Captain D's is currently running an ad campaign that should be considered a war crime. When my television starts chanting "Fish D'Lish," I have to drive for the remote's mute button before the repetition drives me mad (or madder than I already am, anyway).

Once upon a time, I heard Stephen Colbert suggest that the best way to kill an earworm is to sing a shorter earworm that "cannot loop." His example was "by Mennen" as sung at the end of Speed Stick commercials. John Oliver suggested the "Ricola" yodel, and that's the one that usually works for me. I've been singing "Ricola" a lot lately.

On a marginally related note, I've recently been playing with the Talkback accessibility option on my phone. Theoretically, I could use it to control my phone hands free, but I've been using it to read Wikipedia articles out loud while I walk the dogs. Today I listened to the story of the Second Peloponnesian War. I found it amusing to hear my phone insist on calling the Persian king "Xerxes Eye."

That led me to wonder what Talkback's narrator would call this website, which has a made-up name I brainstormed on a napkin in my first apartment in Athens. Everyone seems to get it wrong on the first try. To my surprise, the phone handled "wriphe" perfectly. (For the record, it's pronounced like "rife," which was Merriam-Webster.com's Word of the Day on Sunday, and I'm going to have to steal their explanation to be another tagline for this site: "Rife Wriphe usually describes things that are very common and often—though not always—bad or unpleasant.")

So of course you know what I tested Talkback on next. Hint: It rhymes with "dish o'fish." What can I say? Advertising works.

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Breaking news! My 2002 Oldsmobile Intrigue, which cost me $1,728.86 in mechanic bills to keep running in 2024, has already cost me an additional $1,254.43 in the first six weeks of 2025 alone (for valve gasket covers, power window assembly switch, and wheel bearings). And it *still* needs that new set of tires. This is becoming a problem.

My first car, by which I mean the first car to which I held the title, was a 1985 Crown Victoria Country Squire station wagon. Mom gave it to me when I went to college. (She bought herself a Mazda Miata. Mid-life crisis much?) I drove it until the transmission broke. It wasn't the only thing on the car not working, and I made the decision to sell it rather than spend thousands I did not have to repair it. We all loved it, and in hindsight, I might have done things differently, but maybe not. I'm sure I really thought I was making the best decision I could at the time.

My second car was a used 1990 Honda Acura. It soon developed a leaky sun roof that was more expensive to repair than the Country Squire's transmission. I didn't fix it, either. Eventually the cabin smelled of mildew which I tried to hide with vanilla air fresheners. You can begin to understand why my fourth car was an open-top 1995 Jeep Wrangler.

(Honorable mention to my third car, a very '90s burgundy and beige pregnant egg, a 1992 Chevrolet Caprice Classic, which I inherited from my late grandmother. I didn't keep it long before selling it to my father after he wrecked whatever his latest car was. I borrowed it back from him for a 24-hour road-trip down to Jacksonville for a Jaguars/Dolphins Monday Night Football game on October 12, 1998. That trip is most memorable for B) the terrible headache I had on the entire 8-hour drive home because my poverty and anxiety kept me from stopping to get anything to eat, and A) my yelling "I'm going to kill him" at the highway patrolman who pulled us over for a broken taillight. The "him" in this case was Dad, who had assured me the car was in perfect condition for driving, but the cop certainly didn't know that. Thankfully, my companion on that trip, Matt, has always been a fast talker, and we're both white.)

The point here is that I really need to start thinking about throwing in the towel on the Oldsmobile. Is it time I draw a line in the sand? How much is too much? If I have to be spending so much money on a car, I'd rather be spending it on the Jeep.

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I received in the mail an envelope with an unexplained check from my bank. I hadn't been expecting a check, so I called the number on the stub to find out why I had received it. The lady who answered the phone, who I'll call Uma, seemed new at her job. She was polite and friendly but completely unable to identify why I had received the check. I should have called the policy department, she said, not the banking department. She kindly proposed to transfer me to the policy department.

However, I had a secondary reason for calling the bank, specifically that I could not use the bank's app to transfer funds into or out of my savings account. I was certain that this was definitely an issue for the banking department, but Uma couldn't identify the source of this problem, either. She proposed transferring me to the IT department for an investigation. Deciding that the mystery check was the bigger issue, I asked Uma to transfer me to the policy department, which she did after encouraging me to have the policy department connect me to IT after I was done there.

Pause for hold music.

The lady answering the phone in the policy department introduced herself — I'll call her Susan — and asked what she could do for me. But when I started to tell her, she warned me that my voice was much too hostile and I needed to calm down immediately. Now, I know I can be both loud and aggressive, but in this case I wasn't trying to be either; I was just curious about a mystery check. I tried to explain that I wasn't mad and if I sounded loud, maybe it was because I had been on a speaker phone during the hold music and now my mouth was too close to the speaker. Susan didn't sound satisfied with my explanation, but she also didn't waste any time tracking down the information that my check was a refund for overpayment of an insurance policy, which, she said, if I had read the letter that accompanied the check, I would have known. Except I didn't get a letter with my check, just a check. Susan blamed this on the banking department.

