Complications

Kids are the future.  Maybe people will think twice about having children now.  But I'll get to that.  

Apple is a piece of shit company.  So is Google.  So is Adobe.  They are all Greedhead corporations.  It's not that they don't make good products.  I depend on them.  But I am posting this today on Chrome because. . . well, I'm not certain yet what went wrong.  I updated my Photoshop app through Adobe yesterday so I could edit pictures on my little 13" Apple Air.  Whatever it is called.  But it wouldn't work.  Why?  It said I needed the latest OS for my Mac to run it.  I tried to update the OS, but nope, I can't.  Apple quits updating its computers after some years.  I bought my little Mac in 2019.  I updated it yesterday, but I could only get the latest version of Sonoma.  That is not the newest OS, though.  Sequoia, then Tahoe.  I need at least one of the latest versions of Sequoia.  But I can't.  

When I downloaded the latest version of Sonoma, though, shit changed.  Now when I try to post using Safari, I can't upload photos.  It will take me half a day, I assume, to figure out why.  I hate using Chrome. It is clumsy and intrusive.  But I am stuck in computer hell just now. 

I could have bought a new 13" computer on Black Friday for $500.  I should have.  Now?  

There are my tech/greedhead woes.  I'm sure I'll find more difficulties going forward.  

So. . . Rob Reiner, huh?  I told my mother to watch herself.  She's been lucky so far.  

I sent this to some people two days before "the murder."

(link)

He stabbed them to death.  Holy shit!  Just shoot me, O.K.?  How fucking nuts must a fellow be to stab his parents to death?  Well. . . all you have to do is look at his photo.  About that nuts.  

You never know how people will turn out.  Were the Reiners bad parents or was it something else?  You can ask Trump.  He has the answer.  

Oh. . . you know the Times reads my blog, and after yesterday's post, they posted more about the Woody Allen/Epstein thing.  Woody Allen says that Epstein had great dinner parties with very interesting people.  He doesn't regret his relationship with Epstein.  

My new friend at the gym told me yesterday that she was thinking about me when she went to a Christmas party with her husband.  People were complimenting her on how good she looked, she said, "And I tried to remember to give a compliment back."

"Yes. . . I'm a good life coach," I laughed.  

Indeed, I'm a hell of a guy.  

"What were you wearing?" I asked.  Oh, she was ready to show me a photo.  A red sequined dress baring one of her shoulders.  It wouldn't have been my choice, but I was flattered to be shown.  Whenever I'm talking to her, the boys all seem come around.  Creepers.

I have a busy Wednesday, and I am anxious as hell about it.  Three o'clock in the studio for the photo shoot, then Happy Hour with the gymroids.  I'll dash back to my mother's house to fix dinner after the shoot then pop out for a bit.  I don't do that ever but for a few Friday sushi dinners at five.  I'm usually back by six.  But I'll be leaving her alone in the dark for awhile, and it makes me nervous.  The whole thing does.  

I don't think I can really enjoy myself anymore.  

And so it goes.