Last Wishes
I would prefer not to die of the "swine flu," as there is nothing more embarrassing than people repeating "swine flu" over and over at your funeral (if I had my druthers, I would prefer to be eaten by a large carnivore) but there is a more humiliating way to "shuffle off this mortal coil" than swine flu: testicular elephantiasis.
4/29/2009
I guess it is unusual for a dude to buy fabric by the yard at Wal-Mart, but I needed some thick material to staple to the plywood walls in my little music studio to deaden the echo . . . the girl who worked in the sewing and crafts department was so amused by my awkwardness that she gave me an "extra spin" (which is not nearly as dirty as it sounds-- it just means she rolled an extra yard around my bolt of fabric without charging me for it, actually-- that sounds dirty as well).
4/28/2009
I see the appeal of Dancing with the Stars: the girls are really hot and scantily clad, so you can't stop watching because you want to get a clear look at them but you can't get a clear look because they move their bodies so quickly, convincing you that they are wearing less than they are actually wearing, but then once they stop, you realize they were wearing more than you thought while they were dancing-- or maybe some people actually like to watch dance?
4/28/2009
So my students are presenting various ethical dilemmas and how to resolve them, and a group of boys is presenting a case about plagiarism and the kid who is talking has on the exact same green and white striped golf shirt as me, so I very dryly ask him: "But how far do you go with this idea, for instance, if someone were to wear the same exact shirt as someone else, could that be said to be plagiarism? would it be intellectual theft? to wear the same shirt?" but he didn't get it, and neither did anyone in the class; in fact, one smart girl said, "Mr. Pellicane, I don't think that's a very good parallel to their dilemma" and so finally I had to point out my joke, which is not very funny at all . . . and then we had to backtrack and let the boy reiterate what he said because I wasn't paying attention to him, I was just thinking about setting up my brilliant joke, which obviously wasn't so funny.
King of the Road
I like to think that I'm a pretty calm driver, but this must not be genetic (or else my kids inherited some bad driving genes from my wife) because my children are absolute assholes on their big-wheel tricycles: the other day at the park, Alex nearly ran over a dog, and I think he may have intended to hit it; Ian actually ran a little Asian woman off the path and into the mud-- and I know this was with intent-- I watched him go out of his way to accomplish this; and after I took Ian's big-wheel away and made him walk, Alex who Catherine had instructed not to drive through a deep puddle, went ahead and did it anyway, and then tried to zip around Catherine and Ian, but cut it too close and ran Ian over, giving him road rash on his arm and knee . . . and this was just one particular ride on one particular day and we do a couple laps around the park with similar results every day . . . so the question is why do I continue to embarrass and torture myself and the answer is that I have a very short memory, because every day that it's not raining it seems like a good idea to me to take a relaxing cruise around the park: hope springs eternal in my optimistic mind that today will be the day that everyone behaves in a civilized manner.
4/25/2009
Our neighbors (who were in their kitchen eating lunch) got a treat this weekend when they saw me trick Catherine into cutting my hair-- she thought she was giving me my usual, a number one head shave, but I had grown my hair out over break and wanted her to trim the sides with the angled attachment for the clipper, but she insisted she couldn't do it and I had to resort to vociferous and loud persuasion until finally she took a swipe at me and cut a gouge in my head, which made her very angry and she refused to cut the other side and even it out and by this time we were both yelling and I took the clippers and cut the other side myself, without a mirror because we were in the backyard and I pleaded with her to cut the rest but she refused and told me to go to the barber, which I did, but it was Sunday and the barber was closed, so then the whole thing started up again, still in the backyard so the Coens could watch and I finally got her to shave my head in the usual style and now I'll probably never grow my hair out again even though there is some hair up there, but I'll never get to enjoy it because I'm too cheap to go to the barber (even though in the midst of our argument Catherine told me that I don't care about my appearance and asked how I would like it if she acted like that and then she threatened to get really fat and not wash or comb her hair-- but I knew this was an empty threat because she's too vain to actually go through with that just to punish me).
