Allow Me To Sharpen My Quill

Ramblings Post #421
With age comes wisdom. Or regret. If given the option, I suggest you chose wisdom, as regret is messy and can't easily be fixed. It leaves you pondering What ifs and Could Have Beens. Whereas wisdom could involve a number of things including riches, adventures, great memories, hospital bills, weird scars, limps and the ability to confidently snort when somebody says something you've seen from the wrong end of an extended conversation in a language you don't understand. Don't ask, just accept this wisdom.   

Imagination should feel real. 

So, my brother ran some of my writing through AI and apparently I'm pretty good. I think. Well, maybe. Okay, I'm not completely sure. 

Let me explain. 

I've been writing, mostly for myself, since I was young. I started on the back of old unused ticket books in the back of my father's business and have since graduated to word-processor, although I still for some reason keep my copious notes and ideas on the backs of envelopes and post it notes. It's weird, I am well aware, because I have purchased notebooks to keep my notes in. But there is something about a scribbled note on the back of something. I'll even fold a blank sheet of paper in half to simulate an envelope. I really need to stop that. 

In any case, my brother was evaluating his own writing and constructed a rather elaborate prompt to give himself some feedback. Then I guess as a control, he ran something I sent him - I sent it to see if it held up as a story - and out popped a "review." It was only the first half I think, so it's kinda truncated in its evaluation, but I'm curious.  First, reading through that evaluation did get me to start my next draft, so if that was his plan -- it worked. Second, the output gives me a bit a pause, because reading it and then going back to the actual text I see a few "questionable items" in the critique. Which is odd, because it's the much vaunted AI, and I didn't think it was supposed to make the "errors" that it made. 

The story in question is alternate history fiction set in the 60s. And since our hero is black there should be some tension felt. One of the scenes involves my main character and a new friend bonding over rebuffing a character making racist statements. The AI saw this as giving my character encountering a chance properly address racism, which is true in part. But the scene was mostly to show how this world in which the story differs from our own, referencing several historical changes while avoiding an exposition dump. So, some of what it missed is that nuance, which I would expect it to miss. My issue is that AI confused the location with another setting, as the exposition/confrontation took place chapters before where the AI thought it did. 

Later, one of the supporting cast is encouraged to broaden how they view events by someone who has been in a similar situation. Up until that point, the supporting character had been narrowly focused as a contrast to the main, and I needed something to get there viewpoint to take on the broader scale of the story. The AI read it as a scene where a strong character got unneeded encouragement, undercutting them, not as a headstrong character being enlightened as why her focus was misdirected. It's not as egregious as the first critique, as again it's a nuance that I wouldn't have expected the Machine Learning to catch. And the suggestion I re-write or excise the entire character was troubling. So the AI wasn't quite the reviewer it originally looked to be. 

It also missed what I thought were pretty obvious early red flags for how my villain was shaped. It called them too "likeable" which was the whole point - the character was supposed to be a certain type of charming before the rug pull. So I'm not sure how to take that at all - properly disguised? Hidden so well the Machine couldn't see it? Poorly written? Ugh. 

But..., it did say I had a deft touch for story telling and comedy, as well as some promising talent that needed a good editor. Which I did like (insert schoolgirl giggle here). I appear to be a sucker for flattery. Appearances are not deceiving. In any case, I need my text in hand and printing out the bones of my current draft cost way more than I expected at FedEx this morning, so I need to get my printer fixed or get a new one. And after my morning duties - exercise, breakfast, search, clean - I will shortly be back at authoring. Attempting to author. Writing. 

Barkeep. Ice water. I need to keep my head clear. And three shots of whiskey. I need my imagination hot. 

Good Memories are the stuff of Life

It’s starting to feel like good memories are getting harder to come by.

I watched the NBA Finals with my mom. I'd ridden down to take care of a few things and she sat up with me and watched the whole game, cheering on the Knicks. I was hoping Wemby would show us something, but I chose poorly. She normally calls it a night early, but that night we sat up until morning watching hoops, listening to commentators and talking it up.

I had lunch with Sporty. At a little cafe just north of Grant Park on a breezy afternoon where we just sat and enjoyed each other's company. At least I enjoyed hers, I hope she enjoyed mine. I'm terrified that one day she'll look at me and wonder why she wasted her time. But for now, it was the kind of afternoon that just hung around not wanting it to be over.

Oh, and my knee feels better. It had been a serious concern as the pain seemed to be lingering. My over active imagination had already had it amputated and me sporting a pirate peg, but some judicious heat and a resumption of some degree of exercise has cause the pain and stiffness to start to lessen. Two weeks from now, I'll need a new excuse to avoid those marathons. 

Not a great list. 

This would be the part where I "suggest" you go things, because memories are where you make them, and although my house seems to be where all my stuff, the only memories I'm creating there are related to digital quests - some of which have sat idle for years now. I am going to finish at least one of these video games, I promise this myself. I invested years ago when things were more flush, but now they just wait for the that urge to come back.

