Scary Story Contest 2020: The Safety Dance vs. The Chinese Curse

Yesterday afternoon, the EB English Department held our 9th Annual Scary Story Contest. Thanks to the Soders for hosting! They had a stand-up propane heater, a fire, and a few well-placed umbrellas to shield us from the rain. We will certainly remember the Covid Scary Story Contest for time immemorial-- as the stories were great and the mood was spooky.

To summarize the contest: we write scary stories on a theme, throw in twenty bucks, read them anonymously, and then vote and award prizes.

This year's theme was "It's Perfectly Safe" and I had no desire to write anything, let alone a fully developed short story. I was sick of screen time because of the technological soul-sucking abyss of hybrid school. Stacey and I usually collaborate, but we couldn't find time to flesh out her idea.

So instead of a story, I wrote a scary poem. I framed it as a Facebook post, ostensibly written by a woman who thought she might have some magical powers and wanted to use them to change the course of this fucked up year. Over the course of the post, she descends into madness (of course).

It was fun to write, but, I didn't realize how hard it would be to read. The poor lady who was randomly assigned my piece (Cunningham) nearly descended into madness trying to perform it. I snagged third place, which was an accomplishment-- the stories were really good this year.

Here it is-- I think it's both appropriate for Halloween and the looming thing which may not be spoken of. If you like it, post it on Facebook . . . maybe it will work.

                                                 The Chinese Curse

What’s on your mind, Blair?

video photo feeling

What’s on my mind? Do you really want to know, Face-suck? 

Or do you just want to mine my data? 

What’s on my mind?

The Chinese Curse, that’s what. May you live in interesting times. 

October 31st, 2020. Interesting times. Four more days until the election. Two more months left in this mess of a year.

Interesting times suck. I can't get them off of my mind. Or out of my mind.

But maybe, I can change things. Have some control. Do some lexical magic. 

At least over you, my so-called Facebook friends . . . in my so-called life during this so-called pandemic. Maybe you’ll pass my incantation along and this year will turn itself inside out.

What if I could cast a spell?

Dissipate this weary hell?

I should at least give it a try. My mom used to do tarot readings. I might have some kind of gift.

Hocus-pocus, maybe I can learn to focus?

Zuckerberg’s clairvoyant vision

Find this with your algorithm:

Make my post go super-viral

Pull us from this deadly spiral.

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It is the year of twenty-twenty . . .

Twenty-twenty, twenty-twenty

Why do you rub me

in this way?

Why can’t you love me?

You push and shove me

Day by fretful day by day.

Boil and bubble, Trump is trouble, 

O Lord don't let him win the double

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

If he were dead, if he were dead.

Banish these thoughts from my head!

My busy brain should not be fed

By such bitter vengeful bread.

Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies 

covid covid we all fall down . . .

Safety, safety, safety first

Safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

But is it better than the hearse?

Lady liberty not Trump tower

Used to give our country power.

Hippies filled their hair with flowers.

Now . . .

abortion makes Coney Barrett sour.

Blues and reds, they all glower--

Children at the border cower.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

But what if the Populus is polarized and bored?

Pandemic, plan-demic

A fiction Democratic.

You have my word 

November third

It disappears like magic.

Meatpackers work, shoulder to shoulder

The policy gets colder and colder.

Carcass, virus, 

virus, carcass . . .  

Cut that meat or they will fire us.

Covid covid, we all fall down.

Black lives matter, blue lives matter,

George Floyd’s ashes we must scatter.

Pitter-patter pitter-patter

The blood of Rayshard Brooks did spatter--

Tasers, guns I’ll take the latter.

Breonna Taylor’s door got battered.

Some say the world will end in fire,

But for migrant workers, 

ICE will suffice.

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake,

Birds and snakes and aeroplanes,

Dave Chapelle is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn

While the outback burns and burns.

It’s the end of the world as we know it,

Grandma don’t feel fine at all.

Covid covid, we all fall 

down.

Fly of Pence, tongue of Stone,

Bannon’s nose hair

Kushner’s throne

Ivanka’s fabric

Mnuchin’s money

Tongue of Miller

Pompeo’s arm

Mix these for a deadly charm.

Yes! Let my soul turn to lead 

and sink to hell if he were dead.

I make this bargain readily,

Like Faustus with Mephistopheles . . .

I wear my mask and then I sneeze

Don’t stare at me, pretty please.

Here we are now, entertain us.

TV shows to make us famous,

Social feeds will try to change us

We bare our souls, can you blame us?

Bail out the airlines and the banks,

To Donald Trump we give our thanks.

The rest of us must share the wealth--

And hope he subsidizes health.

Plumes of smoke, tear-gas, fire

Men in armor, guns for hire

We're all so very very tired

But am I preaching to the choir?

Twenty-twenty when you end

Will our fractured country mend?

Or have we gone around the bend?

I see two paths, both portend.

Yes, two roads diverged in yellow wood . . . 

One repulsive, one not so good

Three roads, four roads, five roads, six,

There will be no easy fix

Epstein’s minors turn their tricks.

Safety dance, safety first

Safety is the Chinese curse

Will November make it worse?

What rough beast slouches towards Washington to be reborn?

Once I pondered weak and weary, on a scientific theory

Then I learned of QAnon and thought: “Fuck yeah! IT IS ON!”

Now I fight the pedophiles,

Me and Trump, we do battle

The rest of you are sheep and cattle

Do your research on Seattle

Protesters, they mass and gather

Law or chaos, would you rather?

Widening on the turning gyre, 

the center cannot hold

Things fall apart, it’s getting cold

The virus once again grows bold

Airborne particles

Fake news articles,

Winter is coming, enjoy the carnival.

My thoughts grow wild, I can’t control them, 

I wish that I could turn them off,

I wish I were allowed to cough 

I wish that I could turn them off 

I wish I were allowed to cough 

until my lungs come out my ears and throat

The devil is inside a goat

Bubble, bubble Trump is trouble

Will he be elected double?

Twenty-twenty, a dozen more?

Will he change the terms to four?

Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan

Let’s enact a travel ban!

Illhan Omar and AOC

Want us all to work for free.

Socialism . . . not for me . . .

We mourn the mighty RBG.

Twenty-twenty, you have offended,

But in a year, will all be mended?

Perhaps we have just slumbered here

While these visions did appear?

No . . . this is no idle theme--

It’s not a dream, it’s not a dream

I give you full consent to scream.

Stop these thoughts, away begone!

Yet they continue on and on . . .

What’s on my mind, Facebook feed?

I can’t choose which way to proceed.

I cannot do a single deed.

I’m paralyzed and by booze and weed

Safety safety, safety first

The safety dance, the Chinese curse

Living safely is the worst

My brain won’t stop until it bursts.

I poke and scroll on my phone

There’s no such thing as home alone.

O lord I feel so weak and weary, fatigued and futile, eyes so bleary,

My mask lies soiled and forgotten, dirty, dusty smelling rotten

Fallen from the special spot on my car mirror to the floor--

Now I need it, I must retrieve it, I’m on an errand to the store.

But can I enter? Dare I enter? I do not want to touch the door--

The doorway entrance, a deadly sentence, full of germs I can’t ignore.

What’s on my mind?

Only this and nothing more.

Facebook-- make this post go super-viral,

Release me from this deadly spiral,

I’m feeling mad, my mind is wild,

Like a surly red-faced child--

I want to stomp and throw a tantrum--

Redrum, redrum! REDRUM!

Murder mayhem bloody-mary

Twenty-twenty, you shock and scare me

Like some spider black and hairy.

I can’t sleep my way through this disaster

Twenty-twenty: you are the master

Of my whirling anxious brain--

Release me from this grisly reign.

Dash these thoughts against the stones,

Let them live among your phones,

Free me from these dreadful times

Cast this spell, release these rhymes.

What’s on my mind, what’s on my mind?

It was the year of twenty-twenty,

It IS the year of twenty-twenty.

Only this and nothing more.

Post                                 

Tom Petty Lives On, Somewhere

If you need a cure for the pandemic/election blues, put the new Tom Petty reissue Wildflowers & All the Rest on shuffle and let the fifty-four (!) tracks wash over you . . . the original album is a masterpiece, and this sprawling, epic, and intimate collection of live tracks and demos, songs that were intended for another album and outtakes will take you to another world . . . another planet really, where Petty still lives and things are a whole lot mellower.

It Is Friday, Right?

This week has been a black hole of endless parent-teacher phone conferences, college recommendations, online training, tech support-- my device had a number of rogue apps on it, digitizing the curriculum, and soccer (but I did get some positive feedback: a couple administrative notes in my mailbox telling me to stop signing-in and signing-out at the same time . . . I sent a couple more irate emails-- which is becoming de rigeur for me this year-- and I was told that this is for building safety and security . . . so then I went to sign out at the end of the day like a good citizen-- though we haven't had to do this in my twenty-five years of teaching . . . and I learned that we don't have to sign out this week because of parent/teacher conferences!)

Much to the Chagrin of Our Beloved Leader

 

The migrant caravan disappeared, but the coronavirus didn't (although, to the chagrin of the Democrats, neither did QAnon . . . and it seems a number of Latino men are buying the inane narrative that Donald Trump-- the last bastion of manliness-- is bravely battling a ring of coastal-elite pedophiles . . . I wish I made that last bit up . . . but wow).

One For the Rollerbladers! Booyah!

 

Big news if you like to rollerblade and you live in Highland Park: they paved South Adelaide . . . I live on Valentine, which was paved a couple of years ago and is still smooth, so now-- aside from one bumpy hairpin curve, I have a contiguous 1.2 miles of smoothly paved rolling hills connected to my driveway . . . which is pretty sweet . . . wicked hella sweet . . . it's all that and a bag of chips . . . booyah!

A Coach's Notes on a JV Soccer Game

Some items I'd like to note for posterity about our home JV soccer game against South Plainfield on Wednesday:

1) we started the game with exactly eleven players because of sickness and a couple injuries;

2) our goalie was injured so my older son Alex-- one of our best defenders-- had to play goalie (he's a good goalie, but he hasn't played there in years, since he broke his thumb)

3) twenty minutes into the game, Max sprained his ankle, so we were down to ten players;

4) any time players are sick, we wonder if we are all going to wake up with coronavirus (so far, so good)

5) playing with ten is brutal-- Jake ran so much that he needed a sub . . . but I reminded him that we didn't have any subs; he told me he was going to puke and I advised him to get back defensively and just stand there; instead, he ran off the field and put his head into the trash can and threw up for a minute or two-- this was in full view of the fans-- and then, heroically, he went back into the game;

6) my son Ian has grown a couple inches and put on ten pounds in the last two weeks, which is great, but his feet are killing him-- they're a couple of sizes too large for his body-- so he couldn't really run by the end of the first half;

7) Ian went into the goal in the second half-- he hasn't played goalie since he was a little kid-- so this is the first game that both my children have played goalie in the same game;

8) we lost 5-0 . . . the best thing about Highland Park is you get plenty of playing time . . . but that can also be the worst thing about Highland Park;

9) Alex and I raced up to see the end of the varsity game . . . it went into overtime and we lost 2-1;

10) there were plenty of injuries on the varsity squad as well; a player got cleated in the temple, another may have broken his leg, another got a wicked cramp, etc.

11) I forgot the corner flags at the JV field and I didn't realize this until I was walking the dog in the park the next day . . . but luckily they were all still there; it's nice to live right next to the field at which I coach;

12) the next day at practice we had 19 able-bodied players-- for both JV and varsity-- and Ian didn't make until the end. his feet started to hurt again;

13) Ian came to acupuncture with me Thursday night-- I'm proud of him, as the first time is a little scary . . . he said the only needles that hurt were the ones she put in his ears, so maybe this will help his feet . . . or he's got bone spurs;

14) we got rained out today . . .  a godsend, so maybe we will be healed and rested for Monday's game.

