Person in 1966: Hmm. This check says it's only #11. Not sure if I should accept it. Person in 2026: I've been on check number 10003 for four years.

Someone check to see if Air Force One was on TV in the past week.

Ah, so this is the story draft where everyone talks like a cowboy for some reason.

Crimes it is then.

The energy I’m bringing into 2026: replacing the phone app in the dock with my insurance company’s.

Okay, I have thought about it, and I'm ready to sign-up for the French Resistance.

Still time left to walk 314,211 steps and hit my target for 2025.

Me: I think someone stole my bike. Hardened, alcoholic British detective: You think I caire? Me boy diayed, didn’t hee? Me: Yeah, so it’s red.

Look at my wall of fancy hardcover books. It’s mostly Tom Wolfe’s A Man in Full but there’s a Franzen in there somewhere.

Thrilled to have a story in the new issue of @bombmag.bsky.social . Subscribe and read right here: bombmagazine.org/articles/202...

Things: bad.

The shopping lists and story ideas in my gmail drafts locked in a competition over which should embarrass me more.

If you ever hear me call something outstanding, I mean it the other way.

Like if the United Lounge were a person.

Got that dog on me.

No one: The movie Blue Moon: I bet you want to see a young George Roy Hill, don’t you perverts? Discover what inspired him? Lil winky wink to ol’ GRH to boost that box office?

Feel like if we got the whole neighborhood together, we could get the mailman a Dodge Charger for the holidays.

Me: Really loved revisiting that David Berman album. Spotify: So you also love The Clientele! Me: Well, I think they're kinda... Spotify: Jonathan Richman it is! Me: Play Butlerian Jihad.

Well it’s here. The Saturdayist Friday.

Haven't heard from Sears today. Starting to think they aren't thankful that I purchased a hand blender in 2014.

I don't want to be mayor, but it'd be nice to be asked.

Every language program should start by teaching you how to say, "Look, I'm trying really hard but it's not working."

"AI now has PhD level intelligence." Cool, man, I've got a PhD and last night my brain told me I owned an old Ford truck and Martin Scorsese needed me to fix it so I could drive him to Walgreens. Good luck making it solve physics or whatever.

Message from my old mechanic just to let me know that sometimes they still think about me.

Magician: Pick a card. Me: Fleer '87 Bobby Bonilla rookie.

*A young Predator returns from its first hunt with a copy of American Football's self-titled debut*

Once again I forgot to dress as Dean Stockwell in Blue Velvet for Halloween and instead dressed that way today.

Emailing my doctor’s office to ask where I can pick up my blood when they’re done with it.

Can Inanimate Objects Be Ornery: A Dissertation

I know, sidewalk. I know.

Uncles around the country growing increasingly anxious, still uncertain over what this year's Thanksgiving rant will be about without Joe Brandon.

Not saying we shouldn't go back now, but I think fighting the Revolution over the word "chuffed" was the right decision for America at the time.

Literature needs to take a cue from music and add more "alt"-genres. Alt-Crime. Alt-Romance. Alt-Historical. Alt-Middle Grade. I don't know what this means either, but we should find out.

Me: Should my car be doing that? Mechanic: “Should” your car be doing that is the wrong question as it is intention not form that defines art. Me: Here’s $3500.

November 1st, back to only me asking who I’m supposed to be.

*my first day as an offensive coordinator* “Okay, boys, this is gonna be hard because you can’t see what I’m drawing on my hand but.”

Thanks, but I already know how to lose a Time War.

Clayton Kershaw coming into this game is like taking a nutcracker off a Christmas tree and telling it to fight in a real war.

The Ump Cam should never turn off. A whole channel. His wife, she needs to know. Begs of him. Some calls he cannot say. He’s out.

You never believe in me, I yell at my parents. I could city plan. I could city plan so much.

She's not saying it, but I can tell the dog would respect me more if I could dunk.

When someone orders the thing I was going to order.

Holding an all-hands meeting to go over our quarterly performance with everyone in the coffee shop.

Telling the kids that batteries once faced different directions in the remote. And that was important. A promise. A creed.

I reject the promise.

No Kings LA.

Library holds growing increasingly erratic.

Rewriting "Country Roads" to be about Nebraska. I've got "Prairie Papa" and absolutely nothing else.

*sigh* Poem draft slowly became a life insurance jingle again.

Considering becoming a proprietor. But of what and how still tbd.