Summer Humidity Potpourri

Despite the heat and my resulting insipid laziness, there's been plenty going on around here:

1) I went to the gym with my wife last night and did an hour workout with her personal trainer-- and even though Cheryl "took it easy" because I was along for the ride, she nearly killed me-- we did a bunch of barre exercises and some serious ab work-- both of which I truly abhor, and now I am very sore;

2) luckily, my acupuncturist has risen from the dead-- so I went to her today to relieve some of the soreness, but I think she compounded it-- and she had quite a tale to tell, she's been out of work for a year . . . ever since she got hit from behind by some sort of Jersey shore boardwalk swing ride, which tossed her into the air and when she hit the ground she shattered an arm, broke ribs, and injured her shoulder-- several surgeries later, she is back sticking needles in people, but her left hand is all messed up and not working properly-- and there's far more to the story than I care to relate her, but it was harrowing;

3) our dog might have a UTI-- which always seems to happen right before vacation-- so I have to collect a urine sample and get some antibiotics for her tomorrow morning . . . fucking dogs--

4) I finished the finale of my Intro to Shakespeare Trilogy-- three clear reasons as to why we should still read the Bard today . . . presented in five acts;

5) I made nine meatballs last night-- a Hello Fresh recipe that my family enjoyed . . . I cooked the meatballs on foil on the grill because I didn't want to make the house hot;

6) my wife made 153 meatballs today-- for our beach trip-- and she cooked them inside the house and it got quite warm (and smoky) but they are, as usual, delicious.

The Detective Up Late

Adrian McKinty's newest Sean Duffy novel-- number seven-- is just as good, if not a wee bit better, than all the rest; The Detective Up Late has the usual mix of criminal mystery, Belfast Troubles politics, and oddball hipster allusions-- musical and otherwise . . . and at the start of this novel, we turn the page from the 80s to the 90s and the musical allusions follow suit-- except for all the Mahler and Wagner references-- anyway, here are a few new jokes and references I learned:

1) I read a joke about an alternate ending to Peter Pan where Captain Hook wins the duel and sends Peter Pan back to London in a body bag-- not a very joke funny and quite dark, and it truly requires a dead Pan delivery . . .

2) There was a young man from Peru/ Whose limericks stopped at line two;

3) The English title of the French novel "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea" by Jules Verne was mistranslated: the original French title-- "Vingt Mille Lieues sous les mers," translates to "Under the Seas" but Mercier's translation is "Under the Sea" and this mistranslation can lead to confusion about the distance traveled by Professor Arronax and Captain Nemo in the novel. In the French version, "twenty thousand leagues" refers to the distance traveled-- as a league is about 3.5 miles-- but in the English version, it can sound like the Nautilus dives that far downward, however, that's not possible because the distance is greater than the diameter of the Earth, so the voyage actually takes place around the world under different seas

4) Duffy has a print of the 1968 painting by Giorgio de Chirico "The Return of Ulysses" on his wall-- I was not familiar with Chirico but this image is a perfect allegory of Duffy returning home from the insane violence, betrayal, and ruin of Belfast, to his wife and child and collection of music-- and in this novel he is splitting his time between two homes, one in Northern Ireland on Coronation Road-- where he has made great inroads as a Catholic peeler among prods . . . and his new safer home in Scotland-- anyway, another bang-up job by McKinty-- highly recommended.

Where's My Hair?

Successful 80th Birthday party for my dad yesterday at Mercer Oaks Golf Course-- no pics of the party yet, they are stored on my wife's good camera-- but an amazing turnout for a bunch of old fogeys, and my wife did a bang-up job collecting and printing out all the old photos . . . I did a speech on some of the memories from the six decades I've spent with my dad-- from the plaid of the seventies, through all the sports in the 80s, the Jim Brown era, working with him-- doing expert witness write-ups and learning what really goes on in jail (progressive or not) and then his years as poppy to my kids-- a great dad and a great Guy who has always been there for all of us . . . but I wish his hair was there for me-- my brother Marc and I got shorted in both departments, we didn't get his height OR his hair.

