This is the time of year when I feel like a mewling infant sliding down the birth canal, trying to emerge from the darkness of winter, slowly heading toward the light of spring-- and I will get there, but it's going to be painful (for all involved, including Mother Nature).
Louis C.K. Kills
Last night, Louis C.K. performed at the Stress Factory and he lived up to the title of his show, which was called "Trying Out New Material"-- he had a notebook on his stool, which he glanced at between bits and he raced through so many routines it would be hard to summarize the performance-- he literally abandoned transitions and did an hour of one thing after another-- and while the content was generally incredibly inappropriate, I'll give a synopsis in broad swaths of some of the topics:
how the sun and a vagina are similar (wonderful givers of life but don't look directly at them); what race of human he would choose to eat; a tour of the old folks "place" that houses his father; what the "worst" would be for him: being testicularly tortured and you truly don't know the information that the torturer wants; an analysis of the magazine Barely Legal and just how close reading that magazine is to pedophilia-- so close; how the worst thing a person could talk to you about is love, forgiveness, and your friend Jesus; taking AIDS test to get some good news; the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; in vitro fertilization and caviar; he revamped a Carlin bit about how newscasters will do an accent on the word Latino, but only that word, and a bunch of other stuff-- it was uproarious, the guy is a masterful in every aspect of stand-up-- the voices, timing, body language, and material-- and it was awesome to see him up close and personal.
HP Sees CK
Heading out (with a large contingent of my town and other various friends) to see Louis C.K. at The Stress Factory.
Fuck the TikTok Ban, Go Whole Hog and Revise Section 230
There has been much speculation about Mark Zuckerberg's recent "pivot" towards some Trumpy changes to Meta's content moderation policy and the removal of all fact-checking on his platforms-- and the constantly fluctuating state of TikTok has also got the social media world in an uproar, but I think it's time to do something more radical in this arena and rewrite Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act sop that platforms are responsible and can be sued over what they "publish"-- as they ARE publishers with proprietary algorithms that determine what goes viral-- and it's certainly not always accurate or innocuous stuff . . . it's not until we acknowledge that everything on social media is suspect, often a conspiratorial abyss, frequently misinformation and/or propaganda, and promoted in ways to merely keep users scrolling, not to provide the highest quality content and that perhaps our society would be more civilized and social without social media in its current form.
Dave Fails at Revenge, But Succeeds at Civilized Society
Yesterday morning, I tried to exact my gentlemanly revenge for this foul deed-- when I got out of my car, I spotted the shoulder-length blonde hair of the culprit as she was walking along the front of the building towards the side door; walked briskly to the door so that I got there well ahead of her; opened the door, and waited; and then, as the culprit rounded the corner I noted that this was another nameless woman with shoulder length blond hair-- people are really bundled up because of the cold and it's hard to differentiate between thirty-somethings with should length blonde hair-- but this was definitely NOT the woman who didn't hold the door for me-- but despite not exacting my revenge, things turned out just fine: she thanked me for holding the door for her and we had a normal, civilized conversation about the weather as we walked to the office to sign in.
What's Scarier Than a Savage Pitbull? An Enormous Savage Pitbull
If you're looking for a dumb (but highly entertaining) read about a smart guy, check out Joe Ide's mystery novel IQ . . . it's about a young ghetto detective (a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Encyclopedia Brown) with a tragic past who gets involved in a case featuring rappers, entourage members, bodyguards, gangs, guns, drugs, sordid women, LA shysters, and a very large pit bull . . . the plot is a purposeful nod to Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles.
Some Fine Day, Vengeance Will Be Mine
So yesterday I was hustling across the parking lot and into the school building-- and I was not wearing my jacket or gloves or anything because I leave that stuff in the car-- and it was cold, single digits, and I was maybe fifteen feet from the door and this teacher (I don't know her name but I'm going to find it out) was at that distance where any civilized person would hold the door, especially because we made eye contact and she could see I was moving with some determination and alacrity-- but she glanced at me and then she slithered in, she opened the door the minimum amount and squeezed through, leaving me literally in the cold-- now even if she didn't feel like holding the door, she could have given it a good shove, so it opened completely and I was close enough that I most likely would have been able to grab it before it shut-- but she didn't even do me that courtesy . . . unconscionable stuff . . . and so I have plotted my revenge (which is a dish best served cold, and it is butt-ass cold in New Jersey right now) and it will happen thusly: I will keep my eye out for this woman, and one day when I am ahead of her in the parking lot, I will walk briskly to the door-- so there is a great distance between us-- and then instead of NOT holding the door open, instead of slithering in-- which would be childish and predictable-- I will hold the door open-- I will hold the door open for an uncomfortably long time-- and while I stand there, chivalrously, waiting for her to walk all the way across the parking lot, I will make eye contact with her, and I will smile, and I will say "after you" and then let her pass through the door while I stand valiantly in the cold and then she will know that vengeance is mine and her fate is to be filled with shame and mortification.