Similarly, I'm not really writing right now. Sure, the small one off or the interesting writing prompt from places that provide such, but not the novels, novellas and epic drama type things that still flood my imagination. Don't get me wrong, I still have the ideas and I definitely still jot them down. I have notes on notes, half thought out ideas on sticky pads and envelopes and whatever. But the need to sit down and just craft a complex tale is apparently a passenger in the car my urge to play video games is driving. And neither one wants to ask for directions. Or check their GPS.

Some of this ennui is the politics of the moment. We all knew it would get bad, but not...this. Blatant. Cruel. Silly. And just plain ole' disrespectful to the basic intelligence of the average human. 

Some of it coming to grips with parts of me that I’m just finding out about. I’ve always operated to my problems are my fault, but recently some conversations – about family and my own tricky internal narration, have revealed other quirks, things I couldn’t see about myself. And putting two and forty-seven together, it’s opened my eyes. And some of it is unsettling.  

Some of it is my circumstances, which teeter back and forth between hope and the unease of uncertainty. We all exist in a state of uncertainty, but lately it's been different. And as an overthinker, calculating all the possible bad outcomes - I don't really do good outcomes - has gotten exhausting.

So...what now?

First, I'm gonna have this Red Velvet cupcake. It's my birthday.

Then, as I've said before. Go do something. Life doesn't fix itself; we're not going to get out of wherever the hell this is by sitting still. So do it - whatever it is you've been plotting or putting off. I started an Etsy store. I need to figure out how to stop paying for my Shopify store. You need to go join that run club. Or start walking around your block in the morning. I need to get back to writing the novel stuff. You need to start a cooking vlog. Maybe just cook something new. Or start learning French. Or begin a Lego collection. Or try reading a book a week - even if it's just the self-help ones. Or call your brother, or sister or that auntie that you haven't seen in a minute. I should join a league of some sort. Or start one. Throw out all your expired food. Volunteer for something. Run for office. Learn to play an instrument. Take that certain someone to lunch. But go make those good memories.

Because those memories that soothe the soul are just getting harder and harder to come by.  

These Knees Are No Longer Under Factory Warranty

Ramblings Post #420
You only get the one life. Or so I've been told. We'll never really know, but it just seems odd in the vast universe that this consciousness only exists for a universal second. If that. I hope they're wrong. I just do. I have so much more to do with this scrap of life I've been granted. 

Two weeks ago I feel down some stairs. My leg still hurts. 

Let me back up. A month ago I woke up and as I got out of bed, realized that my leg looked different. Like thinner. Looking back it amazes me that I didn't notice the weight loss. And since the amount is probably around seventy or so pounds, I wonder how that's even possible. 

I've lost weight before - deliberately - but this looks different. This isn't a slimming down, this is entering "are you ok?" level of change. My people know what that means. And I'm not sure I'm really OK. Yes, I did see a doctor, but I need to go back for a follow up. Ugh. And just so you know when you lose this much weight, a lot of things change that you weren't expecting besides just how you look. My eyes changed enough that I need eyeglass prescription. Nothing fits, and that includes underwear with elastic. Your muscle mass changes. And as it turns out, your joints change too, as the cushion that was there dissipates. On the bright side, my blood pressure is down. 

In any case, I started working out in the mornings, early before I do anything else. It's soothing in a way, the almost mechanical rhythm. and it gets me stretched, something else I'm concerned about as I get older. And that day I think I tweaked something. No, I'm not lifting super-heavy weights, just trying to make sure I don't collapse under my own, well, lack of weight. I have a skeletal appearance right now, at least to me. A little more muscle wouldn't hurt.  

Then I went to lunch meeting and leaving said meeting, which went well otherwise, my right knee called a general strike. That put me at the base of some concrete stairs looking foolish. I was later able to hobble the block or so back to my car, but I was determined to take it easy. I mean, it wasn't that bad of a fall. 

Note - I was incorrect. 

So now, I'm emulating my mother, sitting on a stool to cook rather than stand. Actually I'm worse than my mom, as she can stand to wash dishes and I'm dragging that stool around scared to put any weight on it. I discovered I owned a heating pad. That may be one of the greatest inventions of all time. I've come to realize Aspirin is useless. I'm discovering food in my freezer I forgot about to avoid going up and down the porch steps and walking around the grocery store. I need to go down those stairs and find me a knee brace. I've avoided at least two invites for meetups and my favorite monthly (she knows) because I'm a little embarrassed by getting old. Oh, and nothing fits either, but mostly the hobbling thing.

I've got to stop dreaming and start doing. 

Barkeep. Water with lemon. I haven't stopped drinking, but there are some days I need to grow out of.  
 

Where we all are...

Ramblings Post #419
May you live in interesting times. It's supposed to be an old curse.

Let's see....Cheato went to war without any kind of authorization and Congress is either too scared or bought off to do anything about it. Iran's defenses are currently decentralized with individual orders so they could continue firing their missiles and drones for 30 - 45 days no matter what. Khamenei wanted to die as he had cancer and had commented his body was failing, more he went home instead of to the secure bunker - now he's a martyr to his faith and something his followers can rally around. We've effectively abandoned our long term regional allies and the enemy has effectively closed the Straight of Hormuz, cutting off 20% of the world's oil. More interestingly we've also cut off 90% of the food supply for the UAE, Qatar, Kuwait and large parts of Saudi Arabia. They'll try to shift to the Red Sea for transport but there is no infrastructure on that side of the country so it won't be easy. Add in the inability to traverse and move oil or LNG through the Straight puts our Arab allies into a cash crunch, which affects us here aside from gas prices since the whole of the American economy is currently being financed by large investments in AI by.....our Arab allies. Who we just abandoned. 

