The Old Man Speaks His Mind

I decided today, while I was trying to teach the children, that I kind of wish this whole internet thing . . . the digital revolution, AI, Google searches, cell phones, personal computing devices, all of it . . . that maybe we'd all be better off if it never happened-- while there's more information available than ever, I think it's made the children scatter-brained and ignorant and I think we were all smarter when we were reading books, magazines, and newspapers-- but, unfortunately, I can't turn back the clock so I'm probably just going to be grouchy until I retire.

Roofman!

It's probably best to listen to the Criminal podcast "The Roofman" parts 1 and 2, which tells the story of Jeffrey Manchester, the notoriously clever (and polite) rooftop-entry robber who finally gets captured, but escapes prison, and then lives inside a Toys 'R 'Us and abandoned electronics store next to the Toys 'R' Us for months and months . . . it's a story too good to be true, but listen to the real story before the film version comes out and overly romanticizes it all-- the film stars Channing Tatum and Kirsten Dunst-- so you know what's going to happen between those two . . . I'm sure the story is better told by Phoebe Judge's measured and neutral narration.

The Animals are Acting Like Animals

Yesterday, I was walking the dog in the park, along the treeline, and an old dude with a white beard approached me and said I shouldn't continue in the direction I was headed because there was a rabid skunk over there-- it was reeling and stumbling and out in the daytime and definitely ill . . . meanwhile, at school, most mornings this spring, an angry male robin who lives in the courtyard bordering my room alights on the windowsill near my desk and attacks his reflection in the window, often disrupting the learning with his incessant pecking on the window-- and apparently this is quite common, a territorial maneuver instinctually designed to fend off other male rivals-- and sometimes birds do this to side-view car mirrors and break the glass-- but even though I've explained this to my Creative Writing class, they are kind souls and think the bird is asking to come inside and they want to let him in and feed him, an idea which I have rejected soundly . . . but I did offer a student the option of sitting outside in the courtyard near the window and attending class that way, because I would love to see the bird attack this silly little sophomore.

This Novel Has Got It All!

If you're a sucker for dinosaurs and charismatic megafauna, and you are curious about the legal and political ramifications of time travel, then Clifford D. Simak's sci-fi novel Mastodonia is the book for you.

She's Back (and Fuggier Than Ever)

A couple of weather-related observations:

1) this year, many of my high school students have terrible allergies-- the worst I've seen in my many years teaching . . . even though the weather was beautiful all week, we couldn't really walk very far outside before kids started sneezing and itching and coughing and getting bright red eyes-- not sure if this is a new thing because this generation of kids never goes outside . . . right now it's purely anecdotal evidence;

2) after a prolonged absence, the star of New Jersey weather is back, your hostess with the dampness . . . Mrs. Moist Humidity has returned and taken center stage, as she always does-- and I always forget over the winter just what it's like when it gets soupy and clammy and my feet get so sticky that I won't even attempt to put socks on . . . yuck . . . but perhaps the humidity will impede all the pollen from floating around and my students won't be sneezing as much this week.

An Old Dave Learns New Tricks

I've learned three new things recently:

1) my wife taught me about this weekly workout schedule, and I've adopted it and it seems to be working-- my knee doesn't hurt, and I'm always sore, so those are good signs;

2)  I listened to a podcast about the power of NEAT-- NEAT stands for non-exercise activity thermogenesis and basically encompasses all the random walking, standing, fidgeting, and daily movement you do and apparently this makes a HUGE difference in how many calories you burn during the day-- plus, if you take a fifteen minute stroll after you eat a meal, you really lower your glucose and blood sugar levels-- so I've implemented both these strategies and I've actually lost a few pounds (without going on Ozempic, which is what it seems like everyone is doing-- but I really like my big round butt, so I'm not messing with that shit) 

3) AND I learned something else today, and I came up with this out of the blue in the middle of teaching-- so here's the scenario: sometimes I have the projector on but I want kids to write stuff on the whiteboard so instead of having whatever Canvas announcements I have projected, I just want whiteness-- I don't want to shut off the projector because it takes a while to turn it back on-- so I search up a white background on Google and I project that version of whiteness and then the kids can write on the whiteboard and their writing is not obscured by the projection-- because it's white-- but today I had an epiphany, and instead of searching up a white picture, which is always weird and has borders, instead of doing that, I chose a little bit of white space that was already on the screen and I used my fingers on my touchscreen and I just kept expanding that white space until the projector was just projecting all this expanded whiteness onto the board-- and then I made the students tell me I was brilliant . . . but the real question is: will I remember to do this the next time I want to project whiteness?

