skepticlysm

Tag: blog

  • TL;DR

    TL;DR

    • Supposed to.
    • Not suppose to.
    • The d is important.
    • …
    • Yesterday, driving back from my uncle’s 70th birthday party, I thought about the term “supposed to” a lot.
    • Specifically, I thought about it through the lens of how we’re “supposed to” operate in society.
    • You’re supposed to want things.
    • To want the same things.
    • Big houses.
    • New cars.
    • Fancy clothes.
    • You’re supposed to want to get ahead in a career.
    • To aspire to wealth.
    • And power, I guess.
    • You’re supposed to agree with everyone.
    • To follow the flock.
    • Giggle with the gaggle.
    • Goddamn, I have never been good at it.
    • I have tried.
    • I have tried so hard.
    • All my life.
    • Most of my interactions with everything professional has been me pretending, trying to fit in, trying to be liked and seen.
    • Because I don’t fit in naturally.
    • And some part of me knows that, and is desperate to not be alone because he can’t understand what’s wrong with him.
    • But trying to be what you’re supposed to be is hard.
    • …
    • Hell, I wonder if burnout is this.
    • We’re “supposed to” be more and more productive, and all the fucking media I see in my threads tries to make me feel awful if I’m not striving to be more productive.
    • (insert Peter’s rant from Office Space)
    • I wonder if this is why I react the way I do about AI.
    • I can see AI as a tool to help me refine some of my thinking and creative ideas.
    • Kinda.
    • But the flip side of that is it’s refining ideas toward the Great Average.
    • Which won’t be making me more productive, it’ll be making me more intellectually and creatively lazy in the long-term.
    • (The science on creativity says it’s a muscle, btw, and one everyone has.)
    • If you’re using AI as a tool to augment your productivity, to have it replace some of your more rote work output, why the hell are you doing that “work” in the first place?
    • Which lands us back in Supposed To-land.
    • All this shit we’re supposed to be doing is leeching our humanity and our lives.
    • Sucking all the joy and meaning away.
    • When I think about this stuff driving the car, it’s because I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
    • Why can I not just do what is expected?
    • Why do I not get satisfaction from the expected?
    • (I’m aware this isn’t just me and I’m not trying to be a precious little flower, but I can’t speak for anyone else, so here we are.)
    • For three weeks after college graduation, I got to hang out with my cousins, Brandi and Josh, in the outskirts of Chicago (and also Las Vegas).
    • I bought two CDs on that trip.
    • 1) Evil Empire by Rage Against the Machine
    • 2) When I Woke by Rusted Root
    • While Rusted Root played, Brandi and I talked about something, though I can’t remember exactly what, but she paused mid-sentence while flipping through the CD-book, and said, “I’d like to hang out with these guys.”
    • At the time, I thought, Brandi, you crazy.
    • Now?
    • She was right this whole fucking time.
    • We were at Mumford & Sons last night and while I listened to the lyrics, I kept imagining them sitting around a studio strumming their guitars and chatting about life and music and how they must feel so goddamn fulfilled by what they’re doing.
    • Yes, yes, I can do those things in my “spare” time.
    • No time is spare.
    • Creation is not less than, and it sure as hell has immense value.
    • I’m not opposed to working, mind you.
    • Creating anything is work.
    • But doing something someone else has determined the organization needs is not what I’m … supposed to … be doing.
    • It isn’t.
    • I’m not wired for that.
    • I do it anyway.
    • Because I’m scared of being destitute.
    • Full stop.
    • That’s the whole reason I have worked for something else my entire life.
    • Something.
    • Because businesses are not fucking people.
    • The same as AI aren’t.
    • Think about this.
    • You have a job, your career.
    • How often do you determine what you do on any given day?
    • Are you far enough up the food chain you get to decide how to spend your day?
    • Do YOU set your tasks?
    • Sure, there are days where you’re given a task and allowed to complete it how you see fit.
    • But how much agency do you have in choosing that thing?
    • Food for thought.
    • Food for myself and my family, a roof over their heads.
    • When I look around, there’s not a lot of things I want anymore.
    • Stuff.
    • There are some. I am a consumerist, after all, but things.
    • Physical things.
    • Not a lot of those.
    • There are plenty of things I want to DO though.
    • I want to see Ghent in Belgium, and to go to European holiday markets, not to buy stuff, but to live moments.
    • Yes, many of those moments have people in them.
    • Most.
    • I’d rather trade something I wanted to make for those moments.
    • I want to make art, to sell stories built from my imagination and words.
    • I want to talk to other people in my craft about what we’re creating, and then I want to talk to the people who hopefully have enjoyed what I’ve created about how it affected them.
    • I want to learn to make and play music.
    • I want to paint.
    • And build shit.
    • I want to live doing the things that bring me solace.
    • But … living the here and now is surviving by doing assignments other people give me until I’m used up and reach that government mandated retirement age, a number chosen by those who already have enough funds to buy their freedom and agency.
    • Life’s being suppressed by “supposed to,” squashed by the consumer economy and all the tasks we’ve been assigned to survive in it.
    • I’m not making a political statement.
    • I’m talking about our entire modern way of life.
    • This is not how it is supposed to be.
    • There is plenty.
    • Your value and worth are not your assigned hourly-wage.
    • Which brings us back to that other album I bought in Chicago, Evil Empire.
    • (And I’m sitting here wondering if an examination of Zack’s lyrics is a detour from today’s theme. Maybe yes, maybe no.)
    • So … I won’t.
    • I highly recommend going to read his words on that album, or hell, stick your headphones on and listen to it audio book-style.
    • Zack’s a goddamn prophet.
    • And he’s rebelling against “supposed to” in every way.
    • I have struggled with it my whole life, wrestled with the fear of being poor, of being a failure.
    • More internally than externally.
    • I’ll go do what I need to do, but inside, it’s a maelstrom.
    • That scene of Agent Smith talking to Morpheus while the latter is chained to the chair.
    • That. That moment.
    • And before you go, “Well, why don’t you just do what you want?”
    • Goddamn what a dismissal that kind of thing is.
    • What an uninformed, unempathetic take to have on someone else’s situation.
    • We have to stop trying to make other people fit in the boxes we build in our heads.
    • We alike, but we are not the same.
    • You’re supposed to have empathy.
    • You’re supposed to have the opportunity to be fulfilled.
    • To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
    • Not to provide value for stakeholders.
    • TL;DR: fuck “supposed to.”
    • Thanks for stopping by.
  • The Hourglass of Wasted Years

    The Hourglass of Wasted Years

    • Up until you get to the word “peace,” the bullets were written on the Word app on my phone a week ago two weeks ago yesterday.
    • So, with my thumbs. In a car.
    • I sent these to Hamby on his birthday.

    :begin transmission…

    • “Conan, what is best in life?”
    • “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.”
    • “Good!”
    • What? Ohhhh. Conan Gray.
    • Imma wait in the car. You kids have fun.
    • Okay, but for real, I am waiting in the car reading while they’re at the show. In Kansas City at the Starlight Theatre.
    • And I’m listening to Iron Maiden.
    • “Wasted Years.”
    • And then “Sea of Madness.”
    • I’m going back to my book now.
    • Peace.

    :end transmission.

    • I didn’t really listen to Iron Maiden much.
    • (That night.)
    • Because I could hear the crowd singing every word of every song that Gray gentleman sang.

    See video.

