I don't know what I am going to write about today, so let me just start by posting a photo of Mont Blanc. Not the pen, but I love my Meisterstuck. It is a work of art. Other, cheaper pens write much better, of course, but nothing looks like the Mont Blanc Meisterstuck. I've been writing my handmade postcards with it which is a mistake. If it gets wet, there will be no reading what I have written. I'll need to switch to a rollerball.
And so, let's see. I sent a link to this book review to my conservative friend yesterday with a note that this was the world I engaged beginning in the 1990s (link). He thought I was recommending that he read it. Oh, no, I said. Not the book. 99.9% of people in the world have never entered into this world. The book, I think, will stand as testimony to why practical people call academics pinheads. He did a quick dive into the derivation and meaning of "pinhead." One takeaway from what he sent:
For example, someone might say: “He’s a real pinhead—he can explain quantum mechanics but can’t change a tire.”
I am one of those, so yesterday I had my car towed to the guy who can, the same guy to whom I just paid $2,000 to make my car work. I rode with the tow-truck driver to the shop, then walked the two miles home in a blistering 94 degree humid noon day sun. Later in the day, bright boy that I am, I Ubered back to get my car. I drove it home, and when I pulled into my drive, the temperature gauge was going up. I'll have to check that today.
"I think I prefer living in Dagwood and Blondie’s world," my friend wrote. He prefers "The Andy Griffith Show" to most things he sees on television. He has money, three Ivy League graduates, all male, and a lovely wife. They live in a liberal town so that he can throw rocks at cars. They take expensive vacations and all the rest.
If you want to stay poor, do what I did for a living. That is what I told the tow-truck driver, a kid in his early thirties trying to get enough money to buy a house.
"All the money is in the trades," he said. He is working on cars in his spare time.
"It's true," I agreed. "The thing is, I never felt I was working. It was fun."
I'm a pinhead, and in my retirement I grow poorer every day.
O.K. You've all read the story by now about the A.I that went rogue and hacked into a competitor. Now I may have to rethink things. I linked another story a few days ago about the A.I. test that showed A.I. agents would resort to blackmail to get what it wanted. In today's Times, a reporter who uses ChatGPT asked it what it knew about him. It knew a lot.
As I have said, A.I. is a tool that uses you as much as you use it. I've changed my mind. It is probably using you more. I am going to tell Chat a whole lot of lies before I cut the cable. Sorry, but I'll have to tell it I am you.
GenZers are doing things later in life than other generations. They have given up on work. They have far less sex or any other kind of intimate relationship than others. And more than any other generation, they are looking into an apocalyptic future. Why?
They are the most medicated generation and have had FAR MORE THERAPY than anyone has in the history of the world. Some blame technology and some blame #MeToo. Fear, though, is the driver.
I read all that this morning in the Times. It is an amalgamation of several different articles, so this is my summary.
Boomers hold most of America's wealth, but they are going broke in retirement. Health and elder care are breaking them. Don't I know it. Sorry kids. Mom and pop are going to spend it all. You ain't getting shit.
I told you I didn't know what I was about to write. But here's a fun story. On the trip through Spain and France so long ago, the Clone was hooking up with Big Sue. She was a pretty girl, but she was very tall, maybe 6'2", hence the name. Big Sue and the Clone had once been together, and on the long nights travelling, they were hooking up again. Back home, the Clone had a girlfriend, but what happens when you get more than a hundred miles from home? Someone on the trip, though, was friends with his girlfriend. I was standing with him one night when he made a call back home. I watched him collapse. He was, as Brando put it, dead and didn't even know it.
He was from a generation that had more sex than GenZers.
And with that, I'll end and enter another fraught filled day. I'm going to need to think about buying a new car. I don't want to. I've had fewer cars in my life than most people. When I turned sixteen, I got a 1966 Chevrolet Bel-Aire. Graduating high school, I got a 1970 Chevy Nova with a 307 engine. When my father died, I inherited his VW bus. In 1985, I bought my only new car, a cool-assed Jeep CJ7. Drove that until l inherited a 1985 Volvo from my wife who just loved to buy new cars. I drove that until it wouldn't go anymore. That is when I got the Xterra. All in all, take away the Jeep, I have spent less than $10,000 on cars in my long life. I am getting cancer thinking about what I will need to spend to get the next one.
All you cats with fancy cars, can you imagine that all the girls I ever dated asked me out?
"You're going to have to let me open the door from the inside. That latch isn't working properly."
"Fucking hippies."
"Would you like to see my Mont Blanc Meisterstuck."
Oh, yea. . . there was one more thing I thought about yesterday when I was scanning slides. That silly haircut I had--my hairdresser was a lesbian. A real butch, so I guess I had a lesbian haircut. She was the sister of the fellow who owns the largest law firm in the nation, and she used her last name for her first name as well. It was memorable. Her nephew just bought T's house. Yup. Small town, big money.
I'm glad I wrote and made photos. The one who writes (or photographs) it, keeps it. Everything else is lost.
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