Game, Set, Match (Dave Beats the Drowned Man)

Yesterday was the last day of the winter men's league-- and while most of the guys are signing up for the spring session, I will be playing outside with my kids in the coming weeks, in preparation for the high school season; I finished strong, beating Barry in my last match-- though I won handily, Barry is troublesome (especially for a 65-year-old!) as he gets to everything and has a decent serve; while I started this league hustling and fit, I ended it wearing a brace on each knee, basketball shoes (more support than my tennis shoes) and tape on my two sprained toes; this winter I certainly improved my game . . . to some degree, I learned to stop chasing drop shots (for fear of injury) and stop diving at the net, I learned to serve to the backhand side, I learned to hit forehand winners and a hard cross-court two-handed backhand, I learned to hit my slice backhand deep, and-- just in the last match!-- I learned the proper ready position grip (from my wife, of all people) and this enabled me to wallop some forehand service returns . . . and if I can keep this up for fourteen more years, I will be quite happy-- I aspire to be like Barry, who went skiing last weekend in Beaver Creek and was back on the court a week later (although his neck was hurting him from the accident . . . what accident? . . . the drowning . . . you rescued someone? . . . no, I drowned this summer, I was painting my garage and it was 97 degrees and I forgot to drink water all day so I was completely dehydrated and then I dove into my pool to impress my grandkids and I never surfaced . . . my wife had to pull me out and I was blue and close to death. . . four days in the hospital . . . Barry is the bomb).

Tennis and Scooping

Weird tennis match this morning-- I hurt my quad last week playing soccer, so I promised myself I wouldn't run too hard at tennis this morning because I need to stay healthy for coaching tennis, and I played a good player this morning, Jonathan, a skilled and fit Asian guy in his thirties who has played a lot of tennis and I was hoping he'd kill me so I wouldn't get competitive and hurt my leg, but in between killer shots, he made some unforced errors and near the end, I was ahead 7-6 but he tied it at 7-7 and we had to play a tiebreaker-- and my leg was really starting to get tender, but I went ahead 3-0 in the tiebreaker, only to finally lose in the end 7-5 . . . and the whole time I was trying not to run down drop shots or get into long rallies and I'm just glad I survived without injury-- though I really could have beaten him if I was at full strength . . . and then I got bagels for my family and my wife gave me a very complicated order involving a "scooped out" bagel, a term which I never heard but seems to be something they are familiar with at the bagel shop.

Nets: The Reason Why America Doesn't Dominate in Soccer

Statistically speaking, America should be better at soccer; we have a large population and massive participation in the sport, but we can't seem to produce a lot of players who compete at the highest levels of the game, and I have figured out why: we have too many nice goals with nets in them . . . when American kids are milling around before soccer practice, they invariably start shelling someone in goal with dead ball shots from twenty yards out, which is a horrible waste of time -- it's barely soccer-like, rarely happens in a game, and often ends in a head injury -- and so I've banned the practice, my players have to juggle with each other before we begin, but it's really hard because a goal with a net is an attractive nuisance, and so kids can't help doing something totally inefficient which is akin to place-kicking, when they should be dribbling around each other and playing little games in small space  -- street ball -- and so my proposal is radical: remove the goals from the soccer fields and only bring them out on game day, if we do this for a generation, soon enough, we'll be playing like Brazilians (and, as I learned at a SAGE meeting, nets are not even required by the laws of the game).

That's a Killer

Though my injury sucks,  it is allowing me to watch and enjoy the first season of the AMC's Seattle noir murder mystery show The Killing . . . and I especially enjoyed it when local senator Ruth Yitanes tells councilman Richmond that his mayoral bid is over, because of his association with the murder of a high school girl, and that soon he will be "the punch line of a dirty joke."

