At a party last night, we played a game called "The Essence"-- but instead of "the Asker" asking questions like that, we just free-lanced it . . . it was quite fun but it could probably go down a dark road if there was some animosity in the house (and I couldn't help taking it down an absurd road: if this person were an apocalypse they would be zombie . . . if this person were an organ, they'd be a spleen, etc.)
THAT Was Fun
It's weird when your kid comes home from college for Winter Break-- there is certainly an adjustment period: they are used to a totally different schedule, they are used to interacting mainly with college-aged people, and they are not used to whatever family dynamics have developed since they have been living away from home-- and perhaps that is why Alex and Ian nearly got into a battle royale the first time we tried to play some pick-up basketball at the Piscataway Y . . . Alex is used to playing a certain style of pick-up with kids at the gym over at Rutgers, Ian is a bit too competitive when he's covering his brother, and the two of them have grown quite a bit and Ian, although he's very athletic, does not have complete control over his long arms and bony elbows when he's playing basketball; anyway, they talked it out and we went back and played again today and we played four-on-four with some decent players and Alex, Ian, and I were on the same team and this made a world of difference-- we killed the other team; Alex and Ian both rebounded, Alex drove with confidence and made a lot of touch shots around the basket; Ian blocked some shots with his long arms and took advantage of a mismatch inside; I shot a bit from outside; and the fourth guy on our team was an excellent player who know how to move the ball . . . it was very fun and everyone got along smashingly and then we met Catherine for lunch at Mr. Pi's and ate some sushi-- and they are both certainly better at pick-up basketball than I was at their age (when I played basketball in the same fashion as I played rugby).
Charismatic Megafauna!
New episode of "We Defy Augury" is up . . . thoughts loosely inspired by Steve Brusatte's book The Rise and Reign of the Mammals" but plenty of tangents, asides, cameos, and even a musical monologue.
Almost Fun . . .
Alex, Ian, and I went to the gym at 10 AM to play some basketball and we got a three-on-three game going but Alex and Ian were the tallest players, so they had to split up and cover each other-- which I should have known would be a disaster-- and Ian swatted at the ball for a steal with his long arm and hit Alex in the lip, drawing blood and scratching his face-- and then the two of them were at it, and they finally got into some kind of scrap over a rebound and Alex tossed Ian to the ground (he's bigger) and Ian punched his leg and Alex decided he'd had enough and walked home . . . they sorted it all out later but they might not be able to cover each other until they reach an age of enlightenment (they are seventeen and eighteen now . . . maybe in their mid-twenties they'll mellow out?)
Gold, Frankincense, and Bluetooth Hat
Fun Christmas: I got the kids some graphic novels (that I want to read as well) and my wife got me a bluetooth ski hat with speakers embedded in the fabric so I can listen to music while walking the dog in the frigid cold (and the dog got a sweater, which she really likes) and Netflix gave us a new Knives Out mystery, Glass Onion, which was totally entertaining and a great thing to watch with the family on a lazy Christmas day . . . thanks Netflix!
Xmas Eve Miracles!
This morning, my older son Alex and I went to the Piscataway Y and played some basketball-- his game has gotten better because he's playing so much pick-up ball and Rutgers and my unconscious outside shooting picked up exactly where I left off yesterday morning . . . we were playing two-on-two and I think I shot 80% from beyond the arc-- it was ridiculous . . . and then to add to the miracles, Catherine botched another idiom in her inimitable style, when she told Alex she "didn't want to hear any comments from the popcorn gallery."
Winter Break is Here!
Winter Break has arrived: we survived ChatGPTbotgate at school, I survived early morning basketball (and lit it up from outside . . . Merry Xmas from the basketball gods), Alex survived his engineering exams, and-- hopefully-- we'll survive this bomb cyclone super freeze . . . the temperature has dropped precipitously and we're holed up at home-- the dog is bored, Catherine and I are making tacos, Alex and his buddy Gary are watching the Festivus episode of Seinfeld in the basement-- but Ian is at work at the bubble tea place-- I can't imagine many people are coming in because it's so cold and windy but he won't be home until 10 PM, I hope it's not too ugly out then-- anyway, the presents are wrapped and under the tree, there's no school tomorrow, and it's nice to be warm and inside and drinking a beer.
Almost Break
Alex is home from college and Alex, Ian, and I watched an episode of Atlanta and ate some pizza and told stories about college and high school and ChatGPT . . . and it felt very normal.
The Robots Are Here and the Writing is Uncanny
We had a Rutgers grade calibration day and we found several essays that seem to have sections written by AI, probably ChatGPT . . . and this is more difficult to prove than old-school plagiarism-- you have to guess what the student typed into the prompt to get the chatbot to spit back out the weird stuff in the essay-- but you can tell the sections that are written by a computer . . . Stacey made an astute comparison to the idea of the "uncanny valley" in digital animation.