Mystery solved, I passed along Una's instructions that I should next be transferred to IT. "We don't have a plain IT department," Susan explained. Turns out the company has many different departments that deal with many different techologies, and Susan needed to know which one I wanted so that I didn't get "the runaround." I repeated my conversation with Uma for Susan's benefit, and she decided that I should talk to the website troubleshooting department. That sounded good enough to me. Away I went.

Pause for more of the same hold music.

The woman who answered in the website troubleshooting department, let's call her Alice, asked what my problem was, and I explained that I thought it might be a problem with my savings account not being configured for transfers. Alice must have been an experienced debugger, because she asked me to duplicate the problem on the app and tell her what the error message said exactly. So I did. "There has been a system error," it said. I relayed this information to Alice, and she said this message wasn't particularly helpful.

After poking around a bit more, Alice decided that there wasn't anything *technically* wrong with my account, certainly not my savings account, and that if anyone could solve the problem, it would be the banking department. Runaround averted. Transfer, please.

Pause for even more of the same hold music. It's not even a whole song, just a television jingle that repeats over and over and over. Amazing that Corporate America has found a way to make me miss Muzak.

A calm, deep male voice answered for the banking department, and I'll call this guy Albert. When I explained the problem to Albert, he immediately said, "oh, your savings account must be set as inactive in the system, let me fix that for you." And he did!

Three women to do the job of one man? Insert misogynistic joke of your choice here!

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Loser

When this song was first gaining widespread fame in late 1993, I was urged by my freshman college roommate to call in and request it from local radio. My memory was that I called 99X, because that was the Atlanta station that played this kind of music (as opposed to the heavier 96 Rock or the "classic" rock on Z93) but whoever answered the phone at whatever station I called was really quite dismissive and claimed no idea what the hell I was talking about. Maybe he wasn't just being a dick. (Maybe it was only being played on WREK at the time?) It would be a few more months before "Loser" really broke through to number 1 on the alt charts.

Does anyone even listen to terrestrial radio anymore?

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I type this at 1:28 AM with live weather coverage on WXIA TV telling me that Hurricane Helene is currently a category 2 storm as it passes over Valdosta headed north at about 20 miles per hour. There is minimal wind outside, but based on what I'm seeing, I expect it to pick up soon. That will no doubt bring trouble.

I've mentioned before that my neighborhood has power issues. Case in point, last night, after taking over 3 inches of rain totally unrelated to the hurricane, our power and cable went out. That's right, we were without power for 8 hours the day before a hurricane hit us. There's no telling what the state of our power grid will be by the time you read this.

I write this only to document a novel situation as I wait for the lights to go out again. I don't recall the last time a hurricane passed over Atlanta. I was certainly a Decatur resident when Opal moved through the city in 1995, but I don't remember that storm itself. That might have been the night that a limb fell through the windshield of my station wagon while I was at my girlfriend's apartment in Stone Mountain, but maybe not.

I have friends who remember being trapped in the Pink Pony, a "gentlemen's club," for 24 hours in what is now the city of Brookhaven. Their memories of Opal are much more vivid than mine. (I can only imagine the horrors. I met another friend of mine at The Pony for dinner one night, and a stripper rubbed herself all over my glasses, leaving me blind for the rest of the meal. I'm still irritated about that.)

Opal was 3 decades ago. In 2055, should I live that long, will I remember Helene? I sure hope not. That would mean that things go poorly. No one remembers mundanities. Just strippers.

UPDATE 1:50 PM: Nothing to see here. Helene wandered farther east than expected. Our biggest wind gust has been 11 MPH, and the power never even flickered.

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*Note to self: Today was a very good day. It so rarely occurs to me in the moment that I'm having a "good time," so I think it is probably important to make note when it does. I woke up to watch UGA win, then gave haircuts to both Henry and Louis, then all three of us rode the Jeep over to Dad's to play with Cece, then I had Chinese takeout (vegetable lo mein and white rice) and played a video game (Borderlands 3) with an online friend (Brian) and watched even more football until the wee hours of the morning. I enjoyed all of those activities, many of which I partake in regularly, but football season is here now and football is just the best.

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One of the best parts of the annual Little League World Series on ESPN is seeing how the latest crop of 10- to 12-year-olds answer the questionnaire about their likes and dislikes. I've never played organized baseball, but because I'm an egotist, I wonder how I would answer those questions if I was in their place, by which I mean how would I have answered these questions when I was 12... in 1987. Let's find out together!

