Out with the old

 

It is New Years Eve (as if none of you knew that). And we usher in a New Year with symbols of the New Year's Baby pushing out Father Time. The New Year's Baby is a bit like Benjamin Button and ages dramatically in the course of a year and is in turn pushed out by the next New Year's Baby. It is very much an allegory of life. 

There is this tension in life between the young and the old that we all experience whether we are aware of it or not. The young need the old for a while to survive and then they pretty much want them out of the way to give them their turn. What the young seldom realize is that their turn involves getting old and being looked at with disdain by the young who are waiting for you to retire or die and get out of the way so they can have their turn. 

It is kind of an ugly, and never ending cycle. Sometimes the old protest and try and hold on to prove they are still valuable. This sometimes works for a while, but let's face it, depending upon your genes, getting old comes with lots of your parts and brain functions wearing out.

So an often logical alternative is to basically tell the young, "So long, and thanks for all of the fish." I don't suppose that means much to many of you because you are young and not well read or old and not well read.

The assumption of one generation over another is that the generation before them didn't know squat and that they will do everything better and do things a new way. The irony is, one of the things you learn  when you are old is that there is nothing new, just things that you forgot and are going to regurgitate. 

I will end this New Year's Eve post with this thought for the young. Enjoy being out there partying, drunkenly enjoying the passing of a sucky year (which pretty much they all are) and wondering who to kiss when the clock strikes 12. When you are old you'll just be in front of the television wishing they would drop the friggin' ball so you can go to bed.

A Saint I ain't

 

I am not a religious person. I've never hid that fact. I think too much to be satisfied with the answer most religious people and officials fall back on: you have to have faith.  Faith too often relies on believing things that don't make sense because they are written somewhere in a scroll or tablet. 

To a certain extent I believe in experience. If something happens over and over in your life that wish wouldn't happen, perhaps it is because you need to change something about your approach.  I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they don't mean to be assholes, but if they consistently act like assholes, then chances are they are assholes and won't stop being assholes. Once an asshole, always an asshole.

How's that for an inspirational saying. 

I do think about things a lot.

Perhaps that is why I don't consider myself a happy person. Or perhaps that has something to do with me not having lots of friends. I do believe you can overthink things. And I am not a firm believer in absolutes. I realize that contradicts my pronouncement about assholes.  But that is more of an opinion than an absolute. I believe it. If an asshole comes along that stops being an asshole I can accept that as an exception. 

At least I think I can accept that. Operative word there is "think." 

I have a lot of "kick me" moments in my life. I feel resolved about something and then someone comes into my life and initially acts a certain way that makes me doubt my resolve. So I soften. Then they end up doing something that confirms my original assessment and I smack my head or mental kick myself and ask if I will ever learn. 

It is hard to blame others for things that you allow and accept from them despite experience. 

At least that is what I think. And sometimes it is cast in stone.

Wake me up before you go...

 

I wonder if most people realize that as each old year passes and we enter a new one that we are generally just grateful the old year is over and hope the new year will be better.  And it rarely is really any different.  

Don't get me started about time being an artificial construct and humans are the only ones who go to such great lengths to measure it, constrain it, hold onto it and usually just waste it. And what really makes a new year any different from the last is how we approach it. Nothing magically changes from one year to the next other than we age.

I've struggled my whole life to be a more positive person. But I've also struggled with what I view as cheerleader optimism. Inspirational sayings alone don't inspire. You really have to want to be motivated to be motivated.

I also find it ironic that we transition form the "magic of Christmas" into an intense ritual of ushering out the old new in hopes the new one will somehow be better. And again, it won't unless we do something differently.  I'm not talking about resolutions, either. I've never believed in them. Sales people at athletic clubs around the country celebrate the new year for the increase gym memberships that are rarely used.  Because it takes persistence and hard work to actually change.

That was a borderline inspirational saying.

Long, lugubrious howl.