Dave Is Somewhat Color Blind (But Mainly Dumb)

 

In terms of perceiving color, I am blue-green deficient, but in terms of perceiving detail I am simply defective . . . I bought a bunch of organic Honeycrisp apples from Costco and left them in the fridge in the special plastic apple container-- because they were pricey and I didn't want them to go bad . . . but then I saw one on the fruit tray on the counter, so I cut it into quarters and slathered it with peanut-butter; then my wife walked in and said, "Why are you eating Ian's green apples? You have your own apples!" and I said, "This is one of my apples" and she said, "Your apples are red!" and I denied this and then she showed me . . . and she was right.

The Garden State Achieves the Coronavirus Singularity

New Jersey has finally reached coronavirus nirvana: we now meet the criteria for our own travel ban (10 cases per 100,00) and all New Jersey residents must quarantine all the time-- to infinity and beyond-- you can't leave your zip code nor can you exist within it.

What Planet Are Living On?

Some of you may have noticed that I'm back to single-sentence format over here-- and I'm struggling to even produce a measly sentence a day-- hybrid-virtual school is so mind-numbing and soul-crushing (and mainly, produces so much eye-strain) that I can't bear to look at another screen; yesterday, after the usual digital circus, we had TWO meetings . . . the first was a faculty meeting, and I loaded this meeting up on Zoom on my phone because I had to take my son over to the orthodontist so he could get impressions for a new retainer (the dog ate his old one) which he was paying for because he had been warned to put the thing in the case . . . this was going to cost him $285 dollars (but our orthodontist gave him a 50 percent discount, so he lucked out)  and as I was driving over-- in the pouring rain-- trying to listen to the faculty meeting on my headphones, we got put into "break-out rooms," so then I was chatting with other teachers-- while driving in the rain-- and then I passed the orthodontist office, which is right on Route 27, a busy road, and spun around; Ian hopped out and crossed the street and then they took us out of the break-out rooms and then Ian started frantically waving to me and I opened the window to find out why he was doing this-- it turns out that he had forgotten a mask, and the rain was coming down in sheets and the traffic was so dense that he couldn't get back across the street to get a mask from the car and meanwhile I hit some button so that I was sharing my screen with the 200+ people at the meeting and the principal wasn't too happy about that so he was telling me to unshare and chastising other people for whatever was going on in their backgrounds and the vice-principal was fast asleep in his office--on camera-- and Ian got across the street and got his mask and I managed to stop sharing my screen and then I had another meeting after that where some folks declared this whole escapade as "unsustainable" and now I've got a "Video Protocol" meeting on Microsoft Teams in ten minutes, which will overlap with soccer practice, so this should be interesting as well.

Some People Still Like Donald Trump

Those of you who are appalled by Donald Trump's downplaying of his COVID case and treatment, those of you who are thinking: How could he not acknowledge all those that didn't receive experimental monoclonal antibodies? How could he not sympathize with all those that lost loved ones because they didn't have a team of doctors at their disposal? 

those of you who can't figure out how a reptile got elected President . . . a man with no sense of irony who had the gall to Tweet this:

Don’t be afraid of Covid. Don’t let it dominate your life.

when over 200,000 people have died-- 1 in every 589 people is dead from COVID in New Jersey, it's a hard statistic to understand but the coronavirus is killing people at a greater rate than cancer or heart disease right now-- so you need to think through your life and remember the people who have died of cancer and heart disease-- if you have a decent-sized family and a large circle of friends and colleagues, then you know a few people who have died of each thing . . . not all in the same year-- but in a lifetime . . . if no one you know dies of a heart attack or cancer this year, that doesn't mean those diseases don't exist . . . but a lot of people have trouble with statistical thinking (including our very stupid President) but if you are thinking these thoughts and you are confident that Trump will lose this election, then you need to listen to this podcast:

The Field: The Battle for Pennsylvania's White Working Class

and realize that a number of working-class lifelong Democrats felt abandoned in 2016-- mainly white people with a high school education-- and they have not changed their mind about Trump; he speaks to them, he doesn't categorize them as "a basket of deplorables," and he has tried to save their coal-mining jobs-- thought it's an exercise in futility-- and he is on-brand with these people . . . you may think the Democratic Party means one thing but that's not how much of the country sees it-- the Democrats are the coastal elites, they want to curtail freedom, they care more about identity politics than jobs, and they are weak and vulnerable and fearful . . . which is why Trump needs to present a strong, callous front about the virus . . . many of these people don't have health insurance so they can't get sick . . . so neither can their leader . . . you should also probably start listening to Rush Limbaugh . . . in the conservative world, Trump did the best he could with COVID, the disease wasn't his fault, he implemented Operation Warp speed, and he acted the best he could with the information he had, and he's fighting to preserve our Constituional Freedoms . .  it's a neat trick, but a corrupt circus clown from New York City who inherited loads of money and squandered it on terrible business deals may beat a native of Scranton with working class Pennsylvania roots . . . policy means nothing, this election is all about emotion-- I can't wait until it's over.

Train to Busan: The Pandemic Could Be WAY Worse

Last night, after a long week of virtual/hybrid school and soccer, we watched Train to Busan, a South Korean zombie flick that combines the "fast zombies" of 28 Days Later and the fight-your-way-through-a-train action of Snowpiercer into a perfect cocktail of apocalyptic mayhem and magic . . . I had a Creative Writing class with one actual real-life student in it on Friday and she wrote about how she liked movies but she had never seen Pulp Fiction or any Quentin Tarantino film and explained that she was probably never going to watch any of his films and I told her she was nuts and missing out and I asked her why and she said she refused to watch them because a certain kind of pretentious film-buff guy would always lose his mind when she said she had never seen Pulp Fiction and she loved the reaction-- it made her laugh-- and I said, "I'm THAT guy!" and then I told her she should at least give Reservoir Dogs a try (because I'm that guy) and then I asked her for a film rec and she said she liked Train to Busan and though we were all very tired, we watched the whole thing (except for Alex, who eschews horror movies) and everyone loved it . . . including my wife, who made an apt comment at the end: "You see . . . the pandemic could be WAY worse."

