The American Dream?

My wife and I were doing it like "real" Americans today . . . we woke up kind of hungover-- our friends' daughter Kayleigh put on a much better show than the Knicks last night-- sweated out the booze at the gym, and then headed to the Jersey Shore Premium Outlets? what? yup, it was time for my quinquennial clothes shopping spree-- I needed clothes for a couple of weddings, new golf shirts for work, running shoes, etcetera-- so after a grueling couple of hours of shopping, some advice from Yolanda at Banana Republic, and a whole lotta teacher discounts, we went to lunch at a fairly lousy nearby deli and then headed home, took a nap, and started doing our normal morning chores-- laundry, vacuuming, bathrooms, gardening-- at night!-- and this is stuff we never do at night-- we're morning people-- but I just ate dinner-- at 8:00 PM!-- and I imagine that there are people, right now-- at this late hour-- buying stuff in malls and grocery shopping and heading to Home Depot-- but every five years is plenty for this kind of living.

Do I Get to Choose This?

If I had my druthers, this Olympians song "Sirens of Jupiter" would be my life soundtrack, walking-in-the-room, signature tune (but it's probably not up to me, it's probably chosen by some random cosmic force, and-- just my luck-- it's probably some Jethro Tull bullshit).

A Message for the Children

Children of the world: stop making orthodontist appointments on game days!

Teacher Appreciation Week Belated Bonus

I was driving on Hart's Lane, en route to the gym from my high school, and the light turned yellow at that awkward moment when your only options are to either come to a screeching halt or blow through the intersection, though the light is going to turn red-- and although I saw a cop car waiting at the right-hand junction, I decided to blow through the light anyway (what was I thinking?) and sure enough, when the light changed, the cop pulled me over but when he walked over and saw me (and I was wearing my school ID but I think he just recognized my face) he said, "Oh sorry, I played soccer, graduated in 2020-- I remember you-- I just pulled you over because of the light" and I tried to apologize but he didn't even want to hear it, he just said, "Take it easy, have a great day" and so all the schedule changes this week, the short lunch, the fights, the new classes, all that crap-- this made it worth it.

I Haven't Felt This Way Since the O.J. Interruption

No time to write a lengthy sentence because I've got to watch the Knicks!

You Can Buy Weed in California (But Not If You're Too High)

I thought I had seen it all and then a man in painter's garb walked out of the garage of the house that is under construction down the street from me . . . and he was wearing stilts (which, apparently are illegal in California).

Tiny Houses and Prehistoric Fish

My wife and I attended my cousin Lindsey's wedding in Asbury Park on Friday night-- it was an incredible event in the upper room of Tim McCloone's supper club-- and then we stayed over Friday and Saturday night at a guest house in the quaint and historically restored town of Ocean Grove-- and though the weather was a little wild, we had a great time wandering around the generally gentrified Asbury Park and through the odd Victorian architecture of Ocean Grove-- and we stumbled on a charming tiny house with excellent signage, a historic car show (really historic-- cars from 1903) and a dead, endangered prehistoric fish-- the Atlantic sturgeon-- apparently these things have occasionally been washing up on Jersey beaches.

 

Carbs = Appreciation

In an effort to finally feel appreciated, I ate half a bagel in the office this morning-- apparently, the administration bought us a bagel breakfast for the final day of Teacher Appreciation Week-- and I definitely felt the appreciation, especially because it was a blueberry bagel (but, oddly, Stacey said she does NOT appreciate the blueberry bagels and instead chose a raisin bagel, which makes me question my friendship with her) but this was not my favorite part of Teacher Appreciation Week-- my favorite part happened yesterday when the vice-principal alerted the students that it was Teacher Appreciation Week and that though they might not fully appreciate their various teachers now, they would appreciate their teachers at some future date and they should anticipate these future feelings and thank a teacher at some point in the day-- because-- and this happens every year-- right after the announcement, there's always a student that possesses a bit of wit and this student invariably thanks me in the dryest, most sarcastic manner possible-- which is so perfect because that's how teenagers thank people when they've just been commanded to thank someone-- and I say "You're welcome, now get out your books, it's time to read some Shakespeare."

