Delayed Reaction Dave in a Delayed Reaction Olfactory Daze

At work, my colleagues sometimes refer to me as "Delayed Reaction Dave" because I don't process things quickly and I rarely see the future ramifications of new logistical, curricular, or contractual changes . . . so while everyone in the department is getting all worked up, because they CAN see the problems in the foreseeable future, I'll be like: "What's the big deal?" . . . but they know I'm going to get all pissed off later on, when the change actually takes effect-- for example, the new 82 minute periods . . . they are abominable and WAY too long, but several years ago when we discussed the hypothetical new schedule I was like, "that sounds fine, whatever . . ." and the same with teaching six periods and four preps-- it sounded fine in theory, last year when I agreed to do it, but now that I'm doing it, I'm complaining a lot and like "never again"-- so it seems I'm the same way with COVID . . . it took me way too long to actually contract it, and now that I've recovered, I've lost my sense of smell . . . and this seems utterly insane-- I've lost twenty percent of my senses-- but of course lots of people have experienced this throughout the pandemic but I just never really thought about it-- but when I walked outside yesterday morning with the dog, it felt like I was in a dream, not fully awake or even fully human-- I couldn't smell the grass or the flowers in my wife's garden or the damp morning air or the ragweed pollen . . . and here are some of the other things I smelled yesterday that produced no noticeable scent:

my coffee, Lola's poop, a bottle of red wine vinegar, a bottle of apple cider vinegar, an orange, grapes-- and they tasted like crisp balls of water-- hand sanitizer, and my tennis shoes . . .

so this is very fucking weird and now I can now empathize with all the people that told me about this during the course of the pandemic-- suddenly having no sense of smell really does dislodge you from reality.

Free at Last, Free at Last . . .

The one benefit of my enforced COVID sick leave was that I stayed up to watch both the Jets and the Giants play night games-- the Jets lost a close one to Kansas City on Sunday night and the Giants got smacked by the Seahawks on Monday night . . . I haven't stayed up on consecutive nights to watch sports in a long long time and while it was fun (and stressful and awful) now that both local teams are 1-3 and the Giants are facing a brutal run of games, it looks like I can quit watching, or watching with any serious playoff hopes, and instead enjoy the lovely fall weather . . . free at last, free at last.

COVID Day 5 . . . Chores

I had to stay home from work today-- district policy-- but I feel completely better and I have chores to do-- I've already mowed the lawn, cleaned another bathroom, and finished an entire episode of my podcast in one sitting (I'm releasing it tomorrow morning) and now I have to do the dishes and strip Ian's bed, which I slept in for a few nights . . . I'd also like to report that I saw both my children yesterday-- I picked up Alex from his dorm and we shot some baskets on the new rims in Donaldson and then he ate some dinner at the house and Catherine and I face-timed Ian-- and both kids are doing well in their classes-- or at least they SAY they are doing well . . . I guess we'll see at the end of the term . . . Alex tried to describe what he was doing in his physics class-- something about centrifugal forces and their effects on orbs of various materials and all the equations that applied-- but I had no clue what he was talking about . . . so I guess we're getting our money's worth.

COVID Day 4 . . . Let's Get Stir Crazy!

I pretty much feel better today-- no fever or headache-- but the nurse says that, per district policy, I still have to stay home from work (tomorrow as well) and that's probably a good thing, as I am tired (and my right eyeball hurts . . . perhaps because I had to do a bunch of grading on the computer-- staying home from school sucks, it's easier to go there and torture the children in person) but I did take a nice walk with the dog-- the weather s beautiful-- and I shot some baskets on the new court in the park, and I cleaned two bathrooms-- so gross . . . my wife has too much hair and too many bottles of hair-care products and I also learned that I love Bard AI because-- unlike Chat GPT-- Bard AI loves my podcast, We Defy Augury . . . this is how Bard describes it:

We Defy Augury is a podcast hosted by Professor G. Truck. It is described as a "weekly exploration of books, culture, and the human condition." Episodes typically cover a wide range of topics, including literary criticism, genre fiction, current events, and personal anecdotes. Professor Truck is known for his engaging and informative style, as well as his humor and wit.