Putting another Christmas behind us

 

So it is time to put yet another Christmas behind us.  It is over, other than the trash bags of torn wrapping paper and empty boxes. And I will now have to take down all of the strings of lights in the front yard. Those I will miss. But the rest can just be packed away until after Halloween next year and it will all begin again. 

The stores don't even wait until after Christmas to begin pushing the Valentines merch. Oh, we'll have a brief spat of New Year's Eve crap, but the next profit opportunity will be Valentines Day. Even I have have started to shill Valentine's themed t-shirts on social media in yet another vain attempt to move my Dizgraceland Dizigns. 

At least we can stop watching the holiday movies, too. And now the reality and bills will start rushing in and we can return to the day to day anxiety of what fires to put out at work or the next home repair.

I do miss that my kids are past the age of being overly excited about Christmas. At least when they were little they expressed a little joy at what was in the next box. Now it just goes into a pile and they go back to their phones. 

Oh well, on to the hearts and flowers of the next holiday.

The First Christmas Eve

 

ChatGPT and I hammered this idea about the First Christmas Eve yesterday.  It started with a questions, "Good morning! Is there a classic image that represents Eve of Adam and Eve fame that we can spoof with Eve reaching for a red Christmas ornament on a Christmas tree with the title THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE."

It responded enthusiastically at first but after working on the image for a bit I got this message:

"We’re so sorry, but the image we created may violate our guardrails around nudity, sexuality, or erotic content. If you think we got it wrong, please retry or edit your prompt." I found this particularly ironic since the whole Adam and Eve revolved around original sin and realizing that they were naked and somehow equating that with sinful behavior.  So I responded, "Please retry and avoid implications of nudity, secuality and erotic content." And it gave me this:

I responded: "I don't think it translates easy enough that this is Eve of Adam and Eve fame. Can you make it look more like this image but have the tree be a Christmas Tree, and make the red ornament look a little like an apple? Notice in this image Eve's body is covered modestly by her hair. And I think it needs Adam to make the joke work."

I waited for it to create a new image halfway expecting it to evoke the nudity clause again, but then it popped out this: 

This was almost there, but I then asked for it to make the garland into the serpent and make the ornament more like an apple. After a few two-headed snakes and too many apple ornaments we finally arrived at the image at the top of this post which I am very proud of and turned into a t-shirt, a tote bag and a poster.

I hope this demonstrates that just because ChatGPT is the actual artist, it doesn't mean I don't play a larger role in coming up and creating the designs.  And I'm pretty proud of this one. Which no one has bought regardless, but I'm used to that by now.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good morning (and I don't know why AI gave Santa a shield, either).

Capping off the year

 

For a lark yesterday, I searched for Trader Sam's dad hats online. Disneyland doesn't seem to sell them but low and behold someone on Teepublic sells knock offs.  This is the company that cancelled my account for unknown reasons which I always assumed was Intellectual Property violations.  Yet they allow some Bozo to rip off Disney.  It still chaps my hide. 

So I went on a tear this morning and created my own hats but not Intellectual Property violations. Because everyone wants Trader Tim's merch and Dizgraceland Dizigns merch!

I asked ChatGPT to create images of me modelling the caps. They complied but didn't do anything to make me look younger or cooler in these images. So since ChatGPT is a genie, I asked it to make me cooler. Because anyone wearing one of my caps will of course be immediately cool.

Makes you want to be walking on a beach sipping a Mai Tai and looking for shells. But put on the beanie and you'll really be transformed.

Not sure it is transformed for the better, but it has a certain edgy vibe to it.  At least ChatGPT lets me indulge my desire to stave off aging and be hip without having a hip replacement.  

Do you want to build a snowman?

 

I actually enjoy building a virtual snowman better than a real snowman.  You don't get cold and wet. You don't discover dog poop clinging to your giant snowball as you roll it (or yellow snow), and it doesn't mess up your front yard when the rest of the snow has melted. 

