Most accurate redundancy ever recorded in human history:
Cast of “The View” discussing artificial intelligence.
AI
Bonding Time
My 21-year old son had had a sore throat for a few days, and Friday morning he miraculously agreed not only to get checked out so that we could rule out strep, but also to let me accompany him.
After he signed in and we sat down, he immediately checked his phone. I looked around the waiting room and every single person was on his or her phone. Every. Single. One. Enjoy the following mom-son conversations he has agreed to let me publish on my blog today:
Me: Look at everyone staring at their phones. Good lord.
Him: Hmmph.
Me: Why don’t you put your phone away, be a rebel, look like a real man.
Him: What else is there to do? What do you do when you’re waiting in an office?
Me: Stare at people until I make them uncomfortable.
Him: (Laughs)
5-minute pause.
Me: Sore throats are the worst.
Him: Yeah. I had tonsillitis for two weeks at school.
Me: Excuse me?
Him: My roommates said my nodes were swollen. I definitely had tonsillitis.
Me: Why didn’t you go to the health center?
Him: I got through it.
Me: Are you saying you cured your own tonsillitis?
Him: That’s what I’m saying.
Me: That could offer hope to millions of people a year paying to get their tonsils removed.
Him: (Laughs)
5-minute pause.
Him: I miss my cat.
(He refers to the cat that lives in his campus house).
Me: We still haven’t had a turn at holiday babysitting.
Him: I know.
Me: Bring him home at Thanksgiving.
Him: Maybe.
Me: It would be worth the look on your brother’s face when he walked in and saw a cat in the house.
Him: (Laughs). He hates cats.
Me: I know. I don’t know why.
Him: He says he’s allergic to them.
Me: He’s not. He made it up.
Him: Why?
Me: Because Dad was. He thinks it’s genetic.
Him: (Laughs)
Long pause. Mother and young girl enter ladies’ room, young girl begins dry heaving and crying. You can hear the mother comforting her.
Me: That’s a shame. It’s scary to throw up.
Him: It’s the worst.
Me: Did you get sick the night of your 21st?
Him: No. I threw up earlier that day though.
Me: So you engaged in preemptive vomiting?
Him: You could say that.
Me: (Laughing).
He receives a text that we are 9th in line, which we estimate is a minimum of one hour. We tell the receptionist we will be in the car until it is our turn. Once in the car, he shows me a BreezyGolf video of a toddler using his plastic golf club to hit a plastic golf ball out of tall grass. After 20 or so attempts, the baby finally throws the club in frustration. We laugh. After only one minute of waiting, he receives a phone call that he can come in for his appointment. Happily, he comments:
“We should have done this sooner.”
As I watch his six-foot tall athletic frame amble its way into the medical center, looking both strong but vulnerable, I can’t help but think:
Yes, we should.
(Strep test was negative).
Golf Hacks
What are we in now, mid-summer? My goal is to get out on my boat and onto the golf course more than I have been.
Need some golf hacks? I just read a great article about mistakes we are all making with our golf games. Here they are:
- Impatience to practice small swings. Using your Big Dog off the tee isn’t everything, you know. Foreplay is just as, if not more, important. Sigh: I used to have this beautiful little approach shot with my pitching wedge with this pretty little half swing my husband taught me. Something happened, and it doesn’t work anymore. I need a new strategy, I’m either flubbing it or going over the green.
- Intolerance to errors. How many success gurus do we need to listen to before we agree: mistakes are how you get better. Failure is not only an option, it’s necessary. Sheesh.
- Reluctance to use training aids. Training aids may not improve your game right away, but if used consistently, could help down the road.
- Taking advice from friends rather than a golf coach. I’ve received three excellent pieces of advice in my lifetime, advice that drastically improved my golf game: one from a friend, one from a golf club demo guy, and one from my son. My point? You never know where the good advice will come.
- Refusal to use video or hear swing feedback. The first time I watched a video my husband took of my swing off the tee, I watched him trying to keep a straight face. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like that?” I asked. “Looked like what?” he replied, innocently. “Um, like I’m having a convulsion?” I said. “Oh, that,” he replied. “Well, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” “Oh, but humiliation is better? I suck.” I pouted. He put the phone down, took my hand, looked in my eyes, and smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you do.” Hey, honesty is the best policy.
- One and done lessons. Buy a package. One lesson won’t do shite.
- Can’t identify their strengths and weaknesses. My strengths: any shot with a seven iron, chip shots, driving a par-three, putting, having cute pink balls that match my cute pink shoes, tending the flag in a responsible and authoritative fashion, and chugging a cold drink after quitting halfway through 18 in frustration. My weaknesses: Water. Sand. Woods. Trees. Bushes. Rough. Rocks. Geese. Scat droppings. Cart paths. Groups standing behind me watching me tee off.
- Failure to practice after a lesson.
- Wrong practice routines.
