I can add this one to the flow.

Today the conductor of the symphony at my university called me over on the sidewalk to tell me that he thinks my son is an amazing person and musician, and he loved the original song he performed on Saturday, and I nearly started weeping right there in front of everyone.

I would love to do this program to get my head ready for a sequel to Picnic in the Ruins.

I am trying to get off sweets, but the Chocolate Payday. That's a problem.

Here's a moment from Friday's guest guitar moment. The guy to my right is my daughter's boyfriend and the scorching wah pedal rhythm is my son off screen.

I'm going to play lead guitar on a song with the cool kids at a cool kid college town music venue tonight on the day I gave a very hard exam in film theory. Let us pray.

I sent this to my kid on the way to soundcheck for our gig tonight.

A student just pitched a final project in storytelling about how he went to a hard core garage show one day, then to church the next, and he wants to talk about how he felt the same kind of fond feelings (my words) at both. I love this.

For the morning crowd: I wrote a song with my son called "Vegas, Baby!" His band expanded & recorded it. It's a sad take on "I've Been Everywhere," where a guy plans a road trip with his beloved, who has already abandoned him. It's on all the platforms. music.apple.com/us/album/veg...

My kid and I wrote a little song. His band expanded it, recorded it, and released it today. They're in an Exile on Main Street/MJ Lenderman phase. "Vegas, Baby!" by Black Cat Parade youtu.be/E0bvXbmaQ0o?...

Okay, the Earl of Sandwich it is, then.

Every time I say I have two wolves inside me, some add pops up telling me that one of them could be replaced by a chatbot.

Working on something through my agent, and my agency contracts person sent back a quick message taken from the Bhagavad Gita: “that which is happening, is happening for good.” Email can be fabulous sometimes, if we let it.

I'm teaching Calvino's Invisible Cities, and the ending stunned me, again. "[S]eek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space."

Inside of me there are two wolves. One wants to go to sleep right now, and the other went to sleep an hour ago.

Last night I had a dream that I was carrying around a bunch of trout in a cheap classical guitar. There was a very interested cat following me around.

He is the utterly ridiculous Prince of this house.

Because our youngest wants to fly down the Halloween sidewalks on his own, with his friends, tonight. My wife and I have decided that, free from all obligations, we'll just go out for dinner. Alone.

I just decided to upgrade the phrase "phoning it in" with "prompt engineering it in."

I just told a student, "The question of long stories is not how to create filler, but how to expand the story's interior volume so it can hold more complications and complexity."

Every now and then my daughter comes over, plops down on the couch and says, "Aaron reached out and asked if I could do another illustration for Short Story, Long." Then I get like this:

These images of the eye of that hurricane are stalling me out.

Remember: the rabbit lost that race.

My kid just did some cool work for a Salt Lake Bakery. Everyone should hire her. She burns AI stuff to the ground.

My wife is the Halloween hero. 14yo presented his vision, and she helped him realize it. That's an art education professor mom mvp.

A late afternoon push has saved me from grading jail this weekend.

I just started H is for Hawk. It's ridiculously good. Holy smokes.

My night listen is Punch Brothers Who's Feeling Young Now? It's just right.

My 14yo loves David Bowie's "Starman" so much.

On the night of the new moon, all the wolves turn into people.

This is a perfect post.

Internet snow day!

Sometimes I just want to lie down in the bed and feel how nice it is, but I am a parent so I just fall asleep.

As the author of a reverse-heist novel, I am watching this Louvre situation with admiration and a dash of envy.

Back on my sourdough baking, me hearties.

Just found my copy of TMNT #1 2nd printing (1984) in the storage unit. And I checked the current prices. Wow.

This is going to be my new favorite True Grit-themed restaurant.

How does one get to the point of knowing what questions to ask? And then how does one get to the point of knowing if the answers to those questions are garbage? I mean, I know. But perhaps the rich and powerful do not.

I just wrote this note in preparation for my world building class this morning: "The world you're building leads somewhere. It's not just a place, it's a road."

What if we spent trillions of dollars on teachers and therapists instead of on AI slopfrastructure?

In my film classes I regularly teach about how when new mediums and technologies appear; they are immediately followed by their pr0n iterations: printing press, photography, VHS (over Beta), streaming, online CC payments. You name it. And now we get the AI version of that story. Guh and double guh.

Happy People Don't Live Here by the amazing @ambersparks.bsky.social is here. Happy book birthday, Amber.

This is Jerry.

Everyone, I have a job this year, and it is to play "strictly rhythm" guitar on "Sultans of Swing" for my son's junior recital. If I mess this up I'll never live it down.

Those Thiel seminars feel like a supervillain's version of a real estate seminar at a Holiday Inn by the airport.

Sound on: I love working at a university, because on your way back from teaching a storytelling class some unseen trombonist is practicing.

Yeah, it's going down outside right now.

All these frogs, and no trench coat.

Found this wonderful message on campus.

I subscribe to Short Story, Long and Bright Wall/Dark Room and whenever those renewal receipts come in, I smile. Both are part of what is good in the world right now.