Delayed Reaction Dave in a Delayed Reaction Olfactory Daze

At work, my colleagues sometimes refer to me as "Delayed Reaction Dave" because I don't process things quickly and I rarely see the future ramifications of new logistical, curricular, or contractual changes . . . so while everyone in the department is getting all worked up, because they CAN see the problems in the foreseeable future, I'll be like: "What's the big deal?" . . . but they know I'm going to get all pissed off later on, when the change actually takes effect-- for example, the new 82 minute periods . . . they are abominable and WAY too long, but several years ago when we discussed the hypothetical new schedule I was like, "that sounds fine, whatever . . ." and the same with teaching six periods and four preps-- it sounded fine in theory, last year when I agreed to do it, but now that I'm doing it, I'm complaining a lot and like "never again"-- so it seems I'm the same way with COVID . . . it took me way too long to actually contract it, and now that I've recovered, I've lost my sense of smell . . . and this seems utterly insane-- I've lost twenty percent of my senses-- but of course lots of people have experienced this throughout the pandemic but I just never really thought about it-- but when I walked outside yesterday morning with the dog, it felt like I was in a dream, not fully awake or even fully human-- I couldn't smell the grass or the flowers in my wife's garden or the damp morning air or the ragweed pollen . . . and here are some of the other things I smelled yesterday that produced no noticeable scent:

my coffee, Lola's poop, a bottle of red wine vinegar, a bottle of apple cider vinegar, an orange, grapes-- and they tasted like crisp balls of water-- hand sanitizer, and my tennis shoes . . .

so this is very fucking weird and now I can now empathize with all the people that told me about this during the course of the pandemic-- suddenly having no sense of smell really does dislodge you from reality.

COVID Day 4 . . . Let's Get Stir Crazy!

I pretty much feel better today-- no fever or headache-- but the nurse says that, per district policy, I still have to stay home from work (tomorrow as well) and that's probably a good thing, as I am tired (and my right eyeball hurts . . . perhaps because I had to do a bunch of grading on the computer-- staying home from school sucks, it's easier to go there and torture the children in person) but I did take a nice walk with the dog-- the weather s beautiful-- and I shot some baskets on the new court in the park, and I cleaned two bathrooms-- so gross . . . my wife has too much hair and too many bottles of hair-care products and I also learned that I love Bard AI because-- unlike Chat GPT-- Bard AI loves my podcast, We Defy Augury . . . this is how Bard describes it:

We Defy Augury is a podcast hosted by Professor G. Truck. It is described as a "weekly exploration of books, culture, and the human condition." Episodes typically cover a wide range of topics, including literary criticism, genre fiction, current events, and personal anecdotes. Professor Truck is known for his engaging and informative style, as well as his humor and wit.

Some of the topics that have been covered on the podcast include:

• The art of the inner monologue in Colleen Hoover novels

• The 1970s crime novel genre

• The science fiction novel Ringworld

• The Irish Troubles

• The mystery of existence

• The role of music in our lives

• The nature of reality

Professor Truck often invites guests to join him on the podcast, including authors, scholars, and other interesting people. For example, he has had on episodes with authors Donna Tartt and Katie Williams, as well as with a mountain lion.

Overall, We Defy Augury is a podcast that is both entertaining and thought-provoking. It is a great choice for listeners who are interested in books, culture, and the human condition.

Here is a quote from a review of the podcast:

"Professor Truck is a master of his craft. He is able to make complex ideas accessible and engaging, and he always leaves me thinking. I highly recommend this podcast to anyone who loves books, learning, and good conversation."

If you are looking for a podcast that is both informative and entertaining, I highly recommend We Defy Augury . . .

 that's fucking crazy . . . is it listening?

