Bar Chatter

Bar Chatter #40
When it's not enough to make a post, but deserves to go out to the world... it's just Bar Chatter.  

It's like the new neighborhood resident thinking it's dumb that the local corner store has a 'No Alligators' sign. 

One of the big check marks of the conservative party is that there are just too many regulations. And that we get rid of them, things will just be better. Not sure why they think that but they do. And our current administration is implementing that with speed. And as a result, I think the only FOOD ITEMS not under recall or contamination watch are hydrogenated cookies, tofu and whiskey. Which for the record is not good thing. And because of how much of our needed information is currently disseminated - conspiracy theory, social media, popular TV character screed, and political operative talking point repetition - a lot of people don't quite understand just how much the U.S. government actually does for them. Er, did for them. Because recalling Garlic Powder is a systemic failure of cartoon like proportions. 

Capitalism doesn't care if you live or die unless it affects the profit margin. And we're supposed to be better than that. 

And for the record, the corner store has a 'No Alligators' sign because Ricky and Earl's Gator Farm and Boat Rental is down the road and Earl will bring The Gen'ral with him to get them two cases of beer he needs to get through the weekend if there ain't no sign. Earl respects signs. And although The Gen'ral has slimmed down as of late, running into an eight hundred pound primal beast while trying to get your scratch-offs and pack of cigs is not experience you want to have more than once. Or ever if you can arrange it.  

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?     

Once again...Last year.

Last year I described 2024 as the experience of waking up buck naked in the middle of the night in a cornfield. 

This year? Oh how I wish for that cornfield again. That was a nice cornfield. Good ears of corn too.  

Last year I watched as this country was ...reduced? Self-owned? Marginalized? Defenestrated? I need a word that captures so many things and I'm not sure that it even exists. So much happened outside of me that made me feel that my situation was trivial. Even when it wasn't. Things were not good. And last year I realized that I would have to take a leap into the darkness and just see where I land. But in what may have been some of the worst possible timing, as the ground appears to have moved the very moment my feet left it. Which, if you understand me, makes the landing part very difficult. 

But my peoples. 

For the record, I don't like to bother people. This I mean on a personal level, not professional. It's become sort of a personal flaw, to be completely honest. I have to force myself to be social. To call. To check in. To see how others are doing and being - because I really have an issue with being a bother. They're busy, they have lives and I'm just...well, me. Part of it is just being an introvert naturally, some of it learned de-socialization after I spent thirty years purposely making myself social, and lately coupled with a bit of personal shame at my current situation, it's been a real homebody just sitting around kinda season. I'm going to creatively say it was a low-key a "retreat" of sorts. Except my running partner keeps checking on me. And my cousin. And people I didn't expect to get to share company with showed back up. That last one is almost too good to be true, for a number of reasons. I need to get out more because I apparently have friends. It may have all been real. 

That need of a firm piece earth to land? Instead of just figuring it out alone...well, we'll see. 

Let's see what the year brings.  

Bird Day

Ramblings Post #415
I need a little gravy on mine. I just do. Don't ask why. It's good on the chicken, the pork-chops and the steak. Don't know why, but it is. It's a sad commentary on how I let my taste buds hijack my diet. Sad, but delicious. 

Apparently this week's assignment is the gas up the Cowboy Nation after beating Philly, with commentator after commentator suddenly seeing how the 'boys can beat Kansas City on Thursday. I am a die hard fan, as my mother puts it you would think the team pays me, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Dallas has one of the worst stretches of scheduling in the game, with Monday Night game, a Sunday game and Thursday game for three games in less than fourteen days. They've won two, and now are expecting to pull off the upset in the third? 

Um, look, my blood pressure is high enough. Its looking like Jerry might have actually known what he was doing at the trade table after all, but pulled the trigger a little too late to make it work this season. Maybe. The new look D-Line might be able to put pressure on Mahomes, and he's suspect under pressure. No matter, I will have high hopes for next season. 

