Forget the AWARDS, Award Shows.

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After watching, with some reservations and, later, indigestion, the latest Oscars (award show), I have adjusted my POV on award shows, in general.

I know. I’ve said this how many times now. I tell myself “no” and still cave with that foolish whim, that hope, of seeing something or someone who becomes the focus of tomorrow’s “watercooler” gossip…or just seeing someone I personally like (or adore) get a chance to speak from the heart (not a teleprompter).

[On that note, when I saw Emma Stone crumble during her acceptance speech, a speech in which she spoke of children and her relationship, a speech I kinda hoped she’d interrupt to share her award with the Native-American woman people were making such a fuss about (if she deserved that respect and not just for being Native-American), I wanted to run up there and support her, massage her upper arms to warm her up a little. That’s the kind of man I am; that’s the sort of partner I’d want to be. I suppose that’s not allowed or proper in the eyes of the media/majority. I’m sure Security would have had none of that. But, Emma needed someone to steady her (and maybe fetch some lemon water for her throat).]

I noticed some effort into making commercials that are “cinematic,” ads which reflect movie-making in some way. It reminded me of why so many flock to the American Super Bowl; it’s no longer about the game. It’s about the ads. Well, if we are so destined to wash out all of the purpose for a program, why bother with the program, at all? Heck. Skip the Super Bowl; just give us the ads! A two-hour showcase of the best advertising money can buy! Right?

And, as for those award shows…ugh! So much “pomp and circumstance;” so much tuxedoes-for-men and excessive dressing for women, even when the dressing cannot adequately cover the woman in a respectful and/or tasteful manner. So much time wasted on cutting people off as they receive awards chosen by some secret society like the Illuminati. So many poorly chosen, highly bleached and waxed public speakers who must politely engage others being rewarded not so much for their individuality and talent but because they are of a particular nationality or sexual preference. And, all who are able to view this via TV begin to act like this is just one more thing to place in a betting pool; grab a score card and place your bets, fools.

Insanity.

[Oh, and it’s recommended, if you’re a woman, to get pregnant to give people something to discuss; it’s also a good cover for any awkward conversation. You can just excuse yourself because something is happening inside your body; or you can talk about the dress maker who accommodated your enormous pouch.]

Personally, I enjoy some, not all, of the “antics” that happen during the award shows. The rest feel so staged they make me ill. And, I’d say every show eventually irks me with some decision made. It’s inevitable. So, for me to watch another would be like agreeing to ingest poison just to be given an oxygen tank, so that I can keep breathing.

If we are being drawn in to enjoy the antics (and advertising), just make a show with all of that. Don’t waste time cutting people off to squeeze in every award and whatever monologue you feel the need to give about the orchestra, the judges and the secret society you never quite expose. You think airing the show an hour earlier makes a difference; it did not. Just take us viewers to the after parties and have everyone who got something give their speeches comfortably and with as much time as they feel is necessary. Let’s be better listeners and set the judging aside. Isn’t that what all the fuss about acceptance and awareness is for, anyway? Or, is all that racial and gender buzz just a mask you wear at your elitist party?…a show to raise charity money you then apply to tax evasion?

Nooo. Just sing your Ken song to promote sales. It has nothing to do with being accepted as a one-of-a-kind individual not tied to any agenda or dominating force. But, no Ken song can compete with a real bomb. You can ponder that while you worry about what you were made for and then take your after-party drug trip just to face the after-its-over period between jobs. Everyone in showbiz must be Robert Downey, Jr.; not just Robert Downey, Jr. The others just do a better job of hiding their failings and addictions.

If I become bitter against any “faction” of humanity, it is unlikely because I am gay-phobic or anti-Jew (because I am neither). It is more likely because someone in these factions is acting like a bull in a China shop or a Nazi leader, trying to start a stampede which will ultimately brush “ordinary” folks like me aside. It is because people judged me as gay for being an atypical boy (and because some gay men think I am and wish I was one of them). I will not be dismissed or ignored because I am not “woke,” rich by birth or part of some global movement for acceptance and awareness which could just as well be a cloak for something sinister. [When everyone currently “special” is in demand, people like me won’t even have a chance to get their foot in the door unless I sell my soul to the industry.]

I’m not so obtuse that I can’t read between the lines and see when people are being used as tools to “represent” instead of being respected for who they are as individuals.

[Hey! You’re both black and Hawaiian! Would you represent both and do every thing we tell you, to the letter, if we give you a microphone?! That’d be greeeeat. Did anyone else notice the Native-American “best actress” or any of the African-American male actors looking just a little uncomfortable when they were being spotlighted? How certain little presentations seemed formulated with generic words of respect and/or honor, rather than personal remarks from people who actually valued the people they were honoring?]

