I saw a post on the ChatGPT subreddit this morning with a prompt that I just had to feed into the app to see what I got. What I got was a punch in the gut if an actual human wrote this. You might be surprised at what you see
Cobbled together a radio station with eBay leftovers and curiosity. Didn’t expect much. Got disco pirates, weather loops, and the occasional existential crisis. Honestly? Not a bad trade.
I was trying to figure out how to make my blog not be only about my problems, but then—well—one more post about my problems.
A heady mix of time alone to think, the slow creep of age, lingering anxiety about what the stroke may have left behind, and some of the best therapy I’ve ever had has cast a sharper light on things I used to brush off.
Stroke’s done, heart’s ticking, just waiting to see if I get a tune-up in March.
After decades of hand-coding my sites, I’ve gone the hosted CMS route. Blogging has come full circle, and now I’m publishing via email.
Burnout, dread, and the sense that everything’s unraveling—caught between panic, paralysis, and yelling at Cybertrucks.
“The beach is my happy place.” “Crafting puts me in my happy place.” “Happy place, happy face. Farting on the human race.” I don’t know why, but the idea of a “happy place” has always seemed to me like it was contrived as an excuse for people to post
Time and Attention Well-Spent As an industry, those who create things for the internet have gone down a path of stealing attention in the name of eyeballs on our creations. Your attention equals monetization in the form of ad revenue, in-app purchases, and all those kinds of things that, in
The past three years have been weird.
Hello, dear reader. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.
How “Wild Kratts” helped me realize why I creatively feel like crap right now.