    • Sounded like a musical European football match.
    • They had an amazing time.
    • Steph recounted the moment where the guy took stage and all the crowd in line for swag, refreshments, and the bathrooms screamed and sprinted for their seats.
    • I imagine that’s what it was like during The Beatles era.
    • I remember us rushing the stage and pushing all the folding chairs to the ground at my first Metallica concert, but I don’t remember any outright sprinting or screaming.
    • Then again, my memory’s getting spotty.
    • Brain infection.
    • Moose out front should’ve told ya’.
    • (I get at least a year leaning on the brain infection excuse.)
    • (No, I’m not asking.)
    • I wrote 800 words about AI and military deployment on American soil.
    • You’re not going to get to read it.
    • What’s the point?
    • All this shit at the same time.
    • All my shit at the same time as this shit.
    • Can get overwhelming.
    • I assume I’m already on the List.
    • I think I’m happy that song I mentioned two weeks ago wasn’t AI-generated.
    • Much less creepy.
    • Tracy mentioned she wished she could’ve seen me when that happened.
    • I’ll tell you about it.
    • I was typing something, and then I heard my name.
    • Stopped typing.
    • Aloud, “What the fuck?”
    • Not Loud, because work.
    • And then I kinda looked around my office, maybe sorta waiting to see if anything else was going to talk to me.
    • I might’ve wished it did.
    • I’ve wanted to do one of those ARGs like depicted in Fincher’s The Game.
    • Even played a video game … 20+ years ago that did a lot of that.
    • Called “Majestic.”
    • I think about ARGs all the time.
    • I feel like a read about one where they kidnap you, drive you across town, dump you, and you have to get back to “base” without being caught.
    • I thought it would be cool to have one like that here where you have to get from one side of downtown to the other in a designated amount of time without getting shot with nerf guns.
    • Like an escape room, except your friends are hunting you.
    • Probably higher tech ways to do that, but …
    • Going to be part of the LLC.
    • Yo.
    • I forgot my earbuds … one day last week.
    • (Full admission, I keep writing lists, but not finishing, and then saving them as “unpublished.”)
    • I don’t remember what day last week I started this one, but … well, nevermind. It was a week ago today.
    • And why is “nevermind” not one word?
    • It’s said as one word.
    • I’m sure it was “never you mind” or something Little Old House on the Prairie.
    • Anyway, yeah, yeah, I forgot my earbuds, which is fucking awful.
    • That would seem to make them the second most important piece of tech I own.
    • (I guess I can include the phone, since the buds don’t really work without the phone. Goddamn phone.)
    • Another thing I hate to admit, but this MacBook Air I have is my all-time favorite thing to write on.
    • Other than journals.
    • Journals are the best.
    • And I’d be doing more of that, but holding a pen doesn’t feel great at the moment.
    • I will overcome!
    • Or some shit.
    • Okay, this is the point where I started adding new shit.
    • Consecutive Mondays.
    • I’m listening to the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 soundtrack by Hans Zimmer.
    • The music is way better than the game.
    • Been listening to it in the car, too, which is kinda funny.
    • Dramatic scores for your driving needs.
    • Makes me want the five-point seatbelt.
    • Last Friday, I got off early because I’d done back-to-back 11-hour days.
    • Sat in the recliner and read the newest issue of Wired.
    • There’s a story in there by Steven Levy about what’s happened to Silicon Valley.
    • Story’s interesting.
    • To me, anyway.
    • But it got to me in a bunch of ways.
    • There’s the presence Wired has had in my life.
    • It inspired my decision to switch from Pre-Med to Journalism.
    • Dumb, but … true.
    • No, that wasn’t the only reason.
    • Most of the writing in Wired in the ‘90s felt like a tech-addled Gonzo publication.
    • Which leads us to Hunter, who also had a huge influence on my attempt to be a professional writer.
    • I know I mentioned that memory before, lying on my side in the hallway of whatever the hell building it was (I’m looking at the map, but it’s not telling me), reading Fear and Loathing and laughing so hard I was crying.
    • I wanted to write like Hunter.
    • I wanted to be in Wired.
    • I wanted to have a column like Dave Barry.
    • Didn’t do one goddamn bit of it.
    • Sure, I was a film columnist for 11 years.
    • Sure, I’ve been editor-in-chief of four or five magazines.
    • Why did I not try to write for one of those publications?
    • Maybe I wasn’t good enough, but I don’t think that’s the reason.
    • The Why is … I never tried.
    • And as the sand runs through the hourglass, I feel despondent and desperate about it.
    • Maybe “Do Not Go Gentle” should really be “Do Not Stand and Watch.”
    • It’s so easy to be taken off track from your dreams in this world.
    • So easy because you have to make a living, right?
    • You have to be productive.
    • Produce, motherfuckers.
    • And to the hells with your fulfillment!
    • And this is the revelation I’ve had about work, and I’m embarrassed it’s taken me this long.
    • Do your job.
    • Think about that statement.
    • You have to have a job.
    • At your job, you do what they want you to do.
    • Sure, there’s problem solving involved.
    • You think about how to do that task.
    • But that thinking is about that thing.
    • Is that thing you’re thinking about personally fulfilling?
    • Most of us aren’t really asked to … think.
    • It’s to their benefit.
    • You get the check, sure.
    • And the … Benefits.
    • But the agreement is you’re there for them, not you.
    • I have felt, all my life, there’s a box I’m trying to break from.
    • My mind and desires, my limbs and sanity, pressing against some confinement I cannot see or touch or taste.
    • The fear of being poor has a crushing grip upon me, unseen chains and shackles.
    • That fear keeps you, well, me, from taking the chances I should.
    • And again, I can see the sand running short.
    • There’s a bit of spiced panic.
    • I shouldn’t be sharing this crap.
    • This bit of a journal that’s personal therapy.
    • Saw this thing on Insta today, and I’m going to retype it because I want the vid shared.
    • “Fall in love with some activity, and do it!
    • “Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn’t matter. Explore the world.
    • “Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into deeply enough. Work as hard and as much as you want to on the things you like to do the best.
    • “Don’t think about what you want to be, but what you want to do. Keep up some kind of a minimum with other things so that society doesn’t stop you from doing anything at all.”*
    • – Richard Phillips Feynman
    • Oof.

    *Fun facts about quote marks. You don’t close them off at the end of the paragraph if the same person continues to speak. You save it for when they’re finished.

    No, it’s not a football match.