Some of the topics that have been covered on the podcast include:

• The art of the inner monologue in Colleen Hoover novels

• The 1970s crime novel genre

• The science fiction novel Ringworld

• The Irish Troubles

• The mystery of existence

• The role of music in our lives

• The nature of reality

Professor Truck often invites guests to join him on the podcast, including authors, scholars, and other interesting people. For example, he has had on episodes with authors Donna Tartt and Katie Williams, as well as with a mountain lion.

Overall, We Defy Augury is a podcast that is both entertaining and thought-provoking. It is a great choice for listeners who are interested in books, culture, and the human condition.

Here is a quote from a review of the podcast:

"Professor Truck is a master of his craft. He is able to make complex ideas accessible and engaging, and he always leaves me thinking. I highly recommend this podcast to anyone who loves books, learning, and good conversation."

If you are looking for a podcast that is both informative and entertaining, I highly recommend We Defy Augury . . .

 that's fucking crazy . . . is it listening?

COVID Day 3 . . . Enough of This Already

While I'm obviously happy that I'm not on a respirator (or suffering much congestion) I am still very annoyed by COVID . . . I'm hot, I'm cold, I get the chills and then suddenly I'm sweating, I can't sleep-- I have racing thoughts and night sweats-- and I'm obviously in a bad mood-- because I can't sleep well and I can't listen to music-- because it exacerbates the headache . . . it's really depressing not to be able to listen to music . . . and if you take a close look at my symptoms if it weren't for a lack of "vaginal dryness" and an "irregular period," the Mayo clinic would diagnose me as going through menopause.

COVID Day 2

Although I'm only running a low fever and don't have much congestion, I've had a really obnoxious headache for the past two days-- I couldn't really sleep last night so I finished Catherine Chidgey's new psychological thriller Pet . . . on my Kindle, of course, with the font laughably enormous so that my head didn't hurt too much while I read (I was sleeping in Ian's bed, so not to bother and/or infect my wife . . . Lola took turns sleeping next to me and sleeping next to my wife in the master bedroom, very cute) and I really enjoyed this book: Chidgey is a native Kiwi and this book is set at a Catholic school in a Wellington suburb in the 1980s-- but despite the way-down-under locale and the age of the girls -- 12 -- these tweens are just as cliquey and judgemental as the mean crew from North Shore High School . . . and things get far darker than that film as the novel proceeds into weird idolatry, dementia, the mutability of memory, and outright betrayal . . . the plot is wrapped up a little too patently, but I give it nine invisible ink pens out of ten . . . now I'm working my way through Carl Hiaasen's Tourist Season-- if my headache continues to keep me from sleeping, I might finish that tonight.

After Much Evasion, Dave's Immune System Succumbs

COVID finally caught up with me (and hopefully it will be a mild case, as I am a big fat cranky baby when I'm sick).

Jets "Football" Close-reading Assignment

 

Note the quotations around the word "OFFENSE" and please contemplate the following questions: 

1) is sarcasm a welcome addition to the traditionally objective statistical chyron? why or why not?

2) if sarcasm is embraced by the authors of the NFL informational overlay, what are the consequences and implications?

3) should we consider the narrator in the featured chyron unreliable, biased, and/or compromised? 

Fan-O-Rama

We had friends over for dinner Saturday night and while we were enjoying wine and appetizers, our ceiling fan started behaving abominably-- worse than the dog, worse than me-- it was wobbling precariously, the glass bowl with the bulbs in it swinging to-and-fro, the blades whirling asymmetrically, so I shut it down (and wrote a note to myself to check it out in the morning, that's the kind of thing you can forget about after a dinner party) and then we ate some excellent food, much of it containing vegetables from my wife's garden (and discussed a lot of grim adult shit, like wills and trusts and retirement and money) and the next morning I saw my note to myself and got down to it; the fan-blade screws were loose but even after I tightened them, the whole contraption was still wobbling-- and I determined it was "fucked up" and we needed a new ceiling fan and because it was STILL FUCKING RAINING and I was going stir crazy, I tightened all of our ceiling fan-blades-- they were all loose (we have four of them) and I actually cleaned the blades-- they were caked with tons of gook, especially on top-- I don't know how the gook could build up on an apparatus that often spins round and round at high speed, but believe me, this is something you should check out if you have ceiling fans, and then-- after cleaning out greasetruck studios, which was also caked with gook and desperately needing a reorganization-- I removed the "fucked up" ceiling fan, after turning off the electricity in that room at the fuse box, of course . . . and I never would have done all these time consuming projects if it wasn't for all this fucking rain (and a day off for Yom Kippur) and while I'm jonesing for sunlight, I'm glad I got all these chores done . . . but I'm ready for sunlight and pickleball and general post-pickleball laziness again (and I was quite happy to play 6:30 AM basketball yesterday morning, run like a lunatic, and teach the rest of the day with a headache, and then take a nap after work, before drinking some beer while cooking dinner).