Dream Dave Gets Whacked

I woke up this morning at 5:15 AM-- but not on my own accord, as is usual-- instead, I was roused from a deep sleep by my wife, who was whacking her pillow with her hand-- three times, at full strength-- but she was still sleeping while she was doing this pillow-whacking . . . very strange-- and then I fell back to sleep and when we both woke up at 7 AM I told her what happened and she vaguely remembered doing this: she was dreaming and I won't go into all the absurd details of the dream-- we were double agents or something and moving place to place and she was packing and she thought I was on a mission but I had actually stopped at a friend's house to watch a soccer game and I didn't call her to tell her what was going on and she was worried-- sounds like an episode of The Americans-- but anyway, the long and the short of it is she was hitting me in her dream!

Yacht Rock vs Zodiac Mindwarp

 

Yacht Rock night at Mr. Pi's-- which made me nostalgically remember the classic YouTube series "Yacht Rock" with Hollywood Steve . . . we're talking 2005 internet, which was post Ebaum's World-- but not by much-- and while listening to the band play all the soft hits of the 70s and 80s, my friend Ashley and I found out we had something in common back in high school-- we both loved a band that was the opposite of yacht rock . . . Zodiac Mindwarp and the Love Reaction.

Dave Learns About an Old French Guy

I'm reading Fareed Zakaria's book Age of Revolutions: Progress and Backlash from 1600 to the Present and I definitely think I fell asleep in AP Euro when we went over the French Revolution-- this Robespierre fellow was a wild and crazy guy!

Dave Deliberates . . . Perfectly

My jury duty is over-- I sat on a two-day personal injury civil case that concluded today-- we found a landlord negligent for the behavior of his agent-- a guy who lived rent-free in his four-unit house in exchange for being the de facto handyman and superintendent-- and this handyman/superintendent (who did not appear in court-- very mysterious) gravely injured the hand of another guy, who was helping him build some stairs-- the guy lost his pinky and most of the use of his dominant hand . . . and then we had to assign a monetary value to the injury-- to make this guy "whole" again-- pain, suffering, loss of work, etcetera-- but not medical expenses-- and he was a fairly old guy and that was a factor and we did a bunch of calculations (but we were not provided with ANY guidance about the monetary amount) and so. we averaged together all of our numbers-- which were in the same ballpark-- I suggested $400,000 and there were a few jurors above and a few below, so that became the number we presented to the court-- and after we went back in the courtroom and presented our verdict, I met my brother for lunch-- he does mediation of this sort in the courthouse, but usually for smaller claims-- but he has access to all the mediation files-- unless the judge seals them, they are a matter of public record-- and so he looked up this case and found that the county arbitrator determined the exact same amount as reasonable compensatory damages-- but the plaintiff wasn't happy with this number and so went to trial-- and was awarded the same dollar amount by a bunch of amateurs doing back-of-the-envelope calculations-- a fairly strange coincidence . . . unless my secret and untapped talent is awarding the perfect amount of compensatory damages!

Dave Goes to Court

Despite my usual techniques, I am seated on a jury for a civil case-- and while I can't reveal any details (other than the judge promises it will conclude by the end of the week) I will say that this particular courtroom drama veers between sleep-inducingly boring and rather gruesome-- which isn't the worst combination, because just when I'm about to fall asleep, I wake up and then nearly faint.

A Compelling Combination

Tana French's mystery novel Faithful Place is an evocative tale set in the land of James Joyce and The Commitments but co-directed by Quentin Tarantino and Guy Ritchie.

The First Rule of Costco!

The first rule of Costco is-- of course-- you don't talk about what you buy at Costco-- but the second rule of Costco is NEVER stray from the list-- no impulse buys . . . or else you'll end up like me, shredding this giant three-pound block of Vermont cheddar and freezing it in bags because it would take a family of four at least six months to consume that much cheese, even though it is delicious.

 

The Flag at the Berkeley Hung Limply

It was a bit better at the beach today, a bit.

