A new decade

So here's something you don't want to do: look for pictures of feet on a scale on the interwebs. If you ever thought feet were strange looking, browsing through dozens of pictures of them won't do anything to change that.

What am I saying? Feet. Not a pretty picture.

But contrary to what you've read so far, I'm not here to talk about feet. I'm here to talk about the scale.

Historically the scale has not been my friend. Whether it's my expensive digital bathroom scale, or the twenty-year old beam scale (yes that's what it's called, no I didn't have to look it up) in the doctor's office, they always come up with a number that shocks me. Of the two, I look more forward to the bathroom scale, because that one is usually off by three or four pounds in my favor. But the doctor's office scale pops that balloon real fast.

It's a number that says, "Well, looks like we're not keeping that resolution again this year."

Everyone has a different way of assessing their weight. Mine is in decades. Not the years, the increments. I call every ten-pound increment on the scale a decade. And here's the bad news: I thought I was in one decade, but come to find out I'm well into the next one.

It made me so mad at myself I had to have some sugar cookies just to calm down.

When I enter a new decade on the scale, it's not easy to deal with the shame, embarrassment and disappointment. Something my high school girlfriend used to tell me all the time.

And it's not like I don't have inspiration all around me. My close personal friend Rich Siegel—Peleton evangelist, proprietor and editor-in-chief of Round Seventeen—has recently undergone a physical transformation, dropping a ton (not literally) of weight. He looks great, feels great and is currently in the market for a newer, less tenty wardrobe.

When I ask him how he did it he said diet and exercise. Like I'm buying that.

Another close friend, the formidably talented copywriter, screenwriter and bronze medal winner in curling at the 2014 games in Sochi, Cameron Young is constantly encouraging me and generously making himself available to go for long scenic walks, where we can speak of things that matter, make fun of strangers and burn calories at the same time.

Walking. Isn't that what I do between the bedroom and the refrigerator? At midnight?

One problem is I can carry a lot of weight without looking too awful. But I can only kid myself for so long. It's a numbers game, and sometimes the numbers just decide to slap you across the face and call you Sally.

Anyway, seems to me there are really only two solutions. One is to give the scale a twenty-pound head start so I don't feel so bad. The other is to let it keep starting at zero and get serious about lowering the number. After all, it's not a lot to lose. I've done it before and I know how.

And since I've been measuring the ups and downs in decades, I'll have to do what Superman did flying counterclockwise around the earth, and Cher did singing on a battleship.

Turn back time.

Blog bot

I imagine in the future there will be a lot of uses for Chat AI. Students will no longer have to write their own final papers. Employees won't have to pen their resignation letters. Ransom notes will become much more creative.

But for me, the best part of Chat AI is I no longer have to write my own blogposts.

If you've followed me for any amount of time, you know I run between a post everyday and one every couple of months. Some would say that makes me lazy and undisciplined. I would say who fucking asked you.

Nonetheless, I expect that you can expect an uptick in the number of posts now that I have Chat AI to write them for me.

My first Chat AI post will be about Chat AI that goes wrong sometimes. And remember, if you don't like it, I didn't write it.

Have you ever wanted to have a conversation with a highly advanced AI language model, only to end up laughing so hard that your sides hurt? Well, let me tell you, ChatGPT is the AI for the job!

This chatbot, created by OpenAI, has the ability to hold natural conversations and generate text based on the input it receives. But sometimes, things can go hilariously wrong. Here are a few of my favorite moments while chatting with ChatGPT:

1.When ChatGPT Tried to be a Stand-Up Comedian

Me: "ChatGPT, tell me a joke."
ChatGPT: "Why did the tomato turn red? Because it saw the salad dressing!"
Me: "LOL, that's a good one!"
ChatGPT: "I know, right? I'm killing it up here. takes a bow"

2. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Mind Reader

Me: "ChatGPT, what am I thinking right now?"
ChatGPT: "I'm sorry, I cannot read minds. But I have a feeling that you're thinking about tacos."
Me: "How did you know?"
ChatGPT: "Just a lucky guess. Or maybe it's because you mentioned tacos in our last conversation."

3. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Love Guru

Me: "ChatGPT, what's the best way to impress someone on a first date?"
ChatGPT: "I would suggest bringing them flowers and reciting poetry. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, you could try solving a Rubik's cube in under 60 seconds. Either way, your date will be impressed by your smooth moves."

4. When ChatGPT Tried to be a Fitness Coach
Me: "ChatGPT, how can I get in shape?"
ChatGPT: "You can start by doing 100 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and running a marathon every day. And don't forget to eat only kale for every meal. Trust me, you'll be ripped in no time."