During the Pandemic, A Loss is Still a Win

During the pandemic, we're considering every game we play a win-- but today's trip to Middlesex was a tough one . . . it was the third game of the week and varsity got spanked 5 to nil and my JV squad was a wreck; we lost 4-0 and I've never run on and off the field so many times for injuries--many of which were already present before the game and were compounded by extreme effort against an excellent team-- here's a quick rundown: Tyler with an ankle sprain,; Ian got the wind knocked out of him and has plantar fasciitis; Anthony twisted his ankle, Sebastian with a tender hamstring; Theo had trouble with his back and also got close-lined; Max got elbowed in the eye; Jake has turf-toe, and Eric has a pulled groin . . . with only thirteen players on the roster, these numbers don't add up (but it was still better to have an adventure and lose rather than the alternative . . . so despite the drubbing, we're staying positive: at least we are getting games in . . . there are plenty of games being cancelled . . . especially at East Brunswick, where I teach; also, my son Alex played the game of his life at left back . . . it was a full throttle assault from Middlesex because we had no midfield).

Dave and Arthur Hastings in the Same Boat

While reading Agatha Christie's first published novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, I was in the same boat as Hercule Poirot's rather guileless companion (and the narrator of the story) Arthur Hastings; the plot is a bit byzantine for my taste-- so many possibilities, so many characters-- and if you are a bit dim-witted (like Hastings and me) then you will certainly think this:

“Still you are right in one thing. It is always wise to suspect everybody until you can prove logically, and to your own satisfaction, that they are innocent."

and I suppose Christie plays fair-- if you follow the clues then you can unravel some of the mystery-- but Hastings doesn't feel this way and neither did I:

“Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me.” 

“I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it is a question of ideas.”

I even missed this utterly simple education (and I hate the heat and I'm really not fond of fires . . . I should have picked up on it)

“The temperature on that day, messieurs, was 80 degrees in the shade. Yet Mrs. Inglethorp ordered a fire! Why? Because she wished to destroy something, and could think of no other way."

in the end, the inscrutable Hercule Poirot decides that romance must be the final arbiter of morality, which is kind of cute (considering an old lady got poisoned) and he reasons thus

“Yes, my friend. But I eventually decided in favour of ‘a woman’s happiness’. Nothing but the great danger through which they have passed could have brought these two proud souls back together again."

Analogy of Dave

VIRTUAL SCHOOL: REGULAR SCHOOL 

1) online shopping: the mall;

2) watching porn: sex;

3) YouTube: the movies;

4) watching Jaws: shark attack.

Just Do It Donald: Clean Up the Mess Alanis Morissette Made!

I know it's gauche to root for someone to kick the bucket-- even our crass and incompetent President-- so I'm wishing him a speedy recovery . . . but I'm wondering if Trump recognizes that dying of COVID is the gateway to all his dreams . . . certainly all Trump wants is fame and notoriety-- at any cost-- he obviously has no interest in policy, diplomacy, or running our nation . . . if he's ready and willing to give up the ghost from the pandemic that he has denied, mismanaged, and demeaned then he will gain his deepest desire: Trump will be the definition of irony for hundreds and hundreds of years; he will be the one thing that children remember from this era in history: the man who said the virus would disappear and then-- months later-- died from it . . . so consider it Don, forget the good fight and succumb . . . you'll achieve exactly what you want, you'll be remembered for time immemorial, and you'll provide literature teachers far into the future a concise and clear definition of a term that's been muddied by an Alanis Morissette song.

Please Recover, President Trump! What Would Big Coal Do Without You?

It goes without saying that my hopes and prayers are with President Trump . . . I wish him a speedy recovery from COVID-19 so he can return to the important work of rolling back E.P.A. rules limiting toxic waste from coal plants; if Trump were to grow heinously ill and die, then coal-fired power plants might not be able to conveniently dispose of wastewater laced with lead, selenium and arsenic . . . if Trump were to be incapacitated and placed on a ventilator, who would champion the cause of contaminated rivers and streams?

Many Americans Are Walking on a Tightrope

 Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope Hardcover is a tough read; Pulitzer Prize-winning husband-wife-super-journalist team Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn trace the lives of a number of Kristof's childhood friends, all from the vicinity of Yamhill, Oregon and they end up reporting on income inequality in America . . . one of my favorite phrases I learned from the book is "talking left and walking right," which a number of successful liberal families employ . . . they are all for divorce and abortion and legalized drug-use, but rarely need these in their own lives-- it seems conservative values about family and school make the difference in who escapes poverty in places like Yamhill . . . anyway, here's a couple of excerpts that I pulled by taking a photo of the page with my phone and then opening that photo with Google docs . . . the Google AI "reads" the photo and does a decent job making it text:

When so many Americans make the same bad choice, that should be a clue simply individual moral failure. It is a systemic failure.

Here's one way of looking at what happened: Daniel was injured on the job, and then doctors in and out of the military prescribed highly addictive opioids that got him hooked. That was because the government, through lax oversight, empowered pharmaceutical companies to profit from reckless marketing. Once Daniel was addicted. didn't try adequately to help him, but rather spit him out, and the became a target not of public health efforts but of the criminal system. The government failed him, blamed him, and jailed him. 

A couple of generations ago, the United States rewarded veterans by affording them education and housing benefits. More recently, the United States helped get veterans hooked on drugs and then incarcerated them.

    *    *    *    *    *

We Americans are a patriotic tribe, and we tend to wax lyrical about our land of plenty and opportunity. "We have never been a nation of haves and have-nots," Senator Marco Rubio once declared. “We are a nation of haves and soon-to-haves, of people who have made it and people who will make it." We proudly assert, “We're number 1!" and in terms of overall economic and military strength, we are. But in other respects our self-confidence is delusional.

Here's the blunt, harsh truth.