A Question for the Philosopher/Meteorologists of the (Rapidly Warming) World

Does enduring ungodly humidity build character?

Step One, Do It Yourself

A quick word of advice for the guy who walked into the gym before me today: instead of pushing the big silver automatic door opener, start your workout with a lat pull and yank the door open with your own muscle power.

Muse Your Allusion

Every two weeks or so I shave my head with my Balder Pro Rotary Shaver, and the next day I always get a few comments about my smooth and shiny scalp-- and the comments usually come in the form of a reference to a celebrity which definitely dates the person making the allusion:

my parents-- Mr. Clean, Kojak;

my wife-- Lex Luther;

the students-- Walter White.

The Buzz is Coming from Within the Shirt!

At dusk yesterday, while I was watering my wife's riotous flower garden, I heard the buzzing of a bee near my ear-- so I ducked and swatted a bit, but the buzzing continued-- so I swatted near my ear a few more times while sidestepping the bee-- but the buzzing in my ear continued and I ended up swatting my lip-- because I was swatting at my right shoulder with my left hand-- you can't swat your right shoulder very effectively with your right hand-- and I'm sure from an outside perspective I looked like the Claude the Tasmanian Devil-- but then, in my peripheral vision, I saw a black blob on my shirt and I realized that the bee was stuck in the collar of my shirt, so I swatted some more-- kind of hurting my neck in the process-- but I got the bee off me and I don't even think it stung me . . . but after all the acrobats and swatting myself, it was hard to tell.

Shakespeare Quiz!

 

If you're depressed and despondent over the US Men's National Soccer Team's loss to Uruguay (and their subsequent exit from the Copa America) then perhaps my new episode of We Defy Augury will distract you from your despair-- it's called "The Play's the Thing" and it's a Shakespeare quiz-- I provide the line (often performed by someone famous) and you try to guess the play, the character, and the genre-- good luck!

Dave Does the TimeWarp (Again)

I went out on my rollerblades this morning, to explore the new pavement in town-- and while it was generally smooth blading, I did realize that the new pavement is an elevation level above our house-- our house is closer to the river and probably 30 feet above sea level and the new pavement is the "higher" portions of Highland Park-- which goes up to 98 feet above sea level . . .not a huge amount but enough so it was a bit hairy getting back down to our house-- especially because there were a lot of sticks and leaves on the road from yesterday's storm . . . and, as usual, I did not see any other rollerbladers this morning-- which makes me feel like one of the people in the Netflix show Travelers . . . I'm from the future!-- but really, traveling by rollerblade no longer says: "I'm from the future!" . . . it says: "I'm from the 90s!"

Not What But When . . .

Last night we played the music/chronology game HITSTER with a bunch of folks and I learned that my wife has a special talent-- though she rarely knows the names of bands, songs, or albums,  if she hears a song, she can precisely identify WHEN the song was released-- even pop stuff from the early aughts-- in the game you need to listen to songs and identify if they were released before or after the other songs in your timeline and you win once you get ten songs in your line (and you can challenge if you think someone has it wrong) and, because of my wife's heretofore unknown talent, we crushed everyone.

Note to Future (Possibly Reincarnated) Self

If you get a dog, make sure the color of the dog's coat matches the color of your kitchen floor-- otherwise, the floor always appears littered with dog hair.

The Older You Get, The More You Pack (Until You Get REALLY Old)

The older you get, the longer it takes to pack for the beach . . . but it's because you're smarter and realize that you need more stuff-- sunblock, sunglasses, seltzer, change of clothes, sunhat, Kindle, variety of snacks, a chair, umbrella, etcetera-- stuff you eschewed and forgot when you were young and could handle the full effects of the sun and you were limber enough to be able to lay comfortably on a towel on the bumpy hot sand (and today we preceded the beach day with some pickleball at Wardell Park-- which made for even MORE packing-- wrist bands, paddle, baseball cap, extra pickleballs, even more snacks, water . . . it's a miracle I left the house) still I suppose once you get REALLY old and you're just going to shuffle along the boardwalk, then you won't need to pack anything.