Fan-O-Rama

We had friends over for dinner Saturday night and while we were enjoying wine and appetizers, our ceiling fan started behaving abominably-- worse than the dog, worse than me-- it was wobbling precariously, the glass bowl with the bulbs in it swinging to-and-fro, the blades whirling asymmetrically, so I shut it down (and wrote a note to myself to check it out in the morning, that's the kind of thing you can forget about after a dinner party) and then we ate some excellent food, much of it containing vegetables from my wife's garden (and discussed a lot of grim adult shit, like wills and trusts and retirement and money) and the next morning I saw my note to myself and got down to it; the fan-blade screws were loose but even after I tightened them, the whole contraption was still wobbling-- and I determined it was "fucked up" and we needed a new ceiling fan and because it was STILL FUCKING RAINING and I was going stir crazy, I tightened all of our ceiling fan-blades-- they were all loose (we have four of them) and I actually cleaned the blades-- they were caked with tons of gook, especially on top-- I don't know how the gook could build up on an apparatus that often spins round and round at high speed, but believe me, this is something you should check out if you have ceiling fans, and then-- after cleaning out greasetruck studios, which was also caked with gook and desperately needing a reorganization-- I removed the "fucked up" ceiling fan, after turning off the electricity in that room at the fuse box, of course . . . and I never would have done all these time consuming projects if it wasn't for all this fucking rain (and a day off for Yom Kippur) and while I'm jonesing for sunlight, I'm glad I got all these chores done . . . but I'm ready for sunlight and pickleball and general post-pickleball laziness again (and I was quite happy to play 6:30 AM basketball yesterday morning, run like a lunatic, and teach the rest of the day with a headache, and then take a nap after work, before drinking some beer while cooking dinner).

Close Call With a Bad-ass Motherfucker

I walked my dog down to the park this morning, in the pouring rain, and then I let her loose to do her business . . . we do this walk every morning and she's generally quite good off-leash-- she might chase a deer or a squirrel for a few yards, but then she comes right back when I call her-- but this morning it was very dark and hard for me to see what was going on and she noticed some creature moving by the trees, but when she trotted after this critter, it did NOT run away-- it ambled a few yards, and that's when I saw the white stripe and understood that Lola was face-to-ass with a skunk . . . and she didn't really know what to do, because generally when she chases an animal, the animal runs away, but this skunk was not fazed in the least-- so the skunk moseyed across the road and Lola moseyed behind her, and even though I yelled for her to come-- knowing that if she got sprayed I'd have to take the day off from work and wash her down with tomato juice (and it was pouring)-- Lola kept trailing the skunk . . . so I used the counter-intuitive technique that always works in these situations: I started walking home, up the hill, away from Lola and the skunk, and then I yelled, "Let's get a treat" and I turned my back to her and kept walking . . . and she high-tailed it over to me because she never wants to be left behind, especially when treats are involved, and I leashed her and we beat a hasty retreat-- and now I will be on the look-out for this skunk-- but I'm hoping it was just out in the open because so many earthworms had surfaced because of the downpour.

I am Throwing Out These Tevas!