- Overgeneralizing errors. Why have you bladed a chip? Why did you top your drive? Why are you so rude to the cart girl? She’s just a young gorgeous college student trying to earn money, why do you have to be such a douchebag? I hope her father and brothers come and beat the shit out of you for calling her a “beer whore.”
- Being a range rat. Spending too much time on the range is golf porn. Stop watching and envisioning, and go do it.
- Trying to hit a draw when a fade comes easily. I don’t know what this means.
It’s All Risky
Never forget when you hear a financial or life guru discussing risk, it originally came from my main man, Mr. Jim Rohn:
It’s all risky.
The minute you were born it got risky.
If you think trying is risky, wait till they hand you the bill for not trying.
If you think investing is risky, wait till you get the tab for not investing.
See, it’s all risky.
Getting married is risky,
Having children is risky,
Going into business is risky.
Investing your money is risky.
It’s all risky.
I’ll tell you how risky life is.
You’re not going to get out alive.
It’s all risky.
Designate your time. Again, Jim:
Just be more alert to the things that might be stealing your time.
Time is like capital.
You can’t let someone steal your seed corn.
You can’t let someone steal your capital.
And you can’t let someone steal your time.
You must designate your time, and some of the time that you designate you must not let anyone steal.
Casual time you might let someone intrude and steal a little bit, take a little bit.
But not serious time.
Good Vibes Only
I saved this quote on Instagram:
Anyone agree how cvs has bad vibes. Walgreens is fine.
I’m not sure why I saved it. It made me laugh. I avoid going in CVS, and the quote is accurate- CVS is bad, and Walgreen’s IS fine.
Walmart bad. Target good.
Acme bad. Wegmans good.
Macy’s bad. Nordstrom good.
Dicks bad. REI good.
(I meant Dick’s Sporting Goods. As in:
Dick’s bad. Dicks good).
The quote was also prescient, and reminded me of something. Maybe a story a colleague told me recently about how she went into a store to buy essential oils, but she was totally turned off by the energy in the store, so she left. It reminded me of a passage.
But what passage? Then I found it. Here, for your pleasure:
Every business, every place, every person, everything has a certain mental atmosphere of its own. This atmosphere decides what is to be drawn to it. For instance, you never saw a successful man who went around with an atmosphere of failure. Successful people think of success. A successful man is filled with that subtle something which permeates everything that he does with an atmosphere of confidence and strength. In the presence of some people we feel as though nothing were too great to undertake; we are uplifted; we are inspired to do great things, to accomplish; we feel strong, steady, sure. What a power we feel in the presence of big souls, strong men, noble women!
Courtesy of Ernest Holmes, Creative Mind and Success
Price
Busy week. Enjoy this piece from Price Pritchett:
Don’t live a life with a lukewarm heart.
Passion is a very important part of the process. It fires the soul and fills the spirit, energizing your heart and mind on your way to a higher plane of performance. Passion keeps you going when you’re hit with problems and uncertainty.
Passion must be fueled, and you feed that flame with visions of a dream that is dramatic. The emotional intensity inside must burn hot enough to protect you against the chilling effects of doubt, uncertainty, criticism, and failure. Only deep desire can generate such heat.
For you to care this intensely, of course, there must be something worth caring about- something remarkable, special, and precious enough to light the fire in your heart.
This means you must loosen the limits on your thinking, and give yourself permission to pursue what you want most. The climate is right only when you are passionately drawn to a particular goal.
So let your deepest desires direct your aim. Set your sights far above the “reasonable” target. The power of purpose is profound only if you have a desire that stirs the heart.
The inner drive must be strong enough to carry you past the point of wishful thinking. The dream must consume you, control you, drive you to action, disallowing half-hearted effort in the pursuit.
Let your heart take charge of your body.
I Don’t Know
Act I.
Boy 1 (Home from D.C. for weekend): What’s that smell?
Me: I made carnitas in the slow cooker.
Boy 1: Awesome! (Helps himself)
Me: (Watching him wolf down meat) Don’t you want to put that into a tortilla?
Boy 1: Nah, I’m good.
Me: Are you sure?
Boy 1: Yeah.
Me: There’s all these fixings, though…
Boy 1: Mom, this is fine.
Next day.
Boy 1 (Headed back to D.C.) Can I take the leftover pork?
Mom: Sure. Do you want me to pack all of the tortillas and fixings?
Boy 1: Nah, I’m good.
Me: Are you sure?
Boy 1: What is your fixation with these tortillas? Why are you trying to make me eat them?
Me: (Thinking) I don’t know.
Act II.
Boy 2 (Drops in to say hello): Mom, can I borrow the Nutribullet?
Me: Sure (I burrow into a cabinet, pulling out metal pieces). Here’s all of the extra attachments.
Boy 2: Nah, Mom, this is fine.
Me: But you can use these for so many different things.
Boy 2: It’s seriously fine, I don’t need those.
Me: But this one will zest lemon. This one will pulverize Swiss chard. This one grinds espresso beans.