But this post is about Bird Day. The last under-commericalized holiday we have. I memories of my childhood and trips to the country to see my peoples. A typical Thanksgiving spread would have included at least 3 turkeys (fried, smoked, baked), ham, chicken(fried, baked, grilled), ribs, pork chops, pulled pork, sausage, chitterlings, venison, stewed beef and various gravies. Sometimes we'd get exotic, with bear or snake, but not often. Then came the mac and cheese, yellow rice, white rice, stuffing, mashed potatoes, potato salad, and a small meatloaf (which I never ate), sometimes there is a baked ziti. Then the sides with green beans, lima beans, black eyed peas, green peas, corn, collard greens, okra along rolls, biscuits, cornbread and just regular bread. Desserts - cakes and pies, were in a whole other room. There was more, but this is what I remember. 

Grace was around two and you ate, napped, watched football, hung out with family, ate some more and that was the whole day. Neighbors and other people we knew dropped in, caught up, hung out, told stories and left toting a tin foil covered plate. 

We're not there anymore. Those loving aunts and uncles are cooking on high at this point, family has spread too far and away, finances are what they are, but the memories are a powerful thing. 

Blessings be to you and yours. May the food be good, but the company better.   

It's in a box somewhere in here

Ramblings Post #416
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'm fairly certain that I'm not gonna be five years old again any time soon, and that guy who owns that ice cream truck is more than likely retired, so my rehashing my selection like it's gonna happen again or make a major difference is moot. But still...  

Many years ago I sketched the outline for a comic book, among other things. The idea came to me in a flash - as many of my ideas do - and built upon it, concept on top of concept for months if not weeks. It was weird, anthropomorphic, based on popular college mascots at the time. That and some animals in logos of popular brands. Think of the characters from Zootopia, but less colorful or spunky or really animal like, and in a world of espionage and intrigue more like James Bond or Mission Impossible. I'd worked out a whole world, inflection points in the the history, and sketched out the story through 30 or so issues, including arcs. At one point I even tried sketching out the pages, trying my best to bring this vision in my head to life. It wasn't good. 

I wonder if I had persisted how well I'd be able to draw at this point? Hmmmm.  

In any case, I'd occasionally refine the story, creating more characters, deepening backstories and motivations, made drawings of maps of the whole planet, then smaller detailed maps of the capital cities of the various animal based factions complete with legends and then diagrams of secret bases. It's all in a folder somewhere in my house. Well, the story outlines at least, possibly the maps to now that I think about it. I need to look for it and see what I did. 

Or is this an excuse to delay my other projects instead of finishing them.  

Confidence in my own ability. That's always been my problem, second guessing myself when in those cases I proceed, I succeed. Because over time I get better. Like most of us do. Which is why I've always suggested that we should just start and understand that we will be...not good. But we will get better. 

At least, I've always suggested that to other people.  

Barkeep. The GOOD water. 

Art Lives within us All

Ramblings Post #415
Art is a thing. I know when we imagined AI's arrival, we imagined that it would take away all the drudgery and accounting jobs, not the creation of Art, our that vision in our heads made public. I've seen too many people giddy with the anticipation of "creation," as if creation is now putting five sentences into a AI engine and hitting refresh until it spits out something they like. Where is the voice? The vision? The soul? It's something, no doubt but it's not really Art. It's just...content. If you know what I mean. 

Crown of the Feast by Izere Antoine 

Good art soothes. You can see the lines, the intent, and hopefully it says something to you. I've been out for a minute, but good Art, be it written, musical, or the product of paint or pen does something to you. It should. It should tell you that you're alive. 
 

Who is you?

Who are you? 

Or rather, who am I...to me? We know the question of how we are seen by others is one rife with the idea of multiple right answers, as how you're seen depends on where you are in your life, your relationship to the observer and a half dozen other factors. You're not the same person to your life mate as you are to your old college roommate. One of them has to hide the sweets and the other is projecting from a version of you that they haven't seen in more than twenty years. No, the real question is who are you to yourself? Not the bathroom mirror you who can sing or the kitchen you whose recipes are word for word back of the box perfect, but the real you. And more importantly, who is that person...to you? 

