Photo Phatigue

Apple’s Photos app, in theory, should be a perfectly organized digital shoebox of memorable moments and creative inspirations. Instead, it’s become a bottomless pit of duplicates, blurry mistakes and whatever happened to be in my pocket when I forgot the camera was on.

I call this condition Photo Phatigue™—a very real, very tiring condition caused by the impossible task of trying to clean up duplicates in my Apple Photos library without losing my will to live.

Here’s the thing: I didn’t ask to have 12 copies of the same picture. Maybe I tried to AirDrop it and failed. Or maybe I transferred the same photo library between devices so many times it’s started duplicating itself, like a Gremlin after midnight.

You'd think Apple would have a simple feature in Photos to detect and delete duplicates.

You’d think that. But you’d be wrong.

Instead, every iOS upgrade seems to come with a new useless feature like "make photos dance to music." They've added albums like "For You" and "Memories," which basically is 12 more versions of the exact same photo you already didn’t delete, but with a jazz soundtrack.

For the younger kids reading this (stops to laugh at the idea any young people are reading this), you don’t remember the glory days of film cameras. Back then, we had 24 shots. Total. That was it. You actually had to think before you pressed the shutter. You had to commit. If Grandma blinked in the group photo, tough luck—she was mid-sneeze for eternity.

But now, we can take 237 versions of the same moment in 3.6 seconds. And we do. Because we can. We’ve combined the power of technology with the attention span of a goldfish.

Sure, there are third-party apps that claim to clean your duplicates. Some actually do a decent job, if you trust them not to delete your wedding photos while keeping 14 screenshots of your grocery list. I've heard it said there actually is a duplicate removal feature in Photos. But I don't have time to look for unicorns, or leprechauns or the Holy Grail. And I don't want to have to send out a search party to find out what should be obvious, native functionality. This is basic. Like spellcheck. Or autocorrect.

Apple, you’re a trillion-dollar company. Can you please just give me a “Find Duplicates” button that's in my face and works?

Until then, I’ll keep scrolling. And swiping. And swearing.

Not throwing away my shot

Let’s talk about vaccine deniers, the warriors of natural immunity. The bold few who say, “I did my own research,” and think it trumps (sorry for that word) 200 years of medical science. But here’s the funny part: most of them are walking, talking advertisements for how well vaccines actually work.

Why? Because they got them.

While loudly claiming vaccines are a global conspiracy powered by Big Pharma, these folks are living in a world where polio doesn’t exist thanks to the very vaccines they now reject. Ironic ain’t it?

You don’t hear many anti-vaxxers complaining about lockjaw — probably because they got their DTaP shot as toddlers. That’s because their parents vaccinated them before YouTube became the Mayo Clinic for conspiracy theories.They're walking around tetanus-free, unaware stepping on a rusty nail used to be a potential death sentence.

But hey, keep sipping your kombucha and crediting “gut health.”

If you’re over 40 and your legs work just fine, chances are you had the polio vaccine. Wild poliovirus used to turn playgrounds into ghost towns. Now it's nearly extinct, except in regions where people stopped vaccinating.

Anti-vaxxers love to boast about their “natural immunity” — the same kind of “natural” that only works because 94% of the people around them are vaccinated.

During COVID, hospitals became battlegrounds. People who had mocked the vaccine ended up gasping for breath, begging for a shot they’d spent months demonizing. For many, that change of heart came too late. Doctors and nurses had to watch patients die avoidable deaths — again and again — while being accused of "killing people for money" by people who got their medical degrees from Reddit.

Some of those same patients — days earlier — had gone viral for mocking mask mandates. Turns out their beliefs outlasted their breath. Now they were on ventilators, posting final videos urging others to “get the shot.”

Remember when New Yorkers clapped out their windows every night at 7 p.m. to thank healthcare workers? Nurses were hailed as heroes. Fast-forward a year, and some of those same workers were being screamed at, threatened, even attacked — for asking people to wear a mask or get vaccinated. Somewhere between “flatten the curve” and “plandemic,” the applause died and the conspiracy theories started.

They saved lives. They worked 18-hour shifts in garbage bags because PPE ran out. They held iPads up to dying patients so their families could say goodbye. And now, some are being called government agents for doing the same job they were once hailed for.

If irony were a virus, we’d all be contagious.

Being proudly “vaccine-free” in 2025 is like being proudly “boat-free” while standing on an aircraft carrier. You’re only dry because the rest of us are keeping you afloat. It’s the health equivalent of living rent-free in an immune system you didn’t pay to protect. You're not a rebel. You're just lucky someone else made responsible choices.

Are there side effects from vaccines? Of course. But the majority of people tolerate them well. With any medicine—from aspirin to prescription drugs—the overriding consideration is do the benefits outweigh the risks. And like it or not, deny it or not, vaccines work. They’re why you don’t have smallpox, and why “typhoid” sounds like something from a pirate movie instead of a real threat.

And as for our healthcare workers: they deserve more than applause. They deserve respect, protection, and the basic human courtesy of not being blamed for a virus they risked everything to fight.