1. What is your favorite MLB team?
Atlanta Braves. (Yes, they were the local team, but I actually liked pro baseball in 1987. I went to games a few times a year until the strike of 1994, which completely killed any desire I had to watch MLB games. I haven't been back since. I'm not mad about it anymore; I've moved on to just not caring.)

2. Who is your favorite MLB player or non-MLB athlete?
Bruce Benedict, catcher, Atlanta Braves (because when the Fulton County Stadium announcer called his name, the crowd howled "Bruuuuuuuuuuuce!").

3. What is your favorite movie?
Star Wars. (Don't ask which one. Everyone knows there's only one Star Wars.)

4. What is your favorite television show?
Bionic Six. (You have probably never heard of Bionic Six. It wasn't even popular in my school at the time. But I still occasionally use Rock-1's catchphrase: "So-LAR!")

5. Who is your favorite actor?
Han Solo I mean, Harrison Ford. (Note: This was almost Michael J. Fox because Family Ties and Back to the Future, but it was not because Teen Wolf. And Han Solo was also Indiana Jones, so he wins.)

6. Who is your favorite artist?
"Weird Al" Yankovic. (It might still be "Weird Al" Yankovic.)

7. Who is the person you'd most like to meet?
"Weird Al" Yankovic. (It is definitely still "Weird Al" Yankovic.)

8. What is your favorite food?
The french fries that came with a Chili's Oldtimer. (The Chili's on Memorial Drive in Stone Mountain is where my parents would take me on special occasions, like birthdays. The chain is a shadow of its former shadow, but back in the day, their french fries and chocolate shakes were *amazing*.)

9. What is your favorite animal?
I've always really liked dogs, but I don't know that's what I would have said in 1987. My family had a Scottish Terrier named Jammie back then. Jammie was great. So let's just say I would have said dogs.

10. What is your favorite emoji?
The only emoji that existed in 1987 was a smiley face, so even though I hated it, I guess... smiley face?

11. What is your dream job?
Architect. (Given that I didn't know much about construction, I suspect that was largely due to Hollywood using "architect" as shorthand for someone who had a job that was creative, lucrative, and allowed plenty of free time. That "dream" would die when I ran into high school calculus.)

12. What is your favorite hobby?
Collecting comic books. (Some things never change.)

13. What is your favorite school subject?
By far, my favorite subject was whatever we were doing in my "gifted" class, which was essentially a period of structured creativity practice, like math games and creative writing. (Do they not have gifted classes in schools outside Georgia? None of these modern Little Leaguers ever answer "gifted class." Although, come to think of it, none of us were great athletes, either.)

14. Do you have a special talent?
Drawing. (I suppose that's been supplanted by "sarcasm." Although, come to think of it, I always had a bit of a smart mouth. At my 7th grade graduation, when my elementary school principal told the assembled cafetorium that my class was all such good well behaved kids, he made a point of looking me in the eye when he appended "most of you." So maybe always "sarcasm.")

15. What would you do if you win the lottery?
Honestly, I have no idea how I would have answered this In 1987. The kids often like to say they'd buy cars, but I was never really a car guy. Money was... an issue between my parents (who wouldn't divorce until 1990), so I probably just would have given it to them. After I bought a bunch of comic books, of course.

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A man is a fool if he drinks before he reaches the age of 50, and a fool if he doesn't afterward.

That's always seemed like sage advice to me. I'm not quite 50 yet, but sooner or later, everyone needs something to take the edge off life's endless march of crap. However....

Not so long ago, my aunt brought over some Baileys mini bottles, you know, the size that college students smuggle into football games to "surreptitiously" pour Fireballs into the Cokes they buy at concession stands (shhh, it's a secret!). I thought I'd give one a taste test by adding it to a cup of coffee, or, as my aunt says, my cup of coffee-flavored milk.

Fun fact: I also wasn't a coffee drinker until comparatively late in life. I started some time around 2016, I guess, when my aunt bought me a red Keurig for my birthday. And now my teeth are the color of Grey Poupon. In other words, it's never too late to pick up a bad habit.

Anyway, as I was saying, I had concerns that I would enjoy alcohol in my coffee, as I have rarely had an alcoholic drink I enjoyed. I couldn't finish even one of the 6-pack of Boston Lager my Mom bought me my Senior year of high school; the Screwdrivers so popular in my Freshman college dorm only made me sick; the Mind Erasers my waiter coworkers drank at the local bar had the flavor of poison; and the Tom Collins my girlfriend made to ease my nerves the night we lost our virginity only made me think about the terrible taste her tongue left in my mouth. ("Sex is not worth a Tom Collins," would make a good title for my autobiography.)

