Little Pete.

I was thinking about Little Pete this week; I don't know why. 

He was a nice guy. Older, in his retirement. Little, as the nickname would indicate, maybe five five. Big glasses and slightly wild white hair. Loved his motorcycle. I used to see him occasionally down at the church group I sometimes attended, when my schedule permitted and he wasn't off somewhere exploring the roads of America. I didn't and don't even know his last name. Just one of those guys who was glad to see ya, and was glad to be seen. 

He got very involved in that group, as I recall, going from an occasional newbie to one of the leaders. He even chaired it at some point. I can say that I had been working in Manhattan when he was new, only seeing him on days off; when I was no longer in that job and was able to go more often, he was suddenly an important figure. It was like seeing a kid you hadn't seen in a while -- one day a toddler, next day doing long division. We seem to expect people to stay exactly as they are until we see them again, like toys we put away and then take out of the box years later. "My, how you've changed!" Well, of course, they did. So did we. 

Once again my work situation altered, and I didn't get down there much for a couple of years. The next time I saw him, he too had altered, unfortunately.

Little Pete didn't mind talking about the big black binder he was carrying. It was everything he needed to have with him for his cancer treatment. Test results, medications, appointments, insurance forms, Medicare forms, charts of diet and exercise. He was organized and determined. I don't know what he did before he retired, but if he brought that kind of organization and drive to his job, he must have been successful. He still had a smile, but it was a little more guarded, a little less likely to be seen through the glass of his spectacles. We all prayed for him, of course. 

Some months went by before I saw him again -- same place, same group, same black looseleaf binder. But I noticed, coming in late, that there was a pained look on his face, that there seemed to be a distance between himself and everyone else. They didn't want to cross to him, or know how to, and he seemed unable to connect to them, either. It was like he knew he was being ripped away from everyone, and no one knew what to do except to pretend it was not happening. He just clutched his now-thicker book tighter, like a totem that could make all this go away somehow -- a totem that he didn't believe in anymore, but one he grabbed because he had nothing left to grab. That was the last time I saw him.

Honestly, I don't know for sure what happened. I didn't know whom to ask -- so many members of that group moved away or otherwise left. I don't see any of the regulars anymore. I guess it's been ten years or so now. Maybe he had a miraculous bounce back with one of those new biologics, then moved to Florida to ride his bike all day, every day, summer to winter and back again. I hope so. 

Little Pete -- thanks for being a decent guy. I'm sorry I didn't get to become your friend. I'm sorry we're all so weird about sickness and death, like if we shy away from it, it will look us over. God bless you, wherever you are.   

AI yi yi yi yi.

Movie plots are strange, sad beasts. 

When films were more formulaic, they were sad because they were predictable. Like: Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. Murder is discovered and clues are unearthed to solve the mystery. Bad boy meets good girl and reforms. Party sets out and overcomes deadly obstacles to achieve goal. 

Then the plots got tortured to upend the expectations of the viewers. The cop is bad! The father is bad! The mother is bad! The bum is good! And eventually you'd know that the cop was the bad guy and the useless bum the good guy within five minutes, because the upended expectation was the new norm.

Then they got mangled because filmmakers were so in love with visuals that they threw the plot into the toilet and flushed and plunged until it went away. "We need a volcano to erupt here!" "Everyone should fall out the twelfth-story window and punch on the way down and survive!" "Wouldn't it be awesome if the moon exploded?" 

If that isn't enough, test audiences were brought in to torture the plot some more. Don't let the couple break up! Don't kill the boy! Don't kill the dog! Don't let the bad guy get away! Don't let baby Ashton strangle himself to death in the womb! (Hey, I didn't say the test audiences were all wrong.)

But why screw these things up on our own, when we can get technology to do it for us? 

If you look at startups these days, it's all AI, all the time. But I was still surprised when a friend pointed out a company called StoryFit, a Texas-based (do I have to say Austin?) company that aims to take your script and use artificial intelligence to make it awesome. 

"StoryFit's AI technology platform helps you understand the true value of your story and how to best reach your audience."

"StoryFit brings together insightful perspectives, industry expertise, and content analytics from our team of thought leaders to help you stay ahead of the curve in the ever-evolving world of storytelling."

"Learn how StoryFit champions creatives by helping them uncover white spaces for creative development, understand story elements that make their content special, and position their stories in the best places to succeed. By measuring thousands of story elements across thousands of stories, StoryFit expands creativity into new dimensions."

“We created 100s of proprietary models to measure 100,000+ story components matched against millions of audience data points to create the best possible opportunity for success.”

So, this is kind of depressing. 

First off, stories are human things if they're any good. Who needs artificial intelligence monkeying around with human storytelling? If we can't think up decent stories on our own (and, Hollywood aside, I think we still can), then can we even enjoy good stories anymore? Are we eager to kick experience and inspiration to the curb in exchange for machine learning?

