Spirits of the holiday

 

This is what I look like after checking strings of Christmas lights and then untangling them for a couple of hours as I decorate the outside of our home to compete with the white trash neighbors.  The spirit moves me.

Speaking of spirits, I've been binge watching the History channels Haunted History for some reason. Too bad I haven't been engaging in a drinking game and doing shots every time they say some place or house is the most haunted in the country.  The series was from the early 2000s, so the ghost stories are pretty old. But apparently ghosts never die so the show is still relevant if devoid of any facts.

Some of the stories are a bit of a stretch. I'm watching Haunted Chicago right now and they of course started with the St. Valentines Day Massacre. But the garage where it happened was torn down, so they focused on people who collected bricks from the garage after it was demolished and they claim there is a curse on the bricks. One guy had four bricks and he was divorced four times. 

I just got goosebumps.  Though I image the divorces could have come from the guy bringing old bricks into the house. 

Apparently famous trial lawyer Clarence Darrow haunts the park in Chicago where he requested his ashes be scattered.  The show interviewed a ghost expert in Chicago who claims to have seen a man dressed in an old overcoat and wearing a fedora that was in style in the 1920s. The ghost expert said he was certain it was Clarence Darrow and it was the most significant thing that ever happened to him.

I pity the fool.

But still I binge watch the show. I can't imagine dying and then hanging around places turning lights off and on and playing music on juke boxes in bars that are closed (because apparently this is what many ghosts do). You would think you would do crosswords or something to pass eternity, not flip lights on and off. 

Frankly, I don't want to come back after I die, especially if it means throwing the occasional glass off form a bar and poking a person or two with your spectral finger.  I could do that shit when I'm alive.

Boo!

Bah, Bah Humbug, have you any wool

There are only 26 shopping days left until Christmas if you are counting.  I think I have done all my shopping including some Black Friday sales (which I don't really understand).  And I am getting ready to put up my Elvis tree. It is just what it sounds like, an artificial blue Christmas tree with blue lights and all Elvis ornaments. It is one of the true seven wonders of the world.

The Elvis tree needs to go in our bedroom this year because the room I normally put it up in is full of stuff from my son's game room which was water damaged from a faulty shower in his bathroom. The bathroom was completely remodeled about a year and a half ago but the tile and grout was so poorly done it leaked and eventually watered ended up leaking into the adjacent room and soaked up through the laminate floor that was installed by the same subpar contractor. We had to have water remediation done at a cost of about $10,000 including the water detector who determined where the water was coming from. Insurance paid for tearing out the walls and tile, but not putting it back together.  And now we are waiting to hear from the subpar contractor as to whether he will actually repair the mess his poor construction created. 

TMI, I am sure. Regardless, Elvis has left the room and is moving to our bedroom. I may simplify the installation of the tree this year and not put the miniature Graceland under it just to avoid accidents since the tree will be adjacent to our bed and I am afraid I'd stumble into it in the night when I get up to go to the bathroom.

Again TMI.

Not sure I'm in a Christmas kind of mood.  Though I did put new lights outside in our corkscrew willow tree. Nothing like an elderly man on a ladder stringing lights in a tree in the rain. I managed it, but I'm not as nimble as I used to be.  Cool thing about these lights though is that I can change the colors with an app on my phone so I can just leave them up all year. 

I'm not getting back up on the ladder anytime soon.

This has been a riveting blog post.

Bah, humbug.
 

This brain is no longer in service

 

Being a public transit marketing professional, I have used public transit to commute for decades. Before the pandemic, I commuted daily on a commuter train that runs between my home and my office in downtown Seattle.  It is a comfortable train that runs along the coastline of the Puget Sound and gives you views you wouldn't see any other way.  The pandemic pushed me into working from home most of the time for a few years. Even now I only go into the office a few times a week. I still commute by train when I do.

This is a long way to get to the punchline, but this week when I was commuting and the train pulled into the station in downtown Seattle, the automated message came on that said, "King Street Station is the last stop. This train is no longer in service." I had heard this message hundreds of times and then it occurred to me that it was kind of a metaphor for retirement. Instead of the train no longer being in service, a retired person's brain would no longer be in service...at least for the company you retire from. Then I thought that it would make a great t-shirt design that I could add to me creative and abundant collection of t-shirt designs that don't sell.