America ranks number 40 in child mortality, according to the Social Progress Index, which is based on research by three Nobel Prize-winning economists and covers 146 countries for which there is reliable data. We rank number 32 in internet access, number 39 in access to clean drinking water, number 50 in personal safety, and number 61 in high-school enrollment. Somehow, "We're number 61!" doesn’t seem so proud a boast. Overall, the Social Progress Index ranks the United States number 25 in the well-being of citizens.

Pandemic Planet (Fitness) Gets a Thumbs Down from Dave

I just took an early morning trip to Planet Fitness-- my first visit to the gym since early March-- and it wasn't much fun . . . working out in a mask is uncomfortable (even my fake flappy mask) and all the joys of the gym are gone-- I like to circuit train: move from machine to machine, station to station in a fast and chaotic fashion-- if I wipe the equipment down it's in a perfunctory manner . . . but if I'm on something for one set, then I usually don't wipe it down at all-- but now it seems like you are expected to wipe stuff down (or at least pretend to) and I also love when the gym is a bit crowded, there are people to look at-- cute women, fat people, ripped people, people doing weird exercises that you might want to emulate-- but it was fairly desolate this morning . . . so I froze my membership until December; judging by the rising case counts in New Jersey, gyms will probably be closed by then, making this decision much simpler (for a better-written version of this, head to Medium).

Dave Builds a Standing Desk

I built a standing desk in my post-apocalyptic hybrid classroom but I didn't really think about how it looked from an outside perspective . . . there's so few students coming in that I'm hardly concerned with appearances . . . in fact, I played tennis in between periods yesterday and though I was all sweaty and gross, I threw my slacks and work shirt back on-- there were only three kids in the room and I told them to keep their distance and while Microsoft Teams is CPU intensive, it still doesn't deliver quality smells to the audience-- so there's a general lack of concern for how things look in the building-- but then a fellow English teacher (who is home now in quarantine because she came in contact with a student who came in contact with a person with Covid) got a look at this disaster of a desk and she asked me if I had "built it out of objects I found in a landfill."

My Son Needs Barbarian Therapy

My son Alex said the strangest thing yesterday:

"I wish I were a little worse at ping-pong so I could have more fun playing with my friends"

and I'm not sure if this is the kind of thing that warrants therapy, but obviously-- in my family-- I don't tolerate poor table-tennis play . . . if you're not going to crush your enemies, see them driven before you and to hear the lamentation of the women then why would you play?

Yup . . . Had to Happen

When the aliens sift through the wreckage of our civilization and find my son Ian's battery-powered skateboard, this will be their analysis: "This object looks like a lot of fun, but if the battery runs out while you are zooming up a hill and the skateboard stops suddenly, the laws of physics will cause the rider to wipe-out" and the aliens will be exactly right . . . luckily, Ian was wearing a helmet and so he only suffered road rash to his knees, elbows and hands . . . but I think he should only use this contraption on flat ground (with grass nearby).

Has Anyone Seen the Old iPad Charger?

When the aliens sift through the wreckage of our civilization, they will certainly be impressed (and bewildered) by our vast variety of electronic charging cables . . . after stumbling upon a tangled trove of these wires, an especially perplexed insectoid from Andromeda will turn and click to his friend, "They obviously understood electricity, but why did they make it so hard to harness it? Why? Why?"

Pandemic School: Lesson #1

 

At school yesterday, I got quite close to this fox that was hanging out on the softball field . . . then someone informed me that maybe I shouldn't be approaching wild animals that don't exhibit fear . . . they might be rabid; I told my class about this encounter with a possibly rabid animal and showed them the photo and one of my students said, "That's not a rabbit, it's a fox" because I was wearing a mask and when you are wearing a mask, the words "rabid" and "rabbit" sound identical, so I had to say the word "rabies" and talk about foaming at the mouth and Old Yeller and a bunch of shots in the stomach and all that . . . and the takeaway is that teaching with a mask on is absurd (I'm recording stories that I usually tell in class beforehand, without a mask, and then playing them for the class . . . so then I'm watching myself tell a story with the students, it's surreal).

Two Teachers; One Household

One of the teachers in our household was complimented doubly today-- the district tech team saw this person's virtual teaching set-up and they were astounded (they called this person McGyver) and then when they were leaving the building the district tech people commented on the beautiful landscaping around the school and they were informed that the very same teacher runs the gardening club and did all the landscaping-- so this teacher is killing it both indoors and out; the other teacher in our house received an admonitory note from the principal today because this person missed the digital faculty meeting on Monday (this person may have slept through the start of the meeting, totally forgotten about the meeting and then drove his son to the orthodontist . . . so that when he received a text that the meeting was happening, it was too late to attend) and I'm sure you can guess who did what (especially since I just planted some lovely bamboo clusters all along our fence line).

It Took a Global Pandemic . . .

There's a new hashtag of ideas that begin "it took a global pandemic" and I've collected a few of them here . . . thanks to all the contributors-- if anyone has any ideas, throw them in the comments . . . I might make this a post for Medium;

1) it took a global pandemic for us to learn how fun it is to drink with far-flung friends on Zoom;

2) it took a global pandemic for us to realize there's still some systemic racism in America;

3) it took a global pandemic to learn how fast you can traverse distances in central New Jersey when there is no traffic;

4) it took a global pandemic to truly value quality home appliances, especially the dishwasher;

5) it took a global pandemic for me to plant more bamboo along our fence line;

6) it took a global pandemic to motivate me to do mosquito control in my backyard;

7) it took a global pandemic to realize how unsanitary and disgusting schools are;

8) it took a global pandemic to get me to subscribe to the NYT and start doing the daily crossword;

9) it took a global pandemic for me to learn the joy of online poker;

10) it took a global pandemic to cross the street and avoid everyone and not be judged as a total douchebag;

11) it took a global pandemic for me to fix the crazy-ass chip in my front tooth because I kept seeing myself on Zoom; 

12) it took a global pandemic to get alcohol to go;

13) it took a global pandemic to discover just how misanthropic and introverted you could be;

14) it took a global pandemic to recognize what a pain-in-the-ass timesuck club soccer is;

15) it took a global pandemic for people to start doing jigsaw puzzles . . . yuck;

16) it took a global pandemic to get people to wash their hands after going to the bathroom . . . yuck;

17) it took a global pandemic for New Brunswick to realize it's fun to close down George Street to traffic, put a bunch of bands out there, and let everyone eat and drink in the road;

18) it took a global pandemic to find out who believes in the scientific method and randomized gold-standard double-blind trials;

19) it took a global pandemic to truly understand how incompetent Donald Trump is . . . or maybe not, maybe he's been exactly the same level of incompetence the whole time;

20) it took a global pandemic to realize it's more fun to wait in the parking lot with your dog, rather than in the vet's waiting room . . . which is always a disaster;

21) to be continued.