D.P. Phone Home

So yesterday I believed that my crappy-Android-phone fell out of my pants pocket and was lying prone on the pavement in the high school parking lot, most likely run over by automobiles multiple times-- and once I realized this, when I got home from school, I decided not to drive back to the school and rescue my phone from this fate because 

1) I hate driving 

2) my phone is an ancient piece of shit

3) pickleball-- 

so I figured I would leave it to whatever fate befell it and then when I got to school today, I would see if someone picked it up and turned it in or if it was still intact on the ground near my parking spot-- but when I used Find My Android this morning, Google no longer reported my phone being in the school parking lot but instead just outside my house . . . weird . . . and so I thought maybe it fell out of my car when I got home-- and this would explain why the podcast played all the way home yesterday-- so I set my phone to ring and then went outside and it turned out my phone was not outside my car, but inside it-- it fell down under the driver seat-- and while I swore I looked in the car yesterday, I guess I didn't look in this spot and I also think I should get a different colored phone case (mine is black) because it blends in with the interior of my car and the main thing about this stupid incident is I won't be getting on iPhone anytime soon so for the foreseeable future my wife will have to deal with all the GIFs in the basketball group chat.

What Comes Around Phones Around

I confiscated a student's phone today, which is always an ordeal, but it's the fourth quarter, and at this point, they should know better-- and then when I got home from work, I couldn't find my phone-- but I knew it was either in the house or in the car because I listened to a podcast on the way home . . . but when I used Find My Android, the computer reported that my phone was still in the East Brunswick High School parking lot . . . which was weird but I guess my car downloaded the podcast and played it even though my phone fell out of my pocket-- and it definitely fell out of my pocket because I had it in this weird little phone pocket in my work pants-- usually I wear cargo pants that have velcro sealed pockets but I have this one pair of Dickie's pants with a weird little open pocket and this morning, I was going to put my wallet in it this little pocket but I was like: "my wallet's going to fall out of this stupid pocket" and so I put my phone in the stupid pocket, because I don't care about my cheap-piece-of-shit-Android-phone and it turns out I made a good decision . . . and I didn't feel like driving back to school and searching for my phone because I had a pickleball commitment so I'll find out tomorrow if my phone is intact and in the parking lot, or crushed in the parking lot, or in the school office-- and if it's crushed or lost, then perhaps I will get an iPhone so I can join the AM basketball group chat and my wife won't have to get so many stupid GIFs from all my basketball buddies.

Who's Pipe Burst?

Yesterday, I had to return to teaching, but my wife's school had the day off . . . although it was not much of a day off for her-- she had to wait around for both Steve the Appliance Doctor AND the Rob and Keith the plumbers-- and while Steve the Appliance Doctor healed our fridge's drain blockage without too much trouble,  the plumbing job-- which involved replacing a leaky portion of our main sewage line-- was a bit trickier . . . apparently they couldn't find the main water shut-off and so I was receiving texts about this at work during lunch and frantically trying to remember which valve shut off all the water but then my wife texted me that something was wrong with the washer and that seemed strange, but maybe the shut-off valve was behind the washer?-- but something was stripped back there and it was a problem-- so now I was very concerned that we'd also need a new washer/dryer combination, which was expensive and very very difficult to get into our basement-- and when I got home, my wife tried to explain all the different things that were done to our house and appliances, and all the things that needed to be done to our house and appliances, but I was very tired from my first day teaching and kind of spaced out and our conversation turned into a home-owner's version of the Abbott and Costello bit "who's on first?" . . . I kept asking if they found the shut off valve and my wife kept saying something about the washer and the little closet and I was like "behind the washer?" and she was like "not THE washer, a washer" and I was like "what?" and then she said "I never said THE washer . . . I said a washer was stripped" and I went back to her text messages and she actually DID say "something with the washer is stripped" and I misintepreted this message and thought there was something wrong with our washer/dryer but it was actually the other kind of washer, a small flat metal ring, in the main water shut-off . . . so now they're going to have to shut the water off at the street juncture so they can fix this stripped washer in the main water shut off valve, which is not nearly as funny as the "who's on first?" routine.

Dave's New Favorite Bible Story!