  • Epistolary Nonsense

    Epistolary Nonsense

    • Belt
    • I don’t know why it says “belt.”
    • This document’s been open for days.
    • I mean, yes, I need a new belt.
    • Had to get one in Minnesota, and it sucks.
    • Might as well be plastic.
    • Okay, maybe I remember.
    • Facebook heard me say belt, so I’ve been getting a lot of belt ads, which is funny, because I don’t even have the Facebook app on my phone.
    • Anyway.
    • It showed me one I liked, so I clicked.
    • Pretty sure it’s coming from China.
    • Pass on that.
    • Not because I’m opposed to having China make my belt, but because I don’t want to wait on it for two or three weeks.
    • That’s one thing Prime did to me for sure.
    • NOW! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!
    • Maybe “belt” was the start of an incomplete to-do list?
    • I do have a to-do list in my journal.
    • There’s a bunch of creative projects on there at the moment.
    • I have a bunch of list stuff in there, period.
    • And I’ve lost the ability to remember if I’ve already written those up and sent them out in the ether.
    • I could go reread the old lists.
    • Scan, really.
    • But then it becomes like walking through a door and forgetting what you came in there for.
    • Let’s get serious.
    • Caramel.
    • Apple.
    • Empanadas.
    • Fuck yes.
    • The Wife actually called me on the phone to ask me if I’d seen they were back.
    • I had not.
    • We scratched the itch.
    • They are just as delicious as I remember.
    • And that marketing campaign.
    • Oof.
    • “Relive Y2k”
    • I mean, yes please?
    • The Matrix was right.
    • 1999 was the peak of human civilization.
    • Saturday, driving up Harvard, I saw someone whom I presume was homeless.
    • I also assume it was a woman.
    • Who had her backside hanging entirely out.
    • Some kind of shredded black shirt, red thong.
    • Footwear.
    • I mean, yes, it was hot.
    • I get it.
    • But I felt like probably she needed some help.
    • I get the feeling of being unsafe some might have being around the homeless.
    • 99 percent of them need help.
    • (I have hands-on experience working with this population.)
    • But we’re all convinced that despite not being asked to be born, you’re only value to society is … work.
    • Fucked up.
    • Something else that happened while driving …
    • Slayer’s “Seasons in the Abyss.”
    • I’m not a huge Slayer fan.
    • But I love that song.
    • (Okay, “love” is a strong word.)
    • And it is appropriate on a Monday morning commute.
    • “Step outside yourself and let your mind go …”
    • “Close your eyes and forget your name …”
    • No?
    • Maybe just me then.
    • Over the weekend, I saw someone post about Harry Potter night at the Driller’s game.
    • Harry Potter Night … at … a … baseball game.
    • I mentioned that to the kid.
    • She said, “What’s wrong with that?”
    • That right there is the difference in generations.
    • Sure, Quidditch, a sport, is a huge part of those books, but … in my day, magic and sports did not mix.
    • “As you go insane, go insannnneeeeee.”
    • My office door sticks.
    • Standing there with my coffee in one hand, keys in the lock, turning, and nothing happens because the door has swollen in its frame.
    • For real, if you want me to not go in, I’ll do that.
    • What if after a Zoom meeting, I can’t get out.
    • I’m on the fourteenth bloody floor.
    • There’s no jumping.
    • And don’t get me started about Zoom and Teams meetings under a no-WFH mandate.
    • Control.
    • Lately, when AI comes up, my brain sticks me into that sequence from Joe Vs. The Volcano when he’s going into work.
    • Gray and drudgery.
    • And I’m back in that spot where I don’t understand the techbro need to replace creatives.
    • You can’t smash out the creative impulse just because you want to make another buck.
    • Art is the soul of humanity.
    • Why do you think there are cave paintings?
    • Just one of the things happening today … I’m researching yoga.
    • I’ve talked about that before.
    • On the work list, not this one.
    • I need to be doing that.
    • Prednisone withdrawals are wrecking my joints at the moment.
    • I’m in this stage where they hurt so bad, I feel the need to stretch them incessantly.
    • I dropped an earbud.
    • Getting down to get it was excruciating.
    • This shit better end.
    • That’s all I’m saying.
    • From time to time, I stick Spotify in Lyric mode.
    • Today, during Anthrax’s “I Am The Law,” it called him Judge Drucker instead of Dredd, and said, “Druck it” instead of Drokk.
    • Joey’s not mispronouncing anything.
    • Spotify’s lyric AI sucks.
    • And you should not trust it.
    • It’ll have you singing “Dirty Deeds and the Thunderchief.”
    • Another thing I saw the other day …
    • This clothing company called Other.
    • Saw they were doing some Metallica apparel.
    • I followed them.
    • Yeah, $100 t-shirts.
    • Wtaf.
    • Sorry, sirs, but that’s “getting tricked by biz-ness.”
    • …
    • I came up with a new short story idea the other day.
    • First one in a long time.
    • The Book does not allow me to cheat on it creatively.
    • I’m going to have to write this one, however.
    • Might be epistolary.
    • Can journal entries be considered epistolary?
    • Whatever, that’s the format I’m thinking.
    • Only if I do it that way, dialogue might we weird.
    • (I might be overthinking that part.)
    • Bat!
  • The $5.98 Blog Post

    The $5.98 Blog Post

    • Starship ain’t what it used to be.
    • When “we” were kids, Starship Records and Tapes sat in a small, converted house off 11th & Delaware.
    • Place was yellow and blue on the outside and had a really pointy roofline.
    • Smelled like weed on the inside.
    • Full of bongs.
    • Sorry.
    • Paraphernalia.
    • I’m pretty sure I bought my “Crash Course in Brain Surgery” t-shirt there in ninth grade.
    • (Metallica cover of Budgie.)
    • …waitaminute…
    • You don’t think …
    • …
    • …
    • Nah.
    • Anyway, had fond memories of the place from the two or three times I visited.
    • A while back, they moved.
    • Kinda over by Mother Road Market off Lewis.
    • The kid’s into traditional vinyl records, so I thought we could go.
    • And she could practice driving.
    • Down Lewis.
    • Which, like Peoria, is stupidly narrow for some dumb reason, curbs adding to the difficulty rating.
    • Weren’t cars fatter in the ‘50s and ‘60s than they are now?
    • You’d kill each other going four wide in some old Lincolns, Fords and Chevys.
    • Anyway.
    • She did well.
    • Starship … didn’t?
    • Took her to Studio Records to make up for it.
    • Shoulda seen her eyes light up when we entered.
    • And yes, we walked out with records.
    • She paid for most of them.
    • They actually had The $5.98 EP – Garage Days Revisited on vinyl.
    • Which was the first Metallica album I bought the day it came out.
    • Everything before that was out before I found them.
    • I still listen to that EP all the time.
    • I love those five songs.
    • Okay, the first four.
    • I can take or leave the Misfits cover.
    • The internet’s telling me that EP dropped August 21, 1987, which makes it … jfc … 38 years old.
    • Sigh.
    • Fuckit.
    • I’m not apologizing.
    • I still like a lot of the music I grew up with.
    • And I’ll defend my roots until they play this stuff at my wake.
    • Play “The Wait” at my wake.
    • Heh.
    • I’d be worried if I only listened to “old” music, but I still find new music.
    • I know, I know, I have recited that “do not go gentle” line a million times at this point.
    • Don’t know what to tell you.
    • I’m not going to stop.
    • Fuck it.
    • Like, I’m in the middle of reclaiming my fitness.
    • I’ve ridden my bike three times in the past two weeks, increasing my mileage a tad each time.
    • And each time, well the first two times, I’ve been wrecked after.
    • Sore all over.
    • I will overcome.
    • I will be back.
    • I cannot do this any other way.
    • I can’t imagine giving up.
    • Not now.
    • I’ve mentioned the immobility, stiffness, lack of flexibility, and lack of strength.
    • Holy shit, some people just give up and age like that?
    • If this were a PT problem, I’d be at PT.
    • (I might, btw, if my heels don’t improve.)
    • I’ll give work a month or so before I start leaving for PT.
    • But … damn, man.
    • I need to be able to ride at least 35 miles (or 25 on gravel).
    • I need to be able to ride Turkey Mountain.
    • I need to be able to run a damn 5k.
    • And do 40 pushups.
    • Hell, it’d be nice to be able to run a 50-yard sprint, but … I’m trying to be patient here.
    • The point is age takes things from you.
    • Some of which are unavoidable.
    • Maybe you can affect the pace.
    • But holy shit, don’t just shrug your shoulders and go, “Okay.”
    • I can say that because it’s what I’ve been doing for three years.
    • I let this shit beat me for a while.
    • And I still don’t know if I’ve won or not.
    • I’m just no longer lying on the couch and taking it.
    • I’m working on applying that to everything in my life.
    • Anything I feel deficient at.
    • I’m coming for you.
    • Okay, the “Green Hell” portion of the Misfits song is pretty great.
    • (Of course I put the EP on when I started typing. After the fifth bullet point.)
    • I can’t actually imagine hearing Danzig sing it.
    • I was never into the Misfits.
    • I know Cliff wore the shirt, but …
    • We didn’t have streaming back then.
    • What you gonna do?
    • I only owned like a dozen tapes.
    • Maybe a few more than that, but not much.
    • Got what I could from Columbia, got out.
    • I still have some in a red metal lunchbox in the upstairs closet.
    • One of them’s the “Creeping Death” single.
    • I wrote a list on Friday.
    • Facebook did not like it.
    • Gave me an “error” each time I tried to post.
    • It’s over on the blog if you want to read it.
    • I liked it.
    • For what that’s worth.
    • My favorite song on that EP was “The Small Hours,” which apparently belonged to a band called Holocaust.
    • Didn’t remember that.
    • I’m sure I knew back when.
    • Cause I sat on the bed and read the jackets for everything I had while I listened to it.
    • According to the Internet, Metallica’s played that song live a whole seven times, the last being in 2009.
    • I always imagine bands whose songs get covered by modern acts are grateful, because there’s money involved.
    • Each time a song gets played, someone gets a royalty check.
    • Unless it’s by Spotify, then they get screwed.
    • Another example of some rich asshole getting paid for something a creative person created.
    • We watched Argo again this afternoon.
    • They kept showing scenes of Iranians burning things in effigy.
    • Future flashback.
    • And now we’re at the end of  the EP where they butcher the beginning of Maiden’s “Run to the Hills,” which seems a fitting sentiment to end on.
    • Better than sitting here letting the Monday Dreads win.
    • F it.
  • You Are Our Last Hope

