I guess we’ve finally run out of topics to discuss with our new Japanese friends?

People don’t need to be told by reporters how to think about an issue by using mild euphemisms and calling it ‘nuance’. They need facts and clearly defined language. I’ll quote a man who simply signed the below with the name “Cole”; “The truth isn't a barrier to understanding. It's the only road there.”

Three days of glorious respite from the Florida heat. Doors and windows open, gentle breeze sighing through the rooms. My feet even got cold the other night under the blankets! All that came to a screeching halt today. I left the doors and windows open one day too long. It is now 87° in the house.

If I follow someone it’s because I WANT to see their posts. This is not unreasonable. It’s MY decision. Stop protecting me from what some algorithm thinks I shouldn’t see. I’m not even certain who I should direct this complaint to.

Alright. Here’s a game I can play. People are asking Grok to depict a world where they are in charge. Here’s my world.

This morning I popped open a can of Pilsbury cinnamon rolls with an expiration date of April 2025. Then I baked them and ate them. 😊 They were fine.

Today’s conversation: Me: “Will you grill the chicken?” Son: “How do you want me to do them?” Me: “Grilled. You’re the guy. You tell me.” Son: “How am I supposed to know what you want?” Me: “You’re a guy, right?” Son: “Yeah.” Me: “Doesn’t stuff like grilling.exe come preloaded in your meat computer from birth?” Son: “ … “

I can’t stop watching this. Help!

I gotta hand it to our British counterparts. They have opened an entirely new branch of linguistics for me. I’ve heard them call people a “bellend” many times and in my Pollyanna brain I imagined it referred to the clapper on a bell representing the target’s head and repeated cranial banging on the outer shell of the bell causing brain damage. Imagine my surprise at finding what it really means. 😳

If anyone wonders where AI went off the rails after it wipes out most human life, here’s why. I was in the middle of asking a question using voice-to-text while my cat kept messing with my screen. After fussing at the cat, she tapped “enter”. Here’s that “she” sent to Grok: “Here’s another question. We learned in school that the primary colors were red, blue, and yellow. Orange, green, and purple were secondary colors stop you’re a little asshole. You’re being an asshole.” Cats will be the end of us. AI will just be the vehicle.

This “verify you’re a human” crap is weekly now. In the middle of a post. More than halfway through. “Stop!” “Prove you’re human!” “Change your habits and I may leave you alone.” “No. I will not tell you what you’re doing wrong.” “Your current post will now be erased as you perform my stupid ritual.”

A long time ago, my first husband and I went out for a barbecue dinner with my parents. I ordered ribs. As we were chatting and eating, I was munching down on a rib and it slipped out of my fingers and flipped to my right and landed right in my husband’s lap. Barbecue sauce managed to smear its way down the front of his shirt before unceremoniously plopping down right on his crotch as a grand finale. Three of us thought it was hilarious. Just a couple nights later my parents invited us over for dinner. Dad was barbecuing out back. My husband had some trepidation. It had only been a couple of nights since I attacked him with a rib and the memory was still fresh. So as we sat down to eat at the kitchen table he made a big deal about who would sit where. He insisted on sitting across the table from me just to avoid a replay. We all laughed and sat down to eat. Now, please understand, I did my best to be careful with the rib I had in my hand. But I’ll be damned if that bugger didn’t get away from me as I was trying to get the meat off the bone and it flew across the table and thwacked him in the chest. The universe said, “What if we did this…?” I don’t think anybody believed me when I said it was totally unintentional. I thought my dad was gonna have a stroke laughing. He never did like that husband.

I hadn’t given the whole idea of eliminating pennies from cash transactions much thought until today. I’m looking at my antique brass spittoon overflowing with pennies in a whole different light. It’s actually now a Strategic Financial Asset. They’ll have a rounding up and down schedule for sure to balance the gain and loss for customer and seller. When the cashier says, “That’ll be $1.98,” with a grin and withholding the nickel, I’m whipping out the three pennies with all the smugness I can muster. Somewhere in the bowels of the Treasury Bureaucracy™ someone will smile and say, “Finally, somebody gets it.”

We boomers still hold the “I’VE RUINED EVERYTHING” trophy. When we’re all dead we will pass it to GenX. It has been thus for centuries, generation to generation. Currently: Everyone to Boomers: boomers Ruined Everything™! Soon, GenX - Ruined Everything™! Millenials - will then Ruin Everything™! GenZ - will then Ruin Everything™! Gen Alpha - ::eats the trophy:: The planet will then collapse into itself. Thanks a lot, Alphas.

I thought I’ve been having some really bizarre dreams lately. Then I considered my waking life and realized they’re not that bizarre at all. My subconscious apparently isn't inventing anything. It's just taking my normal life and turning the saturation knob up slightly.

Oh for Pete’s sake. This pendulum has been swinging wildly back and forth. Each time it has served as confirmation bias with a costume change. The holdout is a monster! The holdout is a hero! He’s a typical MAGA white male! He’s a hero! Actually, he’s black. Oh. He’s still a monster! No, he’s a hero! Some say he beats his wife! And he may have lied on his questionnaire! (But read to the last sentence where we admit we don’t know that for sure) Oh. What’s next? BREAKING: “Holdout Juror Has History of Returning Library Books Late, Raising Questions About His Character.” Stay tuned. None of this explains how or why he diverged from the rest of the jury. That’s all that matters.

I used to go to mom’s house and play a game, “Mom, close your eyes and hold out your hand.” It used to drive her insane. Because sometimes I would offer a wonderful little treasure I found at a garage sale or a thrift store that I knew she would love. But sometimes it would be a dead lizard or a tuft of matted fur I had cut off the dog. Then it got to the point where when I walked in the house and told her to close her eyes and hold her hand out, she would yell, “OH, GOD, NO!” … but she would close her eyes and hold her hand out every single time.