Dave's Lunchtime Planning Bites Him in the Ass

This year, I epically failed at Teacher Appreciation Week: Tuesday the administration bought us sandwiches but I never saw the sign-up email (and I had to take a half day to move Alex out from Rutgers) so I totally missed that and Wednesday Chick-fil-A delivered us a truckload of free chicken sandwiches, but my wife made me a delicious salad with blackened chicken-- so while I tasted a bite of Terry's chicken (first time I ever had Chick-Fil-A . . . pretty good) I didn't go to the cafeteria and procure an entire fried chicken sandwich because I was all full of healthy salad and today our boss bought us these delicious Italian sandwiches from this Italian Deli in Middlesex (Sapore) but I packed a bunch of super-tasty leftover Mexican food from La Casita (although I did manage to eat one little sandwich . . . on top of all the Mexican food, and then I could barely teach Hamlet the last period of the day) so next year I need to plan better (or plan worse!) and not bring lunch all week.

Every Clout Has a Silver Lining

Wild day at East Brunswick High School-- but though it was ugly, some good did come out of it-- so during homeroom, there were some serious fisticuffs between two students (apparently over a girl) just down the hall from my room-- I watched the security guards and vice-principal break it up while I ushering kids into my room-- and then apparently some subsidiary fights broke out in other parts of the building (and there were all kind of unsubstantiated rumors about possible weapons) and it got so chaotic that the police came (and an ambulance) and we were locked down in homeroom for quite a while (40 minutes or so?) and I had one student in my room that belonged in another homeroom, but when there's a lockdown, you stay put-- so I wanted to call her homeroom teacher and tell her that the student was safe and with me, but when I checked my phone directory sheet on my bulletin board, I noticed it was from 2014-- and the room numbers have all changed since then (I also noticed that two of the teachers on the list are deceased) and so after informing my students of this (some students found this humorous, others started to question all the authority figures in their life) I had a smart student help me find and print out a more recent phone directory, which I tacked to my bulletin board . . . and then I called the other homeroom teacher and told her the location of her student and then I called my friend Cunningham and told her the good news-- the silver lining of these fights-- that they had motivated me to update my phone directory sheet and now I could call all different rooms in the school and chat with my friends and she said, "Dave! They gave us one of those on the first day of school!" and I said, "You're missing the bigger theme here."

Nietzsche's Eternal Recleaning

You do the dishes-- load the dishwasher, run it, wash the cutting boards, scrub the pots and pans but then-- magically and moments later-- the sink is full of dishes again.

6 Servings Per Container? Bullshit . . .

My wife really needs to stop buying Pringles-- because once I remove that foil safety seal, there's no stopping the gluttony until the canister is empty of chips and I'm pouring the crumbs down the tube into my gaping maw.

Fun and Easy Prom Themes

This week, the juniors are voting on next year's prom theme and I'm going to buttonhole the junior class president and spitball some ideas . . . here's what I've come up with so far:

1) Reservoir Dogs warehouse vibe-- easy and cheap (aside from the gruesome clean-up)

2) Grosse Point Blank assassin high school reunion vibe-- ditto . . .

3) Flash Dance and Sweatpants;

4) Toga, toga toga!

Chores are a Bore

Too many chores for a Saturday: pool clean up day-- which involves raking leaves, sticks, and horse chestnuts; dumping all the debris in the woods; spreading a towering pile of mulch by the grills; sawing off branches and trimming all kinds of brush; carrying and scrubbing many picnic tables and benches, and a bunch of other awful chores-- but you do get a sandwich and some free guest passes; then at home, vacuuming the house, bathroom clean-up, laundry, moving Alex out of his disgusting unpacked and disorganized dorm room and storing his crap in our house until his apartment lease starts-- June 1-- and Ian is still in a cast, so all he could do was sit in the van while my wife and Alex carried stuff out of his room (but Ian did manage to get his girlfriend to clean his room) and then we've got family stuff tonight-- so I'm glad it's going to rain tomorrow, so that I can't use my new leaf blower to get rid of all the pollen and maple whirligigs so that my moss can grow without interruption.