A Very Special Episode of We Defy Augury
Despite having a stomach virus, yesterday I cranked out a very special episode of We Defy Augury . . . "A Transcendental Perspective on the L.A. Fires". . . my thoughts are (loosely) inspired by various articles on the L.A. Fires, Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay "Nature" and Joan Didion's essay "The Santa Anas"
Special Guests: The Bicycle Man, Conrad Bain, Nellie Bowles, David Gelles and Austyn Gaffney, Leighton Woodhouse, The Rivieras, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Delta smelt, the gang from Full House, and the gang from WKRP in Cincinnati.
Trump
Dave Keeps Overdoing It (Physically and Literarily)
I woke up feeling much better this morning-- I definitely had some kind of stomach/body-ache/low fever viral bug yesterday-- in fact, I felt so good that I went and played indoor soccer-- and my knee felt better than it has in a while, I was actually playing serviceable balls with both feet-- but then after soccer, I started feeling shitty again, and I think I'm running a low fever-- and the sci-fi novel I'm reading is not helping: Doomsday Book by Connie Willis . . . the narrative switches between a time-traveling historian who was mistakenly sent back to the year The Black Death ravaged England, instead of an earlier, plague free year-- there was some "slippage"-- and 21st-century epidemic in Oxford, caused by a dormant, ancient virus unearthed from a medieval archaeological dig-- it's a compelling book but there are a great many descriptions of buboes and fevers and bodily fluids and sickness in general, not ideal.
Dave Probably Overdid It
I completed my old man three-sport-in-one-week triathlon last night-- my friend Ann and I defended the challenge court for 90 minutes at the Picklejar, before we got tired (and the dudes we were playing hit her with several wild drives, including one to the chin) and I generally felt pretty good on my knee, but then I had trouble sleeping-- I rarely do sports at night and it was hard to get comfortable-- and though I loosened my leg up at the gym and grocery shopping at Trader Joe's (which was insanely crowded because everyone is worried about the incoming snow but I put my earphones in and listened to some Chris Joss, this French multi-instrumentalist funk musician who has an incredible catalog of instrumental funk-tronica albums . . . I can't believe I just discovered this guy because he will now be the soundtrack of the majority of my life!) but now I feel lousy and I'm running a low fever and I'm wondering if I either overdid the sports this week or if I'm getting sick.
Friday Potpourri
Today felt marginally better than yesterday-- the sun was out and it warmed up to 40 degrees-- but we were still fairly chilly when we had an unexpected and rather lengthy fire evacuation because something started burning in a cooking class-- I was about to call it a fire "drill" but it wasn't a drill, it was an actual fire-- albeit a very small one-- which interrupted an important discussion in Creative Writing where I was informing my students that The Beatles were not fro the midwest, they were from England . . . seriously . . and I today also introduced my sophomores to the idea of a "very special episode"-- a concept from the 1980s and 90s where a normally humorous TV program tackles a delicate or controversial event with the appropriate gravity . . . the one I'll never forget is the WKRP in Cincinnati episode about the Who concert where 11 people got crushed to death . . . a total bummer . . . we had a very special episode of class today about the LA fires-- and it is to be continued next class!-- perfect . . . I'm going to try to make the lesson into a very special podcast because it would take too long to describe here and I've got no time to sit and write because I'm about to finish my week-long triathlon of old man sports on a bad knee-- I played indoor soccer on Sunday, morning basketball on Tuesday, and now I'm about to go play some indoor pickleball-- if my knee holds up, I'll be very pleased.
Cold and Gray Thursday
I took a mental health day yesterday and it turned out to be quite productive-- I cleaned two bathrooms, went to the gym with Ian-- he was actually able to play a little basketball on his reconstructed ankle-- and then Ian and I fixed a broken light pull switch in a ceiling fan, a two-man job if there ever was one (he flipped fuses in the basement until the fan stopped and then it took four hands to take the fan case apart; hold it the bottom part; strip the wires; remove the old pull string switch; replace and reconnect the new pull string switch; and then reassemble it) and we rewarded ourselves with a sushi lunch and then I took a nap-- later my wife and I watched episode two of Get Millie Black-- highly recommended-- but then reality loomed its ugly head . . . when you take off a Wednesday, you have to go to work the next day-- and it's not even Friday!-- and this morning was frigid and dark and bleak and I am really struggling to see the dim light of Spring Break, which is many months away-- so I started my class today with the movie clip to symbolize how I was feeling: Bill Murray giving a "Groundhog Day" weather outlook, "You want a prediction about the weather . . . I'll give you a winter prediction: It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be grey, and it's gonna last you for the rest of your life."