    You Are Our Last Hope

    • Last week, on my first half-day back at work, I fired up the laptop, started typing on my wireless keyboard.
    • The E key did not work.
    • How does that happen?
    • The keyboard, far as I know, was not touched while I was gone.
    • dEad.
    • …
    • I’m actually in a bit of a quandary.
    • Writing these during recovery was a bit of a different experience than writing them for work.
    • I’m not sure I want to go back to doing them the other way.
    • The work way.
    • Unfiltered feels better.
    • I haven’t ruled it out yet, but I’m on the “no more for work” side of the fence at the moment.
    • Let me tell you a story. I started a journal entry this morning where I lamented the fact that most of my writing these days is lists of random thoughts. Five years I’ve been communicating that way on a regular basis. I’m out of habit making paragraphs. Maybe even coherent arguments, or expounding upon the paragraph’s subject to a logical conclusion (provided you believe I have any logic at all).

      Like everything else, I beat myself up about it. My writing skills are somehow suffering. I can’t stay on topic to write a proper essay. A visual representation of a hyper-active brain. Not that mine’s hyper-active by diagnosis.

      Not sure any of that is true, but it’s the current mental narrative.
    • I dunno if you know this, but I am hard on myself.
    • DID YOU KNOW: Journalism schools coach you to keep paragraphs to one idea.
    • That might be one sentence or a few.
    • Definitely not those epic ones that create giant blocks of copy labyrinths where eyes get lost, take wrong turns, wander off, lose the train …
    • I often wonder who really pioneered the style of writing.
    • (We didn’t really study the history of the mechanics of journalism writing in school.)
    • (Only best practices.)
    • Write clearly.
    • Fast.
    • Small words.
    • Objective words.
    • Truths.
    • I felt, at the time, it made my fiction better.
    • Because when you use objective descriptors, you create a better picture, something shared between you and the reader, and your intent is accurately conveyed.
    • Trying to narrow the gap because there always is one.
    • Reading is a subjective endeavor, after all.
    • …
    • Recuperation still in process.
    • Came home today, sat on the couch.
    • Put my feet on the coffee table.
    • Snoozed.
    • Typing now, but I’m still tired.
    • Could nap some more.
    • Oof.
    • On the other end … well, in the corner of the sectional, the Kid is reading Plath’s “The Bell Jar.”
    • I never have.
    • She reads more Lit than I do.
    • Makes me proud.
    • “What’s that about?”
    • Her: “A girl who goes insane.”
    • “How is it so far?”
    • “Good so far.”
    • “Is she insane already?”
    • “No, but she’s very weird.”
    • Kinda makes me want to read it.
    • In other fun news, I hit my head on the corner of a thing taking a bite of a taco, stabbing my scar.
    • Bled into napkins.
    • Currently, I have a new scab.
    • The wound’s covered by a layer of Neosporin and a Band-Aid.
    • Gifted.
    • Makes me wonder if I am, in fact, clumsy.
    • I don’t think anyone would’ve ever described me as graceful.
    • But I’m not uncoordinated.
    • You don’t get to start teaching knife fighting classes after a year if you’re uncoordinated.
    • Yesterday, the new boss scheduled a department bonding activity.
    • Axe throwing.
    • Never done that before.
    • Got there.
    • Had to sit and watch for a few minutes and listen to people going, “Are you going to throw next?”
    • C’mon, man.
    • Don’t rush me.
    • A) Still not comfortable having a room of people watch me do a thing.
    • 2) Still hate being bad at things.
    • ii) Especially new things.
    • Half the crew threw with two hands, like a wind-up behind their head.
    • I think the old man in Last of the Mohicans threw that way?
    • I envisioned whacking myself in the back of the head with the axe.
    • No, thank you.
    • Took me a bit.
    • Had the armed goth manchild babysitting us show me the technique.
    • Started chucking.
    • I ended up with three or four bullseyes, but the one in the pic was the best of the bunch.
    • Could totally get into that.
    • First, it’s hella cathartic.
    • And then it’s a skill for post-Trump America.
    • And also they did not teach us to throw our weapons in Kali class, because … if you throw your weapon, you no longer have it in your hand.
    • Duh.
    • I’ll go back is what I’m saying.
    • To your unasked question: yes, my shoulder is sore (in the good way).
    • So is the rest of my body.
    • 11 weeks of lethargy will kill a 50-something.
    • Oh, fuck. I’m a 50-something.
    • Seriously, I wish they’d just rebuild me like the Six Million Dollar Man at this point.
    • My heels hurt (so they need stretching).
    • My shoulders, neck, and thighs are sore from the bike ride three days ago.
    • Four?
    • My hips are still sore from the trip.
    • My IT bands are making my leg go numb.
    • What.  The. Actual. Fuck.
    • Do Not Go Gentle … or go Nap.
    • Whichever.
    • I’m wearing a t-shirt featuring a Molotov cocktail drawn by one of my great friends.
    • I love the sentiment behind that.
    • Create a work of art based on a poor-man’s explosive typically used in riots and social upheaval.
    • I sometimes want my words to be a hand-made, hand-tossed explosive.
    • We’ll get back to a regular schedule soon.
    • Until then …
    • Never give up. Never surrender!

