First, I want to say a big thank you to a few people who brightened my day without even knowing it. First up, is the always awesome Nurse Claire who shouted me out in her blog. It is always humbling to know that the people you read are reading you too! Likewise, St. Louis Catholic gave me a mention in regards having shared the daily Liguori meditations recently. Happy to help, brother! And finally I want to mention Frank Walker of Canon212 who sent me a very kind note praising the quality of the loaf of bread I posted the other day. Wow! Three of my favorites peeping on little old me… I am truly grateful that anyone reads what I post, let alone people for whom I have great respect.
Another shoutout came from my sister in the form of a text. She said, “You’ve been phoning it in lately. Get back on your game.” She’s right. In fairness, I’ve been busy. And fasting. I’ll try to do better.
So let’s talk about that bread fast…
If you saw the bread a few days ago, you might think I am a master baker. Nothing could be further from the truth. Case in point, look at these:
Do you know what that is? It’s dough that over-fermented. I’m still getting back in the swing of something I never mastered in the first place. It’s a learning curve. I let it sit too long. I didn’t even know this was the “bulk fermentation” stage by name until this morning.
So what happens when the dough over-ferments? My instinct at 6:30 this morning was to cry, then throw the dough in the trash, then give up like the bitch I am. Then I remembered I am not, in fact, a bitch but a man who is in control of his emotions. I stepped outside, lit a smoke, and, while sipping my black coffee, said my prayers. Then I turned to our old friend ChatGPT.
You two haven’t met, yet? Let me introduce you. ChatGPT, or “Chat” as I call it, is a mentally retarded search engine on who’s daunting intellect the youth (and increasingly the supposed adults) of the world rely for answers to everything. Case in point, check out this basic search I ran just to see if the rumors were true.
No, Chat, the second option is never reasonable at all. You basically admitted that in the preceding sentence. Keep in mind, friends, that young med students are likely relying on this AI slop-monster to do their homework.
That being said, if one has a partially functioning brain in his head, he can reasonably sift through the nonsense and find a scintilla of useful information on this thing. Evidence the following:
Notice how it pleaded with me to basically come up with croutons of all things. Avian-IQ does not begin to describe this thing. But I did what it suggested and turned the garbage dough into this:
And honestly, it wasn’t bad.
So there you have it. I was distressed. My dough was a mess. AI urged me not to be depressed. Fellow bloggers mentioned me and I felt blessed. I’m going to vomit now for that terrible rhyme scheme.
New dough is currently in the works.
Finally, God gave me a beautiful sign in His creation of His love for sinful man.
The intricate pattern of this tulip in my garden (which I consecrated to Mary) is so magnificent and I truly am blessed by its beauty. God be praised!
Finally, finally… I just got this in the mail to assst me through the rest of Lent. (Trying to give up cigarettes.)
As a boy, knowing that my dad used Prince Albert religiously and having learned the old joke for the first time, I went to Dad and sheepishly asked, “Hey Daddy, have you got Prince Albert in a can?”
To which the old man, lowering the Wall Street Journal from in front of his face while simultaneously letting out a puff of his pipe, said:
“No, but I have Sir Thomas Lipton by the balls.”
He went right back to reading column four.
That’s all for today, folks.
Harvey Millican's Blog: Musings of a Trad Dad 