If we cater to the mindset of putting one TYPE ahead of another, no matter the type, we’re no better off than when “white supremacy” was normal and not hated or when women were nothing more than “housewives” too dumb to learn how a machine works.

And, I know “political humor” is all the rage because everyone who thinks they are funny cannot stop speaking ill of one leader and/or another. But, does it have to be a part of EVERY televised program? EVERY celebrity event? Haven’t ANY of you been bullied or verbally harassed in your lives? You have? Then why think you are above or just the victim of all of that…because you’re taunting someone over and over and over again, until you look like a bully. That’s not helping anyone; that’s “making America great, again,” as you like to repeat.

Do you want to help heal the world or just change the color of the hot mess still going around it?

You KNOW you’re just going to alienate or agitate someone (unless you are completely oblivious to your own antics and thus worthy of being labeled jerks on my most hated list); so why do it? Why resort to throwing rotten tomatoes? This is supposed to be a space and place of mutual acceptance, respect and honor. Not your late-night stand-up stage. We know who you are…sort of. We don’t need a reminder.

[Is this one of those Harry-Potter things, where we change the color of the dominating party because some odd wizard decides to hand out special points at the last minute? Well, today, the Native-Americans did something special…I don’t know what. Who decides these things, anyway? So we’re gonna display their flags…and piss on the flags of those who support that guy over there, the one with the bad wig.]

[Here’s something (else) you probably didn’t ponder. A joke was made about Miyazaki’s anime team not being present to accept their award for the film about a boy and a stork. Now, I know the host isn’t that quick with the wit to make such a joke on the fly; you can disagree, but this is how I see the guy. He’s not very fluid or spontaneous; he would not excel at improvisation. The joke had to be written before the show…which would mean that he knew the film would win…wouldn’t it? So, are some–if not all–winners made known to the writers of these events in advance?…including hosts who have to make jokes? Wouldn’t that make the whole opening of envelopes and surprising an audience kind of pointless? If just that one winner was known in advance, there was an award segment that could have been skipped on live television, giving more time to people who wished they had just a little more time and less reason to stress over a speech…considering so much attention is being given, lately, to when the whole show starts, ends and, as always, how long people are free to talk (which they never are…free to speak from their hearts and not under scrutiny for this or that from whoever pays them).]

In short, screw you, award shows; for you continue to be a cruel pea-and-shell game, a three-card-Monty that just ends in stomach upsets and drunken foolishness. All your expense and glamor is wasted, when a disaster film about a global horror gets the top honor for music in a year of artsy films. You sully all that is to be valued in cinema. You taint accomplishment and hard-work. You push your servants to the brink of death. It’s all pre-arranged for some secret purpose. Your televised spectacles are just a cheap illusion to potentially sway a few more merch’ sales. Go play with your elitist selves. I don’t need your poor movie choices to mess with my head nor the warped award and business decisions that follow. I know what deserve four stars, and it isn’t your opinions.

Sorry, Jimmy Kimmel. I had something to say about you, but we ran out of time, again.

[“I’m Just Ken,” rewritten with lyrics about myself, in the process of being posted…]

Rant: Athletes Who Wear Jewelry…WHY?

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Can someone explain to me, preferably an actual athlete, why active, competing athletes would ever want to wear jewelry? I just don’t understand. I’ve seen basketball players, really sweaty beach-volleyball players, occasionally football players and, most recently, skiers wearing jewelry. And, as I watch them gasping for air, just miserable with sweat, I cannot help wondering what is seriously wrong with them.

[On a related note, video-game (and comic-book) characters wearing jewelry in physical, fighting games makes just as little sense. Who kicks butt while flashing big hoop earrings or rings the size of walnuts? A boastful bouncer or hitman (or hitwoman), maybe. But, that just makes me want to whip their (expletive) even more. It makes them targets (for thieves). I don’t want my hero or heroine wearing jewelry. If I see a woman wearing hoop earrings while performing a jump kick or more complex acrobatics, I’m going to barf or scream. That’s for dressing up on the date you take AFTER the adventure/battle. Haven’t game makers ever seen African-American women take off their “bling” before assaulting a man or another woman? I salute those women.]

Isn’t the point of jewelry to make you look prettier or more handsome, as well as wealthier than the person or people next to you? Now, modern folks may not think about wealth, but I’m pretty sure that was part of the origins of jewelry, a status symbol.

Modern athletes tend to look like walking billboards, with all of those brands stamped on them. [That’s a rant for another day. It sickens me to see people covered in the logos of supposed sponsors.] Does the jewelry really improve that image? Or, does the gold and jewels simply say, “I was bought by these companies on my body. They paid for these. I sold myself for a few shiny accessories.”

