I made it to 6:30 AM basketball this morning, despite a hip flexor strain- and I shot fairly well from VERY deep but couldn't make space to take any reasonable shots-- but the most exciting moment was when Frank Noppenberger-- the venerable AD from many years ago-- and I combined to rebound a ball under the basket . . . that rebound was gathered by a combined 126 years of decaying athleticism.
Giving Zero Fucks, In a Good Way (Educationally)
Today was my thirty-first "first day of school" as a teacher-- I told them the rules, summarized the course sequence, learned some names, and did a fun icebreaker activity . . . and I am pleased to announce that I've reached the stage in my career where I had exactly zero first-day jitters, nervousness, or anxiety.
The Canadian Allman Brothers?
If you love the Allman Brothers but you've worn out the grooves on their oeuvre, then you could give "Dickie Betts" by the Dean Ween Group a listen-- no surprise that those guys did an Allman Brothers Tribute . . . or-- more surprisingly-- you could listen to "Making Memories" by Rush . . . I've been going through their discology lately and the tone and sound of this track kind of shocked me (in a good way).
Talking Turkey
On the drive home from my mother's house in Monroe yesterday evening, we saw a bunch of wild turkeys crossing the road and the rest of the car ride home, my wife educated me on the many names for groups of turkeys and the names for various age classifications of turkeys . . . this shit is fucking absurd: baby turkeys are called "poults" . . . which maybe has something to do with poultry? . . . and juvenile male and female turkeys are called, respectively: "jakes" and "jennies" . . . and adult male turkeys are called "toms" or "gobblers"-- and then there are a shitload of names for a group of turkeys-- a group of young males is called a "gang" or a "posse" or a "mob" . . . and if it's just a random flock of turkeys, it could be a "gobble" of turkeys or a "rafter" of turkeys or a "brood" of turkeys . . . and I'm certainly skipping a few terms, like "longbeard' and "bearded hen" but it's all a bit overwhelming-- this is ONE kind of bird!-- but I know the turkey is a very important American bird, consumed with great zeal and relish on Thanksgiving and famously preferred over the bald eagle as a national bird by Ben Franklin-- Franklin thought the turkey was a respectable bird of Courage . . . after my wife explained all these various terms-- which I immediately forgot-- she found some other internet compendium of names for groups of every kind of bird . . . I don't know who uses these terms or when, but this list is way beyond "a murder of crows" . . . the only two I can still recall is a "charm" of finches . . . and that is a good one to remember because the goldfinch is the New Jersey state bird, and-- for obvious reasons-- I am also partial to a "squadron of pelicans."
Preparing for Reentry . . . Time to Pedal Up the Hill
Time to reenter the working world . . . and I am also noticing that the big difference between biking here in Highland Park vs. biking at the beach is that around here we have hills . . . so you actually have to pedal, you can't just coast over to Happy Hour, have a few drinks and then coast home and go to sleep, without a care in the world . . . but I guess hills and work are a good thing? because they make you stronger? and feel purposeful? and when you reach the top of the hill-- or the end of a work day-- you feel fulfilled? . . . we shall see.
Ugh . . . Wake Me Up For Thanksgiving Break
So that's that . . . our beach vacation is over, and it's time to get back to the ol' routine: I'm fat from eating and drinking in goblin mode for a month (and not walking or running up and down any hills . . . the beach is very flat) but I got up early this morning, drove down to Hamilton and played pickleball with my brother (and jammed my hip somewhat . . . we'll see if the naproxen fixes that issue) and now I've got to clean some toilets, prove to my mortgage lender that I have hazard insurance, put away laundry, figure out what the fuck I'm doing in school next week, and eat a bunch of salad . . . wake me up when September end (and allergy season is over: my nose is a bit stuffy since I returned to Highland Park-- apparently there's a lot less pollen and ragweed at the beach).
Dave Returns to Central Jersey (with very little fanfare)
My wife and I packed up our little pad in Ocean Grove this morning-- after another great beach day with friends on Friday-- and we drove back to Central Jersey . . . and we were pleasantly surprised to enter a clean house . . . Ian completed all his chores (he even put up a new magnetic screen on our back porch slider, so our dog can go in and out at will) and so my wife and I were able to get down to the rest of it: we put away all the beach stuff; my wife went down to her garden and planted seeds and harvested vegetables; I went to the gym for the first time in a month; I gave the dog a bath . . . also for the first time in a month; and while I loved living at the beach, it does feel good to be home-- while we definitely do not live in a large house, it seems like a mansion, after existing in a tiny space for a while-- it was also nice to use my big foam roller to sraighten out my back . . . the vacation bed was very mushy and my spine is out of whack . . . this was a fantastic summer (aside from when Ian totalled my wife's car-- but, luckily, I was at the beach with my college buddies for that hydroplaning escapade, and my family didn't tell me what happened until I got home) wherin I spent over a month close to the ocean-- but now it's time for school . . . and a visit to the dermatologist, I took a lot of sun over the last two months.
