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My Checkered History With the News

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I’ve written about this before, but as a kid I was actually pretty well up on current events. I enjoyed watching the news. I liked being aware of what was going on.

Somewhere as time marched on, that flipped. I don’t know exactly when it started. Maybe it was 9/11, watching the same footage over and over. It probably started even before that. But for a good stretch of time now, watching the news, or anything news adjacent on television, has just been depressing. More recently, reading it hasn’t been much better.

The problem is I do still want to be aware of what’s going on. I want to know what’s happening with certain topics. So say I’m reading something benign, like Apple news, because I buy Apple stuff and want to know what they’re announcing. Then in that same feed there’s a story about prices probably going up because of something going on elsewhere, and now I’m doom scrolling to figure out what that something is. Because I want to know. Which is never fun.

So my engagement with news has gone through cycles. I stop cold turkey for a while. Then someone at work mentions something, I go check the BBC, and suddenly I’m reading a whole pile of stuff because once I start I can’t really stop.

That cycle is made worse by the fact that I don’t really do social media anymore. I have a Facebook account that exists purely to auto post this blog, and maybe once a month I check whether anyone’s messaged me. I think I have a Bluesky account and a Mastodon account somewhere, I’m not sure. Definitely no Twitter anymore. No Instagram. So it’s basically just Facebook and LinkedIn, and LinkedIn is really for work, and even there I probably should be interacting less.

I’m glad I stepped away from social media, for a bunch of reasons I’ve written about before. But news has stuck around as this lingering thing I haven’t solved. The challenge is I find real value in some news and none in a lot of the rest, and figuring out which is which has been the whole problem.

Over the past year or so I’ve wanted to try curated news properly. Apps like Curio, or having ChatGPT put together a daily summary. The issue every time was the same. I couldn’t stop it from throwing in topics I explicitly didn’t want to see. So after each attempt I’d abandon it, stop reading the news for a week, and then want to check my feed for something and get sucked right back in. It can really turn into a doom loop.

Given everything else I’ve been building with AI lately, I’d been curious what it could do about this problem too. But the other stuff I was building felt more tangible, so I kept pushing this one off. Then recently I noticed I was doom scrolling more, and not feeling great about it right after I did it. So with a bit of time to actually focus on it, I decided to see what I could do.

Please Take My Money: Shake Shack Edition

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Fresh off writing about Outback, I was reminded that I have another entry for the Please Take My Money series. Because the other day I was at Shake Shack in Stratford with the girls.

Spoiler: they struggle to take my money.

The food is great, that’s probably a whole separate post. But the checkout experience is not great.

Shake Shack has kiosks now. You walk up, place your order, sounds fantastic. In practice, not so much. On at least two occasions I’ve started an order at the kiosk, gotten partway through, and then hit a wall where they want so much personal information that I just gave up and found a human instead.

I can’t remember every specific field, but it was well past the point of reasonable. Honestly, even asking for a phone number is too much. You have screens. Put my name on them. That’s all you need. But they wanted more than just a name, enough more that I stopped, abandoned the kiosk, and got in line.

Which brings me to the other problem. There isn’t really a line anymore. Because they want everyone using the kiosks. So the first time this happened I had to stand there and get someone’s attention, which took about ten minutes. And yes, I feel that strongly about this that I waited that long. To be fair, I didn’t think it was going to take that long when I started waiting. Then the sunk time kicked in and there I was, committed.

Yesterday wasn’t quite that bad. I flagged someone down and they came over reasonably quickly. But I still had to flag someone down, which shouldn’t be necessary if your kiosk wasn’t demanding my personal information just to sell me a burger.

Once I was actually at the point of paying it was fine. Tap, done. That part works. It’s everything before it that’s the problem.

I like Shake Shack. I genuinely enjoy their food. That’s exactly why this is frustrating. Just let me order and pay. You don’t need my data to do that.

Low marks, Shake Shack. Do better.

Please Take My Money: Outback Steakhouse Edition

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We were visiting my mom in April and one of the things on the agenda was Outback. I wanted my annual Bloomin’ Onion fix. One of my daughters wanted a a steak. My other daughter wanted anything cheese, Mac n cheese, grilled cheese, whatever.

But that’s not actually what I want to talk about.

This is a new entry in my ongoing Please Take My Money series, where I chronicle the seemingly rare occasions when a company makes it genuinely easy for me to give them money or when they make it really really difficult to do so. This time the subject is Outback Steakhouse.