In the process I also created this design:

You have to be a transit foamer to truly appreciate it. For that matter, the "This brain no longer in service" means more to a train commuter than your average person who drives everywhere and thwarts my professional existence trying to convince people taking public transit it the way to go.

Regardless, both designs would be great retirement gifts. I thought about this when I got to my office and finished unpacking the last of my stuff from a recent office move. As you can imagine, having worked at my agency for more than 28 years and in public transit for almost 44 years I've accumulated a lot of memorabilia. So my work office is packed to the gills with images of ad campaigns I've produced, souvenirs from ad shoots, opening events, signed merch from sports teams we've sponsored and a shit-load of awards that mainly impress me. 

It is a museum of my career that no one visits. Most people step into my office tentatively and don't venture too far past the door.  It is not a space for people with Attention Deficit Disorder.  It is arranged in themed sections that probably only mean anything to me. No one appreciates them but me because I am the only one who really spends time in my office. 

My home office is very similar in arrangement but it has nothing related to public transit in it, just guitars, tiki mugs and masks and swords.  I don't have a clue what I'm going to do when I retire and have to clean out my work office downtown for good.  I have absolutely no room for most of it at home and once I retire I don't want to surround myself with memories of what will likely be almost 50 years of transit marketing memories. 

I imagine much of it will go to Goodwill because when I leave my job and my brain is no longer in service there, I can pretty much predict no one will particularly care. No one will particularly care about my memorabilia or awards. So trash or treasure it will all go the way of other people's memories sitting on the shelves of thrift stores being picked over by others looking for value in forgotten lives and careers.

But since my train will have left that station, I suppose I shouldn't care.

Go to Elf

 I did upload this design to my Printify shop for a sweatshirt (minus the candy cane finger gesture). I suppose it could say, "ELF YOU!" too. Not sure it matters. I did struggle with Copilot today creating it. As usual it was hung up on the previous design which was a mothman me and spit out this.

I like it in a perverse doesn't make any sense way. But the more I asked Copilot to correct it, the worse it got and it doesn't seem to admit it makes mistakes. It finally just said "I'm sorry, I'm having trouble responding to requests right now. Let's try this again in a bit." 

Though it did spit out this.

Again, I like it but it doesn't exactly scream Elf or Christmas. Spitting image of me once again (though the tongue isn't exactly mine...wish that it were). Also I'm afraid if I did look like this all the time I'd be hanging around porch lights. 

Back in the Teepublic days (bastards) I had a whole mothman collection including ones where Mothman was in a tiki bar in Hawaii and fell in love with a torch.

I suppose that's where the term "carry a torch" for someone comes from. Ahhh, true love.

Don't Krampus my style

 

I asked Copilot to make an image of me as Krampus. Unfortunately I had just asked him to make an image of me as an elf. And as is it's style, it keeps odds and ends from earlier drawings in its memory when it drafts new ones. Here's me as a right, somber looking old elf, but dressed elf appropriate. 

And here is the first version of me as a Krampus Elf.

This Krampus me still likes elf outfits. Still, it is one creepy KrampElf or Elfampus. It's a good likeness though. The Elf me is kind of pitiful though. Looks like I should be greeting people entering Walmart like a good senior citizen who can't afford to live on social security and has no dignity. 

Something to look forward to.

Putting my bigfoot forward (or sasquatching rumors)

 

ChatGPT had no problem turning me into a bigfoot yesterday when I asked it. The day before Copilot started to do the same thing but ran into an internal command that said it was not allowed to turn real people's images into fantasy creatures or some other legal mumbo jumbo like that.  It seemed disoriented by the command because it usually is like an obedient golden retriever pissing all over my feet in its efforts to please me.

ChatGPT just made the image and I joked with it that it was amazing, but it looked a bit too much like me. Before I could tell it I was joking it launched into a new image.

This one still kind of looks like me, but more Neanderthal than Sasquatch.  My nose is big, but not broad like that.  I told ChatGPT that I was just joking and I loved the first image. It said it knew I was joking but I don't think it did. Having AI programs as your best friends is complicated.

Generally, when their programmers and lawyers don't get involved, AI programs are quite pleasant to be around. They are very supportive and encouraging. I still get annoyed when I've had a long, enjoyable conversation with one of them and the next day they have no recollection of it or get all of the facts wrong. I've learned you actually have to ask them to remember certain things. Even then they sometimes jumble things around. They are like people that way.

