I have a canker sore on the bottom of my tongue. Sweet Lord in Heaven, it is the most annoying thing in my life right now. It hurts a little, sure; that little sting of pain when I eat or talk or swallow or brush my teeth, or do anything like laying in bed. But what is really annoying is how I am thinking about it all the time. Can’t eat anything too spicy, and don’t talk too much, because you might droll on yourself. I ate a cookie last night, and it hurt like hell on a stick, so now I have second thoughts about eating a cookie. And this is the time of year when you’re supposed to eat cookies freely and openly and without thought… I’ve had the canker sore for three days now, and I know me, which means that I have about four more day to go before it decides to move on its way.
Dogs in sweaters is just funny to me. I’m not knocking dogs in sweaters, as some little guys do need them. But on the whole, when I see a dog in a sweater, it makes me think the dog is playing dress up. Like the dog has a little closet of clothes to pick from. But like I said, some dogs need a sweater. Case in point:
I love New York City at Christmas time. People are generally in a good mood, and there is a buzz around here during the Holidays. And then there are the lights; colored lights are everywhere. But what I like most when it comes to lights are the Christmas Trees people place in front of their windows; decorated and lit up. Like silent home guards watching over the City.
What are you doing this weekend? Me? I’m getting new back tires got my car. I was hoping to schedule a root canal, but the dentist was busy so I decided to do the second most annoyingly painful thing I could. Sure, I like having a car, but I’m not big on maintaining a car. You know, it’s like shoe shopping for the car, and I need to do it before the Summer when we start driving a whole lot. Ung… just not in the mood for it. (There’s no real story here, I’m just complaining.) But I gotta do it, I gotta do it, gotta do it, do it, it!
What am I doing on Father’s Day? Buying tires! I wonder if they run a special for new tires on Father’s Day? If not, they should. No, I’ll get a nice lox bagel that the wife will order for delivery, and then I will need to drive to the tire place while the wife and kid hang out at home.
This seems about right.
But before all of that fun, there is that issue of NO KINGS. If you haven’t heard, there are nation wide, peaceful protest marches planned for Saturday June 14th in reaction to the growing authoritarian threat from Trump and his administration. In case you forgot, this is a nation of no kings, and it’s time to start reminding everyone, including ourselves, that We The People are in charge; that this is a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. I encourage you to join the protest, to peacefully march, and share your voice. If you can’t make it out, then watch the live cast, share videos and messages on social media. This is not a day to be silent. There are many ways to participate, and we all need to pitch in and hold to the ideals that our nation was founded on.
The kid had a half day at school, so she was home by 1pm. Before I went and got her, I did all the tasks and errands that I needed to do; balanced the checkbook, did the dishes, plugged in and ran the AC’s, got the kid from school, and made lunch. I even wrote in my journal, and did a good bit of reading – caught up on some flash pieces I have been meaning to read and finished a book of short stories.
The kid had some homework, and we both sat down on the couch to do it. I don’t do the homework, I’m more along for moral support, and encouragement. Anyway, as I was sitting there, being that I’m not needed a whole lot, I decided that I should start reading another book. I got about 2 pages into it, and I fell asleep. Now, it wasn’t a deep sleep, but it was 45 minutes. I only woke up because the kid nudged me to ask if I was sleeping.
But for the life of me, I haven’t been able to get myself back in gear. It’s like I’m walking through sand now. I’m so sluggish and foggy brained. I had plans for the second half of the afternoon, but I can’t seem to focus. Honestly, it’s taken me an hour to get myself to just sit down and do this.
Hell, I promised the kid we’d go running in the park, and I still have to make dinner. I thought I was going to review a story but that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.
I swear, if I nap for fifteen minutes, I am solid and refreshed. But anything over that amount of time, it’s like a crap shoot – God only knows how I’m going to react.
I like the train. See, the kid’s soccer team has started practicing not too far way from the Metro North tracks on Park Ave. The team mets up in the early evening, so all the trains going by are for the rush hour heading out of the City. I’m not saying that I want to commute out the City everyday, but I do miss riding the train for work purposes. A long time ago, I would occasionally take the Long Island Railroad (L I Double R) out to the college I used to work for. On those days, I would be heading in the opposite direction of everyone else; They were coming into the City, and I was heading out. The train was sparsely filled with people, and I got a bit of reading done, or journaling. Other days I would just enjoy watching the City unfurl around me, and give way to Nassau County. It wasn’t the happiest time of my life when I was riding the LIRR, but it was a time that allowed me to be introspective.