Outback has tablets at the tables now. Let’s face it I have lived in London for over 8 years. Even though I have been back to Outback a few times since moving I do not recall when they put these things in. For all I know it’s been years. The are little battery powered things on stands. You can play games on them apparently, which I find mildly annoying. I don’t love screens at restaurants. But whatever, we ordered normally, the waiter came by, we talked, it was fine.

When dessert came around he kind of gestured at the tablet and said just order from there whenever you’re ready. So we did. Took our time, browsed, ordered. Completely seamless.

Then came the real test. Paying.

Paying at restaurants in the US is a whole production vs the UK or Europe. You get the bill. You give them your card. They disappear with your card. They come back. You add the tip. You sign. They take the bill and everything with it. You wait for the receipt. The charge your card again for the new total. The whole thing has like six or seven steps and your credit card is out of your possession for half of them, which from a security standpoint is not great. Europe figured this out a long time ago with chip and pin. You never hand your card to anyone.

So I was curious how the tablet checkout would go, half expecting to hit the usual wall. You know, they could make it easy. They sell you on how quick and easy it is and then you get there and it wants you to create an account. Enter your email. Set a password. Agree to marketing emails. All of that. None of it for your benefit.

Thankfully Outback went with customer convenience over their data collection. The screen showed the bill, everything itemized. Tap to pay. I tapped. It asked if I wanted a receipt by email or text, or not at all. That was it. Done. I get they can get your email or phone number by getting the receipt. I prefer that since it doesn’t stop me from paying. I also have no problem giving an email with no account creation since I have disposable emails give out for situations like this.

This was genuinely one of the smoothest restaurant checkouts I’ve had in the States in years. So good on you, Outback. You make a solid steak and apparently you also understand that sometimes people just want to pay and leave.

On my please take my money scale Outback got top marks.

3000 Days

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I’ve known for a while what I wanted to write about today.

When I wrote the December 29th post about our England anniversary, I did what I always do: calculated the number of days since we moved. It’s become a thing. I like the number. It feels more concrete than just saying “seven years” or whatever.

This past December the number was creeping up toward 3,000. Which made me curious. So I did the math. When exactly would we hit 3,000 days?

I cannot make this up.

Today. My birthday. March 16, 2026 is exactly 3,000 days since we landed in England back in 2017.

I find that unreasonably satisfying.

Not a ton else to report on the birthday front. But honestly, that little numerical coincidence is enough. Some years you get a big revelation. This year I got a very pleasing number, and I’ll take it.

No fancy cake for me this year, M and I are going out but the photos are a montage of my favourite cakes M has made for me to date. The best so far would not be one for me though!

My Imaginary Friends (A 15-Year Tradition I Didn’t Mean to Start)

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When M and I were just dating, we ended up one night at Rudy’s, that dive bar on 10th Avenue in Manhattan, somewhere in the 30s or 40s, where you get a free hot dog with every drink. I still have no idea why that’s their thing, but it’s a thing.

Anyway, we were walking in, and right by the door there’s this big pig statue. Like, a life-size pig, standing upright, greeting everyone as they stumble inside. I don’t remember if I was the one who wanted to take a picture with it or if M said, “Hey, you should totally take a picture with that weird pig,” but either way, I did.

Side note: while we were trying to get this very important photo, some very drunk woman tried to insert herself into the moment. She might have been hitting on me, which was equal parts awkward and hilarious, because M and I both just stood there like, “Ma’am, no.” We brushed her off, got the photo, went inside, had a drink (and a hot dog, probably), and that was that. A fun night, a random photo, end of story. Or so I thought.

Fast forward less than a year later, we’re in Amsterdam. I take another photo, this time with a giant anthropomorphic French fry container. (If you’ve been there, you know exactly what I’m talking about.) And somehow, without meaning to, it became a thing.

Over the years, it’s turned into this quiet little tradition: whenever I come across an inanimate character, statue, mascot, random object with a face. I have to take a picture with it. Doesn’t matter where I am. A cruise ship, a street corner, a theme park, an airport gift shop. If it’s there, I’m probably posing with it.

I’ve got photos with everything from a teddy bear sitting on a bench in New Mexico to Winston Churchill and Sherlock Holmes statues in London. There’s one with a giant Hello Kitty in Bangkok. The list goes on. At this point, I probably have a hundred or more of these photos—enough to make a coffee table book no one asked for.