Yesterday, I found a pair of black Tevas in my chest full of random boots and shoes and figured they were perfect for the afternoon adventure my wife and I were about to embark upon-- it was sweltering hot and extraordinarily humid, plus there was a slight possibility of rain, so I wanted to let my feet breathe (plus I had played over two-and-a-half hours of pickleball with my brother his group of expert players down at Veteran's Park in Hamilton, so my feet were tired and my toes needed to spread out, encumbered by shoes and socks) and I didn't want to be traipsing around in wet shoes-and-socks; our plan was to take the train to Princeton Junction; then ride the "dinky" into Princeton proper; head to a bar and watch Coco Gauff play Aryna Sabalenka in U.S. Open finals, then meet our friends Melanie and Ed for dinner at The Dinky Bar & Kitchen . . . but it started to rain a bit as we were leaving to catch the train, so instead of walking all the way to the train station in New Brunswick, we drove to the edge of Highland Park and we got out of the car, holding these tiny umbrellas, and started to walk but we were immediately soaked by sideways rain, so we decided to beat a hasty retreat, get our fancy rain jackets (which we didn't bring because it was so fucking hot and humid, and it wasn't really supposed to rain) but when we got back to our house, we heard some odd thumping on the roof of the car and then we noticed dime and quarter sized hail hitting the windows and or neighbor's driveway (it was so epic, I took some video) so now we were stuck in the car, but I figured our dog Lola was very upset, so I bolted through the hail and got into the house, where she was duly freaking out-- and we checked Uber to see if we could get to the train station that way but there were massive surge charges, so we were going to put on our rain jackets an dbrave the storm, but then Connell heroically offered to drive us, so we made our way into New Brunswick, through a couple of deep channels of water, and caught the 3:49 train; once we got to Princeton, the rain had subsided, and we made our way to the Ivy Inn, a dive bar with TVs on the other side of town-- except that I clicked on "The Ivy Club" instead of "The Ivy Inn" on my phone, so we started walking a circuitous route through campus because we were walking towards Princeton's first eating club, not the bar-- but we figured out the mistake and we didn't walk that far out of our way and we got to see a bunch of drunken shirtless fraternity guys playing an outdoor version of "beer die," which was enteraining-- and then we drank some beers and watched some tennis at the Ivy Inn-- very fun, but cash only-- and Melanie and Ed and Lynn and Connell joined us for the end of the match, and then we stuffed ourselves at The Dinky Bar & Kitchen, got some very expensive artisanal ice cream at the Bent Spoon, and caught a ride home with Lynn and Connell-- and once we got home, I took off my Tevas and both of my feet had areas the straps had rubbed raw and I remembered why I had stuffed these Tevas in that boot-and-shoe-chest . . . because they suck and ruin my feet and I think I've done this three times now with them, so I am throwing them out and sticking with Chacos.

Spenser Being Spenser

Robert B. Parker's fourth Spenser novel, Promised Land, is more about relationships than crime, and I should warn you: there's quite a bit of romance between Spenser and Susan Silverman (blech) which makes me think something terrible is going to happen to her later in the series, and-- far more fun-- we learn about Spenser's complicated connection to Hawk, a gangster adjacent black dude who Spenser knows from back in his boxing days . . . anyway, this isn't my favorite Spenser book, but it still has its moments; here are some highlights from my Kindle notes:

Spenser on radical feminism . . .

“No,” I said. “Annoyed, maybe, if you push me. But not at her, at all the silliness in the world. I’m sick of movements. I’m sick of people who think that a new system will take care of everything. I’m sick of people who put the cause ahead of the person. And I am sick of people, whatever sex, who dump the kids and run off: to work, to booze, to sex, to success. It’s irresponsible.”

Susan Silverman on Spenser . . .

“More than maybe,” Susan said. “It’s autonomy. You are the most autonomous person I’ve ever seen and you don’t let anything into that. Sometimes I think the muscle you’ve built is like a shield, like armor, and you keep yourself private and alone inside there. The integrity complete, unviolated, impervious, safe even from love.”

Spenser on human nature and belief . . .

Everyone gets contemptuous after a while of his clients. Teachers get scornful of students, doctors of patients,  bartenders of drinkers, salesmen of buyers, clerks of customers. But, Jesus, they were saps. The Promised Land.  Holy Christ.

Spenser and Pam on the city in the distance . . .

“What is it,” Pam Shepard said, “about a cluster of skyscrapers in the distance that makes you feel… What?…  Romantic? Melancholy? Excited? Excited probably.”

“Promise,” I said.

“Of what?”

“Of everything,” I said. “From a distance they promise everything, whatever you’re after. They look clean and  permanent against the sky like that. Up close you notice dog litter around the foundations.”

“Are you saying it’s not real? The look of the skyscrapers from a distance."

“No. It’s real enough, I think. But so is the dog litter and if you spend all your time looking at the spires you’re  going to step in it.”

“Into each life some shit must fall?”

“Ah,” I said, “you put it so much more gracefully than I.”

