As someone that is rapidly being replaced by ChatGPT, I love it, do a little dance even, when someone says, "I asked ChatGPT this thing that I used to ask you and here is what it says, what do you think?"

Because most of the time, the correct answer is somewhere in the response or alluded to in the response, but it's so half arsed as to be mostly useless still.

I just need ChatGPT to not get too smart as to replace me completely in the 2 and a half years I have left to pay off our home loan.

I didn't find a recipe. And don't know when to change from one to the other too.

I sometimes look at the isobars and think if I was much younger and much much wealthier I'd be on an IMOCA 60 down there in the southern ocean doing 28 knots with the sea crashing over the decks. I'd be naked (but for a PFD and harness of course) shouting very loudly at the wind knowing this was all there was to being alive, the water streaming from my long hair and unkempt beard.

But instead, here I am, 58 years old, drinking a glass of Gibson Bridge pinot gris, fully clothed in my man cave, thinking about turning on the AC because it's a little hot, but the remote is in its holder over there on the wall.

When it comes to measuring a body of work, for music, because I can judge that measure from my man cave, with not much more qualification than i have as someone of my vintage, this lovely evening of #jukeboxFridayNight, one must agree Ivor Davies of Icehouse is a bloody good human of some amount of skill and style.