Two Reasons Why I Will Never Get a Vasectomy

I will never get a vasectomy.

My rationale is based on two very solid reasons. They’re not the two reasons you are thinking, although I do value those two things as well.

I acquired one reason from a TV show and the other from a movie.

That’s where you learn stuff, right?

Reason #1 is obvious.

I don’t want anyone — advanced medical degree or not — going near my testicles with a pair of surgical shears. Michael Scott expresses this better than I ever could during “The Dinner Party.” If you haven’t seen it, you need to (especially if you are thinking about getting a vasectomy).

This is what he tells his girlfriend/condo-mate/ex-boss Jan Levinson (in front of an audience of co-workers).

When I said that I wanted to have kids, and you said that you wanted me to have a vasectomy, what did I do? And then when you said that you might want to have kids and I wasn’t so sure, who had the vasectomy reversed? And then when you said you definitely didn’t want to have kids, who had it reversed back? Snip snap! Snip snap! Snip snap! I did. You have no idea the physical toll, that three vasectomies have on a person.

My second reason for refusing to get a vasectomy is much more profound.

I should point out that I’m certainly a vasectomy candidate. I’m fifty. I’m happily married with two children. My wife and I are done procreating. Once in a while, when I see a cute little infant I turn to my wife and say, “We should have a baby!”

My wife wisely says back to me: “That store is closed.”

She’s right. We’re done with that stage in our life.

Or she is . . .

My wife uses some kind of hormonal IUD that I should know more about. I do know that birth control is often left up to women, and it’s often a pain in the neck (a pain in the vagina?) There are plenty of side-effects. Headaches, weight gain, nausea, pelvic pain, irregular bleeding, acne, breast tenderness, etc.

The United States is not particularly good at subsidizing sex education and birth control, which is ironic, because a huge swath of our country is violently opposed to abortions. Male sterilization should be another tool in the box to prevent unwanted pregnancies. A better understanding of birth control of all types will decrease abortions, allow more women to finish school, and prevent infants from entering the world in a state of poverty. Men should understand this. Birth control should not be solely left up to women.

So I get it. Undergoing a vasectomy is not a big deal. I don’t want an old man poking around in my mouth with a drill, but I still go to the dentist. One in ten American males has been voluntarily sterilized. 500,000 men a year. I have friends that have done it. It’s not supposed to be that bad. I’m all for vasectomies. In fact, I urge YOU to get one.

If I really wanted to, I could get over Reason #1.

The MAIN reason I’m not getting a vasectomy is inspired by the ending of the classic Kubrick film Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb.

Reason #2

I might be called upon to repopulate the planet.

My friend Ann finds this portion of my argument silly, and it’s not. It’s deadly serious. So let me explain.

Dr. Strangelove was made in the 1960s. The world was worried about the madness of MAD. Gigantic nuclear arsenals were supposed to deter nuclear war, but in the film, an Air Force high alert mission goes awry — with the help of the homicidal General Ripper — and his breach of authority sets off a cascading chain of events that results in an impending nuclear disaster.

If you haven’t seen this movie, you need to.

Dr. Stranglelove — an ex-Nazi in charge of U.S. military weapons R&D — suggests that the survivors of the initial nuclear blast could hide out in “some of our deeper mineshafts.” Radioactivity wouldn’t penetrate down there and in a matter of weeks, sufficient improvements in the dwelling space could be provided.

In the plan that he proposes to President Merkin Muffley, several hundred thousand citizens would need to remain in the mineshafts until the radiation subsides: one hundred years.

Peter Sellers plays both roles.

PRESIDENT MUFFLEY: You mean, people could actually stay down there for a hundred years?

DR. STRANGELOVE: It would not be difficult Mein Fuhrer! Nuclear reactors could, heh… I’m sorry. Mr. President. Nuclear reactors could provide power almost indefinitely. Greenhouses could maintain plant life. Animals could be bred and slaughtered.

The plan then takes a more eugenic slant.

Dr. Strangelove suggests a computer program should be used to determine who gets selected go down into the mine shaft (besides present company in the War Room . . . they get a free pass, of course).

And then we get to the real mission. The population in the mineshafts would have a “ratio of ten females to each male” and the women would be selected for “highly stimulating sexual characteristics,” Dr. Strangelove estimates that within twenty years the U.S. will be back to its present gross national product.

Even the highly distractible General Buck Turgidson finds this plan interesting. As does the Russian liaison.

GENERAL TURGIDSON Doctor, you mentioned the ratio of ten women to each man. Now, wouldn’t that necessitate the abandonment of the so-called monogamous sexual relationship, I mean, as far as men were concerned?

DR. STRANGELOVE Regrettably, yes. But it is, you know, a sacrifice required for the future of the human race. I hasten to add that since each man will be required to do prodigious service along these lines . . .

Since the Cold War ended, we haven’t been as concerned about all-out nuclear war. But COVID-19 has given us a sneak preview of another kind of apocalypse. And this one kills men at a higher rate than women (though it’s negligible).

But what if it wasn’t negligible?

What if there were a highly contagious virus that targets the Y chromosome and kills all the men? Or nearly all of them. This COULD happen. I read about it in a comic book.

What if this hypothetical virus kills all the men except me?

Or me and a couple of guys who have had their tubes snipped?

Then it will be up to me to repopulate the planet!

Regrettably, this will “necessitate the abandonment of the so-called monogamous sexual relationship.”

