If you're looking for a faster paced version of Donna Tartt's The Secret History, with all the ancient Greek allusions replaced with Shakespeare (which was far more satisfying for me) then M.L. Rio's If We Were Villains is the book for you-- it's intense.
The Required Amount at the Prescribed Rate (Handcrafted From the Finest Corinthian Leather)
Million Ants Man Sighting (Form: Amorphous)
We Might Have Been in the Catskills
Catherine and I spent the last few days so far up in the Catskills that it might not be designated as the Catskills-- near a quaintly dilapidated town called Stamford . . . our friends Ann and Craig invited us up-- Ann's family owns several houses on property surrounding a very very old house that has been in her family since the 1700s . . . but we stayed in her parents' modern house, across from the spooky cemetery where hundreds of crows congregated this morning; and we did some lovely hikes with spectacular views of the bucolic Schoharie Valley, drank some local IPAs and some Teremana tequila (endorsed by The Rock himself), played Bananagrams and watched the rain, drove the golf cart to get iced coffee from Stewarts, traipsed around town, and generally enjoyed the change of scenery and lack of humidity . . . and as a bonus, the kids didn't destroy the house or the van and the dog seems to have been taken care of . . . but now we are back in Jersey and it's a fucking jungle swamp outside.
I Am Too Old For This Shit
This afternoon, my son Alex snuck me into the Busch gym on Rutgers and it was packed-- probably because it's so fucking hot outside-- and we got into a game of three-on-three with an old student of mine and some random college kids and Alex made a couple lay-ups and the kid covering him-- who was shorter than him-- started hanging all over him and chasing him and elbowing him and then when Alex stole the ball from him and drove the kid grabbed his shirt, soccer-style, to keep him from scoring and we were all like "you're done" and he complained that Alex elbowed him and then he stopped playing but the kind of hung out shooting in the midst of us while we were organizing another game and at some point Alex and the kid bumped into each other and then we were about to start another game but this kid kept shooting-- he was trying to get Alex to start something and he eventually succeeded-- he pushed him and Alex took a swing at him and me and another guy had to break it up and my old student got hit in the nose while he was trying to break it up (by Alex?) and then once it was sorted out the kid still kept hanging around and then he got the gym supervisors to come over and at this point I was like "we need to get out of here because I'm not supposed to be here and you're not supposed to be getting in fights on school grounds and that's what we did-- we went to the Piscataway Y and played two -on-two against two really athletic kids and got our butts kicked, but it was physical and fun and there were no hard feelings.
Do It Geno!
The Little Friend: A Southern Gothic Tour de Force
Donna Tartt's novel The Little Friend, a convoluted, meandering, and tangled Southern Gothic tale, inspired me to record a meandering and convoluted podcast celebrating this epic story: "Donna Tartt + Poisonous Snakes = Hell Yes!"
Milton Friedman Was (Kind of) Wrong
I played some pickle-ball with my wife this morning (for free!) and then I carted and spread a few wheelbarrows of free topsoil in my backyard, and now I'm enjoying a free beer-- some lady gave away a bunch of leftover IPAs from a fundraiser she had-- solid stuff: Night Shift Santilli and Lord Hobo Banger #6 . . . so while there's no free lunch there seems to be free other stuff, if you're willing to seek it out.
She Got Her Butt in Gear (After Being Probed in the Rear)
My wife got a colonoscopy this morning (she passed!) and then-- after a nap-- she got her butt in gear and hosted a book club reunion this afternoon (but she did not drive a car, drink alcohol, or sign any important documents-- all of which are strictly prohibited after being under anesthesia).
Gross Stuff
My wife is in the midst of colonoscopy prep and I played pickle-ball so hard in the heat that my scalp started peeling dead skin (or maybe it's just sweat residue or stuff from the inside of my new hat . . . I don't know, it came off in the shower).
My Children Are Conspiring Against My Inner Peace
Despite yesterday's post-acupuncture clambering, my back was feeling pretty loose this morning . . . until I noticed that the minivan's back driver-side tire was totally flat-- it turns out Ian ran over a nail on the way home from life-guarding last night (at least it wasn't Alex again) and after the usual mallet pounding and yanking (and some standing on the lug wrench) the lug nuts came loose and we changed yet another tire (it's getting tiresome) but hopefully, they'll be able to patch this one on the cheap-- and next summer my kids need to get jobs they can bike to because when they drive the car, it costs more money than they make.
Almost Therapeutic
After some three-on-three basketball this morning, my calves and back were pretty tight, so I told my acupuncturist to go to town on them-- and while there was a bit of pain right when she poked the needles in, then the muscles started to loosen up-- and after lying there in the liminal sleep state for twenty-five minutes, I felt much more relaxed . . . until I went into the parking lot and saw that the fucker that parked next to me wedged his car so close to my driver side door that I couldn't my door more than an inch or so-- I had to get into my car on the passenger side and climb over the middle console like some kind of middle-aged gymnast vaulting the ol' pommel horse (I'm not sure if that's what gymnasts do but I don't feel like googling it).
Straight From the Cardiologist to the Cheesesteak Joint
Quality Time with the Ol' Ball and Chain
Potpourri
Autopocalypse Now (Carmageddon Later)
Autopocalypse Now (Carmageddon Later) is certainly my most impassioned episode of We Defy Augury . . . I get pretty worked up about the book Carmageddon: How Cars Make Life Worse and What To Do About It by Daniel Knowles (a guy who hates cars even more than me) but to balance things out, I was able to dig up a very rare monologue by The Boss himself . . . and you know how that guy feels about automobiles.
Red Oaks and Roxy Music
I don't know how we missed it, but wife wife and I are catching up on the nostalgic, funny, and wonderful Amazon show Red Oaks-- it's Caddyshack and The Graduate and Ferris Bueller all rolled up into one delightful '80s comedy-- that's set in New Jersey!-- and the eternally stoned valet Wheeler has got me listening to Roxy Music . . .. and while I love the show, I'm not certain that I love Roxy Music (but like Steely Dan, it might grow on me).
Ian . . . It Is Your Graduation
Bedtime Stories
I don't know if this is a common experience, but it happens to me all the time-- when I'm reading in bed, at night, and I start to fall asleep, I'll nod off for a moment or two, but I'll dream that I'm still reading-- and my brain will invent the text-- so I'll still be reading along, but not really, my eyes are actually closed and my mind is making up what comes next in the book-- and then I'll start and wake up and I'll reread whatever I was reading and it will be totally different than what I just "read" in my previous half-conscious state . . . I'm assuming this happens to everyone who reads before bed?