Anthony Horowitz's The Word is Murder is a meta-mystery on par with Magpie Murders . . . a fictional version of the author becomes Watson to a much less charming but equally talented Sherlock Holmes figure (named Hawthorne) and the investigation of this "true crime" story distracts the fictional Anthony Horowitz from his actual work (such as writing for the TV show Foyle's War) and sends him into an obsessive quest to not only solve the crime but to "investigate the investigation," who is just as mysterious as the mystery . . . and there are plenty of plot twists and brilliant usage of both Shakespeare and spelling autocorrect to provide clues and red herrings-- a highly entertaining read, nine model airplanes out of ten.
Maybe There Will Be Big Fans?
For the first time, I am going to play pickleball indoors today and I am a little nervous . . . one of my main mental tactics is that I never blame myself for a bad shot-- it's the psychological technique of sublimating instead of ruminating, famously studied by Martin Seligman-- but if we are indoors, how will I blame the wind?
Entropy, It's a Winner
The car shopping continues (RIP Toyota minivan) and the engine light has reared its ugly head on the Mazda dashboard, our dog probably needs surgery for bladder stones-- but we're putting it off and trying a special diet and hoping for a miracle-- and while we were able to replace one window (out of the three we wanted to replace) it seems the other two were installed incorrectly by total incompetents back in the 1980s and will require major construction to be swapped out . . . entropy always wins (and in case you were wondering, I checked and there's already a t-shirt with this phrase on it).
Dave Gets Sleeker
When I go to the gym, I normally lift some weights or shoot a few baskets, and then jump into the pool and swim a few laps-- I wear Spandex compression shorts under lightweight athletic shorts and I just swim in that outfit-- but today I had a brilliant idea: after swimming a few laps in my lightweight shorts, but feeling the drag from the pockets and all that, I simply took them off, while I was in the water and swam a few laps just wearing my Spandex compression shorts-- and what a difference, I felt streamlined, like a seal or a squid (a hairy squid) and getting from one side of the pool to the other was much faster and easier . . . and then when I was done, I grabbed my shorts from the side of the pool, put them back on while I was in the water, so I didn't have to parade around in my compression shorts (like an actual swimmer).
It Rhymes if You Drawl
Right now my life feels like a bad country song-- a bad but slightly liberal country song-- my Toyota minivan is dead and gone and my dog's bladder is full of stones.
Breaking (But Very Boring) News
This morning at pickleball, I hit my first clean and intentional backhand ATP . . . it was a thing of beauty, I waited until the last moment and then hit a low line drive around the pole to the deep corner-- and it was as satisfying as knocking in a very long putt or holing a wedge shot or arcing in a deep three-pointer over an outstretched hand or making a difficult combination in pool or scoring a twenty-yard half-volley in soccer or doing something fun and interesting that I don't know about in lacrosse or hockey . . . it was very satisfying.
One Van Left Behind
Another action-packed family vacation in Sea Isle-- Alex and Matt defended last year's random draw cornhole title (and so only Greg and I and Alex and Matt have won back-to-back . . . so we played them and we did beat them-- but they were probably cornholed out from their tournament run . . . they will have to split up next year) and while we're taking plenty of memories back to central Jersey we will be leaving one important member of the family behind-- our 2008 Toyota Sienna Minivan overheated and the engine went, so she is headed to the junkyard, but at least she will spend the remainder of her days at the beach-- a well-deserved vacation from all the family trips, soccer jaunts, teenage shenanigans, work commuting, and general utilitarian duty . . . she served us well, all hail the minivan-- but I can't wait to get a smaller car that doesn't smell so bad, isn't held together by various kind of tape, and contains fewer wasps and spiders (and we were lucky enough to find out the bad news from the garage just as my parents were leaving yesterday, so Catherine jumped in their car and drove them home-- where, serndeipiotusly- our Mazda was because Ian drove them to the beach-- and then she turned around and brought the Mazda to Sea Isle, which barely fit all the stuff-- but we were able to send Alex and Ian home with my brother and they took the train from Hamilton to New Brunswick, quite the game plan . . . we were going to rent a box truck to take our stuff but the garage said they're all out on Saturdays delivering linen).
Advice for Coastal Landlords
Beach rentals need less decorative gew gaws and more hooks for hanging damp beach apparel.
A Coincidence is Just an Explanation Waiting to Happen (unless there are no rules)
Rainy day here at the beach, so in between naps I played some gin rummy with Ian and my dad and finished the third Jackson Brody mystery by Kate Atkinson, "When Will There Be Good News?" which takes place in an alternate Seinfeldian universe so full of coincidences that they become enjoyable expectations.
Vacation Jumbled Run On
Too many trivial vacation moments and so little time— I’ve got to prep the salad for meatball night— but last night was Jack’s college graduation party, which featured Mexican food and lots of life sized cut out pictures of Jack— which were placed on the deck and then nearly everyone lost their shit today at some point because when they saw these cut-outs from the beach, they looked like actual people lurking about . . . a few people waved to the 2-D Jacks and I thought someone was creeping around— then this morning my brother and I went to the advanced open play pickleball at the Avalon courts and we crushed a few people and then played the top dogs on the challenge court— a 4.6 duo with experience playing together, and my brother and I won the first game against them, then lost the second— I was so fatigued and dripping with sweat I could barely move— and then we took a break while they beat another contender 11-0 and then we played them in the rubber match and while I’m normally the best player in my intermediate level games, in this game they were targeting me because they knew I had less experience at this level than my brother, but I held on and we won the rubber match 11-8 and then we got packed up for the beach and the whole crew donned all the bathing suits and shirts with my father’s face on them and the boys pushed my dad to the beach in one of those beach wheelchairs with he giant rubber wheels— it’s all about those wheels— and my dad had a great time at the beach and also enjoyed seeing his face plastered all over thirty pieces of attire— which we ordered from China at a reasonable price— but the sizing was a bit weird— I’m a 2XL in these shorts and my brother is a 3XL . . . anyway, a great beach day and now it’s time to get ready for all the cousins and Catherine’s Meatballs.
Storming the Beaches of Sea Isle
My extended family have once again invaded a stretch of coastline at the Jersey Shore and some good stuff has ensued: drinking, pickleball, communal dinners, dolphin sightings, clear temperate water, competitive cornhole, sun, sand, salt, etcetera but it has come at a price— a casualty while storming the beach: I packed the circular Spikeball net but forgot to pack the bag of Spikeballs but my wife found a couple for sale in a five and dime type store and so the kids and my brother went up by the dunes to play, while I wisely remained on the cornhole pitch— and my brother soon returned with a bloody big toe and his big toenail was hanging on by a thread, apparently the toe nail caught on his other foot when he dove for a ball and it ripped up and out, very ugly, but his wife— a nurse— washed it and taped it up and then my brother drank some bourbon as anesthetic— he was claiming he would be playing pickleball this morning, but I highly doubt it.
Not So Grumpy Old Men
My friend Whitney was in town last night-- because what's halfway between Norfolk and Cooperstown? Central Jersey!-- so we went out and pretended we were young . . . and Whitney figured out how to foil the slow service at Pino's by ordering two Guinness at a time, which he imbibed at the same pace that I drank one . . . and the results are exactly what you might imagine.
Safety = Not Warped and Trippy at All
The super-classy/super-distorted-$9.99 eBay-stick-on-funhouse-replacement-side-view mirror is no more . . . our mechanic replaced it with a genuine powered crystal clear authentic Toyota Sienna mirror-- and where's the fun in that?
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!
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