  • Trepidatious

    Trepidatious

    • What a long, strange week that was.
    • And now we sit on the Wall of Trepidation, the Precipice of Return.
    • I haven’t missed work.
    • I didn’t think I’d be out this long, but … apparently recovery from a craniotomy and treatment of a brain growth takes longer than you expect.
    • Even sick, even with all the health nonsense wrapping up, I enjoyed my time of freedom.
    • It gave me perspective.
    • I won’t get into that because some of my TCC people are on here.
    • But once you’ve had daily freedom for a substantial amount of time, combined with a nearish-death experience, well …
    • Epiphanies occur.
    • I had two for my book, for instance.
    • One of them means I have to go back and rewrite almost every interaction between my two mainish characters.
    • The other is probably for book two, but … might make it into this one.
    • Then there were the self-revelations.
    • The elation of not being told what to do.
    • (I cannot overstate the feeling of that; I could do so much more without that in my life.)
    • Sigh.
    • At least I’m returning triumphant.
    • The enemy might be vanquished.
    • Or it might be regrouping like Sauron, the eye ever watchful.
    • We’ll wait and see.
    • I’ll battle my hope, keep it battened down.
    • I’m not sure if I’ll have time to continue the Black List here.
    • Okay, that’s horseshit.
    • I’ll fit it in.
    • It might not be every day.
    • I need it to be every day.
    • Good habits are only good if you keep them.
    • Another aspect of my return to work, especially as it relates to this … I’m not sure I want to go back to writing sanitized versions for work.
    • Sure, that’s where this all started.
    • And most of what I write here is fine.
    • But I like the NSFW bits.
    • I like not censoring myself.
    • Though, frankly, I have still avoided politics and I’m not sure why.
    • I have a list of unrelated-to-work To-Dos.
    • Get the LLCs done.
    • Get the mic I need for the podcasts.
    • Get the websites built.
    • Get the merch train rolling.
    • Keep writing.
    • Get back in shape (already kinda started on that one).
    • Lots to do.
    • Time moves pretty fast.
    • If you don’t make moves to control yours, someone else will.
    • I have taken advantage of the convalescence.
    • Or let it take advantage of me, anyway.
    • Move it.
    • Walking around last week, I lamented the fact I’d forgotten my pocket notebook.
    • Things would pop into my head and … what to do?
    • Sure, I could use a Notes phone app.
    • But then I have to remember to check it because that’s not part of my routine.
    • (FU, computer grammar police; I mean “have to,” not “must.” This isn’t a fucking period piece.)
    • Here’s what I did: I emailed myself the note.
    • From Gmail to my primary.
    • One of them was an Insta post.
    • One of them said, “Metalhead.”
    • Which, yes, obviously.
    • But in this instance, not what you think.
    • LWIL: I have a titanium plate and screws in my head now.
    • Had no idea.
    • No one mentioned it before.
    • Beforehand, the neurosurgeon said she’d be putting the bone they removed back.
    • We’ve spent 11 weeks thinking the bone spot was just in there regrowing, fusing back with the rest of the skull.
    • And she said she did that, but also … plate in my head.
    • “Don’t worry. It won’t mess up any MRIs.”
    • Got that, lady. Already had three of those since the surgery.
    • There were other revelations in that appointment, like the size of the tissue she removed (think diameter of a dollar coin).
    • Anyway.
    • Metalhead.
    • Accurate.
    • Again.
    • And literal this time.
    • One of the other emails says, “311 drums.”
    • The drummer for 311 is a badmotherfucker.
    • So was Green Day’s.
    • Sublime … isn’t.
    • No, I’m not going to elaborate on that.
    • At the time of this writing, Snacks is standing on my chest, Kong in his mouth, begging me to save him from Emmy.
    • Because she takes his away every time, obviously.
    • Nevermind he’s bigger.
    • She’s meaner and more tricksy.
    • Yesterday, I stood by the backdoor and watched those two take care of business, and I could feel the inferno with my eyes.
    • (Steph was trying to nap, and our doors beep when you open, so … monitoring it because I didn’t let it fully close.)
    • While I watched, nearly napping, suddenly I felt a touching, touching of my little toe.
    • Looked down and Ginny had settled next to my foot, extending her paw to lay atop my toe.
    • Then she climbed up on the couch arm and asked for pets.
    • One of the cats missed me.
    • The other attacked my leg because I did not hold her long enough.
    • And probably for being gone for a week.
    • She’s still not talking to me.
    • Cat, sometimes we have to leave home for a spell.
    • Doesn’t mean we’re leaving you.
    • Don’t be a clawing shithead about it.
    • Thanks.
    • – Mgmt
    • On the way home from Minnesota Monday, I put on my “Liked Songs” playlist.
    • It literally played the entire time with no repeated songs.
    • Well, maybe a couple, but only because I’d liked two different versions of the same song.
    • I don’t think the women hated it.
    • We rolled my Dad’s Subaru Forrester.
    • … Okay, I have trouble reconciling that in my head.
    • He’s a Chevy guy.
    • It’s his first-ever brand-new car.
    • I’m used to him tooling around in a GMC 4×4 extended cab, extended bed, monster truck.
    • Still not sure how he ended up with the Subie.
    • (His doesn’t blow holes in its engine block walls like mine does.)
    • Anyway, he loans it to us for these Minnesota trips.
    • It is the best road trip car ever.
    • (Except for napping in the passenger seat; so I’m told.)
    • Android Auto is awesome.
    • Better than Apple Carplay.
    • What I’m saying is … I guess I have a shitload of “Liked” songs.
    • I did spend an afternoon in Minnesota adding songs to it, so there’s that.
    • Want a taste?
    • “Francesca,” Hozier
    • A ton of Metallica songs (because I had not liked them individually).
    • “Eruption,” Van Halen
    • “Enjoy the Silence,” Lacuna Coil (cover of DM)
    • “Santa Monica,” Everclear
    • “Brain Stew,” Green Day
    • “Prayer of the Refugee,” Rise Against
    • “The Distance,” CAKE
    • “Slither,” Velvet Revolver
    • “Judith,” A Perfect Circle
    • “My Hero,” Foo Fighters
    • “Float On,” Modest Mouse
    • “Shame,” Stabbing Westward
    • “Highway Tune,” Greta Van Fleet
    • “Personal Jesus,” Depeche Mode
    • “Break Stuff,” Limp Bizkit
    • “Even Flow,” Pearl Jam
    • “Creep,” Radiohead
    • “Bleed it Out,” Linkin Park
    • “Hash Pipe,” Weezer
    • “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” Twisted Sister
    • “Song 2,” Blur
    • “Let’s Go Crazy,” Prince
    • “I Wanna Be Sedated,” The Ramones
    • “Need You Tonight,” INXS
    • “Could Have Been Me,” The Struts
    • “Back in Black,” AC/DC
    • And we’re stopping on that one, because it’s thematically appropriate (and sets off a whole bunch of summer memories in someone’s Camaro).
    • There’s a fuckton more, obviously.
    • I guess I could share it, but … feels kinda personal.  
    • See you tomorrow, probably.