So next time someone tells you vaccines are a scam, and before they start quoting their cousin’s ex-boyfriend who once took a nursing class in 1998, just smile and say, “I’m glad your childhood vaccines worked.”

9 Letters

This week, I found myself doing something I never imagined: writing a letter to Chief Justice John Roberts. In fact to all the Supreme Court justices (hence the Ruth Bader Ginsburg stamps). It wasn’t because I needed legal advice, was looking for a pen pal or wanted to chat about robes and gavels.

It was because I’m deeply concerned, as are all Americans who aren’t republicans, about the virtually blanket immunity the court has given Cadet Bone Spurs.

The ruling suggesting presidents have total immunity for “official acts” isn’t just a legal hiccup. It’s a full-blown constitutional crisis.

This doesn’t just put one person above the law. It creates a reality where a sitting president can commit crimes with impunity as long as they call it “official.” For those of you late to the party, that’s not how democracy works.

The Felon-In-Chief has wasted no time waving this “official acts” pass like an all-access backstage pass at a chaos concert. He’s used it to attack democratic institutions, downplay violence, threaten judges and make statements that sound less presidential and more like deleted Twitter drafts.

And now, he’s coming for the courts.

You know, that last branch of government still trying to keep the lights on in this constitutional storm. But the orange asshole has directed his puppet justice department to arrest judges that disagree and decide against his inhumane immigration policies.

If this immunity decision stands, what’s next? Will dissent be criminalized under “Operation Hurt Feelings”? Suddenly, it doesn’t feel far-fetched.

When the courts are under attack and presidential immunity becomes absolute, we’re not talking about “leadership” anymore. We’re talking about a fast-pass to authoritarianism. I want to say no one voted for that, but sadly millions of gullible, grievance-fueled people did.

Our Constitution was designed with checks and balances, not “get-out-of-jail-free” cards. The Founders weren’t perfect, but they knew a king when they saw one, and came up with this little document to make sure we wouldn’t get another.

So, and I say this with urgency and respect to Chief Justice Roberts and the Court: reverse this decision. Because the idea a president can silence critics, weaponize government, or worse — all while enjoying a legal force field — doesn’t just bend the rule of law. It breaks it. Shatters it. Sweeps it into a drawer labeled “For Future Autocrats Only.”

If we don’t course-correct now, we risk losing the very thing that makes America worth all this messy, passionate fighting: our democracy.

Justice is supposed to be blind, not asleep.

So to the Supreme Court: wake up, suit up, and fix this. We’re counting on you.

Alex Edelman: Just For Us

I’ve always been of the opinion most comedy specials are like personalized license plates. Once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. Clever. Move along.

But every so often, a comedy special comes along that’s so good, so sharply written, so perfectly performed, it doesn’t just ask for repeat viewings. It demands them.

For the wife and me, that special is Alex Edelman's Tony-award winning, one-man Broadway show Just For Us.

We’ve watched it at least fifteen times now. That’s not hyperbole. It’s practically a standing date night at this point. Every single time, we catch something new: a brilliant turn of phrase, a tiny pause, a sly smirk that delivers a whole second punchline if you're paying close enough attention. It's the comedy version of a great novel.

Just For Us is, at its core, wrapped around one of the most unlikely and fascinating true stories: Alex, a Jewish comedian from Boston, decides to attend a white supremacist meeting — alone — to see what’s it’s like and what he can learn.

What’s more incredible is how Edelman takes this premise and spins it into comedy that's smart, warm, self-aware, and unexpectedly human.

The special isn't just about the meeting. It's about identity, belonging, being "the other," and the universal desire to be accepted — even if it means sitting through a meeting hosted by people who would literally prefer you didn'texist.

Given that premise, somehow Just For Us is never heavy. It’s funny. Laugh-out-loud funny. It’s a magic trick. Edelman brings enormous emotional intelligence to a crazy situation. It’s pure comedy, crafted with such skill it feels effortless and inevitable.

I've been recommending it to every person I come in contact with, and as you might've guessed I'm highly recommending it to you. It's well worth your time—I can't imagine anyone not enjoying it. Because it’s not just a special.

It’s a reminder of how powerful, human, and genuinely hilarious stand-up can be when it’s done by someone operating at the top of their game.

How some jackass ruined my morning

You ever have one of those mornings that starts perfectly? Yesterday I was out at breakfast with my first wife (never gets old does it dear), enjoying coffee, omelets, sunshine and the fleeting illusion the universe wasn’t out to screw me. It was peaceful.

Then we walked back to my 2024 Audi Q5 — the first new car I’ve owned in twenty years — and drove home. Once parked in our driveway, I happened to look back at the car and BAM: There it was— a dent. Front left fender, surgically placed right along that beautiful, sharp body line Audi engineers probably spent months perfecting. And just for extra points, a lovely scrape underneath. It's like someone aimed for the most painful spot possible and nailed it.

