The worst person in the world today

Suffice it to say that I had a horrible day. I’m angry and pissed. Work is a bitch sometimes. Fuck it. We must just soldier on. Tomorrow will be a different day with different people and different problems, plus CrossFit. What was I thinking?

I tried to shut it all off today. I watched a movie that was meant to put me to sleep. I played with my grandson. I talked to my boys, my wife and a few friends. It did not work. I’m still here and my mind is doing hate flips. Today, the hate is real.

Let go of hate… It’s the right thing to do, but it’s so hard. There are so many horrible people in the world, and not just the idiots from my day, but those that intrude on my thoughts via my media habit. I could make a list. I did...

Ken Paxton, the Attorney General of Texas. He wants to put a Bobby More, a mentally disabled murder, to death. Paxton, for many reasons, is a horrible person, he made my list for today. His unsupported quest to kill a disabled black man can best be described as murder.

Katelyn McClure, Mark D’Amico and Johnny Bobbitt Jr. are all horrible people. They concocted a scheme predicated on a lie and all for money. People want to believe the fairy tail, but how can we believe when the heroes of the story are horrible people?

Mathew Whitaker, where do I start? Everything about the man screams horrible partisan hack and huckster. He advised a company that scammed investors. What pisses me off the most is the damage he is doing to our country. We should be rioting. Whitaker is horrible and his appointment is a disgrace.

At least Nuon Chea, “Brother Number Two” and the definition of horrible, was brought to justice. Genocide… it took too damn long. Can we still execute people by being hanged, drawn and quartered? I can think of a whole nation full of people that would be willing to pull the ropes.

Brett Kavanaugh got a standing ovation from the org that created him. The Federalists Society makes the list along with Kavanaugh. All horrible. Everyone. EVERY. Damn. One. Unless we have a miracle, Kavanaugh will be on the list for decades.

How about racist public official Louis Klemp spouting nonsense about the master race? Yes. The stupid and the hate is real in Kansas.

There are so many more, Assuage, Trump and Mattis, but who is the worst today? There are so many choices and tomorrow is another day.

Texas, guns and schools

When I read this headline, I said, "Please be Texas.”

Mom pulls gun on another mom in school drop-off line. It was Texas, Houston to be exact. I’m from California. It’s not common to see people with guns here, but every visit to Texas for me is a trip into the gun zone. The friggen things are everywhere. Walk into a roadside cafe, people have guns. Walk down the street, people have guns. Once at breakfast in a hotel dinning room, I counted seven men wearing guns. WTF? Why does everybody need a gun? It does not make Texas safer, violent crime by state puts Texas at # 15 in the nation with a rate of 405.5. per 100k population. California comes in at # 17 with 391.1. Number of deaths by gun are 10.7 for 100k of population for Texas and 7.4 for California. So… Texas has more crime and more guns deaths per capita? It makes no sense.

When bad people die - Omar Abdel-Rahman

I must be getting old. I can remember when there was more compassion in my heart. Lately, when I hear that a religious nutball or terrorist has died, I feel nothing. Omar Abdel-Rahman died in prison. I smiled when I read the real news CCN headline. He cause the deaths of six people and injured a thousand other people. Now he passes from history as a pathetic figure who died in prison. I feel nothing. Should I?

A story from my day - North Long Beach

A story from my day - Thursday, February 16th. North Long Beach.

I'm recovering from a back and hip injury these days and driving is a literal pain in the ass. I'm good for 20 minutes behind the wheel before I need to stand up and stretch. I can push it to 30, but I look like I'm dancing in my seat and I pay for it later. Yesterday, after the first half hour of my drive home, I had to stop. I pull off the freeway and into a gas station. I stepped out of my car. It was not pretty, and limped in obvious pain toward the station's convenience store.

As I neared the door, a man stepped from the side of the building and spoke to me.

"You look like you need prayer."

I responded with, "What makes you think that?"

"You are in pain. I can see that. I can't help any other way. So I'm going to pray for you."

I thanked him and continued limping into the store. He was homeless and dirty, yet he did not ask for anything. Instead he tried to express sympathy for my condition. He tried to connect.

I bought myself some water so that I could take a Tylenol. Then, I picked up a tall cup of coffee and a few doughnuts. I limped back outside and gave they guy the coffee and doughnuts. We talked for five minutes. I told him about my life and he told me about his. We connected, but had little in common. His name was James.