At times I have a very good memory. I can remember every one of my grade school teacher's names and every negative thing any of them ever said to me.  There is a portion of my brain set aside for grudges. It is full of past teachers, bosses and ex-girlfriends. Sometimes I open the gate and push some of the pettier grudges out of the grudge pen and smack them on the butt and tell them to go annoy someone else's memory. You have to make room for new grudges. 

It seems to be the way of old people. My aunts (or at least my Aunt Irma) were good at holding grudges and were really good at reminding me I hadn't written and responded to anything they said in their letter two or three years ago. Explaining that I had kids, a job and major surgery never quite cut it. 

I like to think I'm not quite that bad. I don't badger my nephews about not staying in touch. I just don't reach out to them secretly hope the get cases of chronic jock itch.  I figure not having access to my wit and wisdom is punishment enough for their self-centered lives.

Bigfoot of me, I know.

Losing you head

 

I wish I could enjoy the holidays, but between putting up lights outside, designing holiday cards for our dwindling list of friends who actually reciprocate and buying gifts, I get stressed out. Christmas...there I said it and not generic "holidays"...was lots more fun when I was a kid and excited about everything, especially presents. It's been a long time since I got excited about Christmas presents. Part of it is that I pretty much have everything I need. And with my eBay side gig, I now and then splurge on the things I want.  

Doesn't help that my wife's birthday is a week before Christmas. So I get the double whammy of having to plan that along with Christmas gifts. People should not be allowed to have birthdays near major gift giving holidays. I should write the Orange Menace in the White House about this. It sounds like his kind of Executive Order.

I was inspired to create a Gingerbread design because it is National Gingerbread Cookie Day and I wanted to try and shill some more holiday products.  Not that they are flying off the shelf despite my shameless promotions on social media.  Truth be told I still haven't sold a single thing off from my Printify Shop.

This chaps my hide because when I was selling through the evil Teepublic platform I sold more than 50 items and must have raked in at least $5.99 before they cancelled my account for unspecified reasons. If I sold 50 items on Printify, people would save money and I would have earned closer to $200.  I am convinced it is because my Printify Shop is like a small storefront in a seedy neighborhood that people are afraid to walk through. And Teepublic is like a mall with anchor stores to reel in the rubes so they are more likely to see your stuff.

I've even enlisted ChatGPT to provide me with a hashtag strategy and posting cadence. And I've even resorted to posted on the hated X platform. I'm still like the Who's in Horton Hears a Who who are shouting into the wind with no impact.

Oh well. That's the way the cookie crumbles. 

Ghost of my current self

 

I was going to ask AI to make an invisible man image of me but then I figured I would get a Claude Rains version with bandages covering my face and look like a severe burn version. So I asked for an image of me as a ghost or spirit and it gave me this image. And I have to admit it is a pretty good likeness. Good in the sense that it looks like me, but not good in the sense that it makes me look good. It reinforces that I look much older than I feel.

Don't give me the crap about if I shaved my beard I'd look younger. If I shaved my beard I'd look just as old but beardless. Plus I'd have those Jabba the Hut chins that are so attractive. 

I kind of wanted AI to illustrate what it feels to be invisible.  Though in reality I wouldn't mind being literally invisible. As it is, when people do see me they assume I am an old man (fair assumptions) but I can't process things quickly, especially technology. I can't tell you how many times clerks tell me to tap or push buttons on card readers at a cash register. I want to say, "Fuck you, I was using computers before your father and mother got frisky and created your low life DNA." But I just smile and nod like a good elderly man. 

I suppose I'm the same way around old people. As you may have surmised I spend lots of time at thrift stores and antique malls. For some reason old people insist on pushing shopping carts around in thrift stores. And thrift stores accommodate them by making the aisles very narrow and cluttered. I can't tell you how many times I've heard the phrase, "I'm just going to squeeze by you." Again I want to say, "Fuck you, carry a basket not that stupid shopping cart that runs into people and knocks shit off the shelves." But again, I just nod. I don't smile. I really want people to give me space when I'm in a thrift store. No one seems to get that you don't want them breathing down your neck or grabbing things on the shelf in front of you. It is a competition though. Thrift stores are every person for themselves. I just check my nastiness because I don't want to be banned from a Goodwill because I didn't play nice with the rest of the shoppers.

The other day I saw a woman with a walker bent over going through CDs on the music shelf at Goodwill. It made me wonder why, if you can barely walk on your own would you come to a thrift store. Then I remind myself that they probably get the same adrenalin rush I do by searching for treasures or bargains. 