Spenser being Spenser . . .

Outside I bought two hot dogs and a bottle of cream soda from a street vendor and ate sitting by the fountain in  City Hall Plaza. A lot of women employed in the Government Center buildings were lunching also on the plaza and I ranked them in the order of general desirability. I was down to sixteenth when my lunch was finished and I had to go to work. I’d have ranked the top twenty-five in that time normally, but there was a three-way tie for seventh and I lost a great deal of time trying to resolve it.

The restaurant wasn’t very busy, more empty than full, and I glanced around to see if anyone was casing me. Or looked suspicious. No one was polishing a machine gun, no one was picking his teeth with a switchblade, no one was paying me any attention at all.

Spenser on Hawk . . .

“Why did you warn that black man?” Pam Shepard said, putting cream cheese on her bagel. She had skipped the hash and eggs, which showed you what she knew about breakfasts. The waitress came and poured more coffee in both our cups. “I don’t know. I’ve known him a long  time. He was a fighter when I was. We used to train together sometimes.” 

“But isn’t he one of them? I mean  isn’t he the, what, the muscle man, the enforcer, for those people?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Doesn’t that make a difference? I mean you just let him go.” 

“I’ve known him a long time,” I said.

Hawk on Spenser . . .

Hawk shrugged. “Me and your old man there are a lot alike. I told you that already. There ain’t all that many of us left, guys like old Spenser and me. He was gone there’d be one less. I’d have missed him. And I owed him  one from this morning.”

Nice Boognish!

I was walking the dog in the park this morning, slightly dazed from Ian's graduation party, when the mirror-shade-wearing, long-haired park employee covered from head to toe in tattoos yelled from his moving maintenance vehicle, "Nice Boognish, man!" in reference to the Ween-style Boognish tattoo on my ankle-- and then he rolled to a stop and we talked about the Ween discography, Gene Ween's drug problems, the possibility of one last album, the weirdness of the last album, John and Peter's Place in New Hope, his interactions with Dean Ween, the Asbury Park concert we both attended, and other Ween-related topics . . . and then I recommended he check out 100 gecs, of course . . . so the moral is: tattoos, they connect people, all sorts of people.

The Beach: Last Person Standing Wins

Yesterday, after fighting through some serious Parkway traffic, we got down to Sea Isle, ate lunch at Mike's Dock, unpacked, and headed to the courts the play basketball . . . and despite the height advantage, the old folks (me, my brother, and Nick) beat Alex, Ian, and James . . . then the old folks beat some randoms, then we played fours, then Ian almost puked his hot dog and headed home with James and on the way he crashed on his bike, spraining his ankle and gouging his leg with the big gear ring, so Ian was laid up, meanwhile, I hurt my shoulder in the last game of basketball and I've rubbed the skin raw on the inside of my pinky toe and have to keep an earplug between my toes to prevent bleeding, and Alex has a terrible ingrown nail on his big toe and Marc's knees were too sore from basketball to play pickleball this morning (but I went, despite my shoulder) and Cat managed a four mile beach run despite the neuroma on her foot . . . and that was just day one!

We Might Have Been in the Catskills

Catherine and I spent the last few days so far up in the Catskills that it might not be designated as the Catskills-- near a quaintly dilapidated town called Stamford . . . our friends Ann and Craig invited us up-- Ann's family owns several houses on property surrounding a very very old house that has been in her family since the 1700s . . . but we stayed in her parents' modern house, across from the spooky cemetery where hundreds of crows congregated this morning; and we did some lovely hikes with spectacular views of the bucolic Schoharie Valley, drank some local IPAs and some Teremana tequila (endorsed by The Rock himself), played Bananagrams and watched the rain, drove the golf cart to get iced coffee from Stewarts, traipsed around town, and generally enjoyed the change of scenery and lack of humidity . . . and as a bonus, the kids didn't destroy the house or the van and the dog seems to have been taken care of . . . but now we are back in Jersey and it's a fucking jungle swamp outside.