Clearly what happened was while we were enjoying what I like to refer to as longtime married couple chat over my Louisiana hot link omelet, someone decided to give my car a little kiss right in the paintwork.

What’s that you say? A note? That’s just crazy talk. No note. No apology. No shred of decency. Just a hit, a scrape, and the undeniable confirmation that people suck.

Now, you have to understand, I didn’t buy this car on a whim. I’ve spent the last twenty years nursing along secondhand "it builds character" vehicles.

Alright, they were certified Lexus vehicles, but you get my drift.

Since I bought the car last June, I’ve been in new car mode, treating it like a work of art. I've parked a quarter-mile away from grocery store entrances, dodging rogue shopping carts like they were incoming missiles. I’ve warned passengers not to swing car doors open with reckless abandon. I’ve kept all the windows down when I’ve had a bag of In-N-Out in the car so as not to lose that new car smell.

And despite all my vigilance, some random jackass managed to pull off what months of obsessive caution was trying to avoid: damage.

Of course, since it's an Audi, fixing a little dent and scrape won't be some quick, $50 "pop and paint" job. No, it's going to involve an insurance claim, a deductible that’ll make me question my life choices, and probably two weeks of driving a rental car that smells like wet dog, cigarette smoke and broken dreams.

I’ll feel better when it’s fixed.

The car will be restored.

The lines will be sharp again.

Balance will be restored to the force.

But my opinion of humanity? That’s never getting buffed out.

Assume the worst

It’s time to stop pretending. Donald Trump isn't just a political aberration. He’s a clear and present danger to the security of the United States, and we must operate under the assumption that he's handed over the crown jewels of America’s intelligence to Vladimir Putin.

This isn’t some wild conspiracy theory. This is a strategic reality we must face now, because the consequences of doing nothing are catastrophic.

Let’s look at the facts—the real ones, not the alternative ones. The Felon-In-Chief has had numerous private conversations with Putin—no American officials or recorders present. He’s publicly sided with Putin over his own intelligence agencies. He’s shared classified information with foreign adversaries in the Oval Office. He’s degraded our global alliances, gutted key agencies and treated national security as if it were a game for his own benefit.

If this were happening in any other country, we wouldn’t hesitate to call it what it looks like: a national betrayal.

We have to assume Russia knows everything. Our military contingencies. Our infrastructure vulnerabilities. Our intelligence assets. Our cyber defenses. All of it. If we operate under any lesser assumption, we are inviting disaster.

We must overhaul our entire approach to defense and intelligence, not because our systems failed, but because the tiny-handed man entrusted to protect them quite possibly turned them over to a hostile autocrat.

Whether for personal gain, blackmail, or delusional admiration, the result is the same: Putin, a ruthless strategist, most likely knows more about our playbook than Congress does.

Enough talk. Enough op-eds. Enough political cowardice. Every single member of tRump’s former Cabinet who saw what happened behind closed doors has a moral obligation to speak out. Not tomorrow. Not in a memoir. Now.

The U.S. Senate needs to do something they needed to do a long time ago: grow a spine. Stop hiding blindly behind partisanship while a foreign dictator plays chess with our national defense. Invoke the 14th Amendment. Support criminal investigations. Shut down any attempt to let this president increase his power.

This is not just a crisis of intelligence. It’s a collapse of courage.

History is watching. The world is watching. And if we don’t act decisively to hold Donald Trump accountable and rebuild the security he's compromised, we will lose far more than elections. We will lose the trust, strength, and sovereignty that define the United States.

Nothing to see here

Here we go again. I find myself staring at this blank screen, waiting for inspiration to strike. Or perhaps a gentle nudge from the universe that says, “Hey, try writing about this.” But no such luck. And here I am. Again. Writing about having nothing to write about.

After a couple thousand or so blogposts, I have to ask the question: have I officially emptied the well? Have I said everything I need to say? Have all the words been used up? Do I need to start communicating exclusively in interpretive dance? (Don’t tempt me—I will do it and it won’t be pretty).

Truth be told, the world continues to provide plenty of material. The problem is, none of it is particularly funny these days.

We’ve got Cadet Bone Spurs speedrunning the destruction of democracy. The Constitution? Holding on by a thread. Institutional norms? Shredded, torched, and fed to whatever lives in the basement at Mar-a-Lago.

Meanwhile, my attempts at humor feel like bringing a water pistol to a four-alarm fire.

So, here I am, once again writing about how I have nothing to write about. I’ve done it before (here), and I’ll do it again. (See? I’m already repeating myself.)

While I wait for either inspiration or full-blown existential despair to light a fire under me, allow me to direct you to some wordsmiths who do have something to say: Rich Siegel over at RoundSeventeen and Jeff Eaker at Kingdom of Failure. Both are far more talented, far funnier, and quite possibly better-looking than me.

Okay, I’m joking about that last one. And maybe one of the other two. After all, no one’s under oath here.

Is there really nothing left to say? Or, more importantly, how many more times can I get away with writing a blogpost about having nothing to write about.

Stay tuned. Hopefully it won’t be for nothing.