Early Morning Date with a Dead Dog
You never know where the adventure of parenthood is going to take you . . . this morning I woke up my son Ian at 5:45 AM and we drove over to Carolyn's house-- Ian does odd jobs, outdoor work, and dog sitting for her-- and Carolyn's dogs are old, one is deaf and blind and the other had severe problems with his back legs and needed to be put down yesterday . . . poor Huckleberry . . . anyway, the vet came to her house and put the dog down last night and Carolyn needed a couple of people to carry the dog to her car this morning so she could drive the dog to the crematorium . . . so Ian and I started our day by lugging a seventy-pound carcass out of Carolyn's living room and wresting it into the back of her Subaru and then Ian went back to bed and I got ready for work . . . dogs-- they just don't live long enough.
Adrift in the Digital Doldrums
New episode of We Defy Augury is up and streaming: "Adrift in the Digital Doldrums" . . . in this one I describe how to become a digital minimalist, how to solve all of America's problems, and how NOT to clean out a lint duct; cameo appearances from Bill Maher, Tristan Harris, and Alexander Supertramp.
Meta Action is Still Action, Right?
The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, starring Nicolas Cage as a gonzo-version of himself, is entertaining, fun, and meta . . . and Pedro Pascal's understated emotion is the perfect foil to Cage's wild manic swings; this is the lighter version of JCVD . . . a similar premise, but Jean-Claude Van Damme plays a very dark version of himself . . . if you're going to watch one meta-action movie where the star plays himself, I would go with the Nicolas Cage one.
Let There Be Lint
I cleaned my dryer vent duct today, using a shop-vac and a kit that contained a bunch of flexible plastic sticks that you screw together and then you put an augur lint brush on one end of the long flexible stick and you attach the other end to a drill-- you insert that thing into the duct outside your house (after removing the louvres) while you have the shop-vac attached to the hose in the basement (you've detached the hose from the back of your dryer) and when you're done you have cleaned the lint from the hose, there's a bunch of lint in the shop-vac and there's also an unlimited amount of lint all over the washroom-- I'm not sure why this happened (because I was outside spinning the augur brush) but there certainly was a lot of lint.
Peanut Butter Hustle
I was preparing to go to early morning basketball-- it was 5:30 AM-- and I had to walk the dog in the sideways rain (I've got a special jacket for this-- I'll put up a picture) and Lola will sleep as late as you let her and is often fairly reluctant to come down the stairs early in the morning, she's content to wait up on the landing until everyone wakes up-- but I had just finished a jar of peanut butter, and her favorite hobby is to lick the remaining peanut butter out of the jar and even though she was warm and in her bed in Ian's room, all I had to whisper up the stairs was "peanut butter" and she came racing down, no hesitation about bounding down a dark staircase.
At Least It Was Short
Once again, I got sucked into another ridiculous Blake Crouch sci-fi thriller: this one is the first in a trilogy and it's called Pines . . . it's pretty much Twin Peaks plus Winesburg,Ohio inserted into The Matrix.
I Need To Try Chick-fil-A
My Public Speaking students are giving informational speeches and I have learned I don't know anything: today I learned about Abby Lee Miller-- the crazy abusive dance teacher who hid assets and survived spinal cancer; I learned about the YouTube phenomenon called Sidemen Sundays; and I learned I am really bad at eating fast food . . . I've never had Popeyes or Chick-fil-A.
Croatia: All Feet on Deck
Croatia, with a population of 3.9 million, makes it to the finals of the World Cup in 2018 and the semi-finals of the World Cup in 2022 . . . very impressive . . . and they'll probably bury Luka Modric in the basement of a castle in Transylvania and then resurrect him for the 2026 World Cup.
Carrie Soto Is Wack
On my podcast We Defy Augury, I usually try to convince you to read a particular book-- or at least to enjoy my thoughts on the book-- but this episode is different: I try to convince you NOT to read a particular book, Taylor Jenkins Reid's inane tennis novel Carrie Soto Is Back . . . which, oddly, got excellent reviews and-- even more absurd-- won the GoodReads reader's choice historical fiction novel of the year . . . anyway, join me, Clubber Lang, Helen Keller and John McEnroe as we try to unravel the idiocy of this book.
Sometimes You Win When You Don't Watch
Good week of sports for me: I managed to get to school early for both badminton and basketball, made it to the gym Saturday morning and played indoor soccer Sunday morning-- so now I'm pretty much immobile and very sore-- which will be perfect, since the Giants are on at 1 PM . . . and the World Cup games were fantastic, especially Croatia/Brazil and Argentina/Netherlands and the best sporting move that I made all week was that I completely forgot to watch the Rutgers/Ohio State basketball game on Thursday night, just blanked out and forgot about it . . . which was great because it ended with this debacle and if I would have committed to watching the entire game and then saw that ending, I probably would have had an aneurysm.
World Cup Woes
It's kind of nice when your country is eliminated from the World Cup because you can watch the games in a state of curiosity, awe, and general relaxation-- not that I told my British friends this nugget of wisdom after the disaster of the England/France game this afternoon . . . nothing worse than when your team totally dominates and your most overrated player-- according to these Brits-- skies a PK into the thirtieth row and you miss a chance to play Morocco to get into the finals . . . brutal stuff (and I feel quite bad for Harry Kane, but you've got to get that on goal and then if the keeper makes the play, good for him).
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