Dave's Classroom is Full of Hot Air (and Wasps)

At school on Tuesday, I noticed that although my portable A/C unit was running and though it was kicking out some cool air, my room was still uncomfortably hot and humid and I was NOT happy about this-- I played 6:30 AM basketball that morning and even though I showered, I was starting to sweat again-- and what really bothered me was that this little A/C unit had managed to cool the room down during the REALLY hot days last week-- so what he fuck was going on?-- and then, to add insult to injury, the last period of the day, large wasps started invading my room-- I climbed up on the window ledge and killed one by swatting it with a folder and the kids applauded, as they always do, but then two more wasps showed up and I had to climb up on the ledge AGAIN and kill them-- one wasp perched on a window frame behind the blind and I just whacked the blind with my folder, which decapitated the wasp, and I was able to kill the other one when it landed on a light fixture, but this was getting old-- I had to teach some college essay stuff that the kids actually needed to know-- but after I killed the third wasp, from my unusual perspective above the A/C unit, I noticed the duct that kicked out the hot air that the unit produced (that's the 2nd law of thermodynamics, perhaps?) had disconnected from the window seal, so the hot air that was supposed to vent outside was instead being blown back into my room-- mystery solved!-- that's what was causing the room to be so hot-- despite the fact that the A/C was running an producing cold air . . . because it was producing a greater amount of hot air, but that air was supposed to be vented outthe window, where it could contribute to global warming; I was annoyed that I didn't notice this earlier-- but when you're simultaneously teaching and killing wasps, it's hard to focus on other things-- and to this point, earlier in the day, none of us noticed a giant pile of broken safety glass in the corner of the English Office, scattered on the floor and low shelf-- perhaps this was a glass from a refrigerator shelf, from one of the confiscated refrigerators? who knows?-- we told the main office and went on with the day; anyway, I brought in some duct tape and sealed the vents permanently so that this won't happen again and I'm hoping that the open vent hole was how the wasps entered my room (but I doubt it).

Litmus Test For Trump: Black Lungs or Clear Water

The Obama administration scrambled to finish the Stream Protection Act, a set of rules that detail how to enforce environmental protection laws already on the books-- the rules are 1200 pages long and fifteen years in the making (for more detail on the story, listen to the new Planet Money) and so now the question is whether Trump will utilize the rarely used Congressional Review Act to repeal the rules; the last time this was used, President Bush repealed Clinton's Workplace Injury rules and the backlash was fairly ugly . . . so keep an eye on this, as it will be a real litmus test as to just what kind of asshole Trump is going to be . . . and remember, there are two kinds of assholes: people who divide folks into two kinds of assholes and people who don't.

Family + Isolation = Here's Johnny!

Catherine keeps interrupting me while I write this sentence, but I'm trying to keep my cool . . . I'm trying to avoid bashing her brains in with an ax (all work and no play makes Dave a dull boy) and I'm going to crack open a beer soon (all work and no play makes Dave a dull boy) because it rained today and so we holed up at the house and watched The Shining (streamable on Netflix) and I realized the true moral of the film is Don't go on the wagon while you're isolated on a mountain with your family . . . Jack could have used a little actual alcohol (not ghost whiskey) to soothe his nerves and then maybe he wouldn't have lost his mind . . . anyway, Catherine and I are staying flexible and mentally resilient, despite the wild swings in the weather-- yesterday we hiked all the way around Lowell Lake, the trail went from balmy to treacherous depending on the sun exposure, one moment we were walking on soft pine needles in the warm sun, the next we were being frozen by the spray of a snow-fueled stream while navigating ice fields; I was a little nervous that I might pull a muscle, but the kids loved it-- they said all the obstacles kept them more occupied and "confuzzled," so they didn't have time to bicker . . . the dog also loved the mixed terrain, and Catherine and I survived without injury; today we had to beat a hasty retreat from the mountain because of the rain and fog, but after we finished The Shining, we came up out of the basement to see the sun again, so I stopped sharpening my ax and we went outside and played some snow football.

Bonus Sentence: The Lorax Needs to Write This Article

Here is the Star Ledger article about the car chase that started on our street; apparently a local dude was caught with drugs that he was intending to distribute and took off in a hurry-- and though the chase ended when he crashed into a police car, the article explains that no one was injured . . . which I suppose is technically true, but I think the writer should mention that there was some flora that suffered injury-- my beautiful tree that I planted and tended for its entire life . . . who will speak for the trees?

