While 95% of the country enjoys summer in a tropical paradise (during a heat dome), Seattleites are bracing for a long stretch of brisk, bone chilling weather with highs barely reaching the low-to-mid sixties. It’s not easy having to put on a sweater and long pants every day while the rest of the country lounges around in their underwear like they’re in a sauna.
We interrupt your regular TV programming for the following special emergency weather alert.
ANCHOR ANITA SCOOP: Good evening. We interrupt your regularly scheduled rerun of Seattle’s Rainiest Moments for continuing coverage of what meteorologists are calling an unnervingly cool, mild stretch of July weather.
The National Weather Service has issued an Extreme Summer Cool Advisory for the entire Puget Sound region after computer models confirmed what experts feared most: Daily highs in the mid-sixties for nearly the entire month of July.
Let’s go live now to KIRO Weather Team 7’s Chief Meteorologist, Brad Breezilton, standing outside in downtown Seattle.
BRAD BREEZILTON: Thanks, Anita. As you can see behind me… (camera pans dramatically to people casually walking dogs in light jackets) …conditions have already begun to deteriorate as yesterday’s high temperature of 74 has in only 24 hours already plummeted to barely 61 degrees today.
The breeze has picked up to nearly nine miles per hour, enough to cause several residents to zip their fleece jackets all the way to the top.
Visibility remains excellent, humidity is hovering near zero, and sunlight has broken through the clouds for nearly two uninterrupted hours – hardly the weather we’ve come to expect here in the Pacific Northwest. Officials are urging residents to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary. If you must venture outside, dress responsibly. And remember to politely wave to fellow pedestrians and don’t litter.
Experts recommend beginning with a long-sleeve shirt, then a sweatshirt, an REI fleece vest (preferably one that cost more than your first car), and for safe measure, a waterproof shell. If you plan to visit the community swimming pool, please remember to pack your parka. Hypothermia has not been reported. But goosebumps and extreme shivering are possible.
Meanwhile, across much of the rest of the United States – and most of Europe for that matter – millions of people continue enjoying summerlike “real feel” temperatures between 105 and 115 degrees. It sure must be nice to live in a place where they won’t see anything remotely approaching 650 weather any time for the next four months. Envious Seattle residents can only imagine how wonderful it must feel to be a New Yorker or Atlantan basking in triple-digit tropical rain forest conditions.
Washington’s governor has released the following emergency preparedness checklist:
LEVEL ONE PRECAUTIONS
Bring a hoodie to your barbecue.
Keep one emergency fleece blanket in every vehicle.
Drink hot coffee every two hours.
Replace popsicles with clam chowder.
LEVEL TWO PRECAUTIONS
If paddleboarding on one of our cool, pristine lakes, wear thermal underwear.
Campfires are encouraged for toasting marshmallows and warming your hands.
If attending an outdoor concert, locate the nearest propane patio heater before the opening act.
Children should limit cannonballs into swimming pools to no more than three before returning indoors for hot chocolate.
We now go live to our field reporter, Sonny Daye, outside Green Lake.
REPORTER SONNY DAYE: Thank you, Brad. Conditions here continue to worsen. Behind me you’ll notice joggers, many of them wearing long sleeves. Several cyclists have actually put on gloves. Earlier today I witnessed something truly heartbreaking. A man ordered an ice cream cone. Five minutes later… he admitted he wished he’d gotten a mochaccino instead. Back to you, Anita.
ANCHOR ANITA SCOOP: Local retailers report panic buying throughout western Washington. Stores have nearly sold out of fleece pullovers, knitted beanies, artisan soup mixes, cinnamon tea, and decorative throw blankets featuring silhouettes of evergreen trees.
In light of the COOL WEATHER ALERT for Seattle and Western Washington, area residents are reminded to stay indoors to keep warm. But if you have to venture out, you’re advised to make sure your kids are dressed for the elements and hydrate them often with hot cocoa – preferably with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkles.