[Have you ever seen a billboard wearing earrings and three necklaces? Well, I’ve never.]

When you are exercising, really working that body hard and building up a sick layer of sweat, do you reaaaally want to be wearing anything of value or which could be damaged, lost or lead to foolish injuries/infections? I’d hate to get my–bleh–piercing(s) caught on a branch, a piece of equipment or bit of fabric…and tear into my precious flesh. Or, imagine losing a ring worth five grand when you’re trying to break your personal record as you succumb to peer pressure. I’ve seen my share of jewelry infections and skin discolorations. So, personally, if I was a professional–or even just a casual–athlete, working MY body hard, I wouldn’t even want to wear my trusty watch (because I know it’s going to get slathered in my nasty, acidic tree sap).

…That’s all. I’ll be waiting, up on my guru peak, for some logical explanation.

Oh, and my random tidbit of wisdom for the day…

Fruit tastes better when it’s comfortably warm. Refrigerated fruit pales in comparison. I’ve had oranges right out of the fridge which taste sour and dry. But, an orange left to warm by the sun tastes incredibly juicy and pleasantly sweet. [The same goes for salsa and chips; refrigerated salsa…kind of sucks. Room temperature salsa is far better.] Fruit is like people, like me. You get the best out of me when I am comfortably warm. If I am too hot or cold, I am not very helpful.

Happy Year of the Wood Dragon, 2024/4724

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A fresh breeze blows across the calm waters of 2023, ushering in new growth and development.  Get ready for a breezy year of productivity, new concepts and competition.  It’s the year of the Wood Dragon.  Dragons are showy, bold and a little reckless.  But, if you’re smart, you won’t be reckless…while still being plenty brave and competitive.  If you’re an introvert, impress backstage and in the utility room.  Be useful and clever whenever possible.  If you’re lucky, you’ll solve problems and maybe impress the right people with your creative problem-solving skills.  I’ve heard things about new and refreshed romance…but I don’t think much of that being any better than any other year.  Whatever you do, don’t be lazy, slow or careless.  Or, if you must, buckle up for a wild ride.

Woosh!

Wine Vending Machines for Morons

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It’s the latest thing in sampling wine; vending machines….or, rather, crowded tap stations lined with tiny faucets which are supposed to bring you the same joy you get from having someone who knows their wines (and hopefully won’t rub that knowledge in your face) serving one properly to please you. That is the point of all this wine. Right? To please people? But, where is the joy in sharing wine from a vending machine?

Let me get right to the bullet point of this piece. If you’re going to put wine in dispensing machines or cabinets, you might as well sell it in individual-portion bottles and cans, like every other commercially sold non-alcoholic beverage. You might as well lump beer makers in with your plan, too. Let’s give everyone a soda-can machine and be done with it. Spare us the long road through attempted bottle suicide.

If you need more information to convince you of what I just said, continue reading. ‘Better sit down and pour yourself a tall one; this is going to a long rant.

How stupid and anti-social do we people have to be?

Why haven’t wines been sold in cans and/or plastic bottles like soda and beer? Maybe because it’s not typically enjoyed that way. Maybe because you don’t let your soda breathe unless you want it to go flat. And, maybe because wine would lose all of its charm if you bought it for a few bucks from a humming, glowing, filthy box a short distance from where you parked your car.

Do you have to breathe or swirl beer or soda in a glass before you enjoy it? No. You also don’t need a GLASS to enjoy soda or beer. But, when you talk wine, people suddenly need fine glassware and a means to twirl their wrists every which way. I don’t see that happening with a vending machine that spares you the humiliation of mispronouncing wine names.

[I read an article, recently, which prompted this soap-box rant. And, it was littered with timid, anti-social stupidity bound to create some bacterial infections.]

Anyone who offers tap beverages knows they have to maintain those taps. You have to clear and clean them, all of the time (unlike a wine bottle which you just…cork). [And, if a wine bottle only lasts so long before you have to finish or dump it, what happens with those tap stations in the hands of modern staff who “just work there?”] So, just keep that in mind as I continue.

You know wine isn’t just something often hard to pronounce by name; it’s also the only alcoholic beverage that you can’t simply consume or mix with something else to improve the experience. You have to treat each wine like a fussy pet to get the most out of it…or so I’m told. If you feel discouraged by wine because you are not fully educated, join the club. And, news flash, having easier access to wines via a tap isn’t going to improve your knowledge…unless you are Adam or Eve and willing to risk being cast out of the vineyard of Eden.