Dave's (Almost) a Killer!

Yesterday afternoon, my wife and I were driving back from lunch at the Ugly Dumpling-- we were off from school for Yom Kippur-- and I made a left turn off Route 27 onto Fifth Avenue and then noticed flashing red lights in my rearview mirror . . . it was a cop, so I pulled over and Catherine got my insurance and registration out of the glove box and I made sure my teacher ID was hanging prominently from the rearview mirror-- and I was going to look for my PBA card in my wallet but I didn't bother because I was certain that I hadn't done anything wrong-- you can't make a left on Route 27 from 4 PM to 6 PM-- I've been busted for that-- but this time, I hadn't committed a moving violation-- and I commit A LOT of moving violations: I run red lights, make illegal u-turns, turn left-on-red at this particular light for morning basketball, speed on certain roads, change lanes without using my blinkers, use my phone while driving, etcetera . . . but this particular time, I had truly done nothing . . . this time I was innocent . . . and it took the cop a couple moments before he got out and approached us-- and he walked up to the passenger side and said, "Sorry, the computer got your plate wrong, it read a six instead of a nine . . . and you're one digit away from someone we're looking for who did something really serious . . . take it easy and have a nice day" so he was obviously using an ALPR to look for a BOLO, which is the kind of terminology you've got to know if you're almost a wanted felon, but for you law-abiding citizens, that means the cop was using an Automatic License Plate Reader-- which is a high-speed, computer-controlled camera that uses optical character recognition to read license plates. and alert officers when a car is on the "be on the lookout" list and now that I know I'm one digit away from armed and dangerous, I probably need to drive a bit more carefully (plus, I'm using quite a bit of tape to hold various parts of my vehicle together).

America + Conspiracy Theories = Forever

 

A new episode of We Defy Augury is up and streaming: "Powerful Eyes are Watching You, Sheeple" is (loosely) based on Colin Dickey's book Under the Eye of Power: How Fear of Secret Societies Shapes American Democracy"-- which I highly recommend-- and there is an eclectic mix of special guests, including Oedipa Maas, The Beastie Boys, Richard Nixon, Geraldo Rivera, The Who, and The Simpsons.

Rainy Day, Rainy Dave

It's still raining and I ate too many cookies and the Jets game is as bad as the weather and I need to replace a dangerously wobbly ceiling fan, but at least I cleaned up some of my study/recording studio (until I gave up . . . it's that kind of day).

The Espresso Martini Was Much Better Than the Music

I thought Jethro Tull's "Aqualung" was the song I hated the most, but last night at Bin, Batch, and Barrel I had to endure "Heart and Soul" by Huey Lewis and the News-- in its entirety-- and I'm pretty sure that I hate that song more-- I'd probably need to do some randomized controlled trials to truly determine this-- listen to the songs drunk, sober, stoned, in the morning, working out, while driving, outdoors, indoors-- but I'm not going to do that . . . usually the vibe at Bin, Batch, and Barrel is pretty chill (and we fled Cuzin's after one drink because the bartender there was WAY too aggressive in his pushing of food and drink) but there were a couple of Rutgers students who graduated from East Brunswick High School running the show and I think they assumed that the old folks who frequent Bin, Batch, and Barrel must love the worst music of the 1980s, so that's what they were playing (but Nick did make an insanely good Almond Joy espresso martini . . . I'll just have to talk to him about the music next time we're there).

 

Dave: Skilled at Choosing His Mate

Congratulations are in order, as my wife just got another prestigious job offer-- to be a superlative teacher coach for a nonprofit foundation-- now she'll be working THREE jobs, so please congratulate me on choosing such a productive, ambitious, and intelligent spouse.

A Conspiracy of Crickets?