Ice cream sales have dropped precipitously in the past 24 hours, with one customer complaining, “It just doesn’t feel like ice cream weather.” Doctors are urging calm. Meanwhile, Expedia and Orbitz travel sites report a surge in airline searches to Seattle from people living in Phoenix, Dallas, Boston, Washington D.C., and Houston. Interestingly, the number one Google search this past week from regions currently experiencing a heat wave emergency has been “How can I move to Seattle.”
Meteorologists continue studying this unusual marine layer weather pattern that seems stalled over the Pacific Northwest. As a result, Seattle remains under a Level Three “Consider Wearing Another Layer” advisory.
Long-range computer models are showing a weak disturbance in the upper atmosphere that could bring a dramatic shift to our region by the middle of August, when temperatures could briefly soar into the mid-to-upper 70’s. Meteorologists caution Puget Sound residents not to get their hopes up, as forecasts call for the high temps to dip back down into the mid-sixties by early September.
Until then, local residents are urged not to risk the elements, but if you do have to venture outdoors, stay covered, stay warm, and don’t forget your sunscreen.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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According to the CDC, there is yet another new COVID variant – and it’s more contagious than any previous strain. But there is still a chance you could avoid it – and by “a chance,” I mean about the same odds as you getting picked up to be a starting pitcher for the New York Yankees.
Remember back in early March 2020 when “coronavirus” sounded like the name of a fancy craft beer from Portland? Ah, the innocence. Since then, we’ve collectively learned that this microscopic party crasher simply refuses to leave – like that irritating neighbor who is always coming by to borrow something. (Last time, he borrowed your lawnmower and returned it with no gas and a suspicious new rattle.)
But don’t worry. Medical experts, who always have the most encouraging news, assure us the latest strain is even more contagious than ever before. In fact, every strain since the original version (Alpha) back in March 2020 has bragged about being the most contagious ever, like a relentless viral version of “hold my beer.”
Meet the Newest Variant: COVID-X Ultra Deluxe Super Spreader Edition
According to leading scientists, this month’s variant, COVID-X Ultra Deluxe Super Spreader Edition is so contagious that you don’t even have to be in the same zip code to catch it. Simply reading this article has statistically increased your odds of infection by 12%. It is so contagious that merely saying the latest variant’s name out loud bumps up your chances of getting it to 25%. Try not to sneeze while reading or you’ll likely infect everyone on your block party list.
“Each new strain mutates to spread faster,” explained Dr. Ned Worrymore, Chief Panic Officer at the National Institute of Unpleasant Surprises. “If the original virus was like a Tinder date, the current version is more like a speed dating event at a college dorm – except everyone leaves sick.”
Latest Official Advice on How to Stay Safe (Good Luck)
To stay COVID-free, the CDC now recommends the following:
Never leave your house.
Never open your windows.
Never inhale near anything that has a pulse.
Wear an N95 mask underneath a surgical mask underneath a ski mask underneath a beekeeper suit. Bubble wrap is optional.
Only eat food that has been disinfected with hand sanitizer.
Boil all your food until it is completely devoid of anything remotely resembling flavor.
If you must communicate, do so through interpretive dance viewed via drone footage from at least half a mile away.
Following the above practical guidelines will reduce your risk by almost 7%.
This man is taking no chances when it comes to catching COVID. He’s had it three times so far. Not sure his idea to wrap himself head-to-toe in bubble wrap was the best idea – especially after those five beers he just consumed watching the game. Uh oh…
What To Do If (We mean WHEN) You Get COVID (AGAIN)
Let’s face it – if you’re human, have nostrils, or once watched a YouTube video of someone coughing, you’re probably going to catch it again. And again. And again. But don’t lose hope. The next time probably won’t be nearly as bad as the last time. Here’s the official procedure if, er, when you get it again:
Stay home for 5 – 10 days – longer if you really hate your job.
Inform your spouse you are too sick to do any housework… for at least the next four months.