It took me months to work up the courage to try a Baileys Irish Coffee, and when I finally did, well, it tasted as bad as I feared. Each sip tasted more medicinal than the last. After four, I poured it out and had a Coke instead.

It's probably for the best. I'm an angry drunk anyway.

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Want a sneak peek at an in-progress yard sign in my studio right now? Feast your eyes on this (first-coat) primed sheet of plywood!

In animation, they say good character design is a figure you can recognize by its silhouette. So I probably don't have to tell you who that will eventually be a painting of.

Speaking of design, I was often asked in art school why I would bother doing so much prep work before I painted, as if suggesting there was no point in painting something if I already knew how the finished product would look. (I was also told my work was often "clever in a bad way," whatever that means.) Maybe the finished work of abstract expressionists reveals deep truths about, er, something to its creators, but even if that's true, maybe I just don't like surprises or, as the inimitable Bob Ross would call them, "happy accidents."

I have a good friend from college who still believes that my work is craftsmanship, not art. To be fair, he doesn't mean that as an insult. We both have nothing but respect for great craftsmen. I once knew a very impressive young draftsman at J.C. Booth Junior High School who could recreate freehand anything he could see at any size. He was a craftsman, and I still think his work was pretty darn good.

I'd define craftsmanship as the ability to execute a plan skillfully. But someone has to create the plan in the first place, and the ability to visualize that plan is what makes someone an artist. The greatest artists lie in the Venn Diagram intersection of craftsmen and artists. Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, Bob Ross... they could all think up a great idea and execute it. That kid in junior high lamented he couldn't draw anything from imagination. I hope he kept trying. I happen to believe that while not everyone has the natural tools to be a craftsman, anyone with an idea can be an artist.

I don't mean to suggest that I'm the equal of Bob Ross, and maybe I do tend to overthink (and underexecute) my pieces, but I will insist I'm an artist.

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56/2367. Denial (2016)
This is a courtroom drama about the libel lawsuit brought in the mid-90s against a Emory University professor by a British Nazi-sympathizing Holocaust denier. That's interesting, sure, but the reason I watched it was because I was a student at both Emory University and DeKalb College (renamed Georgia Perimeter College while I was there but is now a satellite campus of Georgia State University) in the mid-90s when the principle action takes place.

The 2016 film begins with an attempt at verisimilitude with establishing shots on Emory's quad in Decatur, GA (purporting to be 1994 and not doing too bad a job at pulling it off)...

...then follows our antagonist as he travels west away from Emory towards downtown Atlanta on Freedom Parkway (a road originally planned as the very controversial Presidential Parkway which was still under construction in the mid-90s)...

...then south along the Downtown Connector ("connecting" US Interstates 75 and 85) through the Grady Curve, so-called because Grady Memorial Hospital is just off camera to the right. (There's a giant neon Coca-Cola sign just off camera to the left.)

Side note: Turner Field, seen on the sign above, is also an anachronism. It didn't exist in 1994. It was originally opened to the public as Centennial Olympic Stadium for the 1996 Atlanta Olympic games. After the Atlanta Braves abandoned it and moved north to Cobb County in 2016, it was sold to Georgia State University to become their football stadium and renamed again to Center Parc Stadium.

Side note 2: That billboard in the bottom right of the frame is advertising then-new (in 2015) news team of Sharon Reed and Ben Swann for WGCL CBS46 News. In 1994, WGCL was calling itself WGNX and after many years as an independent UHF station had just become the local CBS affiliate (after Atlanta's original CBS affiliate, WAGA, became a Fox station). Since 2022, WGCL has become WANF (for "Atlanta News First") but both Reed and Swann are long gone (in 2018 and 2019 respectively).

The antagonist must have been headed south down the Connector to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (called just the William B. Hartsfield Atlanta International Airport in 1994 as former mayor Maynard Jackson wouldn't die and get his name added until 2003) because we next see him pull up to -- I had to Google Image Search this -- the Elmsbridge Civic Centre in Esher, England.

Google Maps tells me that Esher is a suburb of London, where most of the movie is set and filmed, so it's easy to see why the filmmakers would use it here. For the record, according to Wikipedia, the Civic Centre was constructed in 1991, so it is at least period appropriate!

However, in the very next scene, by means of movie magic, we're transported back to the States inside an unidentified lecture hall disguised as DeKalb College (by means of a banner on a podium)!

I have no idea where this last bit was filmed, though I suspect it is also in London. It doesn't match any hall I sat in off Emory's quad in 1993-95, and if there were any lecture halls like this on Perimeter's Clarkston ("Central") or Decatur ("South") campuses in 1997-99, I was never inside them. They never used wood paneling when concrete blocks would do.

That's just the first 5 minutes. The rest of the movie takes place in Europe. I never went to any schools in London or Poland, so for all I know, all those locations are perfect.

More to come.

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