  • The Jury’s Sleepless

    The Jury’s Sleepless

    • In all this time, it’s the first writing from a desktop in months.
    • Not because I couldn’t climb the stairs, but because I got comfortable typing from the corner of the couch with people in the room.
    • Writing’s a solitary endeavor.
    • Mostly I write from a desk.
    • Laptop and attached monitor for that fantastic dual-screen action.
    • Good ergonomic split keyboard.
    • Keyboards:
    • At home, I rock an X-bows Nature.
    • At work … (Ugh, we’ll get to that in a moment) … I have a Microsoft Sculpt keyboard, which Microsoft doesn’t make anymore, but … someone else makes it for them?
    • Prior to getting the X-Bow, the Sculpt claimed the title as “best keyboard I ever used.”
    • Keys felt like a good laptop keyboard.
    • The split perfect.
    • I dealt with carpal tunnel early in my career and took the pain associated with that seriously.
    • I only do straight keyboards when working on laptops.
    • Which makes the current laptop writing trend … concerning?
    • An hour is not all day at work, however.
    • Anyway.
    • Like the teaser teased, I awoke with the dulcet sounds of Rage Against the Machine in my head.
    • They were never my favorite band.
    • Took me a handful of listens just to get onboard.
    • Once I did, however.
    • It’s more Zack’s lyrics and delivery than their sound.
    • Though I do like their sound.
    • They’re in my Top 10.
    • (Which I probably have in my head, but have never committed to paper or e-ink.)
    • But yeah, awoke to a dog lying against my back superheating me, “Guerilla Radio” blasting through my head.
    • READY TO FACE THE MOTHERFUCKING DAY.
    • Rallying around my family to keep me sane.
    • One of the constants about me is that I’m angry.
    • Like, all the time angry.
    • I don’t think of myself that way.
    • I do have a lot of frustration with things and am not shy about voicing them.
    • There’s an angry element to it, sure.
    • Dissonance between the way I’d like things to be and the way they are.
    • And don’t give me that crap about “well, make the changes.”
    • I control what I can … to help manage my frustration.
    • Like …
    • I write to give myself a voice.
    • How many people just don’t have one?
    • They walk about with all the stuff boiling inside and never express it.
    • Tick, tick, boom.
    • Let’s get into that.
    • Frustration.
    • How much frustration comes from fear?
    • Not all of it, sure.
    • But maybe a lot of it.
    • I have always been afraid.
    • Like that’s my trauma default.
    • Life dominated by fear, by what-ifs, and with substantially less focus on the good, what’s going right.
    • Don’t fuck up in view of anyone’s expectations because the Bad will happen.
    • People will walk.
    • Jobs will be lost.
    • Opinions of will occur.
    • And you know why I’m wired that way?
    • Because it’s typically been true.
    • Hard to relax.
    • Guard always up.
    • Scenarios, mostly bad, on decision tree in my head.
    • How much do you miss that way?
    • Scared of opportunity.
    • To even look at it, to entertain the possibilities in something other than risk.
    • The specter of failure the screen saver of the brain.
    • I hate it.
    • I hate being afraid.
    • Hate what it does.
    • Has done.
    • Don’t get me wrong, when the moments come, I usually step toward it and face it.
    • I don’t ever do that willingly.
    • I’m not as cowardly as my daily voice says.
    • Maybe not at all much anymore.
    • It’s tough to break thought patterns.
    • Remember that as you give yourself some grace, right?
    • I say that right?
    • That grace shit?
    • “I think I heard a shot!”
    • Let’s get back to the Frustration thing.
    • I talk a lot about time.
    • Can’t help it.
    • How modern life has wasted a lot of mine.
    • It does beg the question … what would you do with your time if it truly belonged to you?
    • I’d still write.
    • But in addition to that …
    • I’d be one of those Maker people neck deep in Raspberry Pi and 3D printing.
    • Like a character from a Doctorow novel.
    • (Seriously, go read Little Brother. Do it. Do it now.)
    • And goddammit, I’d be playing music.
    • And painting.
    • Though the painting thing is going to get some practice because I’m going to attempt to do some abstract stuff for the house.
    • That shit is expensive.
    • Even not paying a real artist to make it.
    • North of $500 for a reasonably large piece of art.
    • Artists need to get paid.
    • But I still can’t afford to pay them.
    • So gotta make my own stuff.
    • I need to go buy the paint and canvas.
    • Changes, man.
    • Promises made, to myself and others.
    • Still listening to Rage.
    • Damn, Zack has a gift for rhyme with substance.
    • There’s a reason Rage resonates with me, is what I’ve taken 800 words to explain today.
    • That, btw, is what most people do.
    • They identify artists expressing what they can’t.
    • Maybe that’s a life goal for me.
    • To be someone’s expression.
    • To those tired of being victims of the in-house drive-by.
    • Goddamn, Rage was ahead of their time.
    • “Am I standing in line?”
    • See you tomorrow.
  • Face Up, Make Your Stand

    Face Up, Make Your Stand

    • Sorry for the unexcepted interruption.
    • Moose out front should’ve told ya.
    • Shit just happens sometimes.
    • Immune systems get interrupted.
    • Compromised.
    • Mine’s on strike, apparently.
    • Which resulted in a two-day stay at Ches St. Francis South.
    • And here I thought we’d be five days into the Reclamation Project.
    • Alas.
    • Two days on, two days off.
    • Maybe three off.
    • Dammit all.
    • During this health odyssey, I’ve experienced exhaustion so deep I could not do anything.
    • Most the time, even feeling awful, I get up and do what I have to do.
    • I’ve learned there’s another level of fatigue.
    • The kind where you lay in bed and stare at the wall and do nothing.
    • You know how I am with boredom.
    • These few times in hospital rooms in the aftermath of something, I have not read, not watched television, not listened to music.
    • Just laid there, drifting in and out.
    • Not talking.
    • Nothing.
    • And you can’t even remember what you thought about when you’re through it
    • Or I can’t.
    • Health Time Theft.
    • Wasted days.
    • Wasted time.
    • Wasted Years!!!!
    • And yet, it’s the price of continued life.
    • If your body isn’t in tune, you’re shortening your timeline.
    • And even then, doing everything right doesn’t mean you’ll avoid shenanigans.
    • It’s important to remember what you can and can’t do in these situations.
    • What you do and do not control.
    • There’s no capitulation.
    • No surrender.
    • Do or die.
    • (Sometimes literally.)
    • It wasn’t the entire time I was in the hospital for the brain stuff, mind you, just that first couple of days.
    • Then came The Manifesto.
    • Anyway.
    • Been the longest gap since we started the public List.
    • Was not intentional.
    • This is my first time even holding a laptop in three days.
    • (Let me get my notebook. I had some notes over the weekend.)
    • Oh, right.
    • Mom’s staying with us because she’s had her hip replaced.
    • She’d mentioned before her favorite Star Wars movie is Rogue One.
    • Caught me off guard, really.
    • But honestly, I get it.
    • It’s probably my favorite, too.
    • So Saturday noonish, I threw it on.
    • Told her she needed to watch Andor.
    • We had a cool conversation about “most watched” movies.
    • Hers are Star Wars flicks, the Harry Potter movies, The Lord of the Rings … and I forget.
    • There were others.
    • I’ve mentioned it before, but Mom’s a nerd, too, apparently.
    • I would not have guessed it from my youth, except …
    • She took me to see Empire Strikes Back in the theatre.
    • And Raiders of the Lost Ark.
    • And out early on the last day of school to see Return of the Jedi.
    • (Yes, I know I’m leaving words out of those titles. Idgaf.)
    • We take her with us to Marvel flicks.
    • She, the kid, and one of the kid’s friends went to see Thunderbolts* without us (because I couldn’t go, obviously).
    • She’s recently been reading some sort of epic post-apocalyptic series I’d never heard of (pretty sure she found it on Kindle Unlimited).
    • I know my kid is a nerd, but I’ve used my influence for that outcome.
    • I’d never considered it might be in our DNA.
    • Though she took me to movies, we never talked books or anything.
    • It could all be I didn’t pay attention.
    • Because now that I think about it, I know she loved Ladyhawke and Princess Bride.
    • (Not starting now. There’ll be many missing Thes today.)
    • And now we have a grammar question.
    • The only time, pretty much, you use apostrophes to make something plural is if it’s a letter.
    • Like the A’s.
    • This error stands as one of my most hated grammar mistakes, because it’s either willful disregard or ignorance, but if you can make a sentence at all, it leans toward the former.
    • And I’ll be goddammed if I endure the language acceptance of something because people are lazy.
    • Get off my blank white pages with that nonsense!
    • So.
    • How to make The plural.
    • Just add the S?
    • Add the apostrophe and S?
    • It does not reconcile that my anti-rule following nature follows most the grammar rules.
    • I had multiple instructors in college throw out the “you must know the rules before you can break them” cliché.
    • (Adage?)
    • Clichadage!
    • Wachow!
    • Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me.
    • Sigh.
    • Ain’t none of us consistent.
    • Especially not English.
    • I never dug into why Rage broke up … until today.
    • And it’s mostly speculation still, which I admire.
    • The leading theory: creative differences.
    • Zack wanted to stay more political.
    • And is a perfectionist.
    • Like, did you know … he worked on an album with Trent Reznor, but never released any of the music because “it was not right?”
    • Tom and the rest of the band had no problem with increased commercialization.
    • And this is why I don’t really follow artists as people.
    • Like, I don’t want to hear Hetfield’s opinion about much of anything.
    • Don’t ruin things for us, bro.
    • I’ve forgiven you for St. Anger.
    • Shhh. Don’t mess it up now.
    • Same with Bruce from Iron Maiden.
    • I actually did read some opinions from that guy.
    • I’ll stick to the music, thanks.
    • Dude’s got a bit of a superiority complex.
    • To be fair, I might too if I were in a pretty big band for more than four decades, a trained pilot, a skilled fencer (like could’ve done the Olympics I heard) and other things.
    • Maybe it’s just the Britishness?
    • I dunno if he’s from a landed family or anything like that.
    • Okay, gonna stop.
    • Getting the pump primed.
    • …
    • I don’t even know what day it is.
    • F.
    • Have a whatever.

