Menacing Ladybugs?

Today is my favorite lesson in Creative Writing class: we read James Wright's lovely meditation on nature, "A Blessing," and then my students attempted to draw the scene:

two beautiful horses in a twilit pasture and a man so awed by their pastoral serenity that he feels he might "break into blossom," but the lesson is that it's not so easy to draw a beautiful horse (as evidenced by the student examples) 

and we read a few other poems that convey tone, including "The Second Coming" by Yeats-- and with this apocalyptic poem, I always ask them what animals would contribute to the arid anarchy of the rough beast slouching towards Bethlehem to be born, the giant Sphinx stomping across the desert surrounded by indignant desert birds-- so what animals would fit with this scene?-- snakes and spiders and crocodiles and vultures and ravens, creatures of that ilk-- 

and then I ask them to list animals that would ruin the tone-- bunnies and kittens and panda bears and such-- and this led to some interesting discussions from the students as to what animals they are scared of . . . one girl is petrified of ladybugs?-- and another girl said, "ants are attracted to me" and then launched into several ant-freak-out anecdotes, and another girl said she hides indoors whenever she sees a bee, and she is also scared of moths, butterflies, lanternflies, and mice . . . and this really led me to wonder how these children are going to survive in the world.

Dave is Well Appointed

I medically overbooked myself after school this week: I got my first hyaluronic acid shot in my knee yesterday—ouch; I went to the dentist today for a cleaning-- yuck; and tomorrow I'm getting acupuncture-- but perhaps all this preemptive medical care will pay off in the long run (or the medium run, in the long run, I'll have shuffled off this mortal coil, or-- more likely-- limped off it).

Can Chinese AI Predict American Madness?

I probably shouldn't reveal this, but I'm using DeepSeek—the cheap, knock-off AI—to craft the perfect NCAA bracket. However, I'm sure someone else is using it to cure cancer.

Pickleball Weekend

Two away Cross Club Pickleball matches in one weekend is one too many-- I played well yesterday at the Pickle House down in Robbinsville (I was lucky enough to have a fan club-- my brother and his buddy Craig came and drank beers and watched me play, and I always play better at any sport when my brother is around . . . family confidence) but today our team got spanked at the Pickle Palace up in Whippany-- I think we were a bit tired from yesterday's match (and we had a few subs playing, who were not ready for this level) but losing at pickleball is still more fun that not playing at all.

We Used to Hang Out in There!

The Corner Tavern—the bar in New Brunswick where I met my wife (actually, I met her just outside the bar, when I exited—because she was only 20 at the time—this was 1992, and I was with my best buddy Rob, and she was with her best buddy Tammy—and we married the two of them eight years later) and now this bar seems to be some kind of Superfund site, in a perpetual state of industrial decontamination.

Enough of This Shit

By the end of parent-teacher conference week, the contrast between the demeanor of the English teachers with the parents and the demeanor of the English teachers in the English Office had reached such a stark contradiction that if I detailed this phenomenon further, it might be detrimental to our employment.

March: In Like a Lamb, Out Like a Lion?

82°F earlier in the week, and now it's snowing-- when the fuck is the porridge going to be just right?

Will I Ever Escape From Stalingrad?

I thought it would be a good idea to read Vasily Grossman's epic WWII novel Stalingrad, but now that I'm 700 pages deep and trapped in the mines of the Donbass region of Eastern Ukraine, I'm wishing that I had decided to read something a bit shorter-- like another Tony Hillerman novel (we just finished watching two seasons of Dark Winds-- an adaption of Hillerman's Leaphorn and Chee novels: 1970s crime and mysticism on the Navaho lands in New Mexico . . . good stuff).

Into the Bath!

While I don't like the fact that it got THIS hot this quickly, the unseasonably warm weather is great for airing out smelly things, whether furry or footwear.

Let's Never Do the Time Warp Again

I was very happy yesterday, after the Knicks threw up another airball in a messy game against the Lakers, when the announcer blamed Daylight Saving Time for the poor, rhythmless play by both teams.

Time for a Nap

Great weekend: a lot of old friends; a lot of rugby on the telly; a lot of Guinness consumed; a fair amount of Z played; and a fabulous Hoboken get-together.

Meet Us at the Shepherd and the Knucklehead?

Yesterday,  after riding a slow local and very full train to Newark Penn, and then a crowded PATH train to Jersey City, I then walked over an hour to a bar with an absurd name in north Hoboken, The Shepherd and the Knucklehead, and despite the crowds on the way, the bar was empty aside from a bunch of knuckleheads watching rugby, and I believe a good time was had by all and we finished a keg of Guiness.

Epic Fury?

I'm not sure why we're calling this coordinated attack on Iran "Epic Fury"-- I thought Iran was epically furious with us-- not the other way around: we don't usually chant "Death to Iran," but the Iranians have certainly embraced the slogan "Death to America."

Trying to Illuminate Things

Today was dark, both weather-wise and literacy-wise . . . it was one of those days in class when you're fairly sure that nobody has read what they were supposed to read, or if they did read it, they didn't comprehend it-- and so you have to retreat and start from square one (also, I learned today that high school do not know about the Abu Ghraib prison travesty . . . so I explained it to them, because that knowledge might be relevant again: the dire costs and consequences of attempting a regime change in the Middle East and then determining how to treat various detainees).

I Did Not Know There Would Be Costumes

My friend and fellow English teacher Janson recommended the Canadian math rock duo Angine de Poitrine to me because he knew their music would be right up my alley-- and he was right: I listened to all their stuff on Spotify and thoroughly enjoyed it-- but then I learned that they perform this fast-paced, hypnotic, microtonal, riff-based music in surreal polka-dotted costumes, and this made me like them even more!

Dave: The Master

I am the master at cooking blackened salmon in a cast-iron pan: I coat the filets with melted butter and then I sprinkle a mixture of blackening spices and brown sugar onto the buttered fish (and the sugar and spices stick because of the butter) and then I cook the salmon, skin side down, in a blackening pan until the temperature is about 100°F, and then I place the salmon, still in the blackening pan, under the broiler for about three minutes, until the brown sugar/blackening mixture caramelizes with the butter . . . it's so good even my son Ian eats it, and he doesn't really like fish-- and our dog also loves when I cook this meal, because she loves to eat the charred skin.

The Good Doctor and I Celebrate Yet Another (Rhyming) Birthday

Dr. Seuss and his cat-- they knew some good tricks--

They made a big mess for rainy-day kicks.

Thing One and Thing Two ran wild-- yikes!

Like my two boys when they were young tykes.

Then the Cat in the Hat-- he cleaned up the mess--

with his high-tech machine, with panache and finesse.

But now Seuss is dead, and my kids are old.

They are tall and mature; they cannot be controlled.

Time is a force that we just cannot fix . . .

Seuss is long gone, and I'm fifty-six.

Lesson Learned

Last night, I drank four good beers, and we ate a bunch of delicious fried fish (black cod) and fried coconut shrimp at Wu's Fish House in the wild and chaotic H-Mart Plaza in Edison, and today my stomach is pretty sketchy, and I have a Cross Club Pickleball Match at 2 PM . . . but at least-- if the unspeakable happens-- we are all wearing black shorts.

Resilience

After gently digging it out, my bamboo—which was buried underneath two feet of snow-- has sprung back to life.

Look Before You Drink

You should look before you leap, and you should also look before you drink out of a cup in the bathroom in the middle of the night-- which I did not do last night (because I was being considerate and didn't want to wake my sleeping wife . . . but she was NOT considerate, and so I ended up drinking from a cup containing her floss pick . . . yuck).