A Solemn Vow

I hereby declare that next year I will NOT participate in fantasy football, which is not fantastic at all and actually wallows in its mundanity-- the tenderness of Dez Bryant's knee and the merits of Coby Fleener and the injury status of Eric Ebron-- and so I will NOT let these minor thoughts aggravate my valuable and limited consciousness, and, instead, during the time I would have spent shuffling my digital line-up around, I will brush up on my Spanish or learn to play the xylophone or train my dog to skateboard or even simply take a nap, but next fall, I will be doing something slightly more fantastic than fantasy football . . . you hear this Alec?

Getting Your Money's Worth Will Cost You

My friends were discussing the great museum scene in DC, and how there's no pressure to get your money's worth-- the museums and the zoo are free, so-- as the always sagacious Zman put it: "You can run into the Museum of Natural History for 20 minutes just to see the Hope Diamond, some dinosaurs, and a basilosaurus (and its tiny hip bone) without feeling pressure to get your money’s worth" and I'm a big fan of this-- not getting your money's worth-- as getting your money's worth almost always leads to frustration, injury and disaster; I have no problem leaving sports events and concerts early, to avoid the mad rush and the traffic; when I go snowboarding, I get off the mountain sooner rather than later, because getting your money's worth with a lift ticket leads to fatigue and injuries . . . and when we were in college, we were obsessed with the all-you-can-eat Wendy's Superbar and it led to some supreme gluttony (including a day where we were ostensibly studying for exams, but we started the studying at the all-you-can-eat Shoney's Breakfast Bar, then-- after stuffing ourselves on pancakes, sausage, grits, and French toast-- we took a long nap, then headed back out with our books and our bloated stomachs, and sat for many hours at the Wendy's Superbar, repeating the same charade . . . we got our money's worth and it cost us dearly).

Chat GPT is a Prude

I haven't played with Chat GPT in a while, but it rained today-- resulting in no tennis practice-- so I got to screwing around and I asked it a question inspired by a Beatles lyric and this is the pablum I got . . .

Yes, "Why don't we do it in the road?" is commonly interpreted as an invitation for sexual activity. However, engaging in sexual activity in public, especially on a road, is illegal and can be dangerous for a number of reasons.

First and foremost, engaging in sexual activity in public can lead to criminal charges for indecent exposure, public lewdness, or other related offenses. Additionally, it can be unsafe as there is an increased risk of being caught by law enforcement or pedestrians, as well as potential injury from passing vehicles.

In short, it is never advisable to engage in sexual activity in public, including on a road. It is important to prioritize personal safety and follow the laws and regulations set forth in one's community.

Dad is Extra

I might have been a wee bit melodramatic yesterday when I arrived home from my tennis match with a pulled quadricep muscle; I called the boys downstairs to break the news to them and once I had assembled them in the living room and I told them the news-- the fact that their father was injured-- indefinitely injured, perhaps even crippled-- and that they would have to pick up the slack around the house: help their mother, walk the dog, take out the garbage, play tennis with each other, get jobs, help pay the mortgage, look after the bamboo and the sapling I planted, etcetera-- once I had told them this tragic news (and the fact that I was very sad because I had disappointed the family-- I wouldn't be able to take Alex snowboarding next week, I wouldn't be able to hit tennis balls with Ian, and I had abandoned the tennis match, leaving my poor opponent without anyone to play after a measly twenty-minutes of tennis) the kids took a look at my pathetic figure on the couch and laughed at me; Alex said, "Jesus Dad, the way you called us down, I thought someone we know died from covid . . . you'll be fine, just rest it" and he was right-- I took some Advil and a nap and today it feels a bit better-- I'm still going to take two week off from tennis and I ordered a roller and a thigh wrap-- and then after some consultation with the sports medicine people at the dog park-- I purchased a "muscle gun" . . . these things are supposed to work wonders and now I know that I need to REALLY warm-up before competitive tennis-- not just some light stretching, but some vigorous stationary-biking and some short sprints . . . so I'm in a better mood today and I'm going to use this injury as a portent for changing things for the better in my life, I'm done wallowing in misery for now).