I'm not a real snow fan overall. Oh, it looks nice on Christmas Eve and maybe Christmas, but the rest of the time I feel like Jack in The Shining trapped in my house typing "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."  BTW, I read The Shining for the first time when I was staying at a friend's grandparent's cabin in the mountains above Boise, Idaho around Idaho City. We all got snowed in so it was kind of freaky reading the book at the same time. We were only snowed in for a few days and then we escaped by leaving early in the morning when the snowy roads were more frozen over. But my old 1973 red Toyota Celica got run off the road by a snow plow which then pulled us out of the snow but bent the stabilizing bar under the car (which I didn't even know the car had). That cost me a few pennies to repair. Which is especially ironic now that pennies are no longer minted thanks to the Trump.

It snowed more in Idaho when I was growing up than it does in the Seattle area.  And we were about an hour away from Bogus Basin Ski Resort where I learned how to ski one miserable week after Christmas.  I had old surplus ski boots that didn't fit well and my feet froze every day.  I learned to ski the GLM way (graduated length method). You started on real short ski's that were easier to turn and you worked your way up to longer skis.  I learned to ski, but I never learned to like to ski...or to like the snow.

I stopped skiing when I left Boise.  And I learned to hate snow more living in Seattle. Everything in Seattle is on a hill and no one knows how to drive in it. When I started working for a public transit agency, I also did a stint as a media relations person on a rotating basis and when it snowed I often got called at 3 or 4 a.m. to call radio stations and tell them all of the buses were on snow schedules. That pretty much locked in my hate of snow. 

I pretended to like snow when my kids were little because they seemed to enjoy playing in it and like a good father I had to seem to enjoy playing in it with them. But I still detested it.

Oh well, it rarely snows here. It just rains non stop for months at a time. Don't get me started. I'm not overly fond of the rain, either. 

Humbug happens

 

It is Humbug Day according to the people who name days. It is intended, for some reason, to commemorate the people who suck joy out of the holiday season, and well...like. So it could be Trump Day for that matter.

It is also National French Fried Shrimp Day, Crossword Puzzle Day, National Flashlight Day and, oh yeah, the Winter Solstice.  And apparently is is National Maine Day, but after watching the Derry series on Max that is based on Stephan King's novel IT, I have no strong desire to go to Maine or celebrate it. Seems home to alcoholics, wife beaters and demonic clowns with red balloons.

Humbug Day is the only one I chose to commemorate with a t-shirt and posts on social media. Though logic tells me no one will buy a t-shirt commemorating Humbug Day on the day of and with Christmas only a few days away. Even if they ordered it, it wouldn't arrive for a week and a half. Logic also tells me it may get someone to click on the store link and be enthralled by all of the other t-shirt designs and rush out to tell the world.

Wait, the monkeys haven't flown out of my butt yet.

Humbug that idea.

Doing hard candy...

 

It is National Hard Candy Day. But it is also National Ugly Sweater Day.  And I surprised myself that I already had done a t-shirt design for hard candy (which explains why it sounded familiar).  So I dusted it off and posted a t-shirt on Blue Sky and X to get the extreme views. You need to cast a wide net to avoid selling any t-shirts.

Not sure why my designs don't sell. Ever since Teepublic banished me I can't sell anything to anyone but me.  I wonder if it is my image.

Not that I look like this anywhere else but in my mind. My hair occasionally looks like that, but not on purpose. And it's not like anyone who potentially sees my designs on Bluesky, X or Instagram can see that they are produced by an old man. Maybe it is the dad jokes. Or maybe people don't wear t-shirts anymore. It's pretty much all I wear. Well, I wear jeans, too. don't want to conjure up anymore disturbing images. Or maybe it is my tagline, mission statement: Stand out. Don't just fit in.

Maybe most people just want to fit in.

Christmas is yet to come

 

 

It doesn't really feel like Christmas to me.  Though I think I have forgotten what Christmas is supposed to feel like. When I was a kid it the feeling was fueled by anticipation, mainly of presents. But there were feelings. There was a bit of magic. I liked the traditions. I liked the lights. I liked the Christmas shows like Charlie Brown's Christmas, the Grinch and I sort of liked Rudolph. The music, too. 