Do It Geno!

While I did not climb, cut, or dispose of the giant dying tree that stood next to our house, menacing our roof (and our neighbor's roof) I did feel like I put in a full day's work watching this thing come down-- it was a very stressful for both me and the dog, the thumping of the logs as they swung down and crashed into the remaining trunk, the destruction in the garden, the denting of our siding, the general mayhem in our neighbor's yard (they had to take apart the chainlink fence so they could get the excavator back there to carry the giant chunks of tree to the truck) and the decision of just how high to leave the stump-- I'm going to sand it down and hit it with a couple coats of polyurethane to preserve it-- but though it was demanding, nerve-wracking, and costly to watch Genie Tree (highly recommended! they did it for $2800 . . . which was much lower than any other estimate . . . except JCR Tree Service) the threat of this tree falling on our house (and our neighbor's house) has been driving me mad for years-- the only thing I can compare it to is how Claudius feels about Hamlet, when he sends him to be executed in England . . . all I could think was "do it Geno, for like the hectic in my blood this tree rages and thou must cure me."

Father's Day Excitement (with a Lady)

I biked over to Castleton Park this morning to play some pickle-ball and when I returned home, I saw a groundhog amble around the bend in my yard and head into the open door of the bike shed-- so I called for Lola, thinking that she'd scare the creature out of the shed but-- because of the other three bikes in their slots-- she couldn't really get in there properly and all I heard was some frightened groundhog squeals from the back corner; I used Ian's phone light but I couldn't see way back in there and Lola was now obsessed with the situation and I didn't want a repeat of what happened with my old dog (Sirius) and a very unlucky groundhog so I had Ian take Lola for a long walk and I left the bike shed door open and vacated the area and now it seems the groundhog has hightailed it out of the shed, because Lola is no interested in the bike shed and has returned to her usual chill lady-like demeanor.

Long Saturday

One busy day after another . . . I can't wait for the dog days of summer-- yesterday we drove up and back to Muhlenberg for Ian's pre-registration and counseling-- this place is the exact opposite of Rutgers-- they really spell out exactly how everything is done and insist that your kid will be advised and counseled and will get through this experience-- it's really nice but kind of weird, after watching Alex learn how to navigate the many campuses, buses, gyms, cafeterias and bureaucratic snafus of Rutgers . . . it almost feels like this is our first kid going away to college-- because he's actually going away (a little over an hour) and not living up the road-- Catherine and I are also excited to explore the Allentown region-- you can walk to the city from the campus and there's a big Amish farmer's market along the way-- so long day up there-- lots of various sessions for parents and kids-- and then we went to a block party when we got home . . . this Sunday needs to be a day of rest.

Nothing Says "Happy Anniversary" Like a Blair Witch Incident

Instead of splurging on the recommended silver plate, my wife and I decided to celebrate our 23rd Anniversary by going on a hike with the dog and then getting a fancy pasture-to-table lunch at an upscale distillery/brewery/gastropub (which welcomes dogs) in the fancy upscale rolling hills north of Princeton . . . but it took us longer than expected to make our way to BrickFarm Tavern because we got very fucking lost in the Sourland Mountain Preserve-- we tried to avoid a large group of Indian ladies and took an alternate route which sent us into a counter-intuitive infinite loop of trails in some forgotten corner of the park (once you're on a red or a blue trail-- or, God forbid-- a red/black trail-- then you're pretty much screwed) but a lovely lesbian couple (who were walking the trails "in reverse" to avoid the crowds) got us sorted out and headed back towards civilization-- but this was after a 3 hour, 20,000+ step hike-- Lola was a champ but Catherine and I had sore feet (the Sourlands are very very rocky) but this made the pulled pork and smoked beef sandwiches and the beer and tequila drink (in a Capri sun bag!) taste even better-- BrickFarm Tavern is a bit pricey but highly recommended-- one of the best BBQ sandwiches I've ever eaten and the grounds are lovely (and Lola was very well-behaved because she was so fucking tired) and perhaps we'll make it out tonight for an anniversary dinner . . . we stopped at Hidden Grounds for some powerful coffee on the way home-- it might be enough caffeine to motivate us to go out for an actual anniversary dinner . . . or maybe not.