Boy 2: I don’t need all that.
Me: Are you sure?
Boy 2: Why are you trying to make me take these attachments?
Me: (Thinking) I don’t know.
Act III.
Boy 3 (Home for his last summer before his senior year in college): Mom, my phone doesn’t charge anymore, can I use the family upgrade to get a new phone for my birthday?
Me: Of course. Do you need a new phone case?
Boy 3: No, my old one is fine.
Me: I hear the yellow iPhone is cool, are you getting yellow?
Boy 3: No, I don’t want yellow.
Me: How about an Apple Watch for your birthday? It would only add 15 dollars a month to the phone bill.
Boy 3: Nah, I don’t want an Apple watch.
Me: Are you sure?
Boy 3: Why are you trying to get me to get all of this extra stuff?
Me: (Thinking) I don’t know.
I mean, I honestly don’t. Know, that is.
Bear Story
*Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Every human should have a bear story.”
Here’s mine:
By the third or fourth day at bear camp at Kachemak Bay State park in Alaska during summer 2021, I desperately needed some quiet time. Days spent socializing, smiling at idle chatter, and imbibing at boisterous group meals had left my social battery severely depleted.
So when our camp guides were informed that there was a particularly large bear in the area, and guide John decided to escort my group to the bear tower for the fourth time that day, I bowed out. I needed to shut my eyes near the firepit, take in the scenery, and maybe jot down some notes.
Our bear camp was cordoned off with a perimeter fence on the beach, and bears knew not to approach it. Supposedly. So as the group ambled away, the guides reminded me to stay in the perimeter, and not wander off.
As if.
I walked to the refreshment tent for a hot cup of coffee and eyed the hot chocolate. Mm. Never a huge fan of the sugary beverage, it somehow appealed to me in the below freezing wind chill. I walked back to the firepit area with my hot chocolate and settled in to relax.
(Note: I had forgotten the rule of never bringing any snacks or sugary beverages out of the refreshment tent. Black coffee and water only. Bears have a great sense of smell, if you haven’t heard).
Sipping my beverage, about ten minutes later I heard the walkie-talkie screech.
“Must have been a false alarm. No bear here. We’re headed back.”
I opened my eyes in annoyance, as I had expected more time to myself. Oh well, I thought, better than nothing. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I spied something moving down the beach towards me. A big something.
Yup.
Completely alone save for the chef and the yoga instructor in their tents, I had a front row seat to an extremely large Alaskan black bear walking straight toward our perimeter. He was very very close to me. I was frozen, and could not speak or move.
I heard my name being hissed. My group had arrived back, and was beckoning to me. Forgetting that I was holding hot chocolate, I crept toward them on the trail behind the tents. By this time, the bear had left the beach, so our guides were hoping that he was headed for the tower.
We tiptoed along the trail, whispering. Suddenly John gestured towards my mug.
“What is that?”
“Hot chocolate. I’m sorry, I forgot I was holding it.”
He shook his head, grabbed it, and passed it down the line until it reached guide Mark, who immediately turned to bring it back to camp. We followed this process with our heads and turned to see that same black bear right behind us, looking very alert and interested.
John instructed us to get down low, and he kept his hand on his bear spray. The bear eventually ambled away to the tower, and we got to observe him from a safe distance.
That evening it was agreed upon: the bear had been following the scent of my hot chocolate.
*Theodore Roosevelt said no such thing. But he should have.
Too Pretty to be Sad
This adorable video keeps popping up on Instagram of this baby girl who every time she looks at her mother, she makes this sad “boo-boo” lip, and when she looks back at her dad, she smiles. Her facial expressions go back and forth between mom and dad, and it’s super cute.
(I demand a granddaughter, pronto dente).
Anyway, when she does the pouty lip thing, you can hear her mother laugh and say, “Oh, baby, don’t be sad.” You can also hear her father say, off-video, “Oh, baby, you’re too pretty to be sad.”
If you’ve already figured it out, you’re quicker than I am. I wasn’t prepared, but now, of course, I realize I should have been. Silly, silly me. Here are some of the comments:
Too pretty to be sad? Ugh.
Bad parents.
In this day and age, seriously?
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The implication being, of course, that the parents are sending this six-month old the wrong message, which will, ultimately, send her to her crib with low self-esteem and potential cutting issues. The message being?
That being pretty is everything. And that if a young girl is lucky enough to be born “pretty,” she has, and never will have, anything to complain about.
Yikes. Does anyone actually believe that, or teach their daughters that? I tend to doubt it.
Entire books have been written on the subject of women’s body image, societal expectations of the female body image, the effects of growing up as what society perceives as “attractive” vs. “unattractive,” etc. I teach entire classes on it, sometimes I spend weeks on it, sometimes I assign papers to be written on it. It’s fascinating.
And I’m not trying to solve it here.
I guess the bottom line is that you should see this baby. She is definitely too pretty to be sad. We all are.