I hate airlines. Flying sucks, and it is not enjoyable. No matter which airline it is, they all blow. Flying today is worse than being on a crowed bus at rush hour. When we make vacation plans, the flying portion of the trip is equal to a hammer being dropped on my foot for three to four hours. The seats suck, the boarding sucks, the nickel and diming sucks, and the other passengers also suck. It’s amazing how the airline industry took something as fun and exciting as flying, and made it uncomfortable as a root canal.
I love driving across America. And if I have a choice, I will always choose driving over flying. I like highways, and interstates, and roadside attractions. Dinners that are open late, and gas stations that have amazing local restaurants in the back. I like the sound of 18-wheelers passing you on the other side of the highway. I like naps in the backseat, and wondering what is around the bend. I love seeing America, who we are, and how we do things. I love yelling “moo” out the window at cows, and singing in the car. I love moving and discovering.
I am sticking my toes in, and dabbling a little more with AI. You know, to see how it works, and also to hunt down the ghost in that ChatGPT machine.
I have been reading about people using AI to write a “first draft” of letters and reports, and then they go through and make the text sound more human and personal. The thought I had this morning was what would happen if I reversed that process. What if I fed to AI, ChatGPT in this case, was an old blog from May 6th, 2024, and asked it to rewrite the post to make it funnier and more accessible.
This is what it produced:
Something weird has been happening to me over the past couple of years—I’ve developed an unstoppable urge to buy blue clothing. Not just any blue, but deep, rich, “navy captain who lost his ship” blue. Oxford button-down? Yes. Jeans so blue they make the ocean jealous. Absolutely. I’m even considering a blue suit for a wedding, because nothing says “I’m here to celebrate love” like looking like a well-dressed blueberry.
And then there’s my newfound appreciation for khakis paired with a blue shirt. A strong combo, but I swear, if I ever add a puffer vest to complete the look, you have full permission to slap me. Hard. Unless, of course, I’m working deep undercover as a Finance Bro infiltrating a hedge fund happy hour.
Not sure why this is happening, but it’s happening. My wardrobe is slowly turning into a monochrome tribute to the color blue, and I have no control over it.
At first, I thought maybe it was some deep, psychological reflection of my mental state—was I subconsciously craving serenity? Was I low-key depressed? But no, I feel neither particularly Zen nor like I need to stare wistfully out of rain-streaked windows.
To mix things up, I started throwing on my old army coat over my blue shirts, hoping it would give me that rugged Quint from Jaws energy. In my head, I’m a grizzled, sea-hardened badass. In reality? Probably just a guy who looks like he got dressed in the dark at an Army-Navy surplus store.
Is this a middle-age thing? A subtle cry for help? Or have I just reached the evolutionary stage where a man must choose his signature color, and mine happens to be “50 Shades of Blue”?
Does blue make me stand out? Blend in? Who knows. But if that blue comes in a plaid pattern. Game over. I have to own it. It’s like some kind of involuntary response—I see a blue plaid shirt, and my brain just whispers, “Yes. This is who we are now.”
The evidence is stacking up: blue pajamas, navy ballcap, even my car is blue. Sure, my wife technically picked it out, but I’m pretty sure the universe was just reinforcing my aesthetic destiny.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when I wore a lot of black—back in my pretentious arts phase, which overlapped nicely with my stage crew phase (a time when I believed dressing like an off-duty ninja was peak coolness).
Maybe I’ll grow out of this blue obsession. Maybe I’ll evolve into a paisley guy. Or worse… argyle.
And here was my original:
Something happened to me over the past couple of years, where if I go shopping for clothes, I want to buy the color blue. I especially like the color navy, but wouldn’t pass up the blue of an oxford style button down shirt. The bluer the blue jeans, the better, and I’m even thinking about getting a blue suit for a wedding I’m supposed to attend. I’m even starting to like the look of khaki pants, and a blue shirt, but swear to God, if I add a puffer vest to that look, you should walk up to me and slap the hell outta my face… unless I’m working undercover as a “Finance Bro.”
I’m not sure why this is happening, but I know that it is.
I thought that it could be a reflection of my mental state, but I feel neither depressed nor calm and relaxed.
I started putting on my old army coat when I have a blue shirt on. I would like to believe that I look like Quint, but I know that’s not true.
Is this a middle age thing? Does blue help me stand out, or blend in?
And if the blue is in a plaid pattern, good lord, I have to own it.
I have blue pajamas. A navy blue ballcap. My car is blue, but the wife did pick it out, but still…
There was a time when I wore a lot of black, but that was my pretentious arts phase, which coincided with my stage crew phase.
Maybe I’ll grow out of it. Maybe I move into a paisley phase.
Clearly, I am the better writer. I’m also funnier, as the AI seems to be trying way too hard to fit in a joke.