College Admissions: More Than You Need To Know . . .

Jeffrey Selingo's Who Gets in and Why: A Year Inside College Admissions is a great book-- well-written, compelling, and chock full of telling anecdotes and vital information; here are a few things I learned:

1) ignore the mail . . . it's random-- you are NOT being recruited by Princeton if you have 1350 on your SAT and a 3.7 GPA and happen to get sent a brochure;

2) there are hidden agendas-- more men, more English majors, more people from five states away, more people that pay;

3) elite colleges are more difficult to get acceptance now but the rest are not;

4) you need a cohesive story of why you actually want to go to a particular college . . . colleges track website visits, they pay attention to who visits and attends admission presentation, they like legacies, they know who opens emails, etc . . . colleges are trying to figure out who will go to the college-- not give an award of acceptance;

5) Early Decision serves the needs of the college "a hell of a lot more" than the needs of the student-- again, colleges are trying to lock-in people who will pay full tuition or play football or boost SAT scores or increase diversity . . . so you're probably not going to get into your reach school just because you apply ED . . . and you won't be able to shop around and negotiate;

6) Selingo breaks colleges into "buyers" and "sellers" . . . sellers are well-known schools with low admission rates and a brand name-- buyers are schools that need to purchase a class of incoming students-- and they need to offer more discounts to excellent students to lure them in . . . there are some excellent schools in both categories-- and many state schools are "buyer" schools that should be considered . . . but it's best to apply to some of each and then weigh the finances and merits of the schools;

7) rich white people take advantage of using sports to get into school more than people of color . . . while basketball and football may admit a number of black students, most of the other sports-- lacrosse, gymnastics, sailing, soccer, rowing-- have mainly white participants, often rich white kids who played elite, club versions of these sports for their entire childhood;

8) college essays could be helpful, but most are "mind-numbingly boring" and deal with several topics: overcoming an athletic injury; dealing with depression, anxiety, or sexuality; or discovering themselves on a trip . . . honest slice-of-life essays have the best chance of capturing admissions' officers severely depleted attention;

9) it's very difficult to determine the cost of a college-- the sticker price is often not indicative-- and the maze of subsidized and unsubsidized loans, financial aid, grants and scholarships is difficult to navigate, even for guidance counselors-- it sounds worse than buying a used car;

10) don't get sold on the tour . . . a tour is just a tour and it's easier to improve the quality of the tour than it is to improve the quality of an undergraduate engineering program;

11) slow down and don't get caught up in Early Decision . . . Selingo hope the COVID might turn some of this process on its ear: less reliance on test scores, college recruiting students the way they recruit athletes, students searching for what they want to do at school-- not for a particular brand name, government subsidies and encouragement so selective schools can take more middle and lower-income kids, he also hopes that some of these brand name universities enlarge their classes; the actual price of college could become more transparent and that students and parents expand the field beyond just certain selective colleges . . . there's no perfect fit and no perfect college-- you need to be very flexible in your shopping;

12) most importantly, everyone involved agrees that college admissions is a short-sighted, out-of-your-control process and you can't get too caught up in it;

13) here are some random bits of advice from the appendix:

--worry about what you do in high school, and less about standardized tests;

--use freshman year to explore your academic and extra-curricular interests;--take the hardest courses available, but also what interests you;

--keep your grades consistent and don't blow off senior year;

--don't ask for recommendations from the usual suspects;

--make your initial college list about your needs and fuss with names later on;

--visit any campus, not just schools you want to go to;

--connect with colleges;

--think about the money;

--think about each application individually, not collectively;

--be sure those who recommend you know you;

--figure out the narrative you want to tell;

--it doesn't really matter what college you go to-- people with the same grades and SATs make the same amount of money whether they go to Harvard or Penn State;

--mindsets and skills matter more than colleges and majors;

--the majors you think are a guarantee to make money aren't necessarily that. . .  the top quarter of earners who majored in English make more over their lifetime than the bottom quarter of chemical engineers . . . even history graduates who make just above the median income for that major do pretty well compared to STEM . . .

and most importantly, don't get too wound up about this because college admission is not the end-all-be-all: 

"one cannot tell by looking at a toad how far he will jump"

for more on this topic, check out This American Life: The Campus Tour Has Been Cancelled . . . the pros and cons of college admissions in a post-standardized test, pandemic universe.

