On The Fly

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...

In this episode, Why the 'Stupid' Choice Was the Only One That Mattered. It was the summer of 1982. I was on my knees in the humid Illinois heat, waxing the fender of a restored 1932 Plymouth Coupe. To the passerby on the Macomb Square, I looked like a failure. Here was a guy who had studied physics, computer programming, and calculus, now sweating through his shirt as a "gopher" for Bob Melton. And Bob? Bob was an event. Picture a man who dressed like one of Red Skelton’s characters—not the monologue version, but the sketch comedy version. We’re talking a sport coat, clashing slacks, a tie wide enough to land a plane on, and white shoes. His wife was the fashion queen of Macomb; Bob was, shall we say, not the fashion king. He was the wealthiest man in town, a lawyer, and a "lovable character" with a well-known thirst. At Christmas, while other shops played "Silent Night," Bob blasted Louis Armstrong’s raspy jazz trumpet through the toy store spea...

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

In this episode: The "Doctor" Who Never Was — A Return to the World of Seuss. Let’s take a trip back to March 2, 2022.  I was four years younger, significantly more naïve, and I made the mistake of asking an innocent question that—somehow—still echoes through the halls of pediatric offices everywhere:  Where exactly did the name Dr. Seuss come from? Because if we pause for even a moment, the whole thing is absurd. At some point, we collectively decided to accept moral guidance, life advice, and the occasional existential gut‑punch from a man whose résumé included oversized footwear, gravity‑defying cats, and an aggressive campaign to convince us that green ham was not only edible, but desirable. No white coat. No stethoscope. No medical board.  Just rhymes.  This wasn’t really a question about a title. It was a question about authority—and how easily we accept it when it comes wrapped in whimsy and ends with a couplet. Theodor Seuss Geisel was born in Springfield, M...

In this episode, why "Cool" is the Enemy of Growth Last night, Lori and I joined our friends (team #1) in a professional kitchen at Sur La Table in Carlsbad, CA., for a "Date Night in Southern Italy." On the menu: Steak Tagliata, Sautéed Shrimp with Fried Capers, and handmade Garganelli. The experience was amazing, delectable food and an exceptional highlight: the Amalfi Lemon Gelato, complemented by the barrage of questions. When I’m with someone like Chef Gaetano, who’s incredibly patient, I tend to ask a lot of questions quickly. “Why use a fork to whisk the eggs and not a whisker?” “What exactly is the chemical transformation of a fried caper?” “If I roll this Garganelli a half-inch wider, does the sauce-to-pasta ratio collapse?” I could see the look on a few other students' faces: Is this guy for real? Just eat the shrimp, Patrick. But here’s the wisdom I’ve gathered after nearly six decades of being the annoying guy in the front row: The quality of your l...

⛳️  In this episode, why your Ego is costing you 5 strokes a round. I spent last weekend watching the Pebble Beach Pro-Am from the comfort of my La-Z-Boy recliner. It’s a beautiful spectacle. The cliffs, the ocean, the guys whose swing speeds sound like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. And during every commercial break, a very serious voiceover tells me that to play like a pro, I need to buy the ball the pros play. They make a compelling argument. They show slick slow-motion footage of a golf ball compressing against a clubface like a stress ball in a vise grip, then exploding down the fairway. Here is the uncomfortable truth that gravity whispered in my ear somewhere around my 65th birthday: I’m not Rory McIlroy. And if you are reading this, statistically speaking, neither are you. The Physics of the  Squish When a pro hits a “Tour-level” ball, they swing upwards of 115+ mph (Rory 123 mph). They possess the violence necessary to squish that incredibly hard little sph...

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...