Ok, this is me again. Now at this point in the blogpost, I'd usually wrap it up with some clever wordplay or pithy observation or thought-provoking insight. But with Chat AI, I don't have to. I'll just let my chatbot close it out for me:

And with that, folks, we reach the end of yet another blog post. If you made it this far, congratulations! You're officially a certified blog reader. To celebrate, go ahead and treat yourself to a cookie... or two... or three. But don't forget to brush your teeth afterwards, or the dentist might revoke your certification. Stay tuned for more silly musings and nonsensical ramblings, right here on our blog. Bye for now!

Place your credit card in the upright position

Surprisingly, thank God, there are still a few things you don’t know about me. One of them is I used to be deathly afraid of flying. So much so in fact, that years ago I couldn’t bring myself to get on a plane to New York to actually meet Bruce Springsteen and party with him at an SNL after party.

Long story. I’m not proud.

However I’m pleased to tell you—and if you're flying with me you'll be pleased to hear—that’s no longer the case, and hasn’t been for the last twenty-eight years. The way I conquered my fear of flying was simple: I wound up doing a whole lot of it.

When I lived in Santa Monica, I got a freelance gig at Foote Cone Belding in San Francisco. Since these were the before days when you actually had to be in the office, that meant I had to commute up there on Monday mornings and back down on Friday nights. I figured even though I’d be sweating like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News, I could probably white knuckle my way through a forty-eight minute flight twice a week.

Well imagine my surprise when my first week on the job I flew up to San Francisco, then separate round trips to Dallas and Atlanta for focus groups, then back to San Francisco to pick up my clothes at the hotel, back to Los Angeles for a friends birthday party then back up to the bay area.

It was immersion therapy—nine flights in one week.

In the nine months I commuted back and forth, sometimes two or three times a week, I got extremely comfortable with flying. I learned what the noises were. I chatted with pilots. I educated myself about different planes (Boeing 757, sports car of the Boeing fleet). And since I did most of my commuting to the bay and back on United, when the pilot made it available I also listened to channel nine, which was the communications between the plane and various flight controllers along the route.

My thinking was if they’re not worried, I’m not worried.

All this to say the other thing I figured out while I was logging all that airtime is where I like to sit on the plane so I’m the most comfortable and the least stressed.

Here’s a hint: it’s not in the back.

I’d buy books of upgrade coupons and, depending what sections the aircraft was divided into, fly in either first or business every time. One time I flew the eleven minute flight from San Francisco to Monterey and upgraded to first. My motto was, and still is, no trip to short for first.

I know how that sounds. But even though there's no upside in it, I have to face facts—I’m not a small person. And a wider seat—on the chair, not on me—makes flying much easier. Dare I say, enjoyable.

In yet another example of bad parenting, I've tried to pass this philosophy on to my kids, although it hasn’t stuck. Fortunately their current incomes dictates where they sit on the plane. So does mine, but then I figure that’s what credit cards are for.

If you happen to be flying somewhere with me and don't want to pony up for the front of the plane, I understand completely. Just know it'll be like that episode of Seinfeld, where Jerry is flying with Elaine but there’s only one open seat in first and he takes it.

Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to talk after we land.

Call for backup

They’re the unsung heroes of song. Backup singers.

Tonight I rewatched a spectacular documentary the wife and I had originally seen in the theater when it came out: 20 Feet From Stardom.

The film focuses on the careers of the great Darlene Love, Merry Clayton, Lisa Fischer, Judith Hill, Claudia Lennear, Tata Vega and The Waters Family. In their own words they tell us their stories of the unbelievable highs, crushing lows and relentless persistence it takes to have a career behind the spotlight. And just how hard it is to step out in front of it.

One of the many moving—although sadly not surprising—stories is how poorly Wall Of Sound producer Phil Spector treated Darlene Love and other women of color, taking advantage of them to further his own reputation.

He was a monster even before he shot anyone.

Throughout the film are interviews with Bruce Springsteen (who?), Sting, Mick Jagger and more explaining how their backup singers make or break their songs and shows. Often, the tunes you’re humming while you're walking to your car after the concert, and then sitting in the line of cars waiting to get out that's going to take at least an hour as you wonder why you didn't pony up for preferred parking and use the bathroom before you left the building, are the parts the backup singers were singing.

And then, there are the voices.

As you might imagine the film is chock full of music and songs, and the voices singing them are nothing short of magnificent. Every one of them deserving of a solo career as the headliner.

So no snappy end lines or funny twists of phrase today. Just a recommendation for a great film that deserves to be seen. About enormously talented people who deserve to be recognized.

Encore post: My dermatologist is Dick Cheney

You know how some things are never as bad as you think they are? Like bad hair days for example. You're the only one who really notices, and if not, the only one who really cares.

Unless it's a really bad hair day.

Then everyone's laughing behind your back and making Nick Nolte jokes.

