Kids These Days . . .

We've had bathroom issues at East Brunswick High School-- vaping, vandalism, hooking up, etcetera-- so kids have to digitally sign into monitored bathrooms and only two students can enter at a time . . . it's a real pain-in-the-ass, pun intended, and in any given period (and we have block scheduling, so our periods are 82 minutes long, so kids are going to have to go to the bathroom) most of the bathrooms around the school are closed and locked, so the kids have to seek out an open bathroom and often wait in line to go-- some kids take advantage of this, they know they can wander the halls of the school with impunity, basically cutting class, but when they see teachers or SSO officers, they just tell them they are looking for an open bathroom; I saw a couple of these "hallway wanderers" pass each other last week, and after they slapped hands, one delinquent said something that might have passed between two septuagenarians: "bro, you're the only guy who get more steps in this building than me."

American Tailgating vs. The Americans

There's nothing like a good-old-fashioned-football tailgate-- but that doesn't mean I like everything about a good-old-fashioned-football tailgate; Rutgers played Penn State today and we have a number of kids from Highland Park that attend both schools (including my son Alex, far right in the photo) so it was fun to see the high school gang back together and the parents brought loads of good food and drink, but it was bitter cold and it was windy-- notice the flags-- and wind ruins everything . . . tennis, biking, golf, tailgating (everything except kite-flying) so while I enjoyed the cold-- especially from a food hygiene point-of-view, I had no problem eating leftovers from this tailgate hours later, because everything was kept at refrigeration temperatures-- I was happy to catch a ride home and watch the game inside my warm, windless house . . . and then when the game broke bad, I was happy to watch an episode of The Americans with my wife . . . and choosing a show about Russian spies over football probably means I'm some kind of pinko communist.

 

Stuff I Watched, Stuff I'm Watching

If you're looking for a different take on the horror genre, check out His House-- it's the story of a refugee couple from wartorn Sudan who seeks asylum in England and ends up in a not-so-typical-haunted-housing situation . . . these folks have some real skeletons in the closet and some real ghosts in their past; if you're looking for more traditional horror, check out Midnight Mass, a Netflix miniseries directed by Mike Flanagan-- the characters are well-drawn and Saracen from Friday Night lights has a superb role in this haunted island community; if you're looking to be stressed and depressed, watch The Americans . . . we've almost made it to the end of season four, and while the portrayal of two Soviet deep-cover spies who are "married" and have a family in Washington D.C. is compelling, gripping and candid, the show gets dark and then it gets darker . . . we can't stop watching, but it's brutal.

Voodoo Health Shit

I pride myself on being a logical person, versed in numeracy, literacy, and many topics-- but one thing I don't fuck around with is medical information . . . I don't read about medical stuff, I don't investigate it, I don't wonder at it, I don't think about it-- when I was a kid, I skipped that page in Discover about medical mysteries (was it called Vital Signs?) and while I know this is ridiculous, I just think it's bad juju to wonder about how your body works . . . if you read about heart attacks, you might have one; if you watch a medical show where someone has an aneurysm, your body might follow suit; if you research too much about your kidneys, they might stop working, and I did not read one page of Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer (even though I heard it was an excellent book) and then yesterday, we were discussing strokes (because my friend's dad had a stroke) and I got a terrible headache-- and I never get headaches-- and it was like a spike had been nailed into my head above my right eye and I could barely teach and I had to cancel my dermatology appointment . . . but apparently lots of people get headaches-- some far worse than the one I experienced-- and I wasn't having a stroke and it went away when I had some acetaminophen and coffee, but I still don't want to know how this stuff works (my friend Rachel told me she has lots of little white scars on her brain from migraine headaches!)