Near the end, he asked that I pray with him. I told him I don't pray. He asked me how I show love. I told him I buy coffee and doughnuts and talk to people. He gave me a hug.

I cried on the drive home.

If memory serves

I am getting on in years. I notice it most when I look back 10 years and realize that without my journals, I would not remember much. I have general memories, but what I thought of the past is influenced by what I know now and not by what I knew then. Take the Invasion of Iraq for example. I know now that it was folly perpetuated by politics, and that knowledge influences my memories of the past. My journals tell another story. I supported the war. I thought it justified. I bought the whole international terrorism angle.

To my credit, I was skeptical, but not enough to dissuade my support. I was not a President George W. Bush supporter and I thought Vice President Dick Cheney was Satan, but for some reason I thought the war was legitimate and I supported it.

Today, I read history, analysis and memoirs to put together a better picture of what happened. It’s a slow process, but I find it fascinating. What I continue to learn is that I am not skeptical enough. I tend to buy the big lie. I tend to not think too deeply.

What I continue to learn is that I continue to learn. That being skeptical is not enough. Everybody has an agenda. That every time a politician speaks he or she is trying to shape our perceptions and push an agenda. What I learned is that our news sources are corrupt and that social media is a marketing tool. What I learned is that I need think deeply, be more skeptical and journal more.

Eye contact and empathy

I ate lunch at a Carls Jr. yesterday. I normally eat at my desk these days, but things worked out and I found 30 minutes for a quick bite with a friend. He sat across from me at an angle at a table for four. Behind him, in another row, sat a disheveled man in a wheelchair. I took him for a panhandler.

I could not look at my friend with looking at him. We made eye contact at least a dozen times. I took to looking down at my food instead of looking at my friend. The man was homeless and squatting in a restaurant. I kept asking myself, why should I pay him any mind? He should not even be here.

An older Asian man stopped on his way out of the bathroom to hand the homeless man something. The Asian man made eye contact with me and smiled. It was a small thing; he donated a quarter and gifted me a smile. I kept asking myself, why is it so hard for me to care?

I finished lunch and as I was throwing my tray away, I saw that the homeless man was an amputee. My friend said he needed to order something to go so I lingered and asked the man what his story was. He flashed a smile and in an accent I did not recognize said, ‘Just waiting.”

I asked if he was hungry. He shook his head no. I asked if he needed anything, which should have prompted a request for spare change, he just shook his head no. I started to leave, but asked one more questions, I asked if I could get him anything. He asked for coke. I bought him one. He smiled when I delivered it and said thanks.

The man was not homeless, nor was he a bum. The Asian man had placed a small book in his hand. He was just waiting for somebody and I was a judgmental jerk.

The wisdom of cabbies

I flew to Chicago last week and upon arrival, took a taxi from O'Hare to downtown. During the 30-minute ride, my cabbie, a Kufi-wearing African immigrant, listened to the radio. I recognized NPR's All Things Considered and fell into a practiced listening rhythm. 

Politics and Donald Trump dominated the stories. Each time Trump spoke, the cabbie lowered the volume so that we could not make out Trump’s words. After doing this a few times, I asked, "Why do you lower the volume when Trump speaks?"

His reply, in a deep Ghanaian accent, was beautiful,  "It is best to deny evil a chance to whisper in my ears."

On writing again

I was prompted to write again after listening to two young women talking in line for dinner this evening. One woman said to the other, “Did you listen to pastor Phillips’ sermon Sunday?” The other replied, “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence and a few giggles. One woman said to the other, “I’d really like to fuck him.” The other said, “Me too.”

A three-year old girl stood between them.

I thought to myself… I really need to tell this story.

Facts… Pastor Phillips is a fictitious name. The city was Rancho Cucamonga in California. The restaurant was (don’t hate) Chick-fil-a. I really wanted to take a photo, but did not do so because of the creep factor involved.

A Catholic mass for a Lutheran

I recently attended a Catholic memorial mass for a friend. He was a Lutheran, but his wife was Catholic. I thought it odd that priest would perform a memorial mass for a man from a religious sect that was formed in protest of the Catholic church. I don’t understand how that works.

I sat in the back, wearing a suit and my dark sun glasses, while the service played out. I did not want to engage with others, although I was joined by a fellow malcontent just before the service started. My friend was loved by many and most came. It was touching.