  • Seriously, Don’t Read This One

    Seriously, Don’t Read This One

    • Hard to avoid the medical nonsense at the moment.
    • Getting the PICC line out as soon as someone figures out the orders.
    • I cannot adequately express how much I’m anticipating this.
    • I have had to sit here and watch the muscle melt from my bones, what little cardio I had left evaporate.
    • I can do stretches and whatnot.
    • I’ve done less than I could’ve.
    • (Gotta stress that part; I could be doing better rather than sitting here whining about it.)
    • I was doing the walking, but that damn rash.
    • But the rebuilding begins soon as that thing is out.
    • Gone along with the excuses.
    • Today or tomorrow, we’re turning the corner.
    • I hate waiting.
    • I hate waiting on anything.
    • Patience is not one of my virtues.
    • Other people spending my Time currency is going to be less and less tolerated as we progress.
    • (One of my hospital room revelations.)
    • The other medical stuff … We’ve been taking care of Mom for almost a week.
    • Hard seeing your parent in pain.
    • She’s doing well, obviously.
    • Knew she would.
    • Having to keep tabs on her to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.
    • Because that’s where I get it from, after all.
    • Have had birthdays in the last week.
    • Have a friend who’s lost a parent.
    • Had a dumbass internet death scare.
    • It’s a lot.
    • And that’s leaving out the unnecessary, manufactured unrest of the country.
    • Hope you are taking care of yourselves.
    • Oh, the other thing.
    • The bigger thing.
    • At the precipice of returning to work.
    • Probably going to ease into some wfh these next two weeks before we go back to the Mayo.
    • If they let me, anyway.
    • If they don’t, I’ll sit here and burn out the rest of my FMLA and continue to fend off the creeping work stress.
    • Because it gets into my head even when I’m not there.
    • Insidious.
    • And bullshit.
    • Work isn’t why we’re here.
    • The toll is overpriced.
    • I’m sorry, but you’re never going to convince me of the validity of Puritanical work ethos.
    • It’s propaganda.
    • You know, this is not what the list is for.
    • Not its purpose.
    • (Though this one’s pretty typical for a Monday.)
    • It’s not supposed to be a journal.
    • Supposed to be a little more on the entertainment side.
    • Like, I started reading T. Kingfisher’s “Nettle and Bone” a couple nights ago.
    • Digging it so far.
    • Pretty prose.
    • Interesting world.
    • I had to take a break from Carl and Donut.
    • Not sure if that’s an indictment of me or the book.
    • Probably me.
    • Adult onset adhd.
    • Which I’m more inclined to think is happening.
    • Boredom induced.
    • Takes more to hold my interest outside of that goddamn phone.
    • Oh.
    • That reminds me.
    • The other day, I saw an Instagram post that used the word “seggs” (with the e as an asterisk) to substitute for sex.
    • What the actual fuck.
    • Apparently the algorithms are filtering for language, so people are coming up with “creative” ways to get around it.
    • Which makes them sound like 12yos.
    • Seggs.
    • …
    • This world is starting to piss me off.
    • More.
    • Seriously though, what kind of head-in-the-sand person are you if you can’t even read the word “sex?”
    • Pretending something doesn’t exist is not the way you cope with anything.
    • Avoidance is the enemy.
    • Another one of those things where … I’m sorry you can’t deal with it, but that doesn’t give you the right to make others filter it for you.
    • A country a third-filled with adult-aged infants.
    • Check out some of the stuff in the Big Beautiful Bill if you don’t believe me.
    •  Politicians of all kinds are not looking out for us.
    • There are a few.
    • But most of them do not understand … do not gaf … about the public service aspect of their “jobs.”
    • I should not post this one.
    • Reread it.
    • Should not.
    • It’s all an angry little man gnashing his teeth and spewing verbal frustration.
    • Cept for that one little part about the book.
    • We rewatched “Super 8” over the weekend.
    • Could not help but notice the influence it had on “Stranger Things.”
    • (Damn you, Facebook, for making italics a pain in the ass. Yes, I know you can, but the hoops make it ridiculous. However, the quotes around titles when they should be italicized drives me insane.)
    • Good flick, though.
    • Again, reminds me of the gang and our tween and teen adventures.
    • People close to me keep trying to convince me to write a book of those adventures.
    • I don’t want to because … I’m the protagonist in my memories, and those are suspect and not necessarily accurate depictions of other points of view.
    • I would hate it if I wrote it from mine, it did not line up with theirs, and they hated it.
    • Like, there’s an audience of eight, and their approval is more relevant than an Amazon rating.
    • Sure, it sounds like an excuse.
    • But I have a lot of lines I will not cross.
    • Would it be liberating to have fewer morals?
    • Fewer ideals?
    • Less guilt?
    • Less responsibility?
    • If you do not feel responsibility, then you’re probably not paying an internal price.
    • If you’re not paying an internal price, you can do whatever you want.
    • Look down on whoever you want.
    • Be Gordon Gekko with his “Greed is good” bullshit.
    • And as karma (and other things) isn’t real …
    • Now we’re getting somewhere, right?
    • The heart of those differing perspectives.
    • One of the Discord denizens discovered Spotify uses AI “bands.”
    • I read about a month ago about them creating AI “artists” and having them cover a song and then throwing those into the algorithm.
    • There’s AI as a tool that can help us do some things more efficiently.
    • Then there’s AI used for creating profit at the expense of artists’ careers.
    • Again, greed isn’t good.
    • Goddammit.
    • This list is a skippable offense.
    • I warned you at the beginning.
    • Or I will when I post it anyway, which puts these last bullets into the time loop.
    • Have the Monday you deserve.
    • …
    • Take the Monday you deserve.
    • Fucking take it.
    • (The “take” is italicized.)
    • (Which means jack on the blog because I can italicize there.)
    • (But I write in Word.)
    • (if I cut-and-paste from the blog, it jacks up the facebook post.)
    • (Screw all this; I’m moving to monetization land.)
    • (I may not be able to do lists for work anymore.)
    • (These may have destroyed my filter.)
    • (“Who will life to escaping? Who is bad milk blood robot? Scream not working because space make deaf.”)