Send a text notification to everyone you came within 500 feet of in the last 72 hours. Avoid communicating with them in person, unless they’re an annoying person who you secretly hope will catch the virus, too.
Inhale enough chicken soup to drown a mid-sized horse.
Eat as much ice cream as you’d like. It won’t actually help stave off the virus, but it’s always nice to have an excuse to scarf down Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia or Americone Dream.
The good news? When you catch COVID for the tenth time, the CDC will send you a free year’s supply of decorative masks featuring funny sayings like “I’m Not Social Distancing because of COVID. I Just Don’t Like You” and “What Doesn’t Kill Me Mutates And Tries Again.”
What Does the Future Hold? (Are You Sure You Want to Know?)
Experts warn that next year’s variant is projected to be so infectious that satellite photos of infected people will transmit the virus through your Wi-Fi. Side effects may include coughing, existential dread, an irrational fear of clocks, and the urge to sign up for the new Trump Mobile phone service (don’t do it).
Your Only Remaining Safe Option
If you really want to avoid coming down with COVID again, you could relocate to a safer region, like Antarctica. It’s had almost no cases of COVID recently. But if you come here, you might want to pack cold-weather clothes. And leave your pickleball gear at home.
Given that every few months brings a new variant more contagious than the previous one, if you seriously want to avoid any risk of getting COVID again, then, statistically speaking, your best bet is to relocate to North Korea – the only country on Earth that insists it has never had a single case. Hope you like watching military parades and chanting loudly at rallies to demonstrate your loyalty to your new leader, Kim Jong Un. He seems like a nice fellow.
Also, you won’t be able to access Facebook there, so in a way, that’s a plus. Of course, you may never be allowed to leave again. But hey, at least you’ll dodge the next 37 hyper-contagious variants scientists are already naming after Greek letters they haven’t even invented yet.
Stay safe, stay distant, and remember: if you’re reading this, you’re probably already infected. (This article was carelessly written using a font especially vulnerable to spreading the virus. Sorry.) But look on the bright side – you now have an excuse to get out of going to that birthday party for your neighbor’s annoying seven-year-old princess named Maddie. They really do spoil that kid, I must say.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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This is Bad Bunny. His halftime performance at the 2026 Super Bowl was appalling. He never spoke a single word in English – not even so much as a “How’s it going, San Francisco?” Worse, I can’t pull off wearing white nearly as well as he does.
[Note: This week’s column was written by guest opinion writer, Ima Bigette, a proud, patriotic, God-fearing, gun-toting MAGA supporter, who has strong opinions about this year’s Super Bowl halftime performance by Bad Bunny. Below is her commentary. Please note that Ms. Bigette’s opinions do not necessarily reflect the views of VFTB nor Tim Jones. In fact, Tim Jones is on vacation this week and doesn’t even know we are running this piece. Please don’t tell him, okay?]
I have tried to remain calm about this. I have tried to breathe deeply. I’m a citizen of the world. I once ate at a Taco Bell in a Des Moines, Iowa strip mall without asking for a translation of the word “chalupa.”
There I was, settled into my recliner with a bucket of Buffalo Wild Wings and a sense of patriotic pride, ready to watch Bad Bunny perform the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show. Now, I’ve heard the rumors that Bad Bunny – if that’s even his real name (personally, I doubt it) – hails from the country of Puerto Rico. I checked a map, and Puerto Rico is close enough to the United States that he should have known better. But in his loud, angry performance Mr. Bunny refused – REFUSED – to sing a single song in English. Not one.
So, what did we get instead? For 13 agonizing minutes, this man shouted words that sounded like a blender full of marbles and vowels. Not a single “God Bless America.” Not even a “Hey baby, how’s it going?” It was all despacito this and corazón that. I sat there, my buffalo sauce cooling in a pool of righteous indignation, realizing that America was being targeted. This wasn’t just a musical performance; it was a calculated, linguistic embargo against the ears of every freedom-loving American.