I was not comforted by the mass. Others were. I could see that by the reactions on the faces and bodies of those around me. I was asked to alternately stand, sit or kneel throughout the service. I kept wondering how any of this made sense. Stand and repeat the following words. Sit or stand and listen to a sad song. Kneel and pray. Stand and pray. Shake a bunch of hands. Eat a wafer. Get a blessing. I was not raised Catholic, so the rituals are a mystery to me, but even Protestant rituals baffle me, I find the them troubling in that they only mean something if you invest the time to learn them.

The priest spoke like he knew my friend would be with God in heaven. If I understand things correctly, the priest would have absolutely zero confidence that a non-Catholic could make it to heaven. Yet he spoke like it was all good. He spoke lies though. Every word was a lie.

A friend from the true church (or so he says), a Coptic Christian from the Orthodox Church of Alexandria, sat across the isle from me. He seemed as baffled by the service as me. I noticed that he did not go up to receive a blessing. We both watched as almost everyone else did though. Why would an atheist take a blessing? What purpose would that serve?

I sat among strangers, friends and political enemies. We shook hands at one point as it was part of the ritual. People muttered platitudes while offering a hand. I shook a man’s hand that I would just as soon punch in the nose, all with a tight-lipped smile. It’s a week or so later as I write this. I’d still rather punch him in the nose.

The service took an hour, half of which was dedicated to getting ready for and performing the Eucharist. It was a performance. Let’s call it religious theater. First you wash the dishes, then you set the table, then you pray, then you eat, then you feed the masses, then you clean, then you put pretty things away, and then you pray. The service continues on after this though; on and on with more praying and more songs.

The priest told us only that good Catholics could take the sacrament. He seemed pretty damn serious. One must be a Catholic in good standing and have gone to confession, otherwise it was a sin to take the wafer. Like I said… serious and oddly out of context given the nature of the service.

I don’t mean to sound sacrilegious or trite, but I just don’t get it. I know the service means something for others, but it was meaningless for me. I hugged my friend’s wife and told her to reach out if she needs help. She only speaks Spanish, so I’m sure my gesture was lost on her. I’ll follow up though because I meant what I said. There are no prayers in me, but if she needs a lift to get the car fixed or a hand around the house, I’ll be there for her.

I shook a few hands and slapped a few backs after the service. It was good to see a few old friends. All too soon I felt the normal social awkwardness creep back into my mind as people pressed in around me and starting asking questions, so looked for an excuse to leave and took it. I snuck out a few minutes later and had lunch with a friend.

Me llamo Mr. Kim

I've waved at a man in my neighborhood every time I've seen him. If I had to put a number on how many times I've waved, it would be north of 100. I'm a big friendly guy. He’s a dour old man. He never waves back, nor does he even smile in my direction. I pretty sure he is Korean as his van has Korean church stickers plastered all over it. Not that it matters, except that I’ve noticed that middle-aged Korean women do not approve of me. I get the evil eye every time I run into the local women’s church group at breakfast. I’m beginning to suspect that they know I’m the neighborhood atheist. 

Today while walking my dog, I saw him pull his beat-up old van out of his driveway and then wave toward his wife, so I know he can wave. I wave at him as he turns my way, only I am holding a bright blue bag of dog poo. He smiles and laughs and then sticks his head out of his window and says, "Me llamo Mr. Kim."

I’m a little stunned, but I recover and say, “Je m’appelle Joseph”.

He laughs like i’ve told a knee-slapper and pulls away.

As I pass his wife she says in perfect English, “He must have thought you were Spanish.”

The danger of stifling creativity

I wrote a small post recently called Thought Crimes and the Atheist Movement. In it I talked about the role people have who are offended by the creative efforts of others. I pissed off a few people who thought my photography projects that dealt with the homeless was something I should not do because I might offend the homeless (or others). I feel otherwise. My work has helped others and helped bring attention to the problem. If I had listened to critics, I would have never taken the photos. It's a horrible thought.

I recently watched a video by photographer Brenda Ann Kenneally and poet Susan B.A. Sommers-Willet. This multi-media project explores poverty in Troy, New York using photography, video and poetry. Take a moment and watch the video.

It is uncomfortable to watch. Poverty is ugly, although I find photos hard to view, I do so anyway and I am made better by the experience. The individual photos are even harder to look at, but they serve a purpose. The project, called Update Girls, has attacked a lot of criticism. If photographer Brenda Ann Kenneally had listened to her critics, this 10-year-long project would have never happened. 