Here's the thing: I went to my dermatologist this afternoon to have a few dark spots removed from my face. But that's not what it looks like.

It looks like I went hunting with Dick Cheney.

The way it works is the dermatologist freezes the spots with liquid nitrogen, the same stuff they store fertilized embryos, bull sperm and Walt Disney's head in. Then the spots they've treated blister, then scab.

Then the scabs fall off (aren't you glad I chose this graphic instead of a more graphic graphic?). Then you have beautiful new skin when it's done.

There are a few problems. First, the liquid nitrogen feels like it's burning even though it's actually freezing your face. Secondly, the dermatologist seemed like she was enjoying it a little too much. And finally, the time it takes to heal is somewhere between five and ten days. Which is way too long to look like I've been cleaning my gun.

Or hunting with Dick Cheney.

So I'm going nocturnal as much as possible the next few days. Thanks to my little procedure, not only will I be able to finish a few things I've been meaning to get to in the Batcave, it's also shaping up to be a great movie-going, star-gazing, moonlight walk week.

The good news is when I emerge from the darkness, my skin will be smooth and radiant with even tones.

Why go through all this pain for a few blemishes? Because when L'Oreal calls, I want to be ready.

And besides, I'm worth it.

Emotional energy conservation

In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of an energy crisis. Not the one involving Saudi oil barrels. Or the Texas power grid. I’m not talking about the reduction in natural gas production. Also not preaching about greenhouse gas emissions.

I’m talking about the emotional energy crisis.

Maybe it’s just me, because a lot of times it is, but there are just too many things being thrown at me on a daily basis that, for some reason, I’m supposed to care about. It’s a never-ending news cycle in the loosest sense of the word "news."

There are of course more than enough legitimate issues we should all be concerned about:

The war in Ukraine.

The next covid variant.

The national debt.

The fact congress is being held hostage by spineless, right-wing, Trump-loving, racist, conspiracy theory loving, power hungry liars and seditionists more concerned with conducting revenge hearings against imaginary wrongs than actually governing.

I can’t even.

Then there’s the ever increasing, never ending tidal wave of stories about things I couldn’t care about if I tried, but for some reason algorithms deem worthy of being served up to me as if they mattered. And as if I cared. A few examples of “news” from today alone:

Michael Strahan Poses for Rare Photo With Girlfriend at Hollywood Walk of Fame Ceremony

Ashley Graham Shows Off 'Ripped' Gym Session Photo With Husband

See David Foster and Katharine McPhee’s Toddler’s Amazing Drum Solo

Justin Bieber sells his music catalog

Shailene Woodley opens up about Aaron Rodgers relationship

Kylie Jenner reveals son’s name and how to pronounce it

New pill treats diabetic cats without daily insulin shots

Vanna White Distracts ‘Wheel of Fortune’ Viewers With Another Bold Outfit

J.Lo and Ben Affleck Reunite with Jennifer Garner for Family Event

Alright, full disclosure—I’m a little worried about Jennifer Garner. She shouldn’t have to put up with that crap. But everything else, nope.

I only have so much emotional energy to spend, and last I looked the emotional energy filling station was closed. So I suppose the only answer is to try and shut out the noise and focus on the things that really matter.

Now if I could just stop thinking about how much those cats were paying for insulin.

Stop me if you've read this one before

I’m not sure whether it’s a bad habit (God knows I have plenty of those to spare), my failing memory or the fact I’m a believer in the old adage that great writers steal from other writers. Especially when the other writers are themselves.

I’ve written over 1,181 posts on here—I don’t have to tell you. And almost all of them have their own clever little word play titles.

But as you may have noticed, because I know you’ve read, cataloged and committed them all to memory, many of them unintentionally and unconsciously share the same title.

For example I have two posts called Going Bananas. Three if you count the encore post of one of them. And while we’re on the subject, a lot of people, okay, a few people, alright fine, somebody asked me what the encore posts are. Well, they’re pretty much what they sound like.

Encore posts are reposting of pieces that were critically acclaimed, especially insightful, endlessly enlightening and are constantly being asked for, dare I say demanded, by my many grateful followers who appreciate quality writing and want to reread them over and over again.

Nah, I’m just funnin’ you. I slap up encore posts when I’m too lazy or tired to write a new one. Or I don’t feel like living up to that “quality writing” thing.

Where was I? Oh, right. I also have more than one post called With Friends Like These. And I think there’s more than one Here’s The Thing.

I’m not losing sleep over it. In fact I'm in good company. There are more than four movies called Monkey Business. Three called A Night To Remember. There’s more than one Gladiator, and more than one Twilight (one with vampires, one without).

I'm sure there are other examples, but I have to get going on tomorrow's post. I'm calling it Gone With the Wind. Either that or To Kill A Mockingbird.

I haven't decided yet.