The Shorty Club

Welcome to the Shorty Club!

In this cozy corner of contemplation, where the air is thick with the aroma of?bourbon?and the gentle wisps of a?cigar, we gather to muse upon life’s curiosities. Here, there are no rigid rules, no prescribed paths—just the ebb and flow of conversation, like the amber liquid swirling in our glasses.

Bourbon Whiskey: Our faithful companion, aged to perfection, whispers tales of oak barrels and distant Kentucky hills. Each sip carries the weight of history, the warmth of camaraderie, and the promise of shared secrets.

Cigar in the Ashtray: Resting gracefully, its ember glowing like a distant star, the cigar invites reflection. Its fragrant tendrils weave stories of contemplation, of pensive evenings spent unraveling the threads of existence.

And so, my fellow Shorty Club members, let us raise our glasses—whether they hold bourbon or simply the elixir of thought—and toast to the musings that bind us. Here’s to wit, wisdom, and the delightful randomness of it all. ??P.S. If you happen upon a particularly intriguing topic, feel free to share it with the club. We’re all ears (and taste buds).?

September 1, 2024

The dashboard display read a toasty 87 degrees outside, but inside the car, it felt like we were trapped in a steel capsule just inches from the sun. The air conditioner was working overtime, but it was still a sauna on wheels. We had just left the beach, where vacationers were soaking up the last precious moments of summer. Kids were squeezing out every drop of fun before the school grind started, while their parents toasted each other and exchanged high fives for surviving another summer of beach trips, vacations, travel sports, and keeping the kids entertained enough to avoid the dreaded “I’m bored.”

But the parents knew their glory was fleeting. Soon, they’d transform into the ultimate Uber drivers, shuttling kids from one activity to another while sipping pumpkin lattes. They’d coordinate with other parents to form an Uber network that rivaled the coordination needed to man a space station year-round.

The lone lifeguard sat quietly, pondering whether she should get an internship next year. But a quick check of her tan line convinced her that one more summer of lifeguarding wouldn’t hurt. Meanwhile, a young college kid pushed his ice cream cart up the beach one last time, hoping to score a few more bucks for his “Tips for College” jar. I admired his honesty—it didn’t say the money would go toward tuition or books, and it was probably destined for a late-night DoorDash order after a party with his fraternity brothers.

As for me, I was once that carefree college kid with a great summer job, my biggest worries being what time to hit the gym and whose party to attend that night. I also went through the parent summer phase, enjoying boat trips, beach days, and travel sports. I relished the return to school and the fall activities. Now, the calendar’s unofficial start and end to seasons doesn’t matter much. My activities are based more on the weather than the month. I see no reason to be bound by arbitrary dates on a calendar.

In fact, I’m only reminded of season changes when I walk into Costco and see Halloween items in August and Christmas decorations by September! It’s as if the entire world can’t wait for fall and everything pumpkin-spiced, only to quickly replace it with Starbucks’ Nightmare Before Christmas Matcha Sally Frappuccino. Then they long for spring and the end of the school year.

So while others wash the sand off their bodyboards, put away the beach chairs and umbrellas, winterize the boat, and toss the empty sunscreen containers, I’ll be enjoying an endless summer—or at least holding onto it well into pumpkin season!