Though I once read the entire Bible-- back when my wife and I lived in Syria and were visiting many of the sites mentioned in the Good Book-- I must have skimmed over the story of Elisha and the bears, which a student mentioned today in class in regards to my shaved (mainly) bald head . . . so to summarize, in 2 Kings 2:23-2, the prophet Elisha is minding his own business, heading to Bethel and some small boys (or, more likely, young men) jeer at him and his bald head and tell him to go up to Heaven like Elijah and begone, and Elisha curses these young men in the name of the Lord and in a flash, two she-bears emerge from the woods and maul forty-two of the boys . . . and as a high school teacher of annoying teenagers, who often ask, "Did you ever have hair?" this is now my favorite Bible story and while I understand there is separation of Chruch and State, I think I can teach this particular story because the East Brunswick mascot is a bear and perhaps this bear is interested in protecting bald men from ridicule.

How Many Timed Would You Hold an Embalmed Hand That Summons the Dead?

We are back in Jersey, after a good trip to the Poconos: we watched the Scranton Penguins blank the Cleveland Monsters and everyone agreed that hockey is far better live and up close than on TV (the puck is airborne a surprising amount, whcih often cannot be discerned when you're watching on a two-dimensional screen) and then we burned the remaineder of the firewood and made s'mores . . . also, the night before we watched the requisite horror movie that you must watch when staying at a cabin in the woods, and though it was hard to find one that Layla hadn't seen-- she's quite the horror-movie aficionado-- the Netflix algorithm recommended Talk to Me and we all agreed that it's a winner, with all the classic horror tropes, a fast-paced plot, an embalmed hand that summons the dead, and plenty of bad bad decisions that lead to awful consequences-- but kids will be kids and if they possess an embalmed hand that summons the dead, they're probably going to screw around with it until some bad happens.

Everyone Loves a Waterfall . . . and Hockey?

Today, we hiked the Shades Creek side of Bear Creek Preserve, which featured more waterfalls, a rickety log bridge-- which we finally coerced Lola to walk across, after she dove into the cold, fast-running stream-- and a lovely path (Yellow) along the rocky shore of Shades Creek . . . and the rocks are quite slippery, as I found out the hard way-- and then we stopped atop the Francis E. Walter dam-- quite a structure-- and now we are headed to see the Wilkes Barre/Scranton Penguins, an AHL minor league professional hockey team-- and I am assuming it will be just like the movie Slapshot.

Wipeout!

Everybody Loves a Waterfall

Thursday morning, Catherine, Ian, Layla, Lola, and I headed to an Airbnb cabin in the Poconos-- fairly far north near White Haven, amid the state game lands-- and while the cabin is quite impressive-- high ceilings, incredible post and beam construction, lovely wrap around decks-- it's also one of those Airbnbs where the people that own the place also live there quite a bit, so it's got a lot of junk and decorations and things under construction outside and food in the fridge and freezer and all that . . . it's old school Airbnb-- you're using someone else's home-- but there's a pool table and a foosball table and a firepit, and there's corn and carrots downstairs with which you feed the very tame deer-- they eat out of your hand!-- and we've made good use of these amenities and we also did some excellent hiking today around the corner in the Bear Creek Preserve (though we did not see any bears but we did find a waterfall) and then we walked up Buttermilk Falls, which still has ice on the trail, and for lunch we went to ButcherBobs BBQ, which was incredibly delicious and highly recommended and, as a bonus, judging by her molasses-thick accent, I guessed what state the nice older lady who served us was from . . . I knew it was too thick to be Virginia or the Carolinas, so I figured Georgia, and I was correct.

Engimatic Riddles Wrapped in Paradoxical Bullshit

This morning, I asked my Google Home speaker what the temperature was in Highland Park and it told me the temperature in Highland Park, Illinois-- 43 degrees-- but I live in Highland Park, New Jersey so I asked it for the temperature in Highland Park, New Jersey and I also reminded the speaker that Highland Park, New Jersey is the place where both I reside and the place where the speaker resides-- and it told me the temperature-- 43 degrees-- and I was like "wtf?" and so I checked my phone and apparently, this morning it was 43 degrees in BOTH Highland Park, New Jersey and Highland Park, Illinois . . . so dumb . . . and last night, and this happens quite often, I sat on the afghan on the couch-- and this really annoys my wife, she can't understand why I would sit on the blanket-- she thinks that's both uncomfortable and idiotic-- because then when she wants the blanket, I'm sitting on it and it's a process to for me to get off it, especially if I'm all splayed out watching TV . . . but last night, I sat on the other blanket, not the one my wife was using, and then it got unseasably cold and I wanted to use the blanket-- but I was sitting on it and it was really annoying to get it out from under me, so now I get it.