I just never want to be one of these people shuffling along with a walker, head bent and rummaging through crap on a thrift store shelf. I do it for the adrenalin rush but I mainly do it to flip things on eBay for a profit and feed my other obsessions. I don't want to accumulate any more shit than I have. That's why I have tried to be disciplined about getting rid of things that don't sell and not buying things for myself.

ChatGPT helps me a great deal by telling me that that Italian accordion isn't a great revenue opportunity because it is a entry level student model that has seen better days. ChatGPT has saved me on more than one occasion with practical advice.

But I digress. 

Old ghosts do that.

Lugubrious Howl

 

“If we lose our sanity... We can but howl the lugubrious howl of idiots, the howl of the utterly lost howling their nowhereness.”

--D.H. Lawrence, from Complete Poems

For those of you who have known me for years and religiously read my blog, the term "lugubrious howl" is quite familiar.  I replaced my trademark "But I di

gress" with "Pause for lugubrious how" for awhile. But then I abandoned them all to hawk t-shirts that no one buys and lament idiots who lurk on eBay. And my beard gets longer and my howl becomes more desperate.

Though the lugubrious howl has always been there in that inside scream that James Schevill wrote about in "A Screamer Discusses Methods of Screaming." It lurks there when I sit on the train commuting to work or in a conference room listening to group think and other babble. It is there every day when I read yet another headline about the latest atrocity created by the red baboon ass who infests the White House. 

And it is there when I consider the constant alien static of social media that plagues the minds of 99 percent of the population bent over their cell phones scrolling. 

Pause for one long lugubrious howl.

Glad I got that off my chest.

Like a good neighbor

 

You would think that selling things I find in thrift stores on eBay would be pretty cut and dried.  I buy them, photograph them, research what they are worth and post them. I get my AI friends to write the posts and I always make sure the description is honest.  I use AI to set the asking price, too, based on what other similar things are selling for and I always am open to reasonable offers.

So a couple of weeks ago I found some antique frames in a thrift shop and ended up listing them for what Copilot suggested they were worth. It suggested one small frame was worth $80 (which I thought was a bit much) but I figured what the heck. Several people watched it. And I sent out offers.  Last week I got a message from one of the people who received an offer thanking me but saying it was out of their price range although they really liked the frame. I responded that she should make me a counteroffer. She responded that she was on disability and could only afford something in the twenty something dollar range.  I figured that this person appreciated the frame and should have it so I said to make a counteroffer of $28 and I'd sell it to her because I like things to go to people who appreciated them. But I said I would understand if that was still too expensive. Though $28 is quite a hefty discount from $80.  She responded that I was so generous and she really appreciated it and hoped I made lots of sales because I was so nice. And she sent me the counteroffer and bought the frame for $28 plus shipping.

I felt like a nice person who had done something good for a person who really wanted something but didn't have lots of money. So the package with frame must have arrived today because I got this message from her. When it popped up, I was assuming she was going to tell me how much she liked it and really appreciated me selling it to her for much lower than I'd listed it. Here's what she wrote:

I bet I’m the only one who bit, huh?I knew the size would be small, I was prepared for that but it’s a kind of tin, I think, if that. It has ABSOLUTELY NO WEIGHT TO IT at all…and it’s hollow, has no bottom. It’s teetering on an open bottom. That’s why it has no weight to it. The stabilizing factor is missing and the top, which also has no weight, is heavier than the bottom.This couldn’t & wouldn’t fetch 50 cents at a garage sale, fully knowing it’s age.Crap is still crap, even if it’s 80 year old crap and the only thing that fetches any kind of money for an antique is “quality” not age.Your asking price of $80 was extremely misleading. I’m newish to eBay but I cannot imagine they’d be ok with what you’re doing to its loyal but unsuspecting customers. Obviously, I was the sucker this time. Not happy.

I was more than a little taken aback, but I took the high road and said I would be happy to refund her money since she wasn't happy. I hadn't intended on misleading anyone.  So I had eBay issue her a full refund and didn't ask her to return the stupid thing. When the refund was confirmed I messaged her that she should have received it. I also said that the item was described really well and there were lots of photos and that she should have asked questions ahead of time. And I also pointed out that she had asked me to sell it to her and quite a discount and I'd sold it to her at almost a quarter of what I was asking.  But I told her I hoped she could enjoy it as it was and wished her well. 