Dave Learns Two Things (That He Already Knew . . . Sort Of)

This morning I learned that I really like Billy Cobham-- I like his drumming and his original stuff and his work with Miles Davis and his work with the Mahavishnu Orchestra . . . I just didn't know the name "Billy Cobham"-- I "liked" a bunch of his songs on Spotify without ever knowing the percussionist behind the music . . . the other thing I learned TWICE this week (and I'm sure I knew this previously) is that if you don't rake the leaves in your backyard, you are going to step in dogshit . . . because fallen leaves are often the color of dogshit and fallen leaves obscure dogshit.

Go Ahead and Glue Yourself to The Scream

I really loved the new Sam Harris podcast "Science and Civilization"; Harris chats with astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson about numeracy and the difficulties humans have with numerical logic . . . the section about global warming was especially enlightening-- and, as usual, I am adding my own thoughts and tangents into a summary of what was discussed; Tyson points out that people have trouble understanding the dire consequences of one-degree change in average temperature because they don't think in Gaussian (Bell) curves-- we think about one degree warmer in our house or on an average day, but the fluctuation has much greater significance at the edges of the curve-- that's where the action is at (the storms, droughts, wildfires, dust storms, erosion, heat strokes, and death) and even if most people DID understand the ramifications at the long tail of a one-degree change, the mathematics of our political cycle precludes our political system from addressing the problem because we elect people in four-year cycles-- so the time horizon is too short to run on a long term concept like climate change . . . politicians run on inflation, cultural wedge issues, gas prices, immigration . . . things that are happening NOW . . . and Sam Harris is concerned that young people are th eonly people that care about these issues, but the way young people are protesting is kind of deranged-- especially the folks gluing themselves to "priceless" works of art; Tyson explains that young people are the only ones who care about these kind fo long term problems, plus they are the people with time and energy to protest-- I agree, and quite honestly, these "pricesless" works of art are only priceless in a market economy with extreme wealth inequality-- we have plenty of digital pictures of the art and it's only paint on canvas, so who gives a fuck? . . . maybe some rich art patrons but for the rest off us, the planet, the ecosystem we live in, the current state of the oceans and rivers, clean air and water, endangered species . . . all these things are far more priceless than art; a species took millions of years to create-- so I say, go ahead and glue yourselves to famous paintings if it gets some attention to the cause of climate change-- you've got to break a few eggs to bake a cake . . . but then you've got to explain the statistics to people as well-- so good luck.

A Bit 'mo Charleston

Some last thoughts about Charleston--

-- our tiny VRBO rental on Line Street (in the young and trendy Upper King Street neighborhood) was not for the faint of heart (or the elderly) because the bed was a floating loft at the top of a skinny spiral staircase . . . when you got out of bed, your only option was to get ONTO the staircase . . . 

--Brown's Court Bakery was a block away from our place-- some of the best baked goods I've ever eaten: the pepperoni/jalapeno danish, raspberry danish, bacon and cheddar scone, and the lavender sugar donut are all worth trying;

--Brown Dog Deli in downtown Charleston is a cheap, delicious joint to grab sandwiches and a beer;

-- the Two Sisters walking tour was excellent . . . we had Mary Helen (as the two sisters split the group) and she gave us an entertaining history of the city-- it's a weird place, after the Civil War and the earthquake of 1886, Charleston was somewhat in ruins . . . and because it wasn't wealthy, the city never rebuilt all it's historic homes and buildings-- and then some motivated Southern Ladies started preserving things until the money came into town and now the place is astounding, the homes are all remodeled historically by rich part-timers, there are lush gardens and window boxes and narrow cobblestone streets and brick alleys and iconic porches and patios-- it's like a beautiful version of New Orleans (without the urine and the vomit) and I'm not sure if we've ever put in more miles walking in a city--

--despite the windy weather, everyone told us you have to go to a rooftop bar when you're in Charleston so we went to the Pour Taproom, atop the Hyatt . . . an interesting concept: they have 80 computerized taps and you serve yourself beer and pay by the ounce . . . great views from up there, you can really see the layout of the city;

-- our last meal we went to Leon's again-- great affordable Southern food and local beers and a really great vibe;

