Trying to kick the habit of needing to feel like I’m decent at something creative before attempting it. How much potential joy has that robbed me of over decades?

It’s been my tradition for several years to have the first meal of the new year at a diner. If I’m in STL it’s usually this one, and this meal.

Things that would feel too on the nose if they appeared as a movie metaphor, but that literally exist in my parents’ shed.

I’d call what’s going on over at the birdsite a clownshow, but that would be an insult to all the fine upstanding clown entertainers I know.

My other kid: “Dad, who’s the best at soccer?”

Me: “Well, right now Argentina is the best.”

Him: “But I’m the best.”