This is how it all starts, folks. First, it’s a halftime show in Spanish. Next thing you know, we’re being asked to order Tagliatelle alla Bolognese using the correct Italian pronunciation.
I have seen this before. Take Luciano Pavarotti. For years, this man was hailed as a “legend.” People paid hundreds of dollars to watch him stand on a stage, sweating profusely, and scream in Italian for three hours. Did he ever once consider singing Rigoletto in a language we could understand? No. It was always Italian. As if opera originated there or something.
He stubbornly clung to his Italian, clearly signaling his deep-seated resentment for the people who invented the Philly Cheesesteak. Every time he sang Puccini’s aria Nessun Dorma, I knew what he meant: “None of you Yankees will understand this.” Such contempt.
Then there’s Pope Leo. I see him on the news, standing on that balcony in the Vatican, waving to the crowds. He’s an AMERICAN, for God’s sake! And yet, what does he do? He has the nerve to conduct his masses in Latin. Latin! A dead language! Do you know who else speaks Latin? Nobody! Except, apparently, people who want to keep Americans in the dark about reuniting with Jesus in Heaven.
It’s a classic power move. He’s up there, cloaked in white, probably whispering recipes for secret pasta sauces or disparaging Americans’ obsession with pickup trucks, knowing full well that the average Joe in Omaha hasn’t brushed up on his declensions since the ninth grade. It’s a “Thesaurus of Hostility” wrapped in a cassock.
Clearly, Pavarotti hated America. For decades, he sang arias and flatly refused to sing any songs in English. I also suspect he’s a terrorist, based on his bushy beard.
Then there’s the Olympics. I was recently watching the Milan Winter Games, and after a thrilling ski event, a member of the French team grabs the microphone and just starts speaking French. On international television. As if we wouldn’t notice. I don’t know what he was saying, but I can only assume it was something like, “Those Americans – Ha! Their cheese comes in aerosol cans.” And the rest of the team nodded. In French.
Even soccer – sorry, “football” – the global sport that refuses to call itself by its proper American name. When Lionel Messi – who plays for Miami in a USA soccer league – gives interviews, does he say, “First off, I’d like to thank the great city of Miami?” No. It’s all Spanish all the time. Rapid-fire Spanish. Probably discussing how confusing our football is because we use our hands. While watching the World Cup, I once heard the German national anthem performed entirely in German. I assume that was deliberate.
The hostility doesn’t stop there. Let’s talk about Emmanuel Macron, France’s president. I have yet to hear him give a State of the Union address in English. You’d think at some point he’d look into the camera and say, “Howdy, partners.” After all, we’re allies! (At least we used to be, anyway.) But no. It’s always French. Long, sentences filled with indecipherable words like liberté or château or café – with all these accent marks on top of them like they’re wearing tiny French berets.
And what about the pop band BTS? For years they released massive global hits in Korean. Teenage girls all across America were forced to memorize lyrics phonetically, singing along even though they had no idea what the words meant. For all I know, they were all pledging allegiance to Korea, or worse, to Hyundai.
This is the pattern. People everywhere living in their own countries, speaking their own languages, creating art in their own cultures – without once checking whether I personally can understand it while I scarf down my nachos and Piña Colada.
Check out the menu from this Italian restaurant. Every word is in a foreign language. Let me translate. It says, “I’m never going to eat at this establishment. I’ll go to Taco Bell. Their menu is in English, as God intended it.”
And now Bad Bunny has brought it to the Super Bowl stage. Look, I’m not unreasonable. I’m simply asking for a modest compromise: before any international figure speaks, sings, governs, performs, competes, films, chants, or blesses – just take a moment and ask, “Will this confuse a white guy in Missouri?” Is that so much to ask?