--the Led Zeppelin poster in our VRBO rental was of the same nature as all those Nirvana t-shirts that the youngsters are wearing . . . I doubt very much the rental barons of StayDuvet are huge Zep fans but the band logo has become an aesthetic signifier of something young and fun;

--Charleston is a lot fo fun but I've heard it's swampy and mosquito-ridden in the summer and if we stayed there another week, Catherine and I would both be obese . . . it's a great place to visit and it's being rapidly gentrified as we speak . . . it's a Southern version of what happened in Asbury Park-- a prim location stunted by poverty and left in ruins until the money came to gentrify, and now both towns are adult playgrounds, great for a fun weekend, but maybe not somewhere to live full time.

More Charleston

We have really covered a lot of ground over the past two days, according to my Fitbit we've walked over fifty thousand steps, and we've managed to avoid getting soaked; Wednesday night w took a very very long stroll north to Edmund's Oast brewery-- but we thought we we headed to the restaurant but Google maps sent us to the brewery and while the beer was delicious, they didn't have an extensive menu so we ordered some boiled peanuts, which I loved at Cat hated-- very very messy food-- and then walked all the way back to Leon's-- an oyster and fried chicken place in a refurbished garage . . . the food was amazing; the nest day we walked down to the water, through the colorfully painted home in the French Quarter, which has a New Orleans feel, and took the tour of the Old Exchange and Dungeon, a venerable and extremely solid old building with symmetric brick foundational arches, a hidden cache of revolutionary gunpowder and an impressive history as a slave market, a battery, a port building, and a historical society, the building was on the river but now there is four hundred feet of reclaimed land; we got soaked on our walk home, but the vociferous and loquacious black lady working the register at the convenience store told us it was all God's plan and the rain removed the bacteria; we went back to our tiny house, watched a show called Magic For Humans which is oddly addictive and we only discovered it because we are on Sissy's Netflix account, so all kinds of weird suggestions, and then we walked back downtown for a rich Southern dinner at Magnolia's and then back uptown to see a band at the Commodore, a weird dive bar with music-- quite the crowd in there, it seemed everyone actually knew how to dance, like really dance, but the band canceled and some white guy started energetically rapping, doing hip hop covers, so we watched a bit of that and then went home (it also should be noted that I yanked my belt off a closet door, it was under my jeans, and the buckle whipped over the door and clocked me in the head, giving me a nice knot on my noggin).

Charleston day one

After a slightly stressful departure, as our son Ian-- who was locking up the house and heading to my brother's place with the dog while Catherine and I celebrate thirty years since our first date with a trip to Charleston-- dropped and broke his phone while listening to music in the shower and then totally lost his phone either at school or in the house so we had no Sim card and so we had to make like Avon Barksdale in The Wire and buy a burner phone, which was way harder to set up than we thought, but we did it and so we could communicate with our air brained son who ended up getting everything done he had to get done, enabling us to leave very very early, fly to Charleston, tour Magnolia Plantation, see some slave quarters, learn about rice farming, stalk some gators, take scenic pictures of Spanish moss and ancient live oaks, pet a pig, and walk a lot of miles through reclaimed swamp and beautiful wild gardens along the Ashley River, and then we ubered to town and gave our Uber driver some advice on his other job, where he cleans pools and got to drive a really nice pool truck until the new supervisor took it from him and gave him the shitty truck, a real kick to the balls, and it still wasn't check in at our tiny house near King Street so we grabbed a beer and a catfish sandwich and some fried green tomatoes at the Rarebit and then, finally, got into our little cottage with spiral stairs and a loft bedroom; soon enough we'll head back out to check out the night life and then hunker down for the rain.