I’m willing to make that sacrifice and do “prodigious service” for the human race.

Here’s how I envision it. I’m lounging on a beautiful white sand beach of some lush tropical island, being tended to by a cadre of incredibly beautiful women from around the globe. Occasionally — perhaps once a week or so — a boat sails into the harbor.

A number of bikini-clad attendants lower one especially beautiful specimen into the water. Then they all stride through the surf, beads of saltwater on their bronze or brown or black or white skin.

I beckon them to come forward.

They present some delicacy from wherever they hail: Iceland, France, Zimbabwe, Egypt, Goa, the Sudan. I taste the food. I admire the women. The queen bee smiles coyly at me. She rubs my tan feet. Then we head into my candlelit bamboo hut and get to down to business.

Perhaps — if I’m feeling up to it — I bonus impregnate a few of the attendants as well. Why not? This is my job. I embrace it. Then they sail off, my future progeny lodged in their uteruses.

Though my friend Ann found my description of this scenario ludicrous, she was still willing to play along. “If you’re pretending this could happen, couldn’t you pretend that you were fertile? Even if you had a vasectomy?”

For a little while. But in nine months, the gig would be up. That’s too soon for such a sweet post.

Plus, who would be a better Adam for the planet than me? I want to do this. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. So though it’s highly unlikely, I’m playing this lottery. Not having a vasectomy is the golden ticket.

I haven’t run this by my wife yet, but I’m sure she’ll be on board. If she trusted me to be the father of her offspring — if need be — why shouldn’t I father of the entire human race?

Horror Recommendations for Both the Patient and the Restive

If you're looking for a gothic novel in the vein of Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher" and Henry James' "The Turn of the Screw," then give Sarah Waters's The Little Stranger a shot . . . she wrote it in 2009, but you'd never know it-- it's set in the 1940s and impeccably researched and pitch-perfect in tone-- the disintegration of Hundreds Hall and the family that lives in it mirrors the slow and crumbling decay of the noble class in England . . . the proletariat is assuming more political and economic power, at the cost of old and ancient ways, but the dead aren't going to cede power to the working-class quietly; the book is a slow-burn and often frustrating-- especially the budding yet doomed romance-- but I loved it . . . if you don't have the patience for historically accurate neo-Gothicism, then you can check out the Overlord-- it's streaming on Amazon right now-- the film begins as a harrowing WWII action-flick, but soon devolves into a Tarantino-esque Nazi-zombie genre mash-up . . . it's totally entertaining, gross, and fun . . . my son Ian and I both loved it.

Hybrid School: The First Week

Here a few thoughts about teaching my first week of hybrid-model school:

1) hybrid doesn't work very well . . . you can either pay attention to the kids in the room-- and we are tending to have two or three kids in the room-- or you can pay attention to the kids on the little screen, but it's difficult to pay attention to both groups . . . what tends to happen is that the kids in the room become "virtual" kids and they just participate on the screen, and then there's no reason to have them there in the first place;

2) it's hard to hear the virtual kids unless they have a nice microphone . . . one virtual girl told us she learned to sew during the pandemic and that she sewed a "flag" and I told her that a flag seemed pretty easy to sew, because it's a rectangle and she said, "let me go get it" and she retrieved a "frog" not a flag-- which looked much more difficult to sew;

3) it's hard to understand the in-person kids because they are wearing masks, so I'm constantly asking them to repeat things;

4) got two drama kids to do an impromptu scene on the Microsoft teams;

5) a number of us have insanely large classes, I have 31 kids in a college credit writing course-- so this is going to be difficult to manage virtually and grading-wise, and it also ensures that we are never going back to school because-- pandemic or not-- there's no way to stuff 31 seniors into my classroom

6) I'm still teaching elective classes: Philosophy and Creative Writing . . . I'm not sure why if the actual English courses are packed . . . didn't anyone think of this?

7) I'm taking a lot of walks with my in-person kids-- I put the virtual kids to work and then we go outside and discuss the reading like normal humans;

8) my son Ian-- who is a sophomore and is all remote-- was on a virtual "scavenger hunt" and he got his beloved weighted blanket and put it on his head-- as instructed-- and it fell off his head and landed on the laptop-- MY good laptop-- and ripped the screen from the body of the computer . . . Ian was crying and totally regretful and I felt really bad for him . . . but at this rate he's going to go through 90 laptops this virtual school year . . . I did manage to duct tape the screen to the computer, so it works . . . sort of;

9) I've now sent several rambling emails to administration, about class size of the senior English courses courses and about opening doors, courtyards and windows because we are in a global pandemic;

10) Genesis, Microsoft Teams, and Canvas are impressively dysfunctional and unsynchronized; we are doing all our own tech support and trying to get things to clean up and work, but everything is fragmented, disorganized and incomprehensible;

11) in an attempt to organize things, I  deleted all the channels where various teachers are supposed to meet on Microsoft Teams . . . who knew I had this power?

12) I was running late for work this morning because I was filming a video of myself for work;

13) it's fun to break up pretend fights off-camera-- you just get up quickly, bang a bunch of stuff, and then come back and tell the kids you broke up a fight;

14) we need an all virtual day to catch-up . . . this isn't sustainable;

15) people are already getting laryngitis from teaching with a mask on . . . once coachign starts back up again, my throat is going to be raw every day;

16) my eyes are so tired that I feel like I'm going blind;

17) at first I thought the four rotations of in-person kids would give up and go virtual because there are so many 1-3 person classes, which are awkward . . . but the kids I talked to kind of like it because they only go to school every eight days-- so it's like a weird little masked adventure-- but the teachers are masked and teaching EVERY day, for extra long periods . . . it can't last;

18) my own children are enjoying virtual school -- they can sleep until 8:55 and then school is from 9 AM to 1 PM . . . my high school is still making kids get up to attend class at 7:26 AM . . . it's cruel and unusual punishment for a teenager;

19) Stacey almost cried twice today: once because she forgot her laptop charger-- which is now a vital piece of equipment-- and then later in the day when she taught twenty minutes on mute and then had to repeat the entire lesson;

20) I have a girl with a one-on-one aid that accompanies her to my room and I teach this girl in two different classes, but she only comes to school once every eight days-- like all the in-person students-- but her aid comes to my room every day, though the aid doesn't have a laptop yet . . . so the aid mainly just watches me say weird stuff into a computer;

21) East Brunswick Vo-Tech shut down yesterday, so I think we are the only school building with kids in it in the county . . . and so far it has been quite an adventure.