In some golden age science fiction worlds, people were freed from drudgery by Science! and allowed to devote themselves to arts and other creative endeavors. So now the computers have to take that away too? Aren't professional writers already panicking enough about losing their jobs to AI? Yes, the stuff produced by computers is lousy so far, but thanks to companies like StoryFit it's going to get better. Will it matter that the Writers' Guild settled its strike if the writers will be erased anyway?

It’s depressing, therefore, because it reminds us how much our popular culture sucks, how much intellectual space we're giving over to computers, and how quickly we're racing to make our species obsolete. 

The people at StoryFit seem nice enough, but I really can't wish them well. If we can't tell good stories without computer aid, we ought to stop entirely. If we're that creatively bankrupt, we're done. 

Cryptosale!

Hello, fellow cryptocurrency investors! It's time to once again expand your portfolio by sending me your worthless, value-cratering American dollars in exchange for dynamic, upward-looking Fredcoin! Fredcoin is the only cryptocurrency that doesn't suck, and don't just take my word for it. Why, have a look at this unsolicited endorsement from famous cartoon character Nancy!

That's right, Nancy! Fredcoin is the wave of the future, and that future is not found by looking back to yesterday, but forward to tomorrow! You ever get clobbered by a wave while you were looking toward the shore? Of course you have. Knocked down, grit in your mouth, crabs biting your toes -- who needs it? Well, you can avoid all that by watching the horizon with Fredcoin! And waiting for your crypto shyp to come in! 

Why now? you ask. Why not later? Why shouldn't I just sit around and not order Fredcoin now?

Isn't that silly. There's no reason to not order Fredcoin when you could be ordering Fredcoin. It's just that simple. 

And what better time than during our pre-Halloween sale? Yes, my friends, for a limited time you can still buy Fredcoin for the same price as always, rather than waiting for those dollars to devalue some more. That could happen before our Halloween Crypt-O-Currency Bonanza, and wouldn't that be a fine trick-or-treat? So stop being patient and order today! 

As a special bonus, every order over $100 will come with a genuine e-signature by me for your NFT autograph collection. Sure to be worth something some day! 

Good thinking, little unnamed cartoon peon! Think ahead to the future with Fredcoin, and leave all other coins behind. Be like Nancy! Yell out "Me for Fredcoin!" Yell it at the bank! Yell it in the ice cream parlor! Yell it in the asylum! Yell it on the bus! Yell it at the Federal Reserve! Let everyone know that Fredcoin is the coin for you! Accept no substitutes! 

Big-time joe.

Perhaps you remember that civet coffee, the one that was exceptionally expensive because the beans were fed to live civets, whose digestive processes supposedly enhance the flavor of the beans? And perhaps you thought to yourself, "Self! As appealing as the idea of poop coffee is, $300-plus per pound is just not expensive enough! How will I ever impress guests like Gates and Clinton and the artist formerly known as Prince Andrew and the other Pedo Island travelers with something that cheap? I need to find a way to pay a whole lot more for my poop coffee!"

Well, leave your worries behind, because Black Ivory is here to help! Yes, as the name might indicate, at Black Ivory they feed the coffee beans to elephants, then extract the beans from the elephant poop. It may not taste particularly good, but it costs $1,500 a pound, and that's what matters! 

The company claims that this product benefits the elephants, and I like that well enough. I like elephants. They're big, they're interesting, they just do their thing. And the company claims that all that coffee-bean consumption doesn't affect the elephants, and I like that too. No one wants an overcaffeinated elephant. 

But personally, I prefer to do all my coffee digesting on my own, thanks. Roasting the beans and grinding them is good enough for me. I will take it from there. 

I believe I can spend the rest of my life without tasting coffee that was shat out by a mammal or any other animal. In fact, I intend to.

Fall, schmall.

Everyone says summer is great, but they can't seem to kick it out the door fast enough after Labor Day. 

Never mind the Halloween candy in July -- that's a lost cause, and I think lost because we just like excuses to buy sacks of little candies and eat them and then have to replace them. The stores would put them out in March if they thought they wouldn't look like they'd been left over since last Halloween. And it's not like little candies in big sacks aren't available year-round. It's just that the variety is better at Halloween, and we can convince ourselves we're being festive! and not gluttons. These are for the kids! Yeah, that bag will have been reduced to a pile of little wrappers and human waste before October even starts. 

Well, today is the first day of fall, and as usual, the stores have been all-out for Halloween for weeks, beyond the candy. Labor Day: School supplies out, Halloween crap in. Like this, at CVS:

I'm calling the exterminator

You're not even trying to not be
a Christmas tree, are you?

The weird thing, my neighbors started following the trend. Usually no one puts out Halloween stuff before October 1 -- maybe a generic scarecrow or something that could be just a general autumn decoration, but "Boo"? Foo.

But one product has already got a jump on Christmas, and it is not whom I'd have expected. Sure, my wife's craft catalogs start with Christmas in spring, but they know people need time to make serious projects. And yeah, I've seen ads for some Christmas events like the Rockefeller Center show in the city and the invitation to waste the holidays and your savings at Disney, but people always plan trips months ahead. But a Christmas-themed cereal box in September?