Peccary vs. Pessary
The Group (by Mary McCarthy) is a frank book about eight Vassar girls in the 1930's who speak candidly about men, sex, contraception, finances, and sexism-- and though I pride myself on my extensive vocabulary, I had to look up the word "pessary". . . and I'll bet that you don't know what a "pessary" is either, and we are not talking about a "peccary," we are talking about a "pessary"-- and believe me, they are not interchangeable at all.
You Fix One Thing . . .
Let it be known that my bookshelves are done and painted-- but that means I have to remove the boxes and boxes of books that I stashed under our beautiful handmade Syrian sleigh bed, which is a creaking, sagging piece of crap-- the boxes of books are holding the mattress up-- and so now I will have to fix THAT.
A First For Dave (and Possibly All Men)
I am very pleased with what maintenance did to the thermostat in my classroom during Spring Break; when I came back there was a note on the white board that said "The slider now controls the room temperature" and I like to keep my class really cold (I'm always hot and it keeps the kids awake-- plus human memory works better in the cold, kind of like a computer) and I usually do this by opening all the windows, which generates a lot of complaints, especially from the ladies, and sometimes outright rebellion-- they start climbing on the cabinets and closing the windows, despite my threats-- but yesterday I was able to get the room really cold without opening the windows, and then when my creative writing class, composed mainly of girls, came in and shivered, I pointed to the windows and said, "I know, it's cold in here so I kept all the windows closed today" and they BOUGHT IT and said, "We know, it's not you today, it just feels cold in here" and I'm very proud of this because it is the first time I have ever beaten a bunch of women in a battle of wits.
4/21/2009
So it turns out yesterday was Earth Day, Pot Day (I looked up why, the legend is that a crew of California high school kids in the 70's would always meet at Pasteur's statue to get stoned at 4:20 PM, which was the time detention let out) The Ten year Anniversary of Columbine, Hitler's Birthday and the Day Benny Hill died: which did you celebrate?
4/20/2009
The other night we watched Vicky Christina Barcelona, which was quite good-- the studly Spanish painter teaches you how to pick up two beautiful women at one time, he's quite skillful in both art and love, but even more impressive is my artistic eye . . . we knew nothing about the movie, just took it out of the Netflix sleeve and popped it in the player, but as it started I said, "That's Woody Allen's FONT! They stole Woody Allen's FONT! " and in a moment we learned that it is actually Woody Allen film . . . so I guessed the director by the font of the credits: although my wife wasn't particularly impressed with my precognizant aesthetic sense, I'm sure there are hordes of beautiful young women who will read this and swoon.
4/19/2009
While I was peeling a large ripe mango, my son Alex asked me: "What rhymes with mango?" and I impressed myself with the quantity and quality of my answer-- if you want to play along, stop reading now and see what you can come up with . . . I quickly said, "Durango-- a town in Colorado-- tango-- a Spanish dance-- Django (Reinhardt)-- a four fingered gypsy guitar player--and fandango, a movie website and also some kind of exotic dance" but Alex wasn't that impressed and he said "You forgot 'mango'" and laughed, perhaps thinking of the time Homer Simpson appreciated when his softball team rhymed "Homer" with "homer."
This Guy's Picture Is In The Dictionary Under "Man"
High marks for David Graham's new book The Lost City of Z: A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon Forest (I give it eleven poisoned arrows out of twelve) but I definitely felt lame and civilized reading it on the beach, nursing a Spring break hangover, my toes in the surf, kids digging contentedly in the sand, contemplating which seafood joint we should frequent in between pages-- this guy Percy Fawcett was a man (despite his first name) and though his adventures eventually killed him, he makes Indiana Jones look like a flower sniffer.
4/17/2009
Radio newscasters need transitions: "Beautiful day today, Going up to 62 with plenty of sunshine, unemployment is still on the rise in New Jersey . . ."
Andre the Giant as a Thespian? Inconceivable!