Destroying the World (Creatively)

My newest episode of We Defy Augury is an epic adventure into apocalypses of all kinds; "Apocalypse New" is inspired by Walter M. Miller's classic post-apocalyptic religious sci-fi classic A Canticle for Leibowitz, but there's lots of cameos: Ziggy Stardust, Tyler Durden, Karen Thompson Walker, Rick Grimes, Sookie Stackhouse, Bill Compton . . . and even Kramer, to help with some poetry; I highly recommend the first novella in Canticle-- the Catholic Church, like a cockroach, is still hanging on six hundred years after a nuclear flame deluge-- and the monastery in honor of St. Leibowitz is trying to preserve some arcane and archaic knowledge from that old, destroyed world . . . then the book keeps going and going and going . . . you might want to listen to my podcast rather than reading the rest.

What About the Dogs? The Dogs!

Nothing is more fucked up than having to tell your dog she can't have dinner at her usual time because of a massive government conspiracy to control our clocks . . . I really thought there was some legislation to end all this springing forward and falling back bullshit, but apparently we're still doing it-- with no concern for the dogs! the poor dogs!-- and so now I've got a grouchy Pavlovian salivating dog, who can't understand why 5 PM is now 4 PM (mainly because I can't understand why 5 PM is now 4 PM . . . so there will be barely any time to get outside in the sun after school . . . why do we do this?)

Lantern Flies: The Hits Keep on Coming

Ian and I took a chainsaw to the low branches on the autumn blaze maple in our yard; I held the ladder and Ian used his long arms to reach and sever a half dozen or so limbs that were hanging over the bamboo and the Leyland cypress, in the the hopes that now the lantern flies will be more exposed on the main trunk-- the easier for trapping and killing . . . meanwhile, I taped the two maples in our front yard and while many lantern flies got stuck on the tape bands, there's still been an endless supply climbing the trunk, which I diligently massacre every time I go outside . . . so at the base of each tree there's a mass grave of splattered lantern flies-- which you'd think would serve as a warning to these stupid beasts, but they keep on coming-- but the questions is: where the fuck are they coming from? . . . or to be grammatically correct: from fuck all where do they be coming?

Conspiracy Theories in America

This episode of Plain English about conspiracy theories is both compelling and entertaining . . . I especially like the definition of a conspiracy theory-- brought to you by the guys from "Stuff They Don't Want You To Know"--

1) an event with an unsatisfactory explanation

2) lack of transparency

3) element of control-- either something controlling events or controlling information

4) a participatory aspect

and there's lots of other "fun" stuff about JFK, Lee Harvey Oswald, aliens, UFOs, and the government secrecy orders and patents.

But Don't Confuse Samuel Jackson and Laurence Fishburne

A student walked into my first period class this morning sleepily murmured, "Good morning Mr. Soder" and I turned my head and said, "YOU RACIST! You think every old white bald goateed English teacher looks the same?" and he stammered a bit and apologized for calling me the wrong name and then I told him I was just kidding-- that I could totally see how he mixed up me and Mr. Soder . . . because old white bald guys with goatees do look the same (especially to sleepy teenagers).

Got to Be the Shoes

You don't choose your family, but you don't really choose your friends either-- friendships tend to form in a fairly arbitrary pattern based on your activities, location, upbringing, family, race, religion, and a host of other factors . . . in fact, when you think hard about it (which you shouldn't) you might not choose anything (aside from the kind of shoes you wear).

(Ooh) That Smell

I lent my car to my seventeen year old son Sunday night, so he could drive some friends to get Halloween costumes-- but instead they got pho and I think someone spilled some (or they were very sweaty and were rubbing their stinky feet all over my van's upholstery) because Monday morning, there was a heinous odor emanating from the interior of the car, like vomit and chlorine and footstink all mixed together-- I've been driving with the windows open since then and the smell is finally dissipating but then today at the dentist I was punished with an even worse odor/flavor-- the cement that they used to affix my bridge made me gag over and over and over . . . I'm glad I didn't puke on the hygienist because she was very nice (not that I would punish a rude hygienist by puking on her) but I hope that the rest of my week is odor free.

 

Whole Lotta Barking Going On

 No matter how clearly I explain it, my dog does not understand Halloween.

Reality Returns

The Giants and the Jets performed more realistically today, thus proving we do not live in a simulation.

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?