That might be an incendiary comment among those in the tech sphere who regularly trumpet the incredible advances in AI we are seeing every day, but I think deep down they know it’s true. I think even the actual people in charge of AI might secretly know it’s true.

I’ve never been accused of being fashionable, but I do try my best to stay inside the rules and guidelines set out by the Fashion Illuminati and I think I mostly succeed. I never wear brown shoes with a black belt. I always keep the bottom button of my sport coat unbuttoned. And I never wear white after Labor Day. In fact, I rarely ever wear white at all because it does not look great with my complexion.

Is there a more loaded question in today’s America than “Hey, we’re ordering pizza, what do you want on it?” I personally don’t think so, but you might have your own opinion on the matter and that’s OK. I think your opinion is wrong and I’m going to prove it now, which is more than OK, but this isn’t a contest to see who is the most OK (and if it was I would be winning). No, this is a dissection of the incredible levels of mental stress that can and should be created by someone asking you what toppings you’d like on your pizza.

I have always been an old soul, so when my body began to catch up to my soul’s age, I was already at peace with it. Whenever one of the quiet indignities of aging would rear its ugly head, I would say “Oh that’s interesting. I guess that’s just a part of life now.” I wasn’t going to howl into the void or research cutting edge therapies designed to return me to my youth. No, the aches and pains, the gray hairs, and the fiber supplements were all taken in with nothing but a bemused smile.

As a rule, I don’t spend much time on my phone flipping the idle thumb up and down Facebook, Instagram, or any of the other various and sundry social media platforms that are available today. I try to have a certain intentionality to my internet usage, like finding out what famous persons were born the same year as me or stitching together famous movie scenes across multiple videos because for some reason no one thought to make a clip of the whole thing.

I have a confession to make. If you’ve ever told me to tell someone else that you said Hello to them, chances are I didn’t. To be honest, I just thought it wasn’t something you had to actually do. It doesn’t really make sense. Does the person I’m saying Hello to on your behalf say it back? Do I then have to relay that information back to you? Is this the start of a conversation? We have so many efficient ways to contact each other, I just don’t see the need to bring human proxies into it.

You might not know this about me because I don’t like to go around advertising it, but I’m actually the World’s Humblest Person. I know, it’s a pretty impressive accolade, but I don’t like to brag about it… or anything at all for that matter.

Yesterday, my wife told me that I wouldn’t be a good dictator. Can you believe that? The person who I chose to share my entire life with looked me dead in the eye and told me in no uncertain terms that I would have no success in the field of dictating.

Onions aren’t for everyone. It took me a while before I was finally able to enjoy the complex flavor profile that a raw Onion can bring to an Italian hoagie or discover how an Onion ring can be an able companion to a cheeseburger. So, while I still empathize with the Onion averse, Onions are on my approved vegetable list. Not at the top of my approved vegetable list mind you, but to be fair my approved vegetable list is arranged alphabetically.

Why isn't February 29th a public holiday? It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once every four years. Why not turn it into a little celebration? It could be a chance for a unique tradition to flourish that people will look forward to every four years. Also, it’s giving our corporate overlords a day of free labor every four years and that’s really unconscionable.

Immediately after you're born, every day is a birthday and it’s fantastic. What a great feeling to celebrate being a day older! Of course, after you have enough days under your belt, you have to graduate to celebrating how many weeks old you are, followed by months, until you finally hit your first actual birthday and turn one year old (although, you’ll still ride the months old train for at least another year).

Believe it or not, I have actually been an early advocate of the Four Day Work Week with my support going back well over a decade. Why as far back as 2011, I was telling anyone who would listen that humans simply weren’t meant to work five days a week. Just think about how much energy you have on Thursday night compared to Friday and you’ll see what I mean.

I was checking my personal email the other day and during my quick scan of the day’s subject lines from businesses I patronized exactly once or charities I gave the odd dollar to ten years ago, there was one that caught my eye and held my attention long enough to save it from immediate deletion. Here is what it said:

Did you know that Awareness has reached a 30 year low?!

I’m not immune to the allure of celebrity. Is there a part of me that hopes you are perhaps reading this in a handsome leather bound special edition that was signed by me and is one of your most cherished possessions and also made me a ton of money? Yes, of course. Is it a very large part of me? Enormous.

This may sound silly, but I have always dreamed of a career in government. Specifically, I wanted to become a non-essential government employee. The reason being that at my very first job out of college, I worked with a lot of these types and what I discovered is that they would get a tremendous amount of days off.

A few months ago, I ran into a friend of mine, who I hadn’t seen in a while, and we decided to go get a beer. At the bar, he paid for my beer and when I reached for my wallet to settle my debt, he told me not to worry about it. I thanked him profusely.

Over the past year or so, I lost 30lbs and I have to say I really recommend it. Now before I get pilloried for fat shaming, I have to specify that I didn’t lose weight to be considered more attractive in accordance with mainstream tastes.

When my son (I don’t remember which one of the two) got his first two teeth, I thought it would be fun to name them, which I did: Montague and the Chomper. No one else found this cute, so I abandoned the idea, but it left me with the gnawing notion that I should be naming my own teeth.

We have reached a point as a society where it is considered a personal failing to not like Brussel Sprouts. If you admit to not liking Brussel Sprouts–as I myself have–people will insist that it’s simply impossible to not like them and that you’re being childish for not giving them a chance.

For the life of me, I can’t understand why Sleep Specialists seem so hellbent on preventing me from sleeping soundly. Anytime I read an article about the latest scientific discoveries on the sleep front, I can’t sleep for a week!