Dreams Are Dumb?

I've always been a proponent of the Anti-Freudian "dreams are dumb and indicate nothing" school-of-thought (and may COVID-19 kill me dead if this blog becomes a dream journal) but I woke up at 2 AM this morning-- possibly because of an earthquake-- in the midst of a particularly vivid and possibly symbolic somnolent vision; here's what happened: 

I was trekking through the jungle at sunset and came to a spot where I could see through the dense foliage and I spotted a hippo in the tall grass, and the hippo's wet skin was reflecting beautiful streaks of red, purple, and orange from the waning daylight and then a jaguar walked out of the jungle and he hopped up on top of the hippo and just stood there, posing (and there was also a random llama in the background) and so I grabbed my phone and took a picture of a JAGUAR ON TOP OF A HIPPO (with a llama in the background) and all three animals were magnificent, iridescent from the setting sun in this wild tableau and then I raced back to camp to show Catherine the miracle I had witnessed and when I tried to find the pictures on my phone, they were gone-- total technical failure-- and it was my fault, I had pressed something and lost them all, the greatest nature photos ever snapped . . . and that's pretty much how school feels so far this year.

Trump = Toxins = No One Cares

The El Presidente Trump Train-wreck throws up such a cloud of dust that important things just slip under the radar . . . lest we forget, the E.P.A. is run by a former industrial coal lobbyist-- a Trump appointee, of course-- and the agency recently relaxed standards "for how coal-fired power plants dispose of wastewater laced with dangerous pollutants like lead, selenium and arsenic, a move environmental groups said would leave rivers and streams vulnerable to toxic contamination," which would be big news in any normal political situation . . . it might even be the kind of news-- putting toxins in our potable water sources-- that a normal president (liberal or conservative) wouldn't want to touch with a ten foot pole . . . but when you live inside a dust-storm, nothing is clear enough to warrant scrutiny (might be too many metaphors in here, but who cares-- this is the new normal: a train-wreck inside a tornado of tweets and gaffes and absolute stupidity).

Some Impressions of Reopening School During a Pandemic

 I'm sure things will shape up, but some of the first impressions of school reopening during a pandemic:

1) the filthy carpet in my room was NOT removed (though this was promised)

2) there was no inspirational speech from the administrators about how we are essential employees risking our lives in a hot, poorly-ventilated building . . . in fact, there was very little acknowledgment that there's an airborne global pandemic going on

3) the courtyard doors and hallway windows were NOT open . . . so we're not even pretending that fresh air is a good idea . . . weird

4) we are just recognizing that our "classes" are going to consist of 0-3 students . . . the rest will be virtual, so I think most kids who do come to school are going to opt-out when they realize they are getting the same experience as the virtual kids (aside from having to sit in a poorly ventilated room while wearing a mask, in close proximity to a sweaty teacher also wearing a mask)

5) we were not really trained on how to teach virtually

6) we were not really trained on Microsoft Teams (which we were instructed to use instead of Zoom) so a couple of savvy teachers tried to show everyone the ropes (thanks Liz and Cunningham!)

7) we weren't really trained in how to set up all the tech to teach virtually-- I think you've got to cast your laptop to the projector and use your learning platform on the desktop (but I just figured this out at the 11th hour . . . thanks Eric!)

8) school is about to start and our classes aren't populated in Canvas, we don't know how to take attendance, and we don't understand the basic expectations for virtual classes

9) we might be required to clean the classroom between classes-- this was mentioned at a board meeting but no administrator said it directly to the teachers

10) we are supposed to wear masks all the time-- unless we are alone in a room . . . but that ain't happening

11) we're not sure where or when we should eat

12) we are not being tested for COVID, nor are the students

13) several teachers cried

14) I wear a really porous homemade reversible mask which I like to flip over when it gets damp and Cunningham did an amazing impression of me turning it inside out in front a pretend student and then touching the wet side and discussing it . . .

15) we haven't gotten are headsets yet, but we are getting headsets

16) we met the new director of ILA, she said something about "Jamboard" and then the principal came over the intercom and drowned her out

17) there was lots of feedback in the virtual meetings

18) it's quite a workout to stack all the desks in the back of the class

19) we received some 11th-hour training on Microsoft Teams on Friday, but the classes aren't merged and I still don't know how to take attendance . . .

20) most of the answers to questions are "we'll see" "or "that might synch eventually"

21) all the stress was worth it because I got to go sit outside with all my lady friends at The Grove and enjoy a Friday Happy Hour . . . despite the long hiatus, Cunningham was in full-on appetizer-ordering form!

Pandemic Education = Dave in the Corner (with the creepy handprints)

 

Normally during the preparatory days before school, I organize my room, throw up a few posters, and brace myself for a room that will soon smell like teen spirit, but because of the pandemic, this year is different: I had to stack the majority of the desks against the back wall, figure out how to cast my device to the projector, and get ready to teach the one or two kids that show up live, along with the fifteen or twenty that will be virtual . . . to say I am woefully unprepared for this is an understatement . . . I imagine that the experience is going to be like the educational version of The Blair Witch Project.

Your Worst Nightmare (in the form of a song)

Nothing is worse than knowing people have been talking behind your back . . . aside, perhaps, from actually hearing what they said . . . here's a new tune I just finished exploring that theme-- my buddy John says it has some "menace" to it, so be prepared.

Professor Truck · When You Left The Room (That's When We Got Started)

Professor Truck · When You Left The Room (That's When We Got Started)

Dave Preens His Beak

I just tweezed that one weird hair that grows on my nose-- not in my nose, on my nose-- so I am officially ready to go back to work (first day tomorrow).