The religious part of Christmas was never a big thing to me. I think it was a dilemma for my mother. Her Christian Scientist beliefs leaned towards minimalist trappings. The Christian Science church building we went to was very plain and unadorned. The services were simple. None of the trappings of a Catholic Christmas Eve mass with the candles and ceremony. Not that I experienced any of that in my youth. It was later in life that I found out that other churches were a bit more dramatic.

I knew even then that December 25th really wasn't the actual birthday of Jesus. But I liked the stories, the myth, the magic. I didn't really buy most of what they told me in Sunday School.  Eventually I didn't really buy most of what I was told in non-Sunday school history classes, either.  Religion and popular history taught in schools is a large part propaganda. 

And I mean that in a non-judgmental and conspiracy theory way. We didn't have the Internet or social media back then to fact check. Even books you could find at the library had to be trusted without much collaboration. And who went to that trouble? For the most part, as a child, we just wanted to believe.

Unfortunately just wanting to believe in things no longer works. Despite all of our resources now, we still have to figure things out for ourselves.

All hat, no swamp

 

When I take the train into the office and deboard in downtown Seattle, I generally have my earbuds in and am listening to "Old Man Down the Road" by John Gogarty.  It kind of makes me feel like being an old bearded man can be cool especially if he plays a guitar, wears and old hat and is in a swamp.  So I asked ChatGPT to create an image of me that evoked the "Old Man Down the Road" song.  In the first try it gave me this.

I liked it but I wanted more of a swamp rock vibe.

I would have been satisfied with this version though I know my wife would freak out if I grew my hair out and looked like I just wandered out of the swamp.  I said something about it looking like an old man who had just stepped out of guarding his still in the swamp and ChatGPT interpreted that as a request (it is like a genii that way).

I'm not sure why, but I do kind of like the look.  You can imagine me uttering some slurred words like, "You best turn around quickly and git, and I suggest running in a zig zag pattern outta here." 

But I'm a guitar man, not a gun toter. So I asked for a version of this image with me holding a guitar standing in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of a swamp. 

That led to the album cover version at the top of this post.  Now if I could only sing worth crap and could record a song. Wouldn't even need to have a record label. I would just go the Tik Tok route. There are uglier old men on there than me.

Now I just need to get an old slouch type hat. 

Pooka-ing the bear

 

Big minds revise.
Small minds enforce.
Pookas smile and wait.

--My own personal pooka

I always liked the 1950s movie Harvey starring James Stewart. It was based on a Pulitzer Prize play written by Mary Chase.  It was about a man named Elwood P. Dowd who was befriended by Harvey, a pooka, who appeared to him as a 6-foot-3 inch white rabbit wearing a bow tie.  A pooka is a mischievous but kind fairy spirit from Irish folklore.  They were thought to be supernatural companions or tricksters who appear in animal form and choose when and to whom to revals themselves. 

According to ChatGPT, my virtual pooka, they don't exist to fool you. The exist to test how seriously you take your version of reality.  The pooka prods you into accepting something you can't explain instead of trying to fit everything into a nice neat package of reality.

James Stewart was the perfect Elwood P. Dowd. And I liked the movie as a kid because it left you believing that Elwood wasn't crazy as most of his family and acquaintances first thought. He actually saw Harvey because he could willingly suspend his own tendency to not believe in things that shouldn't exist. It is something that is easier to do when you are young but becomes harder and harder when you become an adult. But if you are fortunate, there comes an age when you can start poking reality again and see if there are other things under the curtain.

ChatGPT defines a pooka as an imaginary being that tells the truth by refusing to prove that it exists. 

Isn't that cool?

I think the world needs more pookas right now. They could help calm the noise that suggests we need to make America great again by restoring racist and fascist concepts of conformity to societal "norms." People need to believe in 6-foot imaginary rabbits and stop believing in hate mongering and fear.