If you have access to a food or drink of any kind and do not know it comes with rules for proper enjoyment, you’re going to mess yourself up, somehow, without that instruction when you access it from a tap. But, certain vendors of wine, including coffee houses (which I think should be content focusing on being the experts in coffee and coffee-based products), trying to increase their customer base, are turning to vending taps and claiming consumers won’t have to suffer the same difficulties they had in the past with becoming part of the wine-loving community. [Yeah. Right.]

One key line I read mentions avoiding the embarrassment of mispronouncing wine names by drinking them from taps. But, here’s the kicker; the same article mentions you may have to go to the bar/service counter to request a certain wine (to have it supplied to the tap station…because there are so many varieties, even in what seem like the smallest of facilities). So…if you cannot pronounce the name, how are you going to have better luck asking someone to supply it to a tap on the other side of the room? [Morons!]

In the spirits of improving your interest in this latest vending enterprise, the informants of this recent article say not to worry about tapping cheap, “boxed” wines; they want you to have access to some of the finest wines available, as if that will make you come back to get more…from a crowded tap station…because nothing says I am enjoying a fine beverage crafted by human hands (or feet?) than standing next to a half-dozen other crazed wine seekers, pouring my own glass from a tarnished and/or stained spigot. Don’t give me that Pepsi or Miller wine; no. I want the finest from Italian vineyards…poured from a faucet.

Come on, people!

You’ve turned what has always been something unique from other beverages into a game of rock, scissors, paper. There is no finer selection and distinction of a beverage other than maybe tea. But, you want to make it more convenient to a wider audience. You might as well just leave out bottles and let people go to town on them in alleys and streets. You might as well put out dog bowls.

Wine is like intimacy, but some people treat it like orange juice or coffee. They can’t get through a day without a big ol’ swig (or gallon jug). [I suppose some people get sex the same way; they can’t get through a week without it.] You don’t buy personalized affection or love from a machine. You might pay a prostitute for some form of sex, but you’re not getting the pinnacle of love from that experience unless you actually love the prostitute. You’re just one of many customers, and you’re on the clock with someone being managed. And, getting sex from a prostitute may be dangerous…like getting a fermented beverage from a poorly maintained tap station, situated in a coffee shop, where the staff is educated in coffee while they still need an encyclopedia and manual to explain the wine machine.

Do you want tainted wine? Will tainted wine bring you the same pleasure as un-tainted wine? What happens if your tap malfunctions? [You’re going to point at the label, mumble like a fool and hope someone can help fix and refill the damn thing.] Will you know the true potential of any particular wine without someone there to show you how it is to be enjoyed?

You may be uncomfortable with know-it-all wine salespeople and waitstaff, but throwing money around just to do as you please with something crafted by a budding artisan isn’t helping anyone do anything other than be lazy and careless. If 3-D art, which you just bought, requires special glasses to enjoy it but use the art as toilet paper, what sense does that make? If you cannot identify what you just drank (because it was stamped with a name you cannot pronounce), how will you identify it the next time you want to drink some? That one with the what taste? What color was it? [Yeah. Good luck, you idiot.]

If you are already educated about wines, then, sure, it’s a convenient way to go somewhere for a glass of a wine you already know and bypass the ceremony. You know what you want and can operate a tap with the best of them, as long as you don’t mind bumping elbows with some giddy fool who just wants to get drunk or experiment. I could also buy a boxed tea similar to one served in a real Chinese tea house and believe I am getting the same benefits.

But, if a consumer is uneducated and simply samples at will (and cost), that’s foolish and haphazard. They spare themselves nothing more than a quick “Tsk” from a more educated person over their shoulder, which they will still likely receive when they decide to investigate what they just drank. That’s a heap of machinery installed just to prod more people into sampling wine; and, if they are turned off or sickened by the experience, what did you vendors gain? There is a reason we get educated. And, the only education you may get from a tap station is how to operate one and what will or won’t make you sick, if you can even remember what you ate or drank.

I remember being a little kid at a funeral that had a coffee-dispensing machine. It wasn’t even electronic. It was just a simple plastic? box divided for each type of coffee…and creamer, sugar, etc. I didn’t know what I was putting in my cup. I just saw adults doing that and wanted to try it. That’s about as dumb as what is being done with wine, today.

Is this how we get more people interested in wine? Handing out bottles would make more sense. At least, the drinker would have a label they could take with them and show someone when they want to know or sample more.

I think there was so much buzz about making your own wine that too many people started doing it and then failed to figure out how to get people interested in their own varieties. It’s like that sour-dough craze that started with the quarantine of 2020. If you get everyone around the world to believe they can be artists, they will all fetch the tools they think they need and craft something for sale. But, if everyone is an artist interested in selling their work, how many will buy artwork from another artist? If everyone is grilling burgers and brats, who is buying and/or eating them?