Ms. Kenneally’s forceful images drew a lot of attention. More than eighteen thousand people shared the Slate article on Facebook and hundreds commented on Slate’s Facebook page. Another 387 commented on the original post. Tweets criticized the subjects and the photographer.

The comments were harsh. Many expressed outrage that Kayla would smoke while holding her baby. (This photograph, singled out with especially virulent criticism, has since been taken down at Ms. Kenneally’s request.) Others remarked that poor people couldn’t afford to waste their money on cigarettes, that the houses pictured were filthy and the occupants slovenly, and that the food visible in some shots was unhealthy. Commenters wondered how poor families had money to buy their children video games. There were accusations about welfare checks and snide remarks about contraception.

If she had listened to her critics, this important sociological work would have never been created. Why listen to critics? Why let them ruin your creative efforts? Why give them the power to derail individual creativity? I just don’t understand this type of thinking. I never will. 

Our creative efforts are our own private domain. If I listen to people who are offended by my work, I would never have written this blog. I would never have helped dozens of abused children and adults find justice. I would never have helped anyone out of a wrong-headed concern for Christians who might have been offended by being held responsible in some small way for their acts of hypocrisy.  My hate mail goes to the trash unread. I do the work I must do anyway. 

By the way - once small case, a young girl who was being abused by her pastor, made all ten years and 6000+ posts worth the effort. I was able to help the girl and her parents. I consider it one of my proudest moments and it is one of the reasons I’ve started to post again. 

I'm taking a break

I am starting to receive inquires about my health and intentions, so I thought it would be a good idea to send in a quick post to clear things up. I am not dead or in poor health. I am, if fact, on a break from blogging at Deep Thoughts. While on break, I am considering retiring this blog and moving on to other endeavors. I've been at this for a long time.

I was inspired to take a break by an episode of Cosmos. I realized that I had given up my sense of wonder and curiosity and replaced it with endless stories of clergy abuse. I am taking a break to reconnect with the world of art and science, plus I’m taking a lot of photos too. It is time to feed my brain again.

My ten year blogiversary is coming up in a few weeks. As it stands, I'm at several million page views and over 6,500 posts. What I have written so far could fill a couple of books. In the time since my last post, I've managed to read five new books and several hundred papers and articles. I’ve also managed to take a few good photos. It’s been good for me. 

I am also considering writing a new blog using my real name that is focused on tech and photography. The idea seems appealing  on several levels and has the added benefit of fewer hate mails and death threats. I am also reconsidering my connection to the Atheist Movement, which lately seems distorted by unproductive internal issues. I’ve always been a blogger who happens to be an atheist (among other, more important, things). That's why my blog is not named ATHEIST HOWLINGS or some such.

Drop me a note if you want to talk, or post a comment. I'm still here and thinking.

The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face. - Jack Handy

My memory is flawed

I’ve had a copy of Lucifer’s Hammer, by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, on my bookshelf since 1980. I know I read it. I could swear I read it. Yet, as I listed to it on Audible these past few days, I did not recognize a single line of the story. Nothing! I had a narrative in my head that did not match the book. How does that happen? I’ve referenced it dozens of times in conversation over the years. Heck, I even remember meeting Larry Niven back in the day. It's all gone. I remember nothing. The book is good though. I throughly enjoyed it. It's a great post apocalyptic read.

Why I passed on the gay waitress tipping story

I passed on a story. I regret it now. 

I was outraged by the thought of a Christian couple stiffing a gay waitress and leaving an obnoxious message instead of a tip. This type of insensitive bullying makes my blood boil. I hate it.

I wanted to post, but when the story broke, I thought about it and passed. My reasoning was simple, it was a one-sided story. I don’t like one-sided stories as they often bring me inbox grief, so I passed.

I’m mad at myself now, because I realize my dislike for one-sided stories can be a filter which prevents critical thinking. What I should have done was think. I should have demanded the other side of the story. I should have asked to see proof. I should have thought about how it would have been possible to validate the story. I should have asked why everyone jumped in and donated money before the facts were in. Everything about this story should have caused me to dig deeper, but my filter stopped me because… I did not want the grief. If I had posted the story, my inbox would have filled-up with people complaining that I was anti-gay or a hater because I had questioned the authenticity of Dayna Morales’ story.

People want to believe this kind of story. I want to believe this kind of story myself because it fits my view of how some Christians act and that is a shame. I should have made the damn post.

