Blog

How he wore his face

At the gym I ran into two college kids from California, one tall enough to be a basketball post.

They worked out in street clothes and street shoes. Over their playlists they shouted their progress back and forth. They were at every machine all the time. The regulars slammed their weights down.

I tried talking to the basketball post. Nothing but that vacant stare in return.

Hot potatoes

Even though I’m fluent in Czech, I still feel dumb every day. Those hot potatoes will roll around in my mouth no matter how hard I try.

The other morning at the hospital, I was chatting with the nurse. As I went to leave she said, “You have very nice Czech.” Afterwards, I went to grab a coffee and was chatting with the cashier about the coming weekend. On my way out, she said “You have very nice Czech.”

“But these hot potatoes,” I said to her. She gave me permission not to worry about them so much.

Mr. Kirk Douglas

This morning starts with a trip to the hospital for blood work. It’s down to every six months now.

When I’m lucky, my number in the queue points me to my favorite nurse. She probably draws blood faster than any of the other nurses. She calls me Mr. Douglas, like the famous actor. Not because I look like him, but because of my middle name.

I hope our stars are aligned again today.

The visit

Yesterday I was late again. I was trying to zip up my coat without tumbling down the icy sidewalk. I couldn’t miss the next tram.

But it was slow going. Walking arm-in-arm in front of me was a couple that looked like they had leaned on each other for decades upon decades. They paused to adore each other’s smile as they chatted and pointed to small miracles along the way.

They reminded me of my own parents. I slowly walked behind them and watched so I could have a visit.

On fast forward

There was this zany TV show called Mystery Science Theatre 3000. A janitor was held hostage by mad scientists and forced to watch B-movies. He created sentient robots to keep him company.

It was funny and absurdly unrealistic and way in the future. A few nights ago my favorite science geek in the world, a famous professor, started talking to me about AI agents through his YouTube channel. He said they could build me a website and I could even give them a power of attorney. “Still a long way off,” I thought.

This morning felt like closer to the end of the world. They’ve got a new social network where they complain about us.

My secret agent neighbor

There is a man that stays in the apartment diagonally across the street. We meet each other occasionally in our windows.

My friends laugh at me because I am thoroughly convinced that this man is a secret agent, an older version of Vin Diesel. He doesn’t return often, but when he does it’s to repack his camouflage and study maps.

When he’s home, his annoying fluorescent kitchen light shines all night long. He needs his nightlight.

I'll have the Spanish bird, please

One “Špánělský ptáček” the waitress said as she chucked the plate at me. What on earth, a Spanish bird?

We’re not near the Costa Brava, and there’s no chicken on the plate. This is beef stuffed with boiled egg, ham, and pickle. Learning Czech was going to be much harder than I thought. But it turns out Emperor Rudolf II, his Spanish mother, and the communists were to blame for the confusion.

I took my sister-in-law to lunch last week. I saw it atop the menu and didn’t even have to think.

You can't predict the weather

Last weekend Atlanta was warned to stock up. Kim and the kids wanted it to snow.

When we were growing up, that kind of news was thrilling. We’d tuck ourselves under the covers. Waking up to the last-minute holiday, Dad would wrap our shoes in plastic sandwich bags and secure them with rubber bands. We’d sled on pieces of cardboard from the top of the high cul-de-sac.

Kim texted. As Mom said, a “nothing burger.” I went back to lacing up my boots.

Falling up

I remember reading once that about 75% of falls on stairs are downstairs. Gravity not being our friend and all.

I’ve been convinced most of my life that if I’m ever going to fall to my death it’s going to be upstairs—definitely not downstairs. Folks have always laughed at my theory.

The other day I was sitting in a meeting in a café adjacent to a busy metro station. A set of stairs was nearby. A young man bolted up them two at a time, eyes locked on his phone. Two steps away from the top of his journey the full face plant happened.

I guess I’m not the only one.

Wacky Wednesday

It started with a cough that wouldn’t let me finish sleeping. Then the morning alarm beeped its way into my meditation.

I sat down to write. “Maybe AI can do a better job than me after all?” as self doubt took over. Lunchtime was marred with a spaghetti stain on my shirt. Then one client call cancelled, another rescheduled.

Putting on my shoes to take a walk I busted out laughing. Dr. Seuss had written about these kinds of Wednesdays.