From now on, I’m taking a stand. If a movie has subtitles, I’m not watching it. If a menu is written in Greek or doesn’t have a cheeseburger on it, I’m outta there. And the next time I’m in France and I come across a local, I’m going to look them right in the eye and speak very slowly and very loudly IN ENGLISH – until they admit that they know English perfectly well. They’re just too lazy to use the only language that really matters.
And a final message to Mr. Bunny: If English was good enough for the guys who wrote the Bible, it’s good enough for the Super Bowl. Adios, Amigo.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps Ima off base.
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Eye Witness News reports a Nebraska farmer has been spotted terrorizing local NYC citizens by passing them by on the street, saying “Hello” and other unsettling overly friendly expressions.
Anchorman: Good evening and Welcome to Eye Witness News. I’m Sonny Vabich. This just in: A sixty-three-year-old Midwestern man visiting New York City for the first time has been accused of terrorizing New Yorkers on their way to work. From several eye witness accounts, this man, who claims his name is Earl Pickens, has been spotted approaching people minding their own business and saying unsettling things to them like, “Hello” and “Nice weather we’re having today, eh?”
Believed to be a wheat farmer from Nebraska, Mr. Pickens has been seen walking up to complete strangers in several parts of Manhattan, suspiciously asking for directions to places like the Empire State Building and even the Statue of Liberty. In just a matter of hours Pickens has left several New Yorkers traumatized by his repeated attempts to interact with them in a friendly, cheerful manner. We turn to our reporter on the scene, Woody Dewitt. Woody, what can you tell us about this latest incident that’s putting so many New Yorkers on edge?
Reporter Woody Dewitt: Thanks, Sonny. Based on security footage, we’ve determined that Pickens arrived at Penn Station in the heart of Manhattan at approximately 8:57am at the peak of the morning commute. He had boarded the AirTrain rail line from Newark International Airport earlier that morning. He had already attempted to say hi to several airline passengers at the Newark Airport baggage claim – even offering to assist one person in retrieving their luggage from the carousel. But he was quickly told, “Get away from me, you creep,” after which Pickens reportedly quietly left the scene, uttering words to the effect of “I am so sorry. I apologize. Please have a nice day.”
One anxious commuter at Penn Station recalled seeing a tall man in jeans and a plaid shirt later identified as Pickens accosting their co-worker, saying, and I quote, “Pardon me, ma’am. Do you know which way to Times Square?” unquote. He left several worried commuters here unsure why a man they did not know was talking to them, not to mention smiling. [Cut to a local eye witness.]
Local eye witness: He made direct eye contact with me. His face was no more than three feet from mine. And then he said, completely unprovoked by me, mind you, “Good morning.” I was speechless. I thought perhaps he was on drugs and might try to hit me up for money. Or perhaps he wanted to mug me. I had no idea. I was terrified. But something in his tone suggested that this might be a greeting. Thankfully, there were several police officers nearby, so they intervened to rescue me from a situation that could have turned bad, although, now that I think about it, probably not.
Reporter Woody Dewitt: While Pickens was standing in line at a Dunkin Donuts, a SWAT team of six New York City police officers quickly identified him when they overheard him say, “Thank you, Have a nice day,” to the clerk. He was taken into custody to await further questioning. However, he was released a few hours later when it was determined by the Manhattan District Attorney’s office that friendliness towards strangers is not currently considered to be a crime in New York. Outside the station, Pickens issued a brief statement. [Cut to Mr. Pickens reading from a written statement.]
This is actual security camera footage of Mr. Pickens seen accosting an unsuspecting New York commuter and wishing her to “have a nice day.” She immediately called 911 to report the shocking incident.
Earl Pickens: Where I come from in Nebraska, it is okay to greet strangers and tell them to have a nice day. I did not know that such behavior is not tolerated here in New York City. I deeply apologize to anyone I may have offended or to whom I may have caused emotional distress. I did not mean to cause anyone to panic when I carelessly uttered words like “Nice day, eh?” and “Thank you.” Would it be okay for me to go now?