When the frustration sets in

I spoke to a man four different times over the three days. The first time he commented on the evils of the flu shot. He was encouraging others to rely on faith to carry them the flu season. His reasoning was sound, at least it was to him. If you lived right, prayed and rejected pseudo-science, one would not get the flu. After all, he had not had the flu for years. While the room rolled it's collective eyes, I countered his assertion with the safety of the herd argument, socialized immunization and what happens when immunization is interrupted, and lastly, reasons why at-risk individuals should ignore his advice. I finished with my story. After a particularly nasty round of the flu in 2001, one where I was out for 14 days, I started getting a regular yearly flu shot. I used to get the flu every year, sometimes several times, and now I never get it, nor does my family. He laughed at my comments and said something about the flu shot and eugenics.

The next day he offered that there was more historical evidence for Jesus than there was for Julius Caesar. I countered with Caesar's life and accomplishments being documented in historical documents, accounts, and the writing of secular histories of his time. I added that there was no such evidence for Jesus and that he is not mentioned in any historical documents or accounts of that time period. The bible aside, Jesus does not exist in history. I went on to talk about this argument being something that Christian apologists put forth as to uneducated Christians in an effort to give them intelligent sounding talking points. He countered with, "Your facts are incorrect. I know what I know."

The third day he talked about how the Theory of Evolution does not address how the universe was created, therefor he did not believe it. I said that is like saying that the Theory of Gravity does not explain how bread is made. I pointed out that Evolution is about Natural Selection and not cosmology. He countered with my lack of faith blinding me to the truth.

I grew frustrated... I took a deep breadth and let it go. The problem i,s that when this man speaks about anything, I get stuck on the idiocy he spews related to his faith or beliefs. If he can't see truth in facts, how am I supposed to listen to him on other subjects? For me, it is best to just walk away.

I don't believe in sin

I don't believe in sin. The concept drives good people nuts and ties people in knots over the dumbest things. I recently counseled a young man over his battle with lust. My approach was simple - lust all you want, who does it really hurt? He’s married with a new baby. If he’s a good man, he will stand by his family. If not, he will deal with the consequences of hurting others. My moral code is simple, which is why it is easy to implement. I know if I’m doing something that will hurt people, so I am able to stop myself, or better yet, I’m able to anticipate the negative outcome and never act in the first place. What goes on in my mind is my own business and hurts no one. What I do is actually what matters. Judge me by what I do. 

I was reading a Christian's blog recently when I came across this paragraph.

Mug shots of people who do what we do should serve as a sobering reminder. While we may self-righteously look down on those who find themselves on the wrong side of the jailhouse lens (usually because of some impropriety or sexual indiscretion), we would be wise to turn our backs on such foolishness and instead pause to take a look at the face in the mirror. There's not one of us who is immune to traveling down that same path. In fact, taking that route is our default setting as people who battle the soul-eating "bacteria" known as "sin." Grappling with that fact is both humbling and wise.

Walt Mueller uses all the right Christian language in a way that I’ve come to expect from a certain type of believer. Let’s call it true believer newspeak, but that is not the problem. I’ve learned to decode it. The real problem is sin. He's talking about clergy sexual abuse and the ease of falling into sin. It is all bullshit. It’s not our default behavior to sexually abuse children. It's predatory behavior and atypical in the general population. These are the real question. Why do so many youth pastors abuse children? What is it about the profession that attracts monsters? Why do you minister to children with young men in the first place (The typical abuse is in his 20s. The typical victim is a girl 13 to 15). Is there a link between believe, youth pastors and sexual depravity? Has anyone looked?

Boys, girls and the Christian hang up on improper thoughts

When I was a boy in the late 60s and early 70s, we played all sorts of sports (except soccer), boys simply never played against girls. As we grew older, some of the girls became athletes, some became academics while others cheerleaders, or band geeks, or acting geeks, or any number of other things. I became a good athlete with two standout sisters. One sister was a beautiful baton-twirling majorette who played a mean game of softball, while  the other was a statuesque and formidable athlete (who could twirl a baton as well). As teens, we did not compete against each other because it was generally understood that girls did not have the chops to compete with boys. Of course, this was complete bullshit. There were other factors that prevented formal coed sports, but when the coaches were away, we played against each other anyway. 

