Above is some AI art that I find boring. It was made from the oil painting below and the text 'Faces coming out of the clay.' I thought for sure the AI would do something cool with these inputs, but no. Not this time.
I had a whole blog post planned out for today about the FBI's theft of millions of dollars from customers of a private vaulting service. When it came time to actually write my thoughts up, I found that I didn't really have anything important to say about the story. Clearly, it's horrifying that the government steals from people. And the way they did it in this case included a bunch of lies and the use of bureaucracy to thwart victims' attempts to recover their stolen funds. The further details of the case, however, are utterly banal.
Meanwhile, it's looking more and more like the US sabotaged the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline. The geopolitical implications of that aren't great. At minimum, the move makes deescalation of the conflict less likely than it already was.
As it turned out, my day didn't want to be about art or news. It wanted to be about books. This morning, a friend texted to let me know that some of my novels had arrived in the mail. Then a voice actor I'm considering for my first audiobook messaged me and said she would soon send a sample recording. Her communication habits make me question her reliability. We'll see if she actually sends the sample.
At the coffee shop this afternoon, I may have talked someone into reading The Paradise Anomaly. So far, this is my least appreciated novel. It was also one of my favorites to write. I'd go so far as to say that writing it was pure magic. Maybe coffee shop guy will read it and maybe he was just humoring me. Either way, I feel like I'm doing everything in my power to promote the work.
On Saturday, I'll be heading up to my brother's compound in northern Wisconsin for a few days. My mom is flying in from Alaska and we're driving up there together. It seems like there are things I should be doing to prepare for the trip, but I can't think of any. Since it's only for a few days, maybe all I need is my computer and a change of clothes. Oh, and the pocket knife my brother gave me for Christmas, so we can sit around and whittle. And a pound of good coffee, just to be on the safe side.
Taking out the recycling today, I noticed that one of my wind chimes was no longer hanging up on the edge of the porch. The bamboo wind chime had been experiencing gradual structural failure for perhaps a year. For the last few months, it had been literally hanging by a thread. Now it sits on a chair in my studio, broken and in need of repair.
I can fix the wind chime by drilling a small hole in the wooden peg that holds it all together, then threading a piece of steel wire through this hole to make a new hangar. This fix might last another year. My other wind chime, made of fishing line and fine, colorful slices of mica, is in no better shape. Realistically, it might just be time to get new wind chimes. I'm sure there are some pretty cool ones out there.
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