Epstein files. 

Toss in that our military has no plan other than bomb and fire missiles, which as it turns out we're running out of because nobody realized that manufactures can't just ramp up production with a snap of their fingers. Not realizing you have to give suppliers an opportunity to plan for this makes me wonder how these yokels run businesses. Then, surprise, our leaders can't get their story straight as why we went in AND classified briefings are scaring those privy to the information. Bonus, a few loons IN COMMAND IN THE MILITARY are calling it the war the start Armageddon. That's a yikes. And, despite our official totals of minimal losses (from an administration who couldn't tell the truth if the sky was blue), non-American sources are putting the real figures in triple digits AND there was a job listing for sorting personal effects of casualties that got snatched down quick as wink.

Nobody knows what's really going on as the conservative influencers have started to flood the zone with AI slop to either encourage support or hide the damage. Oh, and to put the cherry on top - I'm constipated. 

I think that's it for now, but let's see what tomorrow brings. 

Barkeep. Whiskey. Sprite if you got it. Two cubes. Sigh.  

Art is in the Moment and that Moment is Now

Ramblings Post #418
Art is a thing. Art is time and energy and talent wrought from brush stroke, chisel, and concept wrought from the very ether into something that inspires, that finds our soul and says this is part of the universe that you can see through my eyes. So, yeah, I have some deep thoughts about art. 

by Oladipupo Odelola - Glow of Hope

I saw a social media post which asked do single men go to museums, to art shows, to parks? One of my bucket list items was to spend a week at the Smithsonian (before old boy touched it) but I realize now that as much as love art I haven't gone to any. I think some of it is my reluctance to experience in solo. Go alone they say, don't let the lack of companionship limit you. And that's a great idea, except most of my existence is alone... and maybe I want those moment to be shared. You kinda have to be there. 

Barkeep. A water. Yeah, a water, I'm growing older and wiser. And have probably gotten a little light weight, shhhh.   

So, this morning...

Ramblings Post #417
There is a tendency of mine to revisit myself. To look back at my life to understand why I did what I did and how to either repeat or avoid that past outcome. This self reflection is probably something I need to do less of, as I know I am an overthinker, letting my mind wander down paths of possibilities less likely than chocolate covered BBQ chicken wings. But still...  

I spent a few hours this morning thinking I was no more. 

Let me explain. Earlier this week I read a piece of short horror fiction - it was on social media platform, maybe a thousand words or so. It chronicled a woman who doomscrolling one night found her own house listed for sale. And in trying to figure out if someone had stolen her deed, she realized that she had been unalived but that she was still just going through the motions of life. It was kind of haunting, a lil' different but nothing big. Or so I thought.  

So last night, around 4am or so I awoke with start, convinced that something had happened. That first awakening may have been part of the dream...it's complicated. In any case, I thought that the reaper had come. I had that moment in my chest where I think I'm falling, or someone is pulling me and I'm decidedly not ready to go anywhere. Left side of the bed oblivion awaits. I saw like a floating screen of my "final score" with name, points, total asset value (which was kinda low in retrospect) as though you get a sort of a closeout grade to compare with folks you'll see on the Otherside. Maybe. At some point I'm stumbling around and went to the bathroom and just kinda had to think about some stuff. Standing up, so at that I am more than fairly certain I was awake. And then I went and laid down again, curled up in my comforter not entirely certain of my status. Had I? How would I know? It's one of those things that happens when you live alone too long I guess. 

I checked my phone. 

Looking back I get that it didn't exactly help that lady in the story, but I guess that's where we are now. But who do you call at 4am with a non-emergency emergency? Who would understand, especially since nobody is familiar with the original story I probably shouldn't have actually read as a proper context for evaluation? Lying there in the dark a little afraid to do anything was not cool. 

I'm of the age where things just...happen. You get a notification of this person or that person is no longer with us and it just so sudden. And the stress of our current situation as a country, plus my current situation as a person, has me stressed in ways that aren't conducive to someone trying to get ready to run an ultra marathon or prepare for the Olympics. Neither of those categories includes me by the way, but if it ain't good for them, it surely isn't good for me either. I've been slacking on my working out - I had been pretty diligent - as other things in life keep creeping up and let's just say my focus has been split. I just did my personal fit check and found myself...lacking. I started on tightening up some things, but had I been too late? Then my morning alarm went off, which currently is radio, which my imagination started interpreting as "signs from the universe," as I found all kinds of secret messages meant only for me in every song lyric. 

This morning, at 5am, I lay in bed, unable to sleep, holding my phone wondering if I was a character in a horror story. 

I just need the next chapter in my life to start already. Damn. 

Barkeep. You have any of that "mushroom coffee" jazz?