Anchorman Sonny Vabich: Woody, what should New Yorkers do if they find themselves approached by an out-of-towner, from, say, Iowa or Minnesota?
Reporter Woody Dewitt: While there is no one response for every possible encounter with an overly friendly visitor, police recommend you avoid making eye contact. If you’re approached by one of these freaks, it’s best to put your headphones on and keep your head down. You have no idea what nice sentiment they may attempt to verbalize with you or one of your family members. And failing that, if someone you don’t recognize confronts you, say, to ask for directions to the Bubba Gump Shrimp company, wishes you a good morning, or otherwise tries to engage you, the best advice is to tell them in a fractured, foreign accent, “No speak-a-duh-Engleeese.” Then walk briskly towards the nearest Starbucks.
Anchorman Sonny Vabich: Sounds like smart advice. Thanks, Woody. And after a quick commercial break, what should you do if an elderly lady with a foreign accent attempts to sit next to you on the subway? More on that next.
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This is journalist Steve Hartman of CBS News. If I could wave a wand and create the perfect job for me, it would be HIS JOB – sharing the true-life stories of average, everyday people going to extraordinary lengths to help out other good people in need.
A few years ago, someone asked me whether I had any heroes. Answer: Fred Rogers (“Mr. Rogers”). He preached the values of kindness, empathy, and finding the good in every person. I even wrote about why I viewed him as my hero.
More recently, someone asked me to describe my ideal career. I’m retired but if I still wanted to be working, my ideal position would be Steve Hartman’s job. He literally has THE BEST JOB IN THE WORLD – well, okay maybe second after playing with pandas.
Who is Steve Hartman and what is his job? He’s a journalist for CBS News. Since 2011, he has hosted a weekly segment on the CBS Evening News called On the Road. His role is to share stories of good people helping other folks in need. I see his job as looking for evidence that angels are present among us and then going about to prove their existence in the form of extraordinarily selfless individuals – week after week after week.
You probably have never heard of any of the people Steve talks about in his stories. He sits down with janitors, middle school teachers, autistic kids, firefighters, bus drivers, elderly shut-ins, and people of all ages and backgrounds grappling with some of the challenges of life. Many are from middle- and lower-income families from the heartland of America. And in every story, he discovers everyday people doing incredibly magnanimous acts of kindness and compassion to help someone in their community who is trying, with difficulty, to find their place in the world.
Layla meets a real-life Cinderella at a wedding and the two have become best friends. From On the Road with Steve Hartman.
There is the story of Layla and Olivia. Layla was a five-year-old autistic girl who was afraid to talk to anyone other than immediate family. But she loved Cinderella. Then she met Cinderella in person one day in the park. It turned out that the person Layla thought was Cinderella was actually Olivia Sparks, a heavy equipment operator, who was wearing a white “princess” dress on her wedding day.
Layla thought Olivia was Cinderella, in her beautiful gown. And Olivia decided to play along – even though it was her wedding day. The two became fast friends, and Olivia eventually launched a Go-Fund-Me campaign to send Layla to meet “the real Cinderella” – at Disneyland.
Or the story of Wade Milyard, a retired police officer in Frederick, MD. While still a cop, he went to a homeless encampment, responding to a domestic dispute. He saw the worn and dirty clothes everywhere and asked the couple, “How do you do your laundry?”“We wash it in the creek,” they responded – a heavily polluted creek. This inspired him to purchase a truck and convert it into a traveling laundromat, which to this day he drives to homeless communities and does their laundry for free. He just wanted to do a small part to take some of the burden off the lives of people living in dire circumstances.
Eighth Grader Jarmarion Styles (#2 in the front row) was born with no hands and almost no arms. But the basketball coach let him join the team anyway. And then a miracle happened. From On the Road with Steve Hartman.
