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).?

July 22, 2024

Ah, the New York City coffee scene—the caffeinated theater of the absurd. Let us break down this java drama, shall we?

Act I: The Barista’s Disinterest?Picture it: a dimly lit café, the barista’s eyes glazed over like yesterday’s donut. I approach, ready for my morning elixir. But instead of a warm welcome, I get a half-hearted “Can I help you?”—as if they would rather be anywhere else. Maybe they’re secretly dreaming of a beach in Bali or a cabin in the woods. Who knows? But hey, at least they didn’t yawn while taking my order. Small victories.

Act II: The Name Game?Why do baristas need our names? It’s like they’re building a secret dossier on every customer. “John, the guy who orders coffee with cream.” Meanwhile, the two other early risers are probably “Latte Larry” and “Espresso Elaine.” But seriously, why not just call us “Caffeine Addict #1,” “Caffeine Addict #2,” and so on? It’s efficient, and we’d feel like part of an exclusive club.

Act III: The Cashless Revolution?New York City: where cash goes to retire. Everyone is tapping cards and phones like they’re playing a high-stakes game of “Pay-Per-View.” But wait, there is an ATM on every corner! It’s like they’re mocking us: “Hey, buddy, remember me? I’m Cash. We used to be friends.” And me, the lone cash enthusiast, daringly whips out my bills. Heads turn. Eyebrows raise. The barista squints, wondering if I am from a bygone era. “Is this guy paying with ancient relics?” they muse.

Act IV: The Backup Apocalypse?Fast-forward to my flight home. The CrowdStrike software debacle hits like a digital tornado. Airlines, hospitals, banks—all caught in the storm. Suddenly, backup systems become our lifelines. But wait, what backup systems? It is like relying on a paper umbrella during a monsoon. I am stranded, contemplating life choices. My 1-hour flight turned into a 36-hour odyssey which included my daughter rescuing me and driving me the last 197 miles home. At this point I was ready to trade my coffee for a teleporter.

Epilogue: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles?Finally, I collapse at home, cook a steak (because nothing says “I survived” like a juicy ribeye), and sip wine. As I unwind, the TV flickers to life. And there it is: “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” Fate’s twisted sense of humor, served up on a silver screen. I had to chuckle, realizing that life imitates John Candy movies. Or it’s just the lack of sleep talking.

So, remember this: in the caffeinated chaos of New York City, cash is a relic, backup systems are mythical creatures, and humor is our last defense against digital meltdowns. Cheers to surviving the java and the electronic world!