Like Shawshank But Reverse

Over the years, I have pilfered a number of large stones from the park by my house to outline my wife's garden and our back fence and my friend Stacey fondly refers to this endeavor as The Reverse-Shawshank-- Andy Dufresne removes rocks from his cell wall tunnel to seek his redemption, while I surround myself with more and more rocks to feel freedom and absolution-- pretty weird and ironic-- but lately, I've been less concerned with rocks and instead I have been purloining MOSS from various secret locations, in an attempt to grow a carpet of moss in the shady areas of my backyard, where grass will not grow . . . and I guess, even though moss is not fungi (it's a non-vascular plant) we're still going to refer to this tactic as the Reverse-Last-of-Us.

Students and Cellphones, Together Forever?

For the first time in years, I had to confiscate a particular student's cellphone-- I've been trying to be diligent about getting the kids to put their phones in the caddy at the front of the room, but some of the kids smuggle them back to their seats, where they place them behind computers and book bags so that they can watch videos and do whatever teenagers do on their phones all-the-fucking-live-long-day-- or the screen addicted give popular rationales such as they need to charge the phone or text their mom or get a particular photo for a project that can only be accessed on their phone and then the next thing you know, they're on Snapchat or TikTok-- it's an exhausting battle and I wish our school would ban the damned things, especially since there is definitive research that phones are making kids dumber AND even if you don't use your phone in class, if someone near you is using their phone, it ruins your concentration as well-- I liken it to smoking-- not only is it bad for you, but it's also bad for the people around you breathing in second-hand-smoke-- and I certainly feel this secondhand effect teaching-- because even though I'm vigilant about not using my own phone in front of the kids-- I really try to set a good example-- but once I suspect a kid is illicitly screwing around with their phone (which shouldn't be on their person to begin with) then I lose concentration-- anyway, it usually doesn't come down to having to confiscate the phone-- that only happens every few years, but when it does, the student (who always seems to be female) inevitably flips out, cries, and curses at me . . . which is why this is such a hard policy to enforce because teens have so much emotional attachment to their phone-- once they freak out I tell them I'm not trained to handle this kind of emotional breakdown and addiction and they need to head to guidance for some guidance-- for example, and the student who had her phone confiscated once showed me that she does 16-18 hours of screen time a day on her phone-- which doesn't even seem possible and definitely requires some kind of professional guidance-- anyway, I get the fact that some teachers give up and don't enforce any kind of cellphone policy, because they're burned out and scared to face these kind of consequences-- but I'm trying to fight the good fight and maybe someday we'll get an administration that has done some reading on this subject and will just outright ban the things-- because they don't belong in school.

Dave Knows His Audience

Yesterday, several players and I were sitting on the bench watching the last tennis match of the afternoon, and one of the players was lamenting the fact that his friend had drawn a little penis on his white Crocs, so I said: "I guess you need to remove the 'r' when you talk about those things" and-- after a long pause-- they all started laughing.

I'm Mister Snow Miser

My buddy Whitney responded to yesterday's sentence with an interesting question: "If you could get rid of either the wicked humid heat of summer or the fiercely bitter cold of winter, which would you pick?" and while I must admit that the older I get, the less I like the bitter cold, there is the fact that when it gets cold, you can always put on more clothes-- or buy a really nice jacket and pair of gloves-- but there is no escaping the humid heat . . . no matter how much back hair my wife removes, it doesn't matter, it's inescapably awful, claustrophobic and oppressive, demoralizing and debilitating, and it just sucks to be a sweaty mess . . . so while it's more of a decision victory than a knockout, I'm awarding the win to the bitter cold of winter.

Summer Is Coming

The jury is out about how much the human mind remembers pain, but I know for certain that every winter, I forget how much I hate the heat . . . until it rears its humid head again.

What Is It Like to Be a Dog?

On this very special episode of We Defy Augury, I interview my good friend and fledgling author Rob Russell . . .we discuss his new book "JoJo the Small Town Hound: Volume 1, Leesburg, Virginia and the Curious Case of the Dog Money" and although the book is for children aged 7-10, Rob and I get into some fairly deep topics: the subjectivity of consciousness; structural racism and systemic prejudice towards black Americans, human and canine; the principles of drama; and the fleeting nature of our mortality-- and by the end of the episode, we develop an idea for the greatest children’s book that will never be written . . . Special Guests: Rob Russell, Method Man, and George Costanza.