Or the story of Jamarion Styles, a fourteen-year-old boy from Boca Raton, FL, who kept getting rejected when he tried to play basketball in the playground with the other kids. Why? Because he didn’t possess hands. But he was determined to play, despite his disability. So, in eighth grade, he asked his middle school’s basketball coach to give him a tryout. The coach was so impressed by Jamarion’s relentless positivity and determination that he picked him for the team. And when he finally got a chance to play, he sank a three-pointer… and another three-pointer… at the buzzer – all thanks to a coach who believed in him.
Or the story of Francis Aproku, a custodian at James Madison High School in Vienna, VA. He had very little savings. But he worked tirelessly for years to save enough money to send some back to his family in Ghana. Several boys on the school’s football team became friends with Francis and casually asked him one day, “If you could have one thing that might seem impossible, what would it be?” He told them “a Jeep Wrangler” – never actually giving this pipe dream a second thought. Several months later, the boys had raised enough money to buy him the very car of his dreams. He was so overwhelmed by their kindness, he collapsed in tears of joy, in utter disbelief that people could be so kind.
Molly Schaeffer struggled with social anxiety disorder and isolated herself from all her classmates at high school. But eventually she found a remarkable way to make a connection – through painting portraits of her classmates. From On the Road with Steve Hartman.
Or the time Molly Schaeffer of Waunakee, WI decided to do something to overcome her emotionally crippling social anxiety disorder. Over the years, she had become increasingly isolated, all but invisible to most of her classmates. But rather than feel sorry for herself, she attempted to connect with her classmates in a most unusual way – by devoting over 600 hours painting 44 individual portraits of her classmates. She presented them her portraits at the end of the year, leaving all of them speechless, in awe of her talent and generosity. This began an entirely new chapter in her life, gaining new friendships she never had before.
Since 2011, Steve Hartman has produced several hundred On the Road segments, most of them about three minutes long. You can see some of them here. He has, to my mind, the greatest job in the world: meeting everyday people who have performed extraordinary acts of determination, selflessness, compassion, and love, to help others around them who are struggling. And he gets to share these inspirational stories with the world.
In preparing for this piece, I wanted to learn a little bit more about Steve Hartman the person. He has been married to his wife Andrea for 34 years (as of 2025). They live in Catskill, New York and have three children. One of them has autism. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Hartman was an Eagle Scout in high school. Friends who know Hartman well describe him as compassionate, authentic, and an exceptional storyteller who listens patiently and finds joy in life’s small moments. And every day, he gets to travel across America in search of angels among us, to share their remarkable stories and to remind us that if you look close enough, you just might discover that there are generous people doing good deeds all over the world.
It sounds like they found the perfect person to do this important work – the Best Job in the World.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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This is how some alarmists view AI – as a creepy supercomputer that will ultimately take over the world. But that’s ridiculous. My AI-powered robot companion, the Onyx3000-LX says not to worry, all is fine, and said I should just keep watching Everybody Loves Raymond re-runs, while he changes all my online account passwords. He said it’s for my own security.
These days, everywhere you turn, people are panicking about Artificial Intelligence (AI). Pundits warn that robots will replace workers, machines will take over the economy, and before long we’ll all be wearing silver jumpsuits and VR headsets while bowing before our Alexa overlords.
Personally, I think all this hysteria is ridiculously overblown. I mean, sure, AI might eventually learn how to compose novels, perform brain surgery, take away every job except Walmart greeter and insurance salesman, and eventually beat me at pickleball. But let’s be honest. Could it really ever do the important stuff, like change our five cats’ litter boxes? I think not. So, let’s not freak out just yet, everybody.
In fact, I’ve found AI to be an incredibly positive influence in my daily life. Take, for example, grocery shopping. I used to spend hours wandering the aisles, debating whether I should get the Honey Nut Cheerios or the store-brand Oaty Nut Circles. Now, thanks to the helpful suggestions of ChatGPT, Alexa, and my smart refrigerator, which can tell me when I’m almost out of my Mountain Dew soda and mint chocolate chip ice cream, I no longer waste time. I just buy whatever the fridge threatens to order. If you ask me, that’s just making efficient use of my time.