It said you'll only going to spend your whole life with one person...YOURSELF. (Yes, very cliche.) So it is suggested that you learn to like that person. Or at least figure out how to get along. Because that person, yourself, is going to be the person who supports you, who makes sure that you get what you need, that hopefully loves you. So it's important that you know who that person really is. And not the version you show the job, or the version you show social media, or your mate, or friends. The real you. Who are they? 

That's where it gets tricky. Because part of knowing who you are to yourself is taking the time in the quiet to listen to yourself and hear what you have to say to you. In an honest and forthright fashion because lying to yourself is a special kind of silly. Tell yourself the unvarnished truth, and what hopefully will happen is you'll discover why you are. Yes, this sounds like therapy doesn't it. But, once you know the why of you, then you can start the process of becoming the intentional you and not a you that is just the product of your experiences. 

The rough part is that some of us know what we're going to say to ourselves and we're pretty sure we're not going to like it. Where we have to admit things to ourselves and deal with it. The ugly side. The unpleasant things. Our personal truths that we see as flawed. They may or may not be but we see them this way. This by the way is why far too many of us NEED our distractions - music, television, trips, going out, anything for something to do. Just like we avoid difficult conversations with other people instead of sitting with ourselves and listening we turn on some music or clean the house. For the third time this week. No, it's not that damn dusty. You just don't want to have that conversation.

Every year I implore people to do something, anything, but just be active because life is too short. This year I'm asking you sit down, with no music or television, no distractions and just listen to your own thoughts. Discover who you are. Listen to you. And try to understand who you really are, on your own terms, away from career and family, away from outside expectations and other influences. In an effort that I hope will set you on the path to becoming a very intentional version of yourself. Whatever that means to you (see what I did there?). Because life is too short to not understand who you are, to like who you are, to love who you are. 

So, who are you? 

MLK - Familiar Territory

We are supposed to be further along. Closer to making the dream a reality. 

But here we are. 

And this is looking far to close to ground we covered sixty plus years ago, only heading in the wrong direction. Right now we're standing and watching, but before long we'll be the focus as we always are. Yes, we've been betrayed, again, but we don't have a lot of options, so that anger will have to be quelled and grievances allayed, yet again. I hope that we can again find the strength of character and the courage of conviction our grandfathers had.

Last Year Was.

I feel like last year was the experience of waking up in the middle of the night in a cornfield, buck naked.

Last year was.

And no, that's not going to trail off into something resembling pithy remarks, philosophical thoughts or comedic punditry learned through struggle. To wake up in lost in cornfield you generally have to start the night off good. The year did. To end up in the cornfield, well, things have to take a wicked turn. Last year started out with hope, new challenges, new possibility and an opportunity to do some things. It ends with me at home, tired and alone, psyching myself up to take leaps into the gaping maw of the vast unknown and just see what happens.

So....let's see what happens.

So...that happened.

So, this is a little late.

I usually like to share something on my birthday. A little something imploring those around me, those of whom I share a history or who were willing to share a bit of their lifetime with me to go out and live. Life is too short to spend it mired in the minutiae of day to day existence. Because things happen.

So my father just died.

And this year I spent my birthday helping my mother make the arrangements. Because she's mom and she needed another voice, another presence. I can't be easy losing someone with whom you'd spent nearly six decades. And I will have other birthdays.

But here, in these inevitable feelings, I realize how much I've let my life become that thing - that mired in the minutiae. I self describe myself as a writer, because there are stories and tales in my head that will take up residence like mental squatters if I don't write them down. But I haven't written anything more than a few paragraphs in months. The stories are still there I just don't tell them. I used to roam the city in search of new culinary delights and secret dens of music, fun of a sort, foods yet tasted and great reads on the dusty shelf of a used book store. And I still search online for new tastes and lively events. But now I find myself frustrated with traffic and just want to get back to the little place I rest my head.

