On October 1st, I was greeted by the sight of a male and female cardinal sitting on the fence outside the kitchen window. Now, it's not surprising to see cardinals–after all, it is the state bird–but it is surprising to see a pair of them. A good way to start the month.

Speaking of the Lost Man, or 'the man who thought he was someplace else,' on September 26 the newscasters mentioned that it was Native American Day, a new holiday to me. No mention of what celebrations look like, when it started, or why. Also unmentioned if this is a replacement/co-optation of Indigenous Peoples' Day, celebrated on Oct. 11, a supplement, or a distraction. Also missing was any mention of what foods we should eat, music to listen to, or if gifts are expected. Those are the make-or-breaks of any holiday.

An important link to follow.

Joe Procopio is apparently a big deal in the tech community. He is also a very good, rational writer, which is how I came upon this article: This is how AI kills us all. Although you could get the gist by reading just the title and subhead, you really should read the whole thing, if only to see a comparison of AI to spreadsheets in the wild.

I think the first step to give proper importance to AI is to change the name, not to superintelligence, but either back to 'large language models' or, even better, to 'big ass databases.' More accurate, less churn. And get the guardrails of law put up before the highway gets built.

Getting here from there.

There, in this case, is a Billy Collins poem about a dog named Dharma, which is actually irrelevant to the poem. But as I finished the poem, I looked again at the title, and realized I didn't know what dharma meant. I figured it was probably related to karma, karmic, and karmic retribution. But I better check.

Well, not really on the near similarity thing. Dharma is 'the eternal and inherent nature of reality.' A lot of my thinking recently has centered on the concept that reality is fluid and self-generated, but now I'm faced with the alternate concept that reality is eternal and inherent.

My brain hurts.

But then my brain synapses and throws 'harshing my mellow' into the mix as a candidate for 'whatever happened to...?'

I thought it was karma for the phrase to show up right at that time, as I could try 'harshing my karma' as a response to people who are irritating. But then, I realized 'harshing my dharma' was much more accurate and a better salve for my soul. A good here to reach.

Ask a question, dumb or not.

For some reason, I had it in my head that sunflowers always have the same number of petals, and that number was odd.

I also had in my head to ask why I was thinking about sunflowers. It had something to. do with an art class I didn't take and Van Gogh creating the ultimate sunflower painting, and the teacher using that as a stupid reason to not allow his students to paint sunflowers. But that's too complicated for now.

So we'll stick with the first conviction/question–what is the number of petals? Off to the web, only to find out I was wrong on both counts. The petal count can range from 10 to 89 and depends on the size of the flower.

The good news is I just freed a small bit of space to store a different bit of probably useless trivia.

Linguistic shift?

Normally, when I see/hear/:read about some young 'un (i.e., anyone not collecting Social Security) describing something in which they participated, they will use a generic description like crazy, awesome, amazing, fantastic, or wild when it isn't really any of those things, instead of using something more engaged, detailed or related to the experience.

Also normally, I will switch into grumpy old man mode, questioning the American educational system and its inability to give young 'uns proper linguistic tools to adequately describe their life's experiences, to say nothing of teaching those young 'uns to stay off my lawn.

'Why are they so lame?' I think. I'm no closer to getting an understanding of the experience they had than before hearing the lame Q&A.

But now I'm wondering if it's something more than a lack of ability in providing an encapsulation of an experience on short notice. Maybe the young 'uns have reached a profound understanding: It's not their job.. Further, nobody really cares, or wouldn't understand, so why bother? What they're doing is the equivalent of 'they seemed like such nice people. Very quiet' when the shy neighbor is revealed to be a serial killer.

Maybe it's some sort of special code spoken by the millennials and other people who frequent TikTok. Or maybe the experiences that they're relating just weren't all that interesting, and they're just humoring the guy with the microphone.

Anyway, the next time I hear an awesome or crazy, I'll remember that is all/ Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

When problems beget problems.

Inc. magazine warns us A Review of 7,000 Studies Says You Should Be Worried About Microplastics. Here Are 5 Simple Ways to Limit Your Exposure.

OK, I can see where microplastics are a problem. Anything that generates 7,000 studies is a problem, if only in trying to read 7,000 studies.

But here's my problem. Where do I place microplastics in my list of worries? Does it go on the top of the list, ahead of inflation and growing old? Or does it automatically go to the bottom, being the most recent entry in the wold-wide 'Warehouse of Worry' list? Or maybe I'm supposed to decide. My first worry –is the time I spend worrying about where to place microplastics on the list better spent worrying about something else, say the overuse of electronics in grade school? Presuming a yes answer, is it less worrying than chocolate and coffee shortages, but more worrying than a robot uprising? Or how worrying is it in relation to sea-level rise? Should it be before or after my worry about how my worry list seems to be growing exponentially?

The heck with it. I'm just going to follow Bobby McFerrin's' and Frankie's advice. Besides, I hear the theme music from Petticoat Junction drifting in from the TV in the next room. That's a good antidote for any brain overheating.

I can see that being true.

The Wikipedia review of Leap of Faith points out According to Picker, Pearce was unable to handle Debra Winger and Lolita Davidovich.

Interesting defense.

The '$19/mo.' ad club ranks seems to be growing slightly, with new very important causes that need our help fixing being added almost every day. You've seen the ads, I'm sure, which play on an emotional level–weepy music; pictures of suffering, cute animals or people staring into the camera and into the viewer's soul; the text read in measured tones by a B-list celebrity detailing the tragedy. If you haven't seen them, you're welcome, because I have apparently seen the ads intended for you.

All this was brought to mind by a Frank O'Hara poem, which contains an honest response:

a lady asks us for a nickel for a terrible
disease but we don't give her one we
don't like terrible diseases.

I wonder if we are approaching a 'shoulder shrug' moment with these ads, where their sheer volume will trigger a reaction and we just blip the ads from our consciousness, or at least hit the mute button on the remote.

Or maybe we've passed it, and these ads are just another brick in the wall of noise around us.