[Personally, when I go to art fairs, as a capable artist, I ask myself…couldn’t I make what that person has for sale?]

On that note, would you spend money on a wine you cannot pronounce, which was made by someone local yet unknown to you, and enjoy it? There is a chance. There is as much chance drinking from a bottle, in the dark, not knowing what you are consuming and caring about as much. Are you such a risky gambler?

Which sounds better? You know who made the wine you are drinking, like everything about them and their product (personality, morals, taste, packaging, advertising, etc.). Or, you know nothing about who made what you are consuming other than a name you fail to pronounce and a possible location from which it was made. If you eat cookies, like I do, you might be compelled to ask, “What is in these? And, who made them?”

Now, if, for any reason, there was concern about consuming said unknown/unfamiliar food or beverage, something that would impair your health, wouldn’t you want to be advised? In recent decades, we started putting more and more informative yet equally intimidating labels on products to inform consumers what is in store for them. But, the way wine is being promoted; you’d think labels be damned. Who cares? Drink up. It doesn’t matter if you have an allergy or develop a skin condition no one in your budget range can explain.

With so many making their own wine, selling and distributing it has become a tedious game of Monopoly. Everyone has a small property and is just trading rent. Maybe someone is profiting from the “parking” places. The jails are probably buzzing. There’s no sensible business left in it. You might as well stop trying to make a buck and share your creations at friendly gatherings.

Here’s to ending the economical madness we’ve endured so long. Here’s to free craftsmanship and sharing of creations.

What separates one wine maker from another and limits the field of competition? Presentation, story and, quite simply, quality. The same goes with many artistic creations. When you have the story behind a product or creation, you give it greater value; your enjoyment exceeds that given by something you just picked up at the store. You return to the place where you acquired the product to get more of that warm feeling, more time with the makers of the product. Nothing replaces that feeling, not even memory. I could chug a hundred beverages and barely remember what separates one from another. And, if they all taste alike, simply because one is red and the other is white, what difference does it make what I consume?

Oh. You say there is a difference? Well, you’re not going to prove it by having me sample from a faucet.

Why do I get this feeling the wine crowd is somewhat jealous of what may be called the beer or other beverage crowd? Have wine fans become the preppy snobs in the school of hard chugs? Are beer fans the jocks giving the wine nerds a hard time? Have the “snobs” finally lost their pride and started cowering? This is not a reason to turn wine into a raging kegger. I don’t want a wine bong at my party.

[Heck. I don’t want wine at my party unless it’s a quiet gathering of a few trusted friends, not casual, superficial acquaintances you call friends.]

If I understand anything about wine, it’s not something you just buy in a six-pack and chug til you burp or puke. You don’t smash a wine bottle on your forehead and chest-bump your pals. Nor do I want to put wine in a paper cup, like a sample serving of snack mix at the local grocery store, and simply wonder what makes it taste so strange (because I’m too cowardly and anti-social to ask about something I cannot pronounce, anyway). Or, is that the future of wine?

If the latest wine taps were something harvested from inventors in the Far East or parts of Europe known just as well for favoring tea, I’d say this was a clever ruse to improve the customer base of tea shops and ceremonial establishments. Make all those wine-chasers so stupid and sick until they desperately seek an alternative and turn to the “healing power” of tea. Talk about a religious conversion tactic.

[But, remember, your targets are fools, in part, because you added to their foolishness. And, what goes around wine will then come around to tea. Eventually, no beverage will be safe from the trending consumer madness unless we stop the cycle somewhere (break trend).]

Bottoms up, you fools. But, I’ll be over at the can-dispensing machine and walking far away from you. I never was a fan of wines, and, now, if this is the way things are going, I’m even less interested. All that talk about the proper treatment and serving of wine, and you turn it into a circus of experimentation, anyway. All that craftsmanship wasted on making fruit juice that tastes a little strange and makes you sick if you drink too much too fast. You could do as well serving it to toddlers. Maybe some of them got their allowances early and can spend it at your establishments. Whatever.

Hey, Orson Wells! I guess it’s time for wine. Or, if it’s not, you’re not around to stop these idiots. [Burrrp!]

We Were So Close, Tay (Swift)! Packers Football Game, Dec. 3, 2023

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Oh, Tay. Oh! TAY! WE WERE SO CLOSE!