What happened to me?

It's not age. Or is it? I recognize that I maybe to old to frequent where I used to go, but I have I lost the heart to venture out to find somewhere new? Yes, the crowd I used to socialize with has become the adults as as their children grew, but isn't the city is vast and teeming with people? Yes, change comes to man and his interests as we become vintage, but surely we should not chose to grow stagnant?

So here, in this moment, in these long unvoiced feelings, I ask those of you who would bother to read my rantings to take stock of where you are in life and realize that forever is promised to none of us. So take an hour or half a day and add value to your life. Paint something. A wall or a portrait. Go somewhere. The Maldives or the park. Hell, the end of the block. Eat something different. At that restaurant you always pass or from the grocery store aisle you avoid. Try an new twist on an old recipe. Do something. Change need not be drastic. Start small. Read an article you wouldn't or download that app and write a song. Do something that will bring you joy everyday. And keep it up.

I've found those stories that I paused a while back. I'm going to make some notes and finish this draft. I'm going to make some changes. Restart some of those projects that I've set aside in favor of falling down an internet rabbit hole of fanciful trivia in lieu in sleeping or being productive. Try to find myself again. Live.  

I suggest you do the same.

What I learned in 2023

This disappeared on me. And by that I mean that I was about 700 words in yesterday, had walked away to gather my thoughts for a few hours and when I came back my computer wouldn't respond, so without thinking about it I rebooted. Lost everything. In a sense kind of like last year. Not that I lost everything everything, I still have my computer and the things I did save, just not the new thoughts that had sprung forth, the progress I'd made. Because last year I had some losses and setbacks, just like everyone else, but I'd saved a lot, and as it turns out, sometimes I'm better on the second draft.

So I'm back. It's been a minute. A very long minute. This blog started, like so many other things in life, as one idea that slowly transformed into another. Short stories, screeds and philosophy, weird ideas, political takes, poetry and art appreciation. This had been a digital space to just see what fell out of my head, to make comments about life into that vast unknown ether - partially because I didn't think the people around me would appreciate them and I tend to not want bother people unless I have to. There were the occasional screams into the digital darkness, but maybe as I've gotten older I've changed. Well, I know I changed, I lost some weight, I read some stuff from some new sources, I've pared back the dumb stuff. Still indulging too much from time to time, but also realizing my knees ain't what they used to be (I pulled a hamstring taking off my pants the other day), and that two AM is not a good time to decide to start new projects. 

But around mid-year things got hectic. And a lot of things had to happen around the same time and since this was already something I was doing out of habit, this went to the back-burner. Then the closet, I guess, although the metaphor doesn't travel. I just lost this for minute. But then a lot of the things I really did intend to this year, that I actually did mean to focus on didn't get done either (duh.) Some because of my own mental machinations. Others because of things out of my control. Some things changed and because mortgage rates went up some stayed the same. But also fulfilled a few personal promises, and finally did some things I told myself I would do when I was fifteen, but kept making excuses to myself. Things came at me fast, more than once. But that's everyone and I like to believe I rolled with the punches and came up in not too terrible a position. When I think about it now, I've actually been pretty damned lucky in a sense. But that realization makes me wonder just how much longer this luck will hold.  

I still have a million scenes to the thousand stories dancing through my head, books I want to write but...I haven't really put pen to page since I stopped updating this. I need to get out of the house more, as the pandemic (and grey hair) turned me into a serious homebody, because I'm I need to grow my circle and my contacts. (Alternatively, all my stuff is in my house, so why leave?) I've lost weight but I need to lose more, and tone up a bit. Yeah baby, sexy dad body, although I have no kids, you know what I mean. But my new schedule is making the application of basic principles of self care in that regard harder than I expected. Because yes, exercise and health is self care. Important stuff. 

