I like old train tracks in the woods that have been mossed over.
AI will bring people back from the dead in a way that is believable as reality for people.
Yesterday I wrote about 3000 words of fiction. Most of them went to a story I had written two Sundays ago, called "Attic Cantata." On that Sunday morning, it was in manuscript at 3200 words. I've expanded it since as I work on it. Next it went to 4200 words. Now it stands at 6100, after more work today.
Yesterday I came up with and wrote in full a story called "She ain't gonna dm you." There's nothing like it. If I had to pick one word to describe this work, it would be unforgettable in the true sense of that word. Read this story, and you will never forget it. It's less than 600 words long. Today I added two words to it, but that was really it. I'll read it a number of times still before I'm reading to call it done. It's as good as anything. Surprising, shocking. You don't know what it is coming. Pure imagination, and I believe that it nails what awaits in the future.
Just to be clear for when people take information from this record and use that information to sort through the ramifications of what was written when: the section about the miracle and Mr. Laven was composed yesterday, the same day--the same morning, actually--as "She ain't gonna dm you." I set that down here because it would be hard to believe otherwise.
Today I walked three miles. There was a line at the Monument, so no stairs. Ran 3000 miles yesterday. Push-ups each day as always.
Radio interview here from last night about Gene Vincent.
I think the Red Sox have reached the point in their season where you can say, "Okay, that's it." You know now. Whatever uncertainty or margin for hope you had is gone. This is what they are. Last place team in a strong division. 79 win squad. Or thereabouts. 76. 83. Though the bottom could go, some.
They're not good. They don't have the players. They don't play the right way. They don't have the right people in charge. It's not a good baseball operation, roster, or product.
And there indeed was Bruce Cassidy last night with his Stanley Cup. From the pages of this record on October 5, 2022: "...and a new coach who was hired because the players said the last one was too mean. Soft. Soft. Soft. I think Cassidy is going to win at least one Cup elsewhere. He can have a Mike Sullivan-type of career."
As I also said: Cinderella has three rounds in her. She doesn't have four. She can go seventy-five percent of the way, and then it's over. Cinderella teams can get to the Finals, but they are never competitive in the Finals. We saw that in both basketball and hockey this year. For Cinderella, the glory is in the run, not an ultimate end result.
You know who is going to skate and remain blameless as always on the Bruins side of things? One of the most overrated players in Boston sports history: Patrice Bergeron.
Nice player. Not a star, not a Hall of Famer, though he's going to be. A man--and locker room lawyer with far too much input--who presided over a culture of softness, of losing, of choking, of over-sensitivity. Patrice Bergeron did more harm to the Bruins in his career than good. No one else will say that.
He was a solid second line center. But he helped cost you a lot, and he was never good enough to be a centerpiece player. He had a Chris Sale-like disconnect between how people talked about him and what he really was. He's not Chris Sale-like. Chris Sale is a bad guy. I don't think Bergeron is. And Sale gave you almost nothing. Bergeron gave you things.
But the Boston Bruins took the wrong approach often times over the course of his career, and he was a reason why and a big part of the direction, the ethos, the culture of both the team and the organization.
This team should not have only one Cup this century. And they have that Cup because of a goalie. Who, interestingly, was not that close with those core guys. He wanted to win and they wanted to win, sure, but they also wanted cuddles and feelings, and they didn't want winning to come at the cost of those cuddles and feelings. They tried to have both. And really you need to be a winner who goes out and wins. It's a Zulu warrior thing. Not a Care Bear thing. Care Bears with little hockey sticks do not win Stanley Cup championships.
When people say, "Honestly, I don't care" as they're relaying some bit of drama or a story--not when they're asked if they want this for dessert or that--what they almost always mean is that they do care quite a bit. Perhaps they shouldn't care or it's unwise or counterproductive to care. But rarely does someone choose some form of combination of those words and truly not care. When you see that "honestly," you can almost be certain that they do. That word tips you off. They're straining to convey something. They're not naturally conveying something. They're at odds.