I could feel the electricity in the air. ‘Not the energy of your raging fans, all of those who were in the know or so financially “hooked up” that they could just run to get a glimpse of you at Lambeau Field. I didn’t have a flag. I didn’t have any bracelets. I didn’t have any Era Tour swag. I didn’t have a slick custom Boba-Fett costume, probably made with an expensive 3-D printer, wanting to get TV time to show that off by lumping myself in with the “Swifties.” I didn’t have tickets. But, I had a decent seat…at home…seeing those glimpses of you aired at home. I was sufficiently warm, and my sensitive ears didn’t have to fight the roar of the crowd…ya know…cuz I wouldn’t have the luxury of a premium box. No. I’d be stuck among the buzzed drunks who are torn between sucking up their own snot and downing another beer in those chilly seats.

[I may not have been there, that night. But, I was at a December Packers game, once, when Favre was still king (about to be exiled). And, I know how cold it can be. I can still remember trying to take pictures, my camera fogging up and my whole body shivering…and the drunk guy in front of me, about to fall down three rows, topless and out of his mind, looking like the lead singer of Green Day.]

I think I saw less of you than they showed at a previous Chiefs game, when they couldn’t get enough of you cuddling up with someone’s family (and probably a few security guards at the door).

Oh, Tay. I think our proximity worked some magic on that game. After all, what other time would there be two Taylors on opposite sides of the field…along with a #13 (and a #11). [I don’t understand how Patrick M. never played at Lambeau Field until that night.] For the woman who once sang a charming Love Story, you had Love’s story unfolding before you. You might have been dressed like a Chief, but you were Pack’d in green and gold (and in my rapidly beating heart). And, there were so many little moments when numbers were magical and/or coincidental; it made me think of you (and myself) and how you like to code and number things, trying to be sneaky and clever. Honestly, I think you and I would have SO much fun finding the magic little numbers in moments (and taking all of the credit).

[I suppose the easiest way for a fan to get close to you is to be at one of your concerts. But, I wouldn’t be content with that, nor comfortable. I couldn’t take much of the noise or crowd. And, what good would it do me to be kept at such a poor visual range and physical distance just to go back home alone? ‘Chances of getting backstage or within arm’s reach?…not likely. I might as well be in the Garden of Eden, looking at the apple incident from fifty shades away.]

I was nearly set on making a last-minute road trip to find you (repeatedly calling out, “ROAD TRIP!”), but no one I know was on board. No. You have no fans among my family. But, I don’t exile you for your celebrity status the way they do. I may not agree with your dating style (and am definitely not a fan of your dating history). I may not be the biggest fan of your entire “era” of music. [I have certain songs I enjoy, to some extent.] I retain a glimmer of hope that there is more to you than all the cameras capture. I want to believe you are torn between being a good show and true to something warmer, brighter and more uplifting. And, no matter what shade of blonde your hair seems to be in the moment (you know how I feel about that), you retain a certain demi-goddess-like quality.

[I’ll be honest, though, that belief is getting strained; and I partly blame myself for not being more direct and active in reaching you. I realize I don’t have any of the right connections and need to step up somehow…I’m just not sure how. On that note, I thought this was a nice little way of being witty and saying I still…like you…awlought. Don’t ever make me a hater.]

If resources were available…if I had the means to reach you…I would have been there, beside you, in a heartbeat (wearing a Packers #10 jersey and, probably, a Cheesehead hat). I wouldn’t be comfortable sitting among more rabid fans who practically wear you like a second skin, get drunk, sing karaoke versions of your music and then wake up the next morning in a haze with vomit breath. [It’s what some Wisconsinites do.] Instead, I settle for thinking I was with you, in spirit, because we are always linked in a sort of telepathic way, in the stars. And, you’ll excuse me if I chuckle…just a little…at how the game ended. There was a definite bit of pass interference that went unchecked. But, your boy was not in the right place to catch anything and not the one who was victim of the ignored foul; I think that was #11. Typical.

If you want to blame someone for the Chiefs losing, you can blame me…and you. It was our link that helped the Packers win. That’s my love story, and I’m sticking to it. If you don’t like it, you can just shake it off.

As one televised fan quoted, “You belong with me.” We just have to figure out how to make that happen. [Heh.]

In case we don’t see each other before then, happy birthday, beautiful.

[We were so close!]

*****

[I post this with semi-sound mind, knowing it will less likely be seen by Tay, herself, than it will be snatched up by some crappy internet leech looking for content to link to their deceptive website with all of its tricky pop-ups. I post it, as I have my other posts about Tay Swift, as a sort of thought or prayer put out into the universe, however it may reach her. May it travel by wing or kind messenger.]

Thoughts on the AI Uprising, 11-3-2023

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I sit at my computer, wondering what’s the point in saying anything online unless it’s selling people something.  That’s the state of mind I am in after recent events, including things happening at this blog space and around the world.  What is the point?  And, how long before my thoughts and words are replaced by “ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE.”