The Boys of Summer Have Gone
We leave the beach tomorrow, and the reality of work is rearing its ugly head- but Catherine and I had a great Thursday night out: we went to the R Bar for dollar oysters and sat upstairs-- very festive-- and then we saw my buddy bob play music at Mutiney Beach-- he plays bass in a band with an incredible uke player . . . they did reggae versions of several Pink Floyd songs-- and then we had one last sourdough pizza at Talula's; this morning we went stand-up paddleboarding in Manasquan-- we paddled past Fisherman's Cove and across the Glimmer Glass Lake to the train bridge . . . no wind and it was lovely and it really made me want to get another paddleboard-- I think mine deflated in 2019?-- it was a relaxing way to spend our last full morning . . . and I am now about to drag the wagon to the beach for one last beach day of summer-- and there are limited lifeguards because the kids have left for college or started high school sports . . . it's the beginning of the end.
My Dog is NOT a Valiant and Courageous Leader (but she plays one on TV)
This moment on the jetty at the dog beach in Asbury Park is probably the most epic and badass and commanding our pooch Lola has ever been depicted-- she is one regal beagle! she could run for president!-- you should see the other photos I took, they are trash: several of her yawning and the rest she is looking the wrong direction-- but perhaps she knew that this was her last trip to the dog beach for a while, as our beach vacation is winding down, and so she had to produce one singular image so she could remember the good times fondly (and fictitiously, as nothing is more meretricious than a portrait).
Kids . . . They are Full of Germs
I thought I was going to return home today for the first time in over three weeks, to pick up Ian and bring him to the beach-- but he's running a fever and his throat hurts . . . and then my son Alex, who was also supposed to come for a few days with his girlfriend, called me and told me he and Ava are both running fevers and have sore throats and all their friends have strep so they are going to the Healtch Center tomorrow morning to get tested and get some antibiotics-- apparently everyone returned to college with various viruses and germs, and they partied and went to concerts and basement shows and bars and hung out in small apartments and dorm rooms and got each other sick-- so while my wife got up early this morning and brought some stuff home and then headed to her classroom to get it set up (with the help of my cousin Kim) I spent a quiet and contemplative (and slighly hungover) day at the beach . . . I walked the boardwalk and took a bike ride to Jody & Jodee's Fish Market, where they serve all kinds of fish sandwiches-- I had a red snapper sandwich and it was delicious and this place is quite a scene-- it's a bit inland, on Route 35, and while beach clientele come in to buy fresh seafood, the lunch crowd was blue-collar and very salt-of-the-earth and very chatty-- they discussed ghosts and shootings and poltics (both sides are liars) and proper uses for ketchup (NOT on seafood) and everything looked excellent and I will return . . . hopefully, I will return to many of these spots that I discovered on this long vacation . . . and I'm also very thankful that I did not contract any illnesses from the many visitors we had-- because I'm about to wade into a sea of high school students and all the various germs that they harbor.
Last Taco Tuesday!
Next Tuesday is looming in the minds of teachers everywhere . . . first comes Labor Day Weekend, then comes labor-- but there's still some summer left (as Soder explained last night, we still have TWO Thanksgiving breaks worth of summer before school begins) and so we celebrated our last "taco Tuesday" at Barrio Costero-- Styacey, Chantal, Soder, and Terry and his family joined us for the finale-- Catherine and I attended every taco Tuesday in August (and Stacey made it to three of them) and they saved the best for last-- and apparently they have a chef's meeting on Monday about what tacos to serve on Tuesday-- we had, in order: steak, black bean and corn masa, chicken in some kind of birria sauce and last night was pork carnitas-- delicious-- and after tacos we went to the Black Swan to take advantage of all-day happy hour and then we tried to go to Johnny Mac's for free pizza but they wouldn't let Stacey and Chantal in- no ID-- we were like WTF? we're all over forty here-- but no dice-- so we went to the Bond Street bar for a final beverage and a discussion of how weird feet are (and how weird people who are into feet are) and then we wandered the streets of Ocean Grove, looking at the Victorian architecture and the Methodist tent city-- and the next time I will see those folks, our lives will be dictated by bells.
Genius New Game to Accompany Wordle!
I am sure many of you-- as I do-- start your day by playing "Wordle," but "Wordle" needs a sister game, a game that comes out at 9 PM every evening, and this game should be called "What the Fuck was Wordle?" and to achieve it in one guess, you have to remember what the fuck Wordle was without any prompting-- and then-- if you can't recall what the fuck Wordle was-- there should be prompts, like my wife did for me last night, when I decided that I must have forgotten to do Wordle (I had not forgotten, I just had true Wordle amnesia) and she said, "this thing is in horror movies" and I was like: "ghost, creep, foggy, scare" and then she said, "it's alive but not an animal" and I said: "fungi?" and then she said, "it's very small" and I said: "spore," which was correct-- but I still had to check Wordle to see if that was really the word because I did not remember guessing it . . . so you're welcome, New York Times!