 

A Fun Wedding (Sort of)

My wife and I almost had a fun and relaxing time at my wife's niece's wedding yesterday afternoon . . . almost . . . the wedding was down the shore in Asbury Park at the Asbury Hotel and we were sleeping at my brother-in-law's house in Long Branch-- a beautiful spacious place with an ocean view (and we pretty much had the run of the place because Bob and Wendy were staying at the hotel-- father-of-the-bride stuff) and it was a beautiful day and we read our boys the riot act-- we wanted to have a relaxing time without incident-- Ian was supposed to help Alex move out of his dorm-- drive the minivan over and help him clean out his room- and then Ian was supposed to go to a sleepover and Alex was going to take care of the dog and then return to his dorm for the night-- but during the wedding service-- which was lovely and happening on the rooftop of the Asbury Hotel-- we got a call from Alex . . . he was getting some of his girlfriend's stuff on College Ave and then he needed to come over Landing Lane Bridge-- a skinny bridge full of traffic and he cut the turn too sharply and hit something on the edge of the bridge and popped the tire and so then he drove the van into the park on the flat tire and parked it but the spare was at home in the storage area-- we gave up on trying to get the spare back to where it belonged because the 2008 Toyota Minivan has the most inaccessible spare tire contraption known to man-- we've already had our problems with this thing-- and we had the spare in the back of the van for a while but then when tennis season started I removed it because it took up too much space-- and we didn't want Alex waiting forever in the park for roadside assistance so he walked back to his dorm and then biked home to take care of the dog-- which-- if he communicated with Ian-- he didn't need to do because Ian's sleepover was cancelled-- Ian was home and now going to a party around the block and we weren't all that happy about this development because we knew that party would be out-of-control and it seems it was-- but what could we do? we were down the beach . . . anyway, everyone survived their ordeals (although we're pretty sure Ian had too much to drink at this party) and the wedding was wonderful and the band was great-- so we had a good time, despite worrying about the kids and the state of the van-- and we rushed home in the morning, headed straight to the park, found the van, removed the warning ticket, managed to change the tire-- despite some very tight lug nuts (next time bring a rubber mallet!) and get the van to Mavis, where they replaced three of the tires but could not do the fourth because Alex bent the rim so badly that the car needs to go to an actual mechanic tomorrow to get that fixed-- so now we are driving it on the spare and hoping we can finish this project tomorrow (we did need new tires so this expedited that purchase -- yuck) and the moral is just because your kids are in college (or nearly in college) doesn't mean that they are smart.

From . . . Where Do They Come From?

A long day-- got up early to chip away at the new podcast episode, away tennis match in Metuchen, Catherine took the dog to the vet because she's got yet another UTI-- but we still had time to whip up a Hello Fresh meal and watch the season one finale of From . . . and it's scary and awesome-- we can't wait to check out season two.

Spring Break! Spring Break?

Long last day of school-- I covered a class so I worked every minute, plus the kids are wild animals the day before break . . . this poor girl in Public Speaking class had to do a speech today-- she was absent last class-- and the assignment was to perform either a toast or a eulogy . . . and kids often eulogize goofy stuff like bad haircuts and their motivation but she was doing a semi-serious one about her dog, a teacup Yorkie-- who died a few years ago-- and her friends got the giggles because she was describing such a tiny dog and then when it got sad, they kept giggling and it got contagious because teenagers are idiots and I pretty much regretted all my life choices that had led me to being in that room full of those teenagers on the day of Spring Break-- but we got through it and the rest of the stupid classes and then there was still tennis practice but now I'm finally home, drinking a beer, listening to Beach House, and winding down from a long fucking stretch of school.