No Way, El Rey

If you're looking for some wild, hard-boiled crime fiction, where regular old psychopaths figure out how to navigate this lonely planet as best they know how, then check out Jim Thompson-- otherwise known as "The Dime-Store Dostoevsky"-- I read my first two Jim Thompson novels a few weeks ago: Pop. 1280 and The Getaway and I am a changed man, ready to do whatever is necessary to survive and thrive-- just like Nick Corey, the shaper-than-he-seems sherriff of Pottsville-- and if my schemes and ruses don't work out, then I'm ready to go on the lam, like Doc McCoy and Carol . . . although I hope I don't end up bankrupt and betrayed in the kingdom of El Rey (this mythical criminal sanctuary is also alluded to in the film Dusk to Dawn).

Pizzagaina Resurrection

My cousins haven't gotten together to make pizzagaina since before COVID-- for the uninitiated, pizzagaina is a particular type of pizza rustica made with flaky pastry and stuffed with prosciutto, several kinds of ham, ricotta and various Italians cheese, and boiled eggs . . . and they are informally known to my family as "Easter pizza"-- but I am happy to say that we resurrected the tradition this year, at my cousin Geoff's house in North Brunswick and the Easter pizzas have risen again . . . we made ninety of them (and they are NOT easy to make . . . but my cousin Kim is a stern taskmaster and whipped the amateurs into shape, advising us and criticizing us on the amount of stuffing-- it always seems to be too much or too little-- the symmetry of the "toes" that seal the crust, the pressure of the "forking" the forgetting of the "fork-holes" and the ratio of boiled eggs to meat/cheese filling) and I can't explain how delicious I find these things, they are a true delicacy and it's very rare to see them in an Italian deli or market-- it seems like with pizzagaina, it's homemade or nothing (although some places sell a quiche-like pie shaped pizza rustica, but it's not the same) and I've got a bunch more in the freezer, so if you're at my house and very nice to me, maybe I'll share.

Kim, Eileen, Linda, and Cat

A Well-behaved Toddler?

Stacey and I drove up to Morristown today to visit our buddy Cunningham and her incredibly well-behaved two-year son Quinn-- this was nothing like I remembered parenting a toddler . . . this kid listened (even when I told him not to kick this soccer ball, no matter what, and I was going to walk away . . . and you better not kick it when I walk over here . . . and he actually didn't kick it-- Cunningham was like "he listens to adults" and I was like "that's crazy") and didn't grab things in stores or run into the street or throw his food when he ate-- he's a lovely little observant dude . . . and I hope when he turns thirteen he gets into vandalism, petty theft, graffitti, parkour, and loitering, so Cunningham has to do some challenging parenting.

Fuzzy Wildlife/ Fuzzy Wildlife Photography

We decided just to trim the dead material off the hollowed-out disaster-of-a-tree that resides in the back corner of our (tiny) backyard instead of taking it down entirely-- even though the price was right-- because we figured if a raccoon was living in the hollow, it would try to move into our attic if it's home were cut down . . . and days later, we realized we made the right decision, despite the bargain, when we saw this masked bandit peering down at us (although Lola our dog, despite our coaxing and entreaties, would not look up and notice who she shares the yard with).

How Many Movies Will Anora Be?

My wife and I are halfway through Best Picture winner Anora, and the vibe has shifted from pornographic-Pretty Woman to a Safdie-esque Uncut Gems bad-decisions-thriller (with some Sandler-esque silliness).

Later Children, See You in the Fourth Quarter

Ahh . . . Spring Break . . . finally . . . and so I am drinking a beer, listening to Stereolab (very calming) and writing in peace-- my wife is napping on the couch-- and I am unwinding from a chaotic day with the youth: I started the day at morning basketball and we only had nine and then Frank, one of the older guys (but not as old as me!) went down with a calf cramp and so we played four-on-four full court until exhaustion, and then by the time I got out of the shower the first bell had already rung so I hustled (as fast as I could) to first period-- and I must say that THAT Creative Class is lovely and we read aloud the riddle poems that the kids wrote, guessed, and did a food metaphor fill-in and everything was fairly mellow-- but by my second 82-minute period, the kids were starting to feel it, they knew the end was nigh . . . so I read the end of We Have Always Lived in the Castle to my sophomores and then they made horror skits and enacted them-- and they had to have a couple of classic horror tropes in the skits plus some sort of get out/stay-in debate (lesson plan straight from my podcast!) and while they were loud and nuts, they actually got the skits written and performed them-- mainly because class is endless-- and then my last Creative Class was bananas, a lot of weird bickering and overly energetic teenagers-- and I can't express enough how much I hate block scheduling because 82-minutes is WAY TOO FUCKING LONG to have a class right before Spring Break (or basically any time at all) but I survived and someday I will retire and miss this?