My athletic sister was an All American athlete in three sports. She was the best in her class at basketball, softball and volleyball. I played basketball well, and other sports… not so well. There was no comparison in athletic our abilities, my sister was the better athlete. I started on the boy's basketball team and she was the captain of the girl's team. Was she better than me at basketball? No, but she was better than at least half the boys on my team. One of her friends was my size and arguably better than me. Several of my sister's teammates were at least as good as several of my teammates. If we had been allowed to field a team of mixed athletes, my sister would have competed with me for playing time and her friend may have had my starting spot. The myth of female inequity did not hold when we are young. Could the best female athlete play on an average NBA team today? I think it is possible but unlikely. 

There reasons why we were prevented from playing together seems to have been focused on giving girls an opportunity to play sports without big bad nasty boys ruining the experience. Plus, we were told that the bigger boys would hurt the littler girls. That was largely true I think, except for a few cases were the girls could have put the hurt on the boys, like the girl who could have started on the boys basketball team. She was my size and every bit as physical while playing the game. What we never heard was that playing sports with girls would cause boys improper thoughts… unless we were playing sports at church.

Girl kicked off football team to stop 'impure thoughts'

A 12-year-old girl has been kicked off her US school’s football team because she might cause her male teammates to have “impure” thoughts. Madison Baxter had been playing football for her Christian school’s team in Georgia for the past year but was recently told she would have to quit, the New York Daily News reports.

According to Madison’s mother, Cassy Blythe, Strong Rock Christian School CEO Patrick Stuart quoted the bible when he explained to her why her daughter could no longer play on the team.

Just to be clear, every twelve-year-old boy in America is full of impure thoughts. As a former boy myself, I can testify that this is true; as can every other man I know. Kicking a girl off the team because you think boys are having impure thoughts is wrong-headed and in its worst manifestation puts girls in burkas.  We cannot control what other people think, but we can influence behavior. If the boys act inappropriately, discipline them and teach them how to treat a teammate with respect. There is nothing like running a few lines to teach manners. 

Of course, impure thoughts is not really the issue is it? Young boys have delicate egos. How hard is it  on your ego to be knocked on your ass by a girl? I remember matching up for a one-on-one against my sister. She almost beat me. Five minutes later, her friend killed me. My ego… It was seriously bruised, but I recovered. 

Side note: My little sister the majorette was a good athlete herself. She chose another path and excelled. She would have dominated in sports if she chose too. Girls are like that. 

Bacons

I recently ate breakfast at a restaurant while on business travel. It was all but  empty with only two other small parties and the staff. The waiter took my order in Spanish. I tried to order eggs and bacon in kind, but forgot the word for bacon. I stumbled over el to… and just could not put it together. My waiter offered "bacons" in English. I said, "Bacon." And then things took a silly turn.

He said, "You only want one bacon?"

I said, "No, I want a side of bacon."

He said, "Oh, you mean a side of bacons."

I said, "No. I want a side of bacon. You know, four pieces."

He looked at me like I was crazy and then just stood there. 

I tried to explain that bacon is both a single and plural in english, but he did not understand me. I was about to give up when one of the two parties eating in the restaurant said, "We ordered a side of bacons and we got four pieces!, is that what you want?"

I said, "Si, cuatro tocino por favor."

Things my grandfather told me

When I was young my grandfather would impart some of his wisdom while we worked together on one of his many projects. He once told me that as he grew older the frequency of funerals increased to the point where you start to think everyone you knew as a younger man is dead. I laughed at the time. I remember thinking, how could that be?

I'm heading to a funeral in a few minutes. It's my fourth in three months. I've missed four others. People die all the time, but when you are older, it really does seem like everyone you know is dying.

Such is life.

A reporter's notebook

I am constantly reminded of what I do not know. While listening to David Sedaris' new book, Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls, Sedaris referenced the use of a reporter's notebook as part of his daily writing process. He carries one and jots down useful facts, quotes, and observations for use in his journal, which he writes each morning. This explains how he remembers things from 20 years ago and why I don't remember things from last week.

I did not know what a reporter's notebook was. Or, I should say, I had heard the term, but had built my own interpretation. I often do that. I heard the term used again today while listening to local news and realized that a reporter's notebook might actually be a special type of notebook, so I asked one of my employees while at work this morning. He used to be a sports reporter before I ruined him with a real career. He explained that a reporter's notebook is a special type of notebook that is bound at the top and small enough to fit in a shirt pocket. He also added that reporters have a special shorthand to go along with the special notebook. He gave me this explanation with only the smallest bit of condescension, for which I was grateful. 

I Googled it. I guess it's like a steno pad but smaller. How did I get through 52 years of life without knowing this?