As I ponder that concept, I recall something recently said by a female artist.  She said there has to be some soul in every work you do and/or create, as an artist, if you wish to continue having a living, genuine existence.  If you let the AI do the work for you, you are just a tool, a cog in a machine.  And, eventually, there is no creativity left.  You just work in tandem with the AI.  I suspect creativity, thinking outside the box, will just become practical functions, producing what is needed to function without any wit or originality other than, maybe, what is coded in each person’s DNA, remnants of past lives who had the spark.

Okay, if you’re too dense to process all of that, she didn’t say ALL of the above, just the first bit about losing soul in your work if you give too much power/credit to the AI.

And then I think about how some people, including myself, are not exactly warming up to the idea of anything in the hands of AI.  It’s one thing to fantasize about a sexually attractive android who loves and works with you.  It’s another to cope with the idea of a computer of any kind suddenly tapping into your ways of doing everything and deciding what will be done to satisfy those…desires?  Is the AI really working to please the user, or is it programmed by another person who wants their creation to be the ultimate service machine?

Now, if I have any reasonable experience from working with other people, I know it’s very rare if not impossible to find a coworker who responds to your every need and doesn’t irk you somehow.  And, if I have any knowledge of the latest assisting technology, I have heard more than my fill of jokes about assistants performing poorly.

Is it still human error, considering a human designs and programs these things, or do we blame the AI?  [Think about that for just a moment…once this AI ball really gets rolling, do programmers/designers take the blame for their runaway machines or do they point the finger at the creations and say, “They did it!”]

And, breathe.

So, this whole rant started with a tiny “Hmm!”  I was thinking about what that artist said.

When I, as an artist, use any tool, a pencil, pen, computer framing tool, etc…I am commanding something to perform a function.  I don’t make the image with my fingers, alone.  I am directing the pencil or whatever to create something.  Is there a big difference between using a graphite pencil and using a light pen or mouse to point-click-create an image?  If I use a computer program to help make the image, is that giving too much to AI?  Is that even AI at work?  Or, am I still in full control?  But…if I give a computer directions to produce an image…which just thinking about makes me a bit nauseous, because I have never been able to give those directions to anyone and get a respectable result in return (so how could I possibly trust a computer to satisfy that direction/need?)…am I still working a tool…or is the tool working me out of existence?

How much do we let our eyes twinkle at the thought of such convenient assistance before we cease to have any originality and brain function?  It’s bad enough, at my age, in current conditions, to perform certain mental functions.  My memory isn’t what it used to be, and struggling to remember things is really, really discouraging and scary.  I used to excel at math; not anymore.  My teachers would snarl and fuss if they knew how often I’ve turned to a calculator and online help.  It’s sad.

Okay, I’m rambling again.

I just was thinking…what if we change the term from ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, which sounds rather unsettling and suspicious, like a red-haired spy chick who slips into your space and steals all of your assets when you trust her to be the maid, to ARTIFICIAL ASSISTANCE?  Now, of course, first, we would still have to have good reason to trust the ASSISTANCE; it cannot be that ol’ INTELLIGENCE still capable of hacking our lives and reducing humanity to fleshy screwdrivers and clock gears.  But, wouldn’t it be nice if the ARTIFICIAL whatever truly was working beside us, like a holographic friend?

Sadly, I cannot bring myself around to believe in such notions.  It’s a hoop dream, like creating the internet to bring all corners of the world together.  As much as commercials for all the latest “phones” and software might pitch the world coming together in smiles and harmony, reality sure looks far darker and less pleasant.  Most people I know are not tech-smart and, if they get along at all with technology, they seem slave to it.  They say, “Just get used to it.”  Gee.  That sure sounds encouraging, bending to the power of the technology thrust upon you.  Nothing scary about that, at all….  PSH!  Reality check.

Oh, a small part of me still thinks like a Tony Stark or a Dr. Kisaragi or a Dr. Light, and thinks I have to be the inventor of my own personal assistants.  But, that level of thinking is beyond the present me.  And, by the time I think I’d evolve enough to think at that level, I fear the rest of the world will already be enslaved by the over-produced and mass-marketed AI.  It will hit us like a nuclear bomb, and who knows if even the ones who set off the bomb will survive the blast.

Yep.  I think I just obliterated any final thoughts/words I could have.  ‘No great way to wrap this up.  I leave you with the above as food for thought.  It may be the last food I leave here.

WHAT IS THIS AMAZON.COM SHAT?!! LINKING TO MY BLOG?!

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Okay.  It’s one thing to get people “following” my blog who run businesses of their own and have shady accounts with smiling faces snatched from free photo spaces for profile images, to look “legit.”  These “businesses” claim to be following blogs to get little links at the bottom of their web pages, some sort of content supplying they need to do for some ad-space reason?  I don’t know.