  • Short-Term Memory Issues

    Short-Term Memory Issues

    • Favorite cover of a song.
    • Go!
    • I don’t have favorites of anything, really.
    • I like lots of things, and depending on the mood, sometimes something climbs to the “favorite” spot.
    • Ephemeral Favorites.
    • I’m overusing that word.
    • Was listening to Ruelle’s cover of “Where is my mind?”
    • Was playing when I started typing, anyway.
    • Last night, I started thinking about writing.
    • I know, I know.
    • But specifically, scripts and books in terms of paychecks.
    • When a movie gets made, for instance, they’ll pay the actors millions, even cutting them into the profits of the film.
    • RDJ got north of $75 million for Avengers: Endgame, I think I read somewhere.
    • The Director gets his millions.
    • The writers, however, the people who come up with the story, get a pittance in comparison.
    • “For WGA members, the minimum for a first draft screenplay is around $106,000, and rewrites and adaptations start at approximately $54,000.”
    • What the actual F.
    • Without the writing, without the idea, you have nothing.
    • I don’t deny acting talent, but c’mon, those people get paid because they’re pretty.
    • Now’s a good time in history to be pretty.
    • Always better to be pretty.
    • It’s another inherent bias.
    • Back on topic: Not everyone can write worth a damn.
    • How is it they are always underpaid?
    • Started thinking about this because one of the guys in the clan shared an article about the death of SEO and the responsive rise of authentic influencers.
    • Like people writing their own content and developing a following for their ideas.
    • Followed for being thought leaders.
    • Which harkens back to the beginning of the internet.
    • Sounded nice.
    • I’m not sure I believe it.
    • I’m not sure the algorithms would let that happen.
    • Zuck has already said he wants meta products to be less about people, and more about fill your head with content generated by AI.
    • I’m not a trend guy.
    • I react negatively when we try to do things the way everyone else does them at work.
    • I write content based around the idea of developing a relationship.
    • If you don’t …
    • Nm.
    • Revisiting material.
    • That happens when you’re still sitting on the couch with your laptop on your lap.
    • NP: Metallica, “Welcome Home (Sanitarium)”
    • When this song plays, I see my bedroom in the house I grew up in.
    • I remember climbing out the window to go skate the half-pipe in the backyard.
    • I remember the music as I fell asleep.
    • Again, repeating, but I used to play that tape in my Panasonic boom box on my headboard at lights out, and I’d usually be in Nevernever Land by four or five songs in.
    • Sometimes, Master of Puppets (album) throws me into memories, full spectrum.
    • Smells. Sounds. Sights.
    • I’ve had that a couple of times lately when I’ve been outside (without the music).
    • Catch a smell and I’m a teenager again.
    • It’s bizarre.
    • Something yesterday threw me back into leaving the house on my skateboard on a summer morning.
    • I remember those years better than my 20s.
    • Or my 30s.
    • Hmmm, I wonder why.
    • I won’t go into the work rant again.
    • I don’t have to
    • You know.
    • I wonder if our memories get worse because of rote repetition.
    • If you’re not creating new pathways, your brain falls apart.
    • “Variety is the spice of life.”
    • Yeah, might be the secret to longevity.
    • I made an “old” quip to Kaia last night at bedtime along the lines of “I’m old, my brain doesn’t work.”
    • She got onto me, told me my brain worked fine.
    • “Okay, my short-term memory sucks.”
    • I can’t even remember what I told her I couldn’t remember. 
    • Just now, I had to ask her what we were talking about that I couldn’t remember.
    • Ah.
    • Bringing the cat upstairs to her room.
    • Of course.
    • I’ve never been good at repetition of anything.
    • Boredom … it means different things to different people.
    • Some people use it when they have nothing to do.
    • I can have a million things to do and still be bored af.
    • I hate the word, but a lack of “engagement” is the thing that causes boredom for me.
    • Disinterest destroys me.
    • (Directly fueled my Internet addiction.)
    • I see it in the kid, too.
    • Another thing for which I owe her an apology.
    • Disinterest fuels procrastination.
    • And dissatisfaction.
    • “Oh, well then, do something that interests you.”
    • Would love to, except I have to work.
    • It’s already this way.
    • AI’s going to make it worse.
    • If I had to work an assembly line, I’d … think self-harm thoughts.
    • Yeah, let’s nosedive into the weekend with this subject matter.
    • As with everything, we make decisions that change our paths or keep us on them.
    • I had a therapist, when we’d talk about this stuff, he would always bring up my values.
    • Would talk a lot about choice.
    • We make choices according to our values.
    • Mine would be family and taking care of them.
    • I go to work because I need to have a paycheck to provide what I can for my family.
    • I don’t see it’s a Choice in modern society.
    • Man.
    • Okay … ah, I think Daft Punk’s Tron soundtrack is better than most their albums.
    • I don’t even want to post this.
    • I will because I’ve got time in on it.
    • Debbie downer, eh?
    • Pet peeve: fingerprints on my laptop screen.
    • Check out The Glitch Mob, btw.
    • (“Band.” Kinda. Do you call electronic artists bands?)
    • They have a couple of remixes that are spectacular.
    • Like the one of “Seven Nation Army.”
    • (Trust me, queue that one up and listen to it in the car.)
    • I’m rolling with the Liked Songs playlist again.
    • Played some Moby while I was shooting up my antibiotics.
    • “Flower”
    • I have so many syringes I feel like a substance abuser.
    • …
    • You guys still wear watches?
    • I love watches.
    • I’ll probably never stop wearing them.
    • Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s the watch or having something on my wrists.
    • I’d roll killer bracelets, too.
    • I bought one that’s got a bunch of brass skulls on it.
    • On the left, there’s my Citizen field watch Steph got me like 17 years ago …
    • On the right, some blue/gray/navy/black friendship bracelets Kaia made.
    • I’ll never take those off, unless it’s an MRI or surgery and they make me.
    • She put little happy face beads on the second one.
    • Which is ridiculous.
    • But here we are.
    • Just a ray of sunshine.
    • Not a pocketful, mind you.
    • You thought I’d forgotten.
    • Try this one: “Disparate Youth,” Santigold.
    • When you text, typos ruin the joke.
    • Every time.
    • Especially when you’re making fun of someone or something.
    • Running long today because I’m sitting here typing.
    • Lists aren’t narratives.
    • Should’ve stopped after the sunshine shit.
    • Ah well.
    • Thanks for stopping by.