Elk Mountain Rescue Episode

My son Alex and I went on a two-day/one-night snowboarding jaunt up to Elk Mountain and while it was VERY cold on Sunday, it was sunny and the snow was surprisingly good (if a bit hard and fast for my taste) and we ran into some other surprises as well . . .

apparently the lifts aren't in the best shape at Elk Mountain-- the only quad was not running and the two person lift right next to us broke down and everyone onboard had to be rescued-- and Alex and I were very impressed with how fast the rescue crew got everyone off the lift (I've never seen anything like this before) but this may have been because they were well-practiced, as the same thing happened last week;

we stayed on the cheap at a nearby Holiday Inn, which was clean, functional and pretty much at the center of an I-81 truck stop-- there was a Denny's and a Burger King and a couple of fireworks joints and a Flying J . . . and the Italian joint with some wild Google review rejoinders that we wanted to patronize was closed on Sundays and Mondays, as were many of the nearby restaurants-- Elk Mountain is in the middle of nowhere, it barely looks like an area with a ski resort-- so we had to go to a local dive to get some food and beer, The Queen of Hearts Bar and Grill, which turned out to be a perfect place to kill a few hours before we crashed and got some good sleep in preparation for another day on the slopes; we played some pool,

there was some great reading material in the bathroom . . .

and we had some delicious cheesesteaks (she toasted the rolls!) and we avoided getting placed on the "Barred" list . . .  and while my legs are sore from trying to keep up with a 17 year old on the slopes, I avoided major injury, so a good trip all around-- it's really great to have a kid who likes to snowboard and is old enough to drive you home from the bar.

Beach Injury #2

If you feel the need to sneak up on me, whether to knife me in the abdomen because I owe you money or to sting my leg (presupposing you are a greenhead fly) then I suggest you do the sneaking up on my left side (because I can't swivel my head fluidly to the left, I hurt my neck while running on the beach, or during doubles tennis, or swimming in the ocean or -- most likely-- sleeping on a soft and sloping beach house mattress).

Tuesday = Johnny Lawrence

Ian scored his first varsity goal yesterday-- so he's one step closer to his goal of scoring in varsity soccer, varsity basketball-- which is a stretch because he hasn't played organized basketball since 8th grade-- and winning some matches as first singles in varsity tennis (which, barring injury, will be business as usual) meanwhile I worked my ass off today, teaching three of the four 82 minute periods (including singing a song, doing a music theory demo on my guitar in public speaking, and brainstorming a lot of demo topics with kids) and I covered a class during my only off period-- and then we had a department meeting-- so while I'd like to continue reading about the Civil War, I think the best my brain will be able to muster is watching the new season of Cobra Kai.

Dave Eschews the Metaverse

I'm happy to report that for the first time in a while, I played tennis on Saturday morning and then was able to stretch out and put on my knee braces and I played pick-up  soccer on Sunday morning-- it was good to see the soccer gang, I haven't played for quite a while-- I don't think I played indoor at all last winter-- and I'm hoping I can pull this off most weekend, without injury . . . I just have to take it easy, there are drop shots I'm not going to retrieve and there are bouncing balls that I'm not going to be able to pull down without dislocating my hip.

You Are Where You're At

I finished two powerful and poignant books (and thoroughly enjoyed both) on vacation that hammered home the exact reason you go on vacation-- because when you locate yourself to a different place, you become a different person-- there are many conservative folks that bristle at this, people who believe in choices and autonomy and free will, and while I will acknowledge that it certainly might be good to believe you have control over your life, it probably isn't true;

1) Ghettoside: A True Story of Murder in America by Jill Leovy, uses one South Angeles murder to look at the big picture-- black-on-black violence in traditionally African-American enclaves like Watts and Compton are generally under-policed and justice is rarely meted out . . . Leovy turns cause and effect on its head, proving that it's not because these places are inhabited by gang members that make them difficult to police . . . instead, because they have never been policed with much intensity and intent-- unlike white neighborhoods in the same city-- the denizens have learned to solve their problems outside the aegis of traditional authority, witnesses-- fearing injury or death-- have learned not to testify, and it has come to be understood that in these places-- whether it be the Wild West, the territory of the Yanomami, or South LA-- that the state does NOT have a monopoly on force and violence . . .