I’ve started calling them my imaginary friends. I know, they’re not actually imaginary (or alive), but “inanimate friends” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Now that the kids are older, they sometimes join in, or they play photographer while I strike my now-traditional pose. Sometimes I’ll get a picture with them, then immediately request a solo shot because, well, tradition.

I didn’t plan this. I didn’t set out to start a collection. But here we are, fifteen years later, and it’s one of those odd little through-lines in my life that I can’t help but keep going.

I might even try to count how many I’ve got, challenge accepted.

So yes, this is a thing. A ridiculous, wonderful, slightly embarrassing thing that makes me smile every time. And now, you know about it too.

Michael

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A week ago today I was in New Jersey for the funeral of my brother in law, Michael. On January twenty sixth, he lost a short battle with cancer.

He was the closest thing I will ever have to a brother.

Yes, I actually have two other brothers in law, and I get along with them. With one of them, I even have a lot more in common than I ever did with Michael. But my relationship with Michael was always different. It was its own thing.

We were not inseparable. We did not spend huge amounts of time together. But we got along easily, naturally, and without effort.

He was one of the most colourful people I have ever known.

On the flight from London to New Jersey for the funeral, I was texting with two of my oldest friends from college. One of them said something that stuck with me, something I had recently been talking to someone else about as well. A good friend is someone who, even after years of not speaking, you can pick up with immediately, as if no time has passed at all.

That was Michael.

We might go long stretches without talking, but when we did, it felt like we had just seen each other yesterday. No catching up required. No awkwardness. Just an easy continuation.

Like I said, he was a very colourful guy, and there are stories. Plenty of them. I will write about some of those later.

But for now, this is all I have.

I am going to miss my brother.

Central Line Time Travel to The Mid 90’s

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London Underground

So instead of replacing all the Central line trains, they’re refurbishing them. There’s a whole drama behind that decision, but I’m not getting into it. Over the past year I think they’ve done, what, two of them? Maybe three? I’ve only ever seen photos. Until going to work two weeks ago.

I got on the train to head into the office and immediately noticed it felt… new. Not “new new,” but “refurbished new,” which is apparently a category now.

Quick recap of what they’re doing: they take the existing trains, strip them down to the frame, rebuild everything, fix the motors, and put it all back together. And in the end, you get something that basically looks like the same train you’ve seen for decades, just cleaner and shinier.

Here’s the weird part. I never rode these things when they were actually new. So in 2025, stepping onto a “brand new” Central line train is like stepping into a fresh-from-the-factory 1990s time capsule.

Some things were noticeably updated. The audio announcements sounded different, the seats supposedly got an upgrade, and the seat pattern definitely changed. But otherwise it was the same old train, just suspiciously clean, like someone hit reset on it.

Strange, but kind of fun for a random Tuesday morning.

Update: Alone, Bacon-Deprived, and Productive

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This is an update to my being bored at home alone post published on Tuesday.

Spoiler: still bored at home.

I’m writing this on Tuesday, editing it on Wednesday, and by the time it posts on Friday, everyone should be home again. With any luck, I’ll be wishing for quiet by then instead of complaining about how quiet it is now.

Funny thing, my kids and I all like American bacon. I’m a fan of bacon, period. British back bacon? Excellent. But there’s something about really burnt American bacon that’s just perfect. The kind so overcooked it disintegrates or shatters in your mouth. My youngest and I both love it that way. My older one just likes normal American bacon, no ash involved.

While they’ve been in the States, they’ve been getting up ridiculously early thanks to the time difference and sending me pictures of their breakfast buffets. Massive trays of bacon, easily a couple pounds of it, taunting me through email. It’s cruel, really.

My revenge? I send back pictures of me with the cat. Either on my lap or in his little hammock. It’s our counter-bacon alliance.

Anyway, I’ve found what to do while they’re away.

Aside from the boring domestic bits, laundry, tidying, a little TV, I’ve actually been writing. Or more accurately, dictating. I’ve been dictating for years, but I’ve been terrible at doing it consistently. I’ve had dozens of unfinished drafts, half-formed notes, and “ideas for posts” that never became posts. Recently I started clearing through all of that. Some of what I’ve been publishing lately was written a year or two ago.

But now I’m finally catching up, and I’m actually writing new things again.

