Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 30, 2023
“AI expert” is a 2023 phrase that gives me the same feeling as “Social media expert” in 2009. As new as it is and as fast as it’s changing, how can you consider yourself or anyone else an expert? We should be mindful of the foreboding foreshadowing in front of us.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 23, 2023
“I just have so many acid stories,” is my favorite thing I heard this week.
Adventures from the Orlando International Airport
If what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (it doesn’t) then what happens in Orlando haunts you for months.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 16, 2023
My happy place is a funeral. Puts things in perspective. At least I don’t have to dig a big hole in the rain.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 9, 2023
Justice Clarence Thomas is exactly the guy today he was in 1991. An angry, entitled, hateful prick with little regard for rules that impact him.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of April 2, 2023
Listening to the news in the car with my five-year-old son. They’re talking about Donald Tump’s indictment. Harry asks me about Trump. “Why is he a bad dude and what did he do as president?” I give him the headlines. He stops me midway through. “Dad, when you’re done telling me about Donald Trump, can you never talk about him again? Because he’s bad and I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” Well said, kid. Well said.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 26, 2023
Why does the media keep referring to Stormy Daniels as “porn star” or “adult film actress Stormy Daniels?” We know. And her job has nothing to do with the charges against Trump. It feels shameful. And it’s strange. Perverted, even. Anything to make a story more salacious. It’s also embarrassing.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 19, 2023
What’s worse? The war in Ukraine or your hotel’s wifi? The right answer is not the popular one.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 12, 2023
It’s a terrible feeling knowing you cannot trust the person or people whose #1 job is to have your back. It’s an even worse feeling knowing you’d have theirs no matter what.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of March 5, 2023
When we almost die, we “cheat death.” It can also be said that when we die, we’ve “cheated life.”
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 19, 2023
My wife wants me to be more assertive in bed. So, I’ve started pushing her over while she’s asleep to claim my fair share of the bed.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 12, 2023
The sign of a good Chicago neighborhood is not the property value or the level of crime, but whether neighbors shovel more than just the sidewalk in front of their house.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of February 5, 2023
Florida is America’s limp penis, and it is in dire need of receiving a botched circumcision.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 29, 2023
Made a Target run on Saturday with my pre-schooler blasting Lizzo on Spotify during the drive. I’m a great mom.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 22, 2023
Since police are going to keep brutally and unnecessarily killing black men, it’s refreshing to see it done by black cops, too. It reveals more of the truth that American policing itself is the problem, not just your standard white cops hate black people cliche.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 16, 2023
Setting up a new computer has a way of opening your eyes to new ways of thinking. Or, or… and hear me out… you can just put the same settings in place and keep on trucking the way you have been.
The Critic's Choice
It is a fool’s game to attempt to interpret the work—any work— of an artist. Because there is no interpretation. Nothing to be interpreted. The intended meaning is just that—an absolute. The thing you see or hear before you is what the creator intended it to be. Even if that intention was to be ambiguous.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of January 8, 2023
Jesus… the week of Elvis Presley’s birthday and his daughter, Lisa Marie, dies. The Universe doesn’t care about us, but sometimes, it feels that it does. And it feels like it’s a wry practical joker.
The Privilege of Understanding Self-Loathing
I’m starting to think self-loathing, like braces, doesn’t look as cute the older you get. That’s because as you get older—ideally, anyway—you find your station, your purpose. You’ve pruned back the dead branches and settled nicely into the garden you’ve made for yourself. It could be a job, a family, friends, hobbies, passions. You’ve been at this for half your life, you’ve orchestrated all of this, and you don’t hate it. Some of it you actually enjoy. So, why all the self-loathing?
The Wonder of the New Year
I wonder how love will bloom this New Year’s Eve. I wonder what kind of chaos will ensnarl itself in this year’s revelries. The hours leading up to the countdown and those first few fleshy pink hours of 2023 are critical. Critical in our human minds, anyway—Time and Space cannot care. And I wonder which way those hours will go and for whom and what it will eventually mean.
Anxiety is the thing that’s ripped our country apart. It has divided us, caused us to fear and hate those who think and live differently than us, and even caused us to hate those who only slightly disagree with us. It has led to panic and overreaction. And I worry that American Anxiety is only going to exacerbate the social and political divide in this country to the point that there is no coming back.