The answer of course is General Mills' sponsorship with Hallmark Channel, home of a million Christmas movies. My sources tell me that the channel is running 31 new movies this year, starting on October 20, so you'd better believe they're ready for autumn to be on its way and get us thinking Yuletide thoughts. 

As usual, I feel like I just took the tree down. Can we push Christmas off till April 2024? Is that too much to ask? I’m not ready.

Bad movie saints.

Movies often are appealing because we find characters with whom we can identify. Sometimes they are not the main characters, who are handsome or powerful or gorgeous or resourceful or in incredible shape or witty or really have a lot going for them. I mean the second bananas, or maybe third or even further back in the bunch. Sure, they're Hollywood characters, so they're probably still not awful to look at, but they're not the star, are they? (Although the star could be someone like noted Italian-American homunculus Joe Pesci, so who can say?) One thing, though, is that precious few characters in the movies would ever be considered for sainthood.

The Church often calls upon us, especially at Confirmation, to identify with a saint, someone of extraordinary virtue with whom we may still find some fellowship. We hope this will inspire us to seek out virtue ourselves, such as the Seven Cardinal Virtues (prudence, justice, temperance, and courage plus the three theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity), as well as the 12 Fruits of the Holy Spirit. 

Well, movie characters with whom we identify are not always going to have those virtues, or maybe any at all in a generous supply. And yet we can learn from them, even if they would make lousy saints. Plus, they always wind up helping the good guys. So allow me to present a few Lousy Movie Saints for your consideration. Devotions not encouraged.   

St. Cleo McDowell of the Rival Hamburger
Patron of Small Business Owners
Known for: Dedication, hard work, directness,
paternal love
A real David-vs.-Goliath story, with a man who
appreciates royalty

St. Samir Nagheenanajar the Long-Suffering
Patron of Victims of Office Machinery
Known for: Intelligence, love of justice
Appreciates how the Evil One uses things against us;
not afraid to fight 

[see also: St. Female Temp, Patroness of Mondays]

St. Mona Lisa Vito the Handy
Patroness of Classic Car Mechanics
Known for: Mental endurance, intelligence, fortitude, courage
Sees the beauty in others that others do not -- like a broken-down
Thunderbird covered in dents and rust

St. Jack Butler the Unemployed
Patron of Stay-at-Home Dads
Known for: Prudence, chastity, paternal love
A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do -- even if it means
resisting the gorgeous Ann Jillian

St. Mongo of Rock Ridge
Patron of Big Galoots 
Known for: Strength, humility
Maybe not the sharpest hammer in the icebox,
but shows how a little love and candy (and dynamite)
can turn a sinner away from bad

So there's a starter set. As I say, they're all lacking in attributes one would expect to see among the holy, but they all help out our heroes, so there's definitely a lot to like here. And definitely a lot with which to identify. 

Crate day in the mornin'!

Another trash day, another morning inspecting the neighbors' garbage. And what an interesting find we have here! 

Forty crates of wine grapes, emptied and waiting for the trash collectors. A veritable 6x8 wall of wine. It was a magnificent and imposing structure, like the ancient menhirs, Mesoamerican pyramids, or the monolith from 2001. What kind of wino lives here?

Actually, probably not a wino. For an active alcoholic, making your own wine is one of the worst ways to feed the disease. Takes too long. This is the kind of project the wine enthusiast engages in, and I have no problem with that (except it would have been nicer for the garbagemen for them to not put ALL FORTY crates out at once). 

This family is from Eastern Europe. I have a friend who grew up in Communist Yugoslavia, and his family made vast quantities of wine, as well as grappa and olive oil. In a Communist country you did as much off-the-books work as you could. Everyone did. The black market was probably twice as big as the legit market. He's been a proud American for a long time, but for years he still made his own wine because it was a family tradition. 

I personally also made alcohol -- I used to make beer at home, home being my apartment. I did get some really good results, and I enjoyed the process. I made mead, too. Like any great hobby, you can start with a small stake and escalate it to massive proportions -- the way with fishing, you can start with a rod and work your way up to a boat. But I gave it up after a few years. Too much work for too little booze. 

But back to these forty crates. Each was sold as containing 42 pounds of grapes. How much wine could you actually make from that? Well, I looked around at some winemaking sites, and found out that you could get as much as three gallons of wine from each crate. So this wall o' boxes would translate to as much as 120 gallons of wine. Federal law allows more than that per year for households with more than one adult, so they're not considered bootleggers. However, maybe for the alcoholic this could work out after all. 

I wish them well in their winey efforts. I used to do odd jobs for a family that made their own wine, and it was pretty weak, watery stuff. I hope this family gets it right. 

And I hope I don't awaken to an explosion one night, with bits of fermented grape raining over a four-block radius. That would be hard to hose off the roof.