Friday Donuts

Friends, A lunar eclipse sighting Is rather inviting, To see the moon’s face Shaded by our home base. But, as the hour came near, My goal, once so clear, Yielded to hesitation, And practical considerations. To stare at the heavens At 11:11, That feels rather late, I don’t think I will wait. And 93 percent Isn’t that big an event, Plus clouds might come out And make insomnia for naught. The blankets are warm, And sleep so refreshing. Not much hesitation In missing the occultation. You may or not tell, But I slept rather well. Regrets? Maybe small. But, I stand by my call. My consolation prize Was a donut of average size. So, that, my good friends, Is how this poem ends. Happy Friday! Since I couldn't take a photo of the eclipse, I got you this one instead. ​

Friends, Can universal truths hold in a multiverse? If anything that can happen will happen an infinite number of times, can there be a subset of multiversal truths that hold across every possible universe? I suppose the operating word is “possible”. If anything is impossible across the multiverse, then multiversal truths must exist. Truths such as 1+1=2 or the fact information never disappears, it only changes form or moves to another place, branch or dimension. And this, my friends, is where I bump my head on the wall at the deep end of the knowledge pool and must abandon this pursuit. So, I leave you with this thought: donuts probably don’t exist in every possible verse, so the next time you bite into one, take comfort knowing you are in a special place. Happy Friday!​ Could the multiverse be home to a society of giant guinea pigs?​

Friends, Whenever I’m in a new town, I seem to gravitate towards mildly fancy restaurants. You know, not so fancy you walk away hungry after an exquisitely decorated five course meal at a price that could have fed a family of seven. No Michelin stars or famous chefs here. Just fancy enough they feel the urge to play the bedroom voice bossa nova version of Brittany Spears’ Baby One More Time. The latest in a long string of similarly neutered pieces sharing the same Brazilian arrangement. You don’t know whether to lament the song’s desecration or lip sync the familiar lyrics. Fancy enough to serve beignets, bomboloni or buñuelos for dessert (donuts would be too pedestrian). Sure they have nice decorations and perhaps a good view, but is the gussied-up food with thematically amped names worth it? I suppose it depends on your tolerance for elevator music and whether you have an afternoon to kill with a good book. I hear Do Aliens Speak Physics is clever, funny and packed with donut referen...

Friends, They say work is so bad they have to pay you to do it. So, why do folks have such mixed feelings about retiring? Financial insecurity? Loss of purpose? Facing mortality? Stockholm syndrome? These were some of the questions racing through my head as I watched the septuagenarians of AC/DC perform last week. Brian Johnson looked like Danny DeVito. Angus was anything but Young. The rest of the band played in the background, looking equal parts muppets, orcs, and meltdown at Madame Tussaud’s wax museum. Needless to say, not the image you expect from a quintessentially rebellious band. Don’t get me wrong, the music and experience were great. Once you get past the initial impression and the formulaic nature of the gig, and start screaming out the familiar tunes, the 100 dB sound takes you for a ride down the highway to … well, you know. You temporarily trade your donut halo for some croissant horns. After all, what you get out of a concert is what you put in. Sure, the band shoulda, ...