Our Team Only Had Nine Available Hands
Yesterday morning I made my triumphant return to 6:30 AM basketball, and while I was certainly limited in my movement because of my gimpy knee and unable to "help" on defense (which is my euphemism for fouling the fuck out of anyone who enters the paint in my vicinity) I was in fine shooting form (at least at the start of the session, my shot got progressively worse as my knee grew stiffer) and I drilled three long three-pointers in a row to lead our team to victory in the first game . . . and what a team it was-- I was limping around, Jeff has a strained calf-- and Frank, the old and venerated retired AD who is in his 70s and probably shouldn't be participating in the first place was coaxed into playing one game-- and I didn't notice until we began that Frank was wearing one glove, one green fluffy winter glove . . . and this is because he recently had surgery on his hand and needed to protect it-- needless to say, he did not shoot, dribble, or touch the ball-- but then he gracefully bowed out, undefeated, and we picked up Kyle, a fast, strong twenty-five-year-old athlete-- so all was good-- and then I learned that another player on the court was in his twenties and I was like: this is not fair, I think anyone in their twenties should have to be handicapped, like a jockey that's underweight, and wear a weighted vest.
A Costco No-go
According to my neighbors Pernille and John, you never want to make the mistake that I made yesterday: you never want to go to the Edison Costco on a Monday (because the store is so crowded on Saturday and Sunday that, in a Yogi Berra-esque paradox, no one goes there on the weekend so they all go on Monday . . . also, I think some shoppers permanently reside in the store-- I surmised this by the way they amble about with their carts, like they've got absolutely nowhere to go).
Medieval Times, Good Times?
I just finished a new episode of We Defy Augury-- ten reasons Medieval Times were better times than you might have imagined . . . thoughts loosely inspired by Ian Mortimer's history book Medieval Horizons: Why the Middle Ages Matter, Christopher Buehlman's fantasy novel Between Two Fires, and Connie Willis's science fiction novel The Doomsday Book;
Special Guests: Jim Carrey, Matthew Broderick, Janeane Garofalo, The Beastie Boys, George Carlin, Rick Moranis, MF Doom, the Monty Python Troupe, Kiefer Sutherland, 100 Gecs, Metallica, Arya and the Hound, Jimmy Walker, the Wu-Tang Clan, and medievalist professor Dorsey Armstrong.
The Knee Holds Up
I am pleased to announce that I played over an hour of indoor soccer this morning-- despite my wonky right knee-- and while I can't really drive a ball with my right foot, I was able to run, trap, and pass-- which is all you can ask for . . . but importantly, I got to see the soccer gang again-- I haven't played for a year-- and while there were a couple of new faces, it was mostly the same old guys . . . and we're just getting older.
Yet Another Reason I Hate Fucking Cars
Like most rational aesthetes, I find the Tesla Cybertruck to be a hideous and bulky eyesore, but it seems there is a way to level up the offensiveness of this sheet metal behemoth . . . and that is by adding an on-the-nose vanity license plate label which identifies what kind of car the license plate is adorning (in this instance, CYBR1) and this, of course, falls into the same category of objectionable taste as wearing a Weezer t-shirt to a Weezer concert-- you just don't do it (nor do you wear a Dungeons and Dragons t-shirt to a session of D&D, as I once pointed out to my older son) unless you write something witty, ironic, and meta . . . perhaps I could get a vanity plate for my Sportage that says "Kia Pet" or this Cybertruck owner could get a plate that reads "Pedo Boy" or "Compensating for my Tiny Penis."
Aspirational Actions
Instead of doing "Dry January," I am going to listen to more of Art Pepper's cool jazz and J Dilla's comprehensive catalog.
O! The Irony! The Hypocritical Unreliable Irony!
Today in Creative Class, we started our unit on first-person/unreliable narration, but I somehow got off-topic and while I was in the midst of describing the awful car accident my children and I witnessed on Tuesday and warning the students about the perils of walking, biking, and driving on Rutgers campus in New Brunswick and reminding them to really take their time going through intersections, even if the light is green-- right in the middle of diagramming all this on the whiteboard, a particular gym teacher poked her head into my classroom and she chastised me for something that happened yesterday . . . and I immediately knew how what she was about to say was going to fit the lesson-- because yesterday afternoon, when I was racing out of the school parking lot at the end of the day, I ran through the stop sign and cut her off-- and this happened several times previous because I'm a bit reckless when I'm trying to escape the school grounds-- so she censured me for my driving, I apologized profusely and I promised it would never happen again and then she left and I turned to the class and said, "You see my hypocrisy here? The unreliability in my narration? I'm warning you about being careful at intersections and meanwhile, I'm a hypocritical menace . . . we are all biased and unreliable narrators!" and then I was inclined to say "That's a wrap, you can all go home" but there was still 56 minutes left in the period, so I had to keep teaching but now I am truly going to take my time at intersections, I have learned my lesson twice in as many days.
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