The big change is simple: the quiet. When people are home, I can’t really dictate. It’s not like typing. Talking to myself while someone’s sitting nearby feels weird. My wife’s totally fine with it, but I still feel self-conscious.

Now, though, the house is empty, so I can just grab my iPad, look through my notes, and start dictating. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the rough draft is done. Editing takes longer since it is actually typing, but that part feels different, it’s quieter work.

So that’s what my week looks like: I eat dinner, the cat eats dinner, he climbs onto my lap, and I sit there petting him while writing. Earlier tonight, I edited a batch of stuff I’d written Sunday and Monday. Now I’m writing again, getting ahead, and planning what to post next.

I’m aiming to do more writing Wednesday, maybe a bit Thursday after the office, before everyone’s back home.

So that’s the update: still bored, still quiet, but at least productive. And surrounded by fewer pictures of bacon.

This entries picture is one of the bacon photos they sent me earlier.

Quiet Is Overrated

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This week is school half term. M is taking the girls to the States to see her dad. Originally I was going to take off the week, but I only took one day off. Last time they were away and I took some time off, I was extremely bored.

I don’t know what other people do when their families are away. Everyone sounds like they’re extremely productive and do lots of things that they wouldn’t do with their family around. That is not me at all.

M and the girls left first thing in the morning on Saturday. I was up to see them off and then proceeded to make a lazy morning breakfast and coffee and puttered around on the computer. I didn’t shower and get dressed until close to noon.

I spent the rest of the day doing projects on the computer and some things around the house on my to-do list. So on one hand I felt pretty productive. On the other hand, I didn’t leave the house all day.

On the Sunday I was woken up by the cat or else I probably would’ve slept later since it was the day that the clocks changed. I did more work on the computer and lots of research for some projects I was working on and I did tidy up a bit. But any hopes of going anywhere or doing anything exotic didn’t happen. I did go out to the market to get some food for the week, so it was an improvement on Saturday.

I do have plans to go do an activity on the day off I planned on Monday but like I said, I don’t know what people fill their days with when their family’s away. At the idea of it I’m excited for the free time. Then as the time gets closer I realise it’s gonna be way too quiet in the house and I’ll be bored since I say constantly my children are my entertainment budget. They really are. I’m writing this and they’ve not been gone two full days yet and I already miss them all.

Mmmm??? 20-Year-Old Bread

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After Hurricane Katrina in August 2005, I realized I needed to do some basic disaster planning. I didn’t live anywhere near Louisiana, but I had friends who were affected, and it got me thinking about what I’d actually do in an emergency.

So, not long after, I bought a full case of U.S. government MREs, Meals Ready to Eat. Technically, they’re not supposed to be sold, but plenty of people on eBay had them. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have some emergency supplies. At the time, I tested one meal to see what it was like. It was fine, edible if uninspired, though a few of the options weren’t things I’d ever eat by choice.

Fast forward to when we moved overseas. The MREs came with us, naturally. I packed them up as part of the emergency stash. By that point, they were already ten years old, but I’d read stories about people eating 20 or even 30 year old ones that were still fine, just a bit bland. They’re vacuum sealed, built for long shelf life, and if you store them in a cool, dark place, they can last far beyond the stated five years.

Of course, I didn’t exactly follow that advice. They spent years in the eaves of the loft, cool for most of the year but pretty hot in summer. Recently, while clearing out storage, I found the entire case still there. And that’s when I thought, maybe it’s time to finally get rid of them. Even if they’re technically still edible, it’s hard to justify eating something that’s older than some of my colleagues.

Still, curiosity got the better of me. I opened one up, planning to cook it just for fun. I didn’t go as far as heating the entrée. Using the built in heating element would have required to goto the garden outside but I tried the shortbread cookies and the flatbread. The cookies were perfectly fine, and the flatbread, other than a faint aftertaste, was totally edible. No mold, no weird smell, just “slightly” vintage bread. I may open another one and try heating it up someday soon.

The package I opened even had a 20 year old pack of M&M’s, which I may let the kids test in the name of science. Overall, I’m impressed. The stuff really does last. It even made me hesitate about throwing it all out, replacing it wouldn’t be cheap. Then again, the original case was meant for one person, and with four of us now, it wouldn’t last long in a real emergency. Plus, I’m not sure anyone else would agree to eat 20 year old flatbread.

Still, credit where it’s due: the U.S. government sure knows how to make food that refuses to die.