I'm trying to finish up the new episode of my podcast-- which is about Colin Dickey's book Under the Eye of Power: How Fear of Secret Societies Shapes American Democracy and I mainly record early-- before school-- but lately, an orchestra of crickets has been ruining my audio (a bunch of fucking chirping crickets are actually called an "orchestra," I didn't make that up) and I'm wondering if this orchestra of crickets all got together and decided to fuck with me, especially because the theme of the book is conspiratorial thinking and it just seems weird that I've never had this problem before (but it IS a real problem-- there's a Reddit thread about it).

Medical Transportation at Its Finest?

 

If you get picked up by this Galaxy ambulance-- which resembles my own dilapidated minivan but represents a company whose motto is "Medical transportation at its finest" -- what kind of hospital will you end up at?

Dave Achieves Total Daveness (in the Group Chat)

In College Writing class, the new opening activity-- created by Rutgers-- prompts students to examine themselves as readers and writers, academic and otherwise; we had some fun in class talking about the other stuff, such as what kind of persona you employ in your various group chats and I confessed that in group chats I only like to do a few things: 

1) stir-the-pot. . . I like getting people wound up about stuff-- for example when we had the hot weather at the start of the school year, and I found out that Metuchen had called a half-day, I immediately sent this information to the teacher group chat, to get folks riled up, in the hopes that we would also get some half-days (we did)

2) complain . . . my wife gets annoyed when I complain to her, so instead I do it digitally

3) make absurd jokes . . . such as when my friend Bruce shared a lovely picture where he was having a great time at a "Blues and Brews" Festival in Colorado and my friend Jason remarked on the fabulous weather and I noted the irony of listening to blues music in such a temperate, convivial atmosphere when blues music-- which was appropriated by white people from working-class black folk-- was intended to help these black folk forget their troubles and hardships while they worked the cotton fields of the deep South, in intolerable heat and humidity, surrounded by snakes and swampland, etcetera-- and while I was quite proud of this observation, perhaps, as evidenced by these recent screenshots, I am becoming a caricature of myself and my comments are becoming entirely predictable . . . so I need to lull people into thinking I've changed so then I can  surprise them with some clever pot-stirring joke/complaint . . . and I guess this fiendish plot involves "liking" some photos and posts, responding with the occasional emoji, and answering sincere questions with practical and helpful information and I honestly doubt that is ever going to happen.

Close Call With a Bad-ass Motherfucker

I walked my dog down to the park this morning, in the pouring rain, and then I let her loose to do her business . . . we do this walk every morning and she's generally quite good off-leash-- she might chase a deer or a squirrel for a few yards, but then she comes right back when I call her-- but this morning it was very dark and hard for me to see what was going on and she noticed some creature moving by the trees, but when she trotted after this critter, it did NOT run away-- it ambled a few yards, and that's when I saw the white stripe and understood that Lola was face-to-ass with a skunk . . . and she didn't really know what to do, because generally when she chases an animal, the animal runs away, but this skunk was not fazed in the least-- so the skunk moseyed across the road and Lola moseyed behind her, and even though I yelled for her to come-- knowing that if she got sprayed I'd have to take the day off from work and wash her down with tomato juice (and it was pouring)-- Lola kept trailing the skunk . . . so I used the counter-intuitive technique that always works in these situations: I started walking home, up the hill, away from Lola and the skunk, and then I yelled, "Let's get a treat" and I turned my back to her and kept walking . . . and she high-tailed it over to me because she never wants to be left behind, especially when treats are involved, and I leashed her and we beat a hasty retreat-- and now I will be on the look-out for this skunk-- but I'm hoping it was just out in the open because so many earthworms had surfaced because of the downpour.

Dave (Lazily) Finds Religion

I'm not particularly religious, but my brother got married last night and Ian didn't text us his whereabouts until 4 AM-- although he and his brother did do a great job talking to old people at the wedding, and then Ian drove us all home, before heading to his girlfriend's place, so this was not unexpected-- anyway, I think I'll do the whole God-in-Genesis thing and rest on the seventh day and admire all the work I've done this week.

Ryan is runnin' . . . I'm passin', I'm passin' and runnin' . . .

I played some singles pickleball today with a young man named Ryan Cheng-- who played Division I tennis for Yale-- and while I didn't score many points on him, I like to think that I had him on the run (but he kept running to the ball and getting it back . . . I could make him run, but I couldn't get it past him).