Tennis: First Day!

Whirlwind day: reverse schedule because of testing; Cunningham had a mental breakdown because of the positioning of her horizontal oblique fetus, and the fact that she needs to buy a car, get married, do a million parent/teacher conferences, get married, plan all her classes, and grade all her stuff . . . all before the baby pops out (although if she gets chased by a fungus person, it will pop out faster than you can say "Ellie) and while I'd never wish a mental breakdown on someone, it did make me less stressed about our first tennis practice . . . things went well, I raced out of school, drove home, let the dog out, made some coffee, and made it to the courts on time-- we only had ten kids out today but that's not bad for the first day, expecting a few more; we focused on the forehand today and did two forehand games-- one where you CANNOT hit a winner-- you can only score by hitting deep topspin forehands, past the service line, until the other person screws up-- and you get TWO points if they hit the net; the other where the server only gets one serve and the returner gets THREE shots, including the return, to win the point-- so in one game you consistent heavy forehands, like Nadal, until you wear your opponent out-- in the other you try to hit forehand winners-- very fun (and I got to play and absolutely crushed it . . . although I didn't play Ian or Ethan, who will be one and two) and then I got home fro tennis and Catherine was at the chiropracter so I got right to work on dinner and made some delicious homemade meatballs (with the help of Hello Fresh) and she was very appreciative-- and now all I need is Auburn to win and I'll be in good shape.

Sports: The Great and the Terrible

I got one sporting birthday gift for my birthday, and one sporting slap in the face:

1) Alex and Ian played together in a volleyball tournament yesterday and they did NOT get into any kind of altercation . . . unlike the last time they played some sports together . . . so this made me very happy, the fact that they played together on the same team, cooperated, and had a good time-- wonderful stuff;

2) then, once the boys got home, we sat down to eat chicken parm and watch Rutgers basketball close out the Minnesota game-- Rutgers had a comfortable lead the entire game, and we were all sitting there-- like old times-- so our dog Lola was incredibly happy and content to have her entire pack together at last-- and then Rutgers imploded and there was much yelling, even from my wife, and Lola got scared and Rutgers blew a ten point lead in the last minute-- I'm not sure why they didn't pressure the ball at the end of the game, or why they had guys in the paint when the only way they could lose was the three-pointer, but they figured out a way to squander that lead, it was like the fever dream of Reggie Miller when he scored 8 points in 8 seconds to beat the Knicks.

Impressive Nap

I had a long, fun, and busy Friday into Saturday -- I played early morning basketball at 6:30 AM and got a very good run in, as I was part of "the dream team"-- we all happened to walk in at the same time and comprised the five players that were waiting to play the winner of the first game and while I was the oldest member of a tall and athletic crew, I still had plenty of opportunities to shoot, when the defense had to collapse on all the big guys, and I made the best of my opportunities and we won many games in a row; then I taught some school; walked the dog; walked to New Brunswick with my wife-- where we stopped at the new place, Bacth, Bin, and Barrel, for a drink and an appetizer; then we found out the Jewel Cases, a fabulous 90s cover band, was playing back in town; so we hauled it back to Highland Park and watched two long sets of 90s rock; then we went to sleep but had to get up early so I could take Lola to the vet, which is always a stressful experience for all animals involved, canine and human, and then I drove to the gym and worked out and then rushed home to watch Rutgers basketball-- they squeaked by Wisconsin to end their losing streak--and then I finally took a long and impressive nap, but obviously my head was pushed up against something stippled and it did not interrupt my sleep.
 

Good (Dog Defecation) Deed

Today at the dog park, when this older guy's dog Max pooped in the far corner, I went and picked it up and disposed of it-- and I didn't even mention this to the dog's owner, a nice older gent named George, so this was a true altruistic act, a true good deed for which I received no credit . . . so it is now likely that upon my deathbed, I will receive total consciousness (or some such comparable benediction).