to live under rotting wood; this afternoon I also cleaned out the bike shed, and found dozens of cave crickets in there, under a piece of spare plywood-- so I took the doors off the bike shed, cleared out the spare pieces of wood, smashed a bunch of crickets with a shovel, sprayed some insecticidal soap, and put down some bug killing powder-- both in the shed and under the deck-- so we'll see how that works, but I'm still annoyed by some out of reach lantern flies in my maple tree-- maybe I'll try to get to them today, I think I can hit them from the deck with either long distance wasp spray or some Neem oil from our pump sprayer . . . I'm kind of ready for the first frost, which should decimate all these pests.