Doggelganger
I am currently reading Tana French's murder mystery The Likeness-- which begins with Detective Cassie Maddox encountering a murder victim that looks exactly like her and has also assumed her undercover identity from years previous . . . it's super-creepy-- and then this morning, when my wife and I were walking the Asbury Boardwalk with her family, we stumbled upon this mural which is a likeness of our dog Lola: we're going to have to get her over there and take a photo with her in front of it, but it's definitely her doggelganger . . . pretty weird (and I thought of the word "doggelganger" on my own, when I typed the word "doppelganger" it came to me but of course the internet already thought of it . . . stupid fucking internet).
Salt Life Continues
While my wife has driven back home a few times-- to tend her garden and do laundry and run some errands-- I have not left the beach in three weeks, so this is the longest amount of time I've spent outside of Highland Park since our cross-country trip many years ago . . . it's going to be strange to return home in a week and reoccupy my usual haunts and spaces, and I think I will appreciate everything more (as long as the weather doesn't turn hot and humid, if the weather turns hot and humid I'm going to be very angry).
Dueling Cheesesteaks (and other gastronomic notes)
Some notes on food and drink in the Asbury Park/Ocean Grove/Bradley Beach area:
1) the cheesesteak at the hipster sandwich joint The Speakeatery is better than the cheesesteak from Palmer's Quality Meats in Neptune City, although both these cheesesteaks are exceptional (and both contain chopped-up hot cherry peppers) the Speakeatery version is more steak-like, featuring chopped top round, while the Palmer's Meats version is more like a think-sliced Philly version . . . and I want to try more things from both these places;
2) The Asbury Park Distilling Co has happy hour-- 10-dollar highballs-- and the aquavit is very tasty, just a hint of licorice/anise flavor;
3) The R Bar has jazz and dollar oysters on Thursday night, and it's quite the hipster joint-- the drinks are excellent, and the bartender is very very attractive;
4) the deal at Johnny Mac's House of Spirits is that if you order drinks you are entitled to one free mini-pizza-- but if it's crowded, then you have to wait in line to get your pizza, so take advantage of this deal early-- and they also have ping-pong, skeeball, and cornhole;
5) the mussels in coconut curry are excellent at Catbird in Asbury, as is the sourdough crust pizza-- the size and taste is similar to Talula's . . . but Catbird is BYOB, so though it's a bit pricey, you can save some of your dough and that way, when the bill comes, you won't be sour.
Tana vs. Tony
I'm proud to say-- mainly because of the lousy weather due to tropical storm Erin-- that, despite being on vacation, I knocked out another episode of We Defy Augury . . . "Tana vs. Tony: How to Solve a Murder Mystery" features my thoughts (loosely) inspired by Tana French's "Dublin Murder Squad" series and Anthony Horowitz's "Magpie/Moonflower/Marble Hall Murders" series . . . but the episode is more about the two types of mystery novels, those in a series, where you know the detective and his or her methods-- and those stories that feature a new and unique perspective for each case . . . and, be forewarned: you will be quizzed.
Mystery Cookie
I surreptitiously took a bite of a cookie I discovered on the counter, assuming it was of the chocolate chip variety-- that's what it looked like-- but its taste confounded me, so I stopped eating it . . . and then I later discovered (from my wife) that it was a lemon blueberry cookie-- those weren't sour chocolate chips, they were blueberries!
Henry Rollins Would Go Swimming
During our vacation, I thought we had encountered all the different beach warning flags: green, yellow, and red . . . but today Ocean Grove had up BLACK flags-- rise above!-- and these flags indicate that if you go swimming you will DIE . . . very punk rock.
It's a Rush, Rediscovering Rush
It wasn't until I was 52 years old that I started to dig the pop fusion facility of Steely Dan, and now I am pleased to report that— in my 56th year— I am finally delving into another band I neglected in my youth: Rush-- I am listening to all the Rush albums . . . and truly enjoying them—I always liked the music of Rush, but I could never tolerate Geddy Lee's voice; that was a dealbreaker for me— but perhaps salt life here at the beach has mellowed my judgment, or maybe my ears are getting older and less sensitive— who fucking knows— but the other thing I have learned here at the beach is that when you go running on the sand on a windy day, you need to wear big-ass old-school over-the-ears noise-canceling headphones—and then you can really enjoy your Canadian prog rock, despite the angry ocean.
Weapons is the Bomb
There have been some good movies out lately: I like Weapons-- the new Zach Cregger film (he also directed the horror flick Barbarians) even more than Sinners and Mickey 17-- which were both fantastic . . . Weapons is Pulp Fiction meets It and it is perfectly paced; makes as much logical sense as a horror movie can make; does not treat its characters cavalierly-- as many a horror film is wont to do, especially if you're on the chopping block; and features a compelling opening mystery and a wonderful closing scene (where it looks like the child actors are having a total blast) so this one is worth seeing at the movies-- despite the record number of coming attractions (some of which looked decent, a new Ethan Coen film and a new Paul Thomas Anderson film).
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