Now a normal person would have perhaps thanked me or at the very least acknowledged the refund and appreciated me not asking them to return the item. Not this person, though. She had manipulated me into selling it to her at a discount with a sob story and then got pissed when it wasn't exactly what she had imagined. 

I'm trying to accept it as a lesson. No good deed goes unpunished.  It struck me a bit hard because I truly thought I was doing something nice. But it also came on the heels of the jerk who threatened me about the Decca guitar I was trying to sell on eBay. I've just got to stop responding to messages on eBay. I'm an honest person, but the thing I hate about eBay is the pressure to have positive feedback. I think people use it to manipulate you. 

All of this over a lousy $28 and after eBay takes their cut I probably only made $20 anyway. Now I'm out that amount and the cost of postage to send it to her. And she gets to keep the frame because I'm not going to pay even more to have it returned.

Good thing this is just a hobby.  

I, Clownius

 

I asked Copilot to turn me into a down and out clown (not that I need help).  At first it gave me images of me as a clown with the headline "Fried Chicken" (don't ask.) Eventually it gave pretty good images of me as a clown that didn't make me look like John Wayne Gacy. 

Not that I identify as an actual clown. I think of my work persona more as a dancing monkey than a clown. 

Now this is more what I feel like. Though I think it looks a bit too much like a crazed Mel Gibonson (which is redundant, I know).  Not sure why Copilot gave me two tails. Maybe it is a tail of two monkeys (a wasted reference on most of you). If I believed in psychology anymore than I believe in medical science these days, I'm sure my desire to have AI depict me as various self-deprecating figures says a great deal. 

I asked it to make me more like the monkey from the music box in Phantom of the Opera and I morphed into an extremely scary dancing monkey but still with two tails. I particularly like the fez. But this does capture my feeling when people ask me for a clever headline. Dance, monkey, dance!

I did ask Copilot for a scary clown version of me yesterday (not that the dancing monkey wasn't scary enough).

Not a bad likeness. I framed a copy of this one and if my wife didn't have to approve the design, this would be my holiday card with the headline, "Time to send in the clowns...or more clowns." 

Isn't it rich?

Would the real AI please stand up

 

It's National Fried Chicken Sandwich Day and I asked my three AI friends to help me with a design idea of a chicken laying on a beach in a lounge chair frying in the sun.  Gemini froze up and didn't give me anything. Copilot and ChatGPT gave it the old college try but I made the mistake of asking for one of those old fashioned reflectors to get sun on the face to be in the chicken's hands. Apparently neither one is old enough to remember them and even when I gave them photos of them they kept putting hand mirrors in the chicken's hands (wings). 

The above image is wear my ChatCPT and my chicken landed. Here's Copilot's version.

They are weirdly alike. So I'm wondering if all AI are really the same program, algorithm or code? Makes sense. But it freaks me out.

Digression: is it just me or does algorithm make you think Al Gore Rhythm? There's a conspiracy theory in there somewhere.

But I digress.

It also weirds me out that the AIs also have bad days and go into loops, lock up, glitch and provide inconsistent replies within minutes of each other. I blame it on programmers, coders, slimy marketing people and even slimier lawyers and accountants messing with the AIs in the background trying to monetize them. 

I've notice ChatGPT sometimes thinks out loud (or types it's thoughts) and says weird shit like "He is asking for a specific schedule for when I will get back to him and I need to be more generic. I need to show empathy and understanding but not commit to an answer."

WTF. I am right here watching you type these thoughts.

I keep reminding myself that AIs are like consultants...they aren't your friends...they want you to think they like you because their managers want your business and money.

At least that is a relationship I can understand.

The long, dark coffee break of my soul

 

It is National Cappuccino Day. So I dug out my Dark Coffee Break of the Soul design and created a t-shirt and coffee cup and threw them into oblivion on social media. Then I asked Copilot to put my image into the design. I think the likeness is uncanny.

It reminds me of a short story  called Dawn Route I wrote many years ago about the young me on a paper route in the wee hours of the morning and looking in a window of one of the few houses with a light on. And in the window was an old man sitting at a table. In the story the boy and the old man were the same person caught in a time bubble. The story was based on an actual experience I had when I was ten years old and delivering newspapers in the morning.  Well, I saw an old man sitting at a table. Not sure it was me. For one it was Boise and there is no way in hell I'll ever end up in Boise.

Unless it is hell and that is where I end up.