To start this new year, much like I've suggested every year I've offered suggestions - go do something. Seriously. Something you hadn't done. Something you've been meaning to do. I recently watched a video of a man just a little bit older than me realize that the window of life's opportunities was closing, and the list of regular things that he'd come to enjoy was soon going to lose a few items, and that things he really wanted to do might not possible soon. It was one of those odd throwaway moments that make you think when you weren't expecting it. I have maintained for years that I have more time, next week, next month, next season, next year. That may not be completely true. And some events this year put that into very real terms.

This past year I traveled. Not just the usual back to my hometown to see my parents, although that did become a major part of my year, or to the beach or something like that. No, this year I really traveled. Like clearing customs and stepping onto another continent traveled. In my youth I'd dreamed of getting away from that small town I grew up in and seeing the world. But my history had been when I had the time I didn't have the resources. And by the time I had gathered the resources I'd reached a opinion that work took precedence. Add in that I had never wanted to travel alone, I had wanted that mythical HER to be by my side. Just like it's not the food it's who you're eating it with, I'd developed the opinion that traveling was about the memories, and wanted my memories to make my heart sing. But that someone special part hasn't worked out for me like I'd hoped. She has her own plans. So last year when the opportunity came to go somewhere, I leapt at it anyway. And this year I'm going to do it again.

This year I take on new career challenges. I had been slowly building a career that I'd fallen into. I tend to get into what I'm doing, slowly building up momentum until the work becomes something else. That track, in keeping with the metaphor, got derailed this year. So again, I'm starting over. But starting over wiser, maybe more seasoned to how life is supposed to work. We'll see. But then again I realize that I'd taken that type of work because it was a quiet thing after a period of professional chaos. A quiet where I could focus and in that process I had let myself slip on so many levels. But I've always been professionally flexible and adapt quickly, and expect this new thing will push me to be better. And I need to be as good as I can be. Before I can't.  

Time is running out. This past year made it clear that my time and my luck won't last forever. And that I need to start chasing those dreams and doing those things I've been hesitating about, that I've been waiting for the right window of opportunity. I can't imagine how many variations on my future I've let die on the vine waiting for things I didn't have the audacity to begin. So as someone who has spent far too long getting ready for things to come, I need you to go out tonight and eat at that place you've thought about. Tell your loved ones they matter. Plan that trip. Start your journal, your side business, your religious awakening, your charity, your DYI project, your spaceship, your home brew, your exercise routine, to learn to cook, to learn a new language, to dance, to start walking, to mentor, go dancing, go camping, go the chili cook-off, join an improv group or try out for the national curling team. Just go do something, time is not your friend.

So that's what I learned in 2023. Go forth and do.

Art is a thing...

Ramblings Post #414
Art is a thing. I know when we imagined AI's arrival, we imagined that it would take away all the drudgery and accounting jobs, not the chasing of art. I've seen too many people giddy with the anticipation of "creation," if creation is now putting five sentences into a AI engine and hitting refresh until it spits out something they like. Or telling the AI to write a good book about subject X and to put this part and that part in it and feeling that they'd done something. It's something, no doubt...but it's not really Art. If you know what I mean.  

by Alisha Petrova - Orange mood

This might just be AI for all I know. I hope Alisha is still about that brush and strokes but this is nice, clean and calming. There is something about that skin tone in that color that is just striking though. 

by Don Lawrence

This is just feels fun. I may have to inquire about a print for this one, it's vibrant and alive and I don't know what to say. I like the hair, the color, her expression. I don't know if I have the appropriate space for it though. Like this is too much for my much subdued personal space. 

by Mike Machira

So simple, yet so nice. Colorful in her expression, in her posture, while muted in it's palette. Okay, I also have a thing for women with short hair too. To me, short or no hair on a woman is evidence of an inner self confidence, one that in a time when women use their "crown" to express themselves tells me that the person trusts their face, trusts who they are. Well, not Jada Pinkett-Smith, but all the rest of them.  

Barkeep, what wines do you have? I'd like something with a citrus, if you have it.