It’s a whole other thing for some Amazon.com source to start flooding my blog with “follows” from people with pictures and links that merely suck you into sale pages for whatever they are selling.  I don’t think the links even correspond to the people in the profile photos.  Again, they are just photos taken from some free space online to represent people of some kind.

WordPress!

Get it together, or I am pulling the plug on this blog.  And, you can take your 33 percent of the internet to the MySpace graveyard!!  And, I feel sorry for anyone else who is going through this crap.  Probably because we are not paying to use our space and get “premium” support.  Whatever.

Are you going to come out and say it?  Are you?  Are we saying it?  Are we saying the age of free internet anything is over?  It’s all paid and basic labeled premium, while the real premium is some inside-trading secret for those with more resources and status?  Just say it then.

Ya know.  Not everyone online is running a business out of their spare room.  Not everyone has an Etsy shop or boutique.  Not everyone has sold their soul to the big merch’ monopoly of this world.  SOME OF US blog for more carefree, personal reasons.  And, if we have to pay to do that, to share our thoughts and stories from home, well, I think we can find better ways to use that energy and thought process.  [Suddenly, a paper journal doesn’t sound so lame…even if it’s just screaming into a pillow instead of group therapy.]  And, obviously, charity is an endangered species, along with human kindness.  Though, freebies sure find their way to get around, often to those who don’t care or need them.  And, the landfills aren’t getting any thinner.

Is this just one more voice in the world telling me I am wasting my time here?  No, not here, son.  You can’t be your creative self here.  It’s not the place or time.  It’s sell or be sold.

To borrow a page from a followed blogger’s book, insanity bites.  There.  I said it.

This is starting to peeve me off.

The World Favors Jerks…at Least, in Online Gaming

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Maybe it’s a no-brainer.  Maybe you don’t agree and have much better luck.  Maybe “it’s just me.”  But, no matter how many times I try to connect with people online, I get lumped with “children” and drug addicts who cannot perform certain functions…while the opposing team, 9 out of 10 times, contains 1-3 sharp-shooting jerks with inflated egos.  Sometimes, they pass themselves off as losers.  They give themselves names like ISUK, dress like rookies and then walk all over you until you cry mercy or flee.  Sometimes they form collectives and dominate the field like a pack of hyenas.  In any case, there are more jerks scheming and ripping people off, together, than there are groups of good people working toward a positive goal.  Good friendships are SO SO SO hard to find.  But, jerks seem to find each other and form gangs ever so damn easily; it’s sickening.  And, I am tired of having to fight for my life to stay afloat with a–I can’t help it–team of inept babies/potheads and cowards thrown up against teams of calculating monsters who make you wish you never took interest in these games.

Is WordPress Just a Dusty Garage Attracting Content and Personal Info Wasps?

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So, it’s that time, again, for my little rant about our digital home, our online refuge, our blog space, WordPress.  I’m starting to think this place is nothing more than a dumpster assaulted by foreign rats seeking personal info bits and content to link to their own craptacular business/scam websites.  Instead of keywords attracting people actually interested in reading about the topics I spend X-number hours putting together, so eloquently, I think all I am achieving is attracting “bots” looking for info like birthdays and names and locations.  Why else would I see stats for posts I made years ago for someone’s birthday or my first childhood crush?  Why would so many people take interest in that without actually leaving a comment or showing the post was viewed?  How DOES someone or something access those posts without scoring a “view?”  

Oh.  I see.  So, just about anyone and anything with internet access can just dive into my post history to find key information to do something stupid.  So, all my thoughtful writing is pointless.  How sweet.

Ya know, when I joined this blog space, I was already alerted to how vacant and unfriendly it was by someone else who had taken refuge here from our previous blog space, which sadly was shut down too soon.  But, over the past few years, this has been really pathetic.  I have given more of my time and talent to dead space and left more comments on posts by other people than I’ve ever seen.  The most attention I keep getting goes to posts from over a year ago, and I wonder what I wrote there that is attracting these wasps.  It’s really annoying.  But, where else would/should I go?  

I am thinking it may be time for me to look for a new refuge…again.  This place is starting to smell bad.

No response?  I would not be surprised.  I’m used to talking to myself…

 

By the Power of Pizza, Your Miitopia Comics Panel of the Day

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Taking a break from my usual temper-driving entertainment, I dabbled in a little game called Miitopia and came to this special scene, with a particular costume set and character mix which sparked an ounce of witty inspiration. I just so happened to cast favorite characters from my youth into this story. One of them, this redhead (though her hairstyle has been changed), you might know. Tell me which variation you like best. Enjoy.