"take a bunch of teenage boys from the whitest, safest suburb in America and plunk them down in a place where their friends are murdered and they are constantly attacked and threatened . . . signal that no one cares and fail to solve murders . . . limit their options for escape . . . then see what happens"

and if the book sounds depressing, in the end it is not-- because there are select police that work homicide in the ghetto in an inspirational manner, and this details such a case and the men that solved it-- and this is a case that has to be solved, because it is the murder of Bryant Tennelle-- 18 years old-- the youngest son of a highly respected Los Angeles detective Wallace Tennelle . . . a principled officer that chose to live where he worked and paid the ultimate price for it; the book might change your mind about how gangs work (far looser and more disorganized that you might think) and how murders are handled when they are insular and comprised only of African-American men, and it will remind you that you really can't control where you are born and where you live . . . or often not until it's too late;

2) Sherman Alexie tells a similar story of growing up in a difficult, possible barren and futile environment in his YA novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian . . . my wife coerced me and the kids to read it for a family "book club" and we all loved it; Alexie tells the semi-autobiographical story of Junior's life on the Spokane reservation and his daring "escape" to the nearest white high school off the rez-- 22 miles away-- because Junior recognizes that though he loves his family, his people, the land, and his best friend Rowdy, that the setting is inevitably hopeless, fostering alcoholism and endless repetition of the same losses and drama . . . this is the story of his commute and his very real adaptation to a new setting-- Alexie says the book is 78% true and it rings true, it's gross, sincere, candid, hysterically funny, and really moving (plus it has lots of basketball, so I was getting choked up fairly often, because sporting stories are the only ones that make me cry).

This Is a Peccary (No Relation To A Pessary)

I will never understand the mysteries of the internet, but apparently people are coming to Sentence of Dave to look at a picture of a peccary, but when they arrive, they find no information about this lovely subtropical mammal, which is also known as "the musk hog" and has self-sharpening tusks, and instead these good folks, innocently surfing the web-- these javelina aficionados-- they find information on the use of a "pessary," which is a whole different can of worms, and I just want to make this perfectly clear to avoid a lawsuit, you may NOT use a peccary as a pessary . . . I do not advocate this, and while I am not a doctor and I have no idea if inserting a peccary into your uterus will prevent prolapse, even as a layman, I realize that the certain injury you will sustain from shoving a large odiferous mammal through your cervix can't possibly be worth the benefits . . . and for those of you who are researching the peccary, I will give you a tasty little factoid about this most beautiful of all of God's creatures: it is also known as "the skunk pig."

Ups and Downs

Weird day yesterday, hard to characterize . . . got to school, kind of tired from the snowboarding trip, and found a mysterious envelope in my box; I opened it and found a book called There Are No Accidents: The Deadly Rise of Injury and Disaster-- Who Profits and Who Pays the Price and the author was one of my old students-- Jessie Singer-- and she wrote me a lovely note inside that said:

I have no doubt that without your encouragement and support, I would not be a writer today.

Thank you for being the spark, for helping me see myself, and for convincing me I had this in me.

With Forever gratitude--

Jessie Singer

and I would have taken a picture of the note but I threw my phone in the wash and it's dead, so I need to get a replacement phone ASAP . . . I also went to the wrong duty yesterday at school-- I forgot that it was an A day and went to cafeteria duty and wondered where all the regular folk were-- but Stacey texted me and told me I was in the wrong spot . . . and then Alex and I went to the gym and did some backwards walking and pulling for our knees-- Stacey has also embraced the kneesovertoes guy and she even bought a cheap treadmill to walk backwards on (and his book!) so there will be more of that in the near future . . . anyway, I need to research a new phone and figure out how to survive this week, I'm sure it will be an adventure.