Today is my 44th anniversary, but I’m not making a big noise about it. You never know, I worry that I might mention the big number, and she’ll look at me with dawning awareness and say, “Well, that’s about enough of that then. Time for me to be moving on!”

I figure if I let her situation slowly ease in, then maybe at some time I’ll mention the years, and she’ll be resigned to it and say, “Might as well stay then, if I’ve been here that long.” Maybe if I hang on to the big 5-O I’ll be safe. You gotta go slow, you don’t want to startle them, or they might just dart away.

You better not mention Hans Kristian Graebener on Twitter — Elon Musk doesn’t like it when you expose one of his favorite Nazis.

Twitter is nuking every single post that mentions the name Hans Kristian Graebener, even in quotes. Everyone that posts it is getting hit. I’ve never seen sitewide censorship like this done specifically on behalf of a neo nazi.

Gosh. He’ll suspend his support for free speech to help conceal a notorious creep? Maybe his support isn’t that deep.

Have they tried calling him Gräbener? It might sneak past some of the automated blocking.

You may have heard of the Upper Midwestern tradition in some towns* of rolling an old car out onto the surface of a frozen lake, and then taking bets on the date that it breaks through the ice in the spring. If nothing else, you might have encountered the practice in the pages of Neil Gaiman’s American Gods**.

Sadly, we have had such a tepidly warm winter that the practice was discontinued this year. No klunkers this pathetic winter! I don’t know if there’s even been much ice fishing this year — Lake Minnewaska, which usually has a thriving metropolis on its surface every winter, has been strangely barren. Maybe the fish have been enjoying the reprieve?

*Not every town can do this. The lakes in the immediate neighborhood of Morris are rather shallow — we live in the prairie pothole region, where mostly what we’ve got are shallow wetlands. If we did this, the lakes would be dotted with car roofs rising above the water.

**If you’ve read the book, you’d know it’s for the best, since we also don’t have murdered girls in the trunks of the klunkers.

And that means I have to go into work — a bit later than usual, but that’s my only benefit. I have to go in and feed the animals, autoclave a bunch of fly bottles, and also, because we had a safety audit last week, I have to rearrange some boxes cluttering up the place to provide better access to the fire extinguisher and first aid kit. Today’s the day for doing mundane stuff that I put off because my teaching obligations come first.

The rest of this “vacation” week I plan to use getting one step ahead of lecture prep. It’s not so much a vacation as it is a temporary reprieve.

The photo is not an accurate representation of what spring break looks like in Minnesota. We have no snow, but we do have brisk temperatures and wind. I’ll leave my bikini at home when I walk over to the lab.

Joe Rogan needs to do a better job screening guests on his show. Here’s one of his interesting guests.

Sheldon Johnson – a 48-year-old youth counselor for the Queens Defenders who spent 25 years in prison for attempted murder and robbery – was introduced on the Joe Rogan Experience in February by his friend, Perlmutter Center for Legal Justice executive director Josh Dubin, as “a marvelous human being” who was wronged by “the system.”

Johnson was also photographed shaking hands with Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg.

He sounds better than Jordan Peterson or Alex Jones or Elon Musk or Gavin McInnes. Except…

However, less than a year after his release from prison, Johnson was arrested in New York on Thursday after police found a severed head in an apartment freezer and a torso stashed in a bin.

What kind of life puts you on a trajectory that leads to stuffing decapitated heads in a freezer?

Oh, wait. Never mind.

Last week, everyone was talking about this scammy entertainment fiasco in Glasgow — someone had thrown together an event built around the Willy Wonka IP called Willy’s Chocolate Experience, charged $45 admission, and then thought they’d sit back and rake in the money. Instead, they were laughed at and despised. It was such an obvious failure — they rented a warehouse, put up a few plastic props, and hired a couple of actors with no script and no plan to stand around and improvise. Where they figured they could really cut costs even further was to use AI to generate the advertising and some of the displays in the warehouse.

They didn’t even copy-edit their ads. It was a zero-effort effort that they thought they could mask with some garishly colored AI art. The appalling thing was how little substance there was behind the glitzy facade — kids showed up and instead of smorgasbord of chocolate they got one jelly bean and a cup of lemonade. That’s how I’ve felt about all the AI stuff being churned out right now. It’s mostly empty hyper-stimulus where the fantasy gets dressed up in an excess of colorful noise. The Glasgow thing was just an example of a few profiteers thinking that was sufficient. It’s not.

Then I encountered another illuminating example. Product photography is a whole genre unto itself, where you have to take photographs of things that are being sold in a way that makes them revealing and enticing. Food photography is a difficult art, because you have to take something that is kind of gross and drab if you think about — a lump of meat with sauces gooped over it, for instance — and make it look crisp and shiny and delicious and colorful (but not too colorful). The food photographed for menus and ads is already mostly fake, with condensation made of glycerin, foamy heads made with soap, cardboard padding to make a stack stand up, and ice cream made out of mashed potatoes.

Commercial food photography is actually pretty hard to do well, as you can discover on Instagram where amateurs are constantly taking photos of their luxury meals, and making them look generally ick. It’s expensive because that photograph of a plump hamburger covered in slightly melting cheese and bright red tomatoes and crisp green lettuce actually takes a team of designers and lighting experts and good photographers to shoot. So why not cut out that expense by using AI to assemble an image from all the hard work of real artists? It’s mostly fake anyway.

These mass market ghost kitchens are doing exactly that.

Dozens of Ghost kitchens, restaurants that serve food exclusively by delivery on apps like DoorDash and Grubhub, are selling food that they promote to customers with AI-generated images. It’s common for advertisements to stage or edit pictures of food to make it look more enticing, but in these cases the ghost kitchens are showing people pictures of food that literally doesn’t exist, and looks nothing like the actual items they’re selling, sometimes because the faulty AI is producing physically impossible food items.

In a way, it’s kind of cool. I look at their products with the eye of a biologist, and their crustaceans and molluscs definitely seem to be alien.

The more I look at those things, the weirder they are. What’s going on with that shrimp’s terminal segment? Those telsons don’t make any sense. Would you eat meat that looked like it had been recently imported from Arcturus, or came from animals cultured downstream from a nuclear power plant?

I guess it may not matter, because we don’t generally scrutinize the photographs in a menu that carefully. They’ve got the color and shininess and appearance of an expected plate of food, so that’s good enough. I might be the only person who’d send the meal back, complaining that these are mundane terrestrial bits of cooked animal flesh.

They better not disappoint me with the beverage, though. I really want my glass of radioactive diet Sprite.

It’s been a rough week. Let me tell you why.

I have bone spurs that occasionally flare up, and this week my right achilles tendon is getting swole and creating strange bulges all over my heel. It hurts! I was having a little pity party for myself when…

My daughter Skatje went skiing and dislocated her knee badly, breaking bits of the bone of the joint while also shredding cartilage and tendon. Her knee looks like a mottled mushy cantaloupe right now, totally upstaging my minor discomfort. But now she’s been upstaged in turn.

My grandson Knut is a big little guy, 6 years old and ready to try out for the Green Bay Packers. He was working out vigorously at a park when he fell. I’m going to put the X-ray below the fold because I cringe when I see it.

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Freethoughtblogs is suddenly and unexpectedly restored! It must be because I refused to pray all week long. Or it could have been about emailing the parent company for Bluehost, Endurance International Group. Or it could have been the result of posting a 1 star review on TrustPilot, which got the attention of their PR flack.

I just got off the phone with them, and that bad review is what finally kicked them into gear. Now I know what corporations dread, at least.