Yesterday, I was behind a green box truck with an official black and white sign on the back that read: INEDIBLE BAKED GOODS . . . this reminds me of The Princess Bride-- when Andre the Giant tells the Evil Sicilian that the word "inconceivable" does not mean "what you think it means."
The Invention of Air: A Solid Review
Steven Johnson's excellent new book The Invention of Air: A Story of Science, Faith, Revolution, and the Birth of America is mainly the story of scientist and philosopher Joseph Priestly, who had a Forrest Gump-like ability to be in the right place at the right time (until the rioters burned his house down and he had to seek sanctuary in America) but it's also a reminder, for me, at least, of how radical the founding fathers were as thinkers, and how much science and logic were a part of their thought process . . . to the point where Jefferson expunged all the magic and mysticism out of the Bible and created his own edition and the usually optimistic and chipper Ben Franklin, drawn away from his cherished science and into politics at the end of his life, ended up writing sentences like this (thus making him a compatriot of mine in both opinion and style): "Men I find to be a Sort of Beings very badly constructed, as they are generally more easily provoked than reconciled, more disposed to do Mischief to each other than to make Reparation, much more easily deceived than undeceived, and having more Pride & Pleasure in killing than in begetting one another, for without a Blush they assemble in great armies at Noon Day to destroy, and when they have killed as many as they can, they exaggerate the Number to augment the fancied Glory; but they creep into Corners or cover themselves with the Darkness of Night, when they mean to beget, as being ashamed of Virtuous Action."
Expectations vs. Reality
The first morning of our vacation I got up early to read, and Alex woke up soon after and he told me his favorite part of the day was sunrise, when the sky was "purplish orange" and he sat down and looked at a book and everything was peaceful and wonderful and then he asked if we could play chess and I said, "Sure" and made him a bowl of cereal and then I went to the car to get the magnetic chessboard . . . and in the two minutes I was gone Alex violently bit his tongue, screamed bloody murder, ran to the bedroom to wake up Catherine, found the bed-room door closed, yanked on it-- not knowing that Ian, woken up by the screams-- was pulling on the other side, got into a tug of war with the door . . . which ended when Ian let go and the door smashed Alex in the face-- and all this happened while I was gone-- so I tiptoed back into the condo with the chessboard to this grisly scene and realized that vacation had officially begun.
4/13/2009 I am back from vacation!
Something NOT to do on vacation: go out for many beers with your old college buddies, wake up the next morning and eat two extremely dense made to order donuts, then go to the Lost Colony on Roanoke Island and climb down into the hold of the Elizabeth II, a replica of the boat the colonists came on four hundred years ago-- because it's really claustrophobic down there and it's slowly rocking from the waves-- which is never good when you're hung-over-- and there's fifty eighth graders on a school trip, and, most difficult of all, there are dudes in authentic colonial garb, who talk with accents, and pretend that THEY ARE FROM COLONIAL TIMES . . . and they never break character, even with the adults-- which scares me, it's fine to pretend with the kids, but I don't know who they're trying to fool or if maybe they hire insane people who actually think they're from the late 16th century or what, but I'd like to know where they go at night and if they drive a car there.
Momma Spanx . . . The Director's Cut
When an attractive pregnant woman on the phone in the office politely asks "Do you have Momma Spanks? The full length version?"-- what crosses your mind? . . . because I know what crossed my mind-- a very,very dirty film-- a dirty film with two versions: an extra-long uncut version with LOTS of incestuous spanking and other bizarre sexual practices, and a shorter, edited, and tamer version-- but my attractively pregnant colleague was insisting on purchasing the unabridged and extra-perverse version, and my mind was ripe with curiosity as to why the tamer version wasn't sufficient for her sexual deviance-- but as it turns out, "Momma Spanks" is not a pornographic film . . . it is a type of slimming panty-hose for pregnant women and these "Spanx" come in two lengths, full and half . . . and the lesson here is that I should have never asked, as my fantasy was far more wonderful than reality.
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