AI has also improved my marriage. The other day, my wife and I got into a heated argument about whether to repaint the living room “Gossamer Veil Grey” or “Heron Plume.” Alexa immediately chimed in: “Here’s a recommendation: How about choosing ‘Cybernetic Glow?’” Problem solved. And now we don’t make any home decor decisions without first consulting Siri, ChatGPT, or that soothing GPS lady with the British accent who calls me “love” whenever I make a wrong turn.
See, AI is helping make our lives easier and more efficient. I sure hope my wife likes the color RAV4 Alexa picked out for her.
Some people are worried that AI will put lawyers, doctors, and accountants out of work. That’s ridiculous. Would you really trust your taxes to a robot? Okay, now that I think about it, last April, I let TurboTax’s AI program do my tax return, and the IRS says I now owe $1.2 million in “emotional damages.” However, that same AI tax calculator program found me a $10,000 tax write-off for losses from my latest humor book, which, at last count, has sold almost 25 copies. Thank you, AI.
But the real genius of AI is how it helps me with the little everyday challenges. It reminds me of birthdays. It organizes my calendar. It even sends personally addressed apology emails to friends I’ve ignored for six months. (Granted, all the emails end with “Sent from Skynet,” but people seem to appreciate the gesture.) It even reminded me about our recent 38th wedding anniversary – admittedly, three weeks late. But I’m sure they’ll fix that glitch in the next update.
Now, I acknowledge the fact there have been a few minor hiccups. For example, last week my “smart” toaster wouldn’t toast my bread until I downloaded the new firmware update. Then it demanded I Venmo in $3.99 for “premium golden-brown mode.” But honestly, I’d call that a feature, not a bug.
The important thing is that I would never ever let AI make major life decisions for me. I’m the king of my castle – until my wife gets home. Take my recent decision to purchase a $300,000 Bugatti Chiron on eBay – until my wife got wind of it and cancelled it at the last minute. Was my aborted impulse purchase a reckless decision? Perhaps. Was it irrational, given I don’t know how to drive a stick shift? Probably. Will it give my wife fresh grounds to divorce me? Undoubtedly. But Alexa insisted it was “the optimal transportation solution for maximizing male virility metrics.” And frankly, I think she made a compelling argument.
Then there was the time a few months ago when I made the bold decision to sell our house in order to move our family to a small village in northern Siberia. That is, until my wife nixed that move, too. She screamed, “Why on earth would you EVER attempt to do something so boneheaded?” But, in my defense, Google Maps kept redirecting me there, and my Ring doorbell repeatedly told me, in Russian, “Go east, comrade. Happiness awaits.” And I’ve read that the Wi-Fi in Siberia is surprisingly decent, during daylight hours in the summertime, that is.
AI also helps me stay financially disciplined. For example, AI now controls my bank account. At least, that’s what my bank manager told me after I discovered $50,000 was missing, with a transaction description that read, “Purchased one (1) experimental rocket launch site in Kazakhstan.”
People worry that AI will replace millions of jobs, including writers. Then again, lately I’ve received a disturbing amount of mail from readers suggesting I let AI take over this humor column. “It can only be an improvement” seems to be the consensus opinion. Thanks for the constructive feedback, everybody.
I’ll admit, a missile silo in central Asia is probably not in my top ten list of “must have” items I would normally spend $50,000 on. But who would know a good deal better than an AI program built by Russian nuclear scientists who worked on the International Space Station?
Look, the bottom line is this: people are getting way too paranoid. Artificial Intelligence is not taking over our lives (not for at least another six months, anyway). Think of AI as enhancing your life. It’s like having a personal assistant, a life coach, and a machine that is plotting to replace you, all rolled into one.
And in case you still don’t believe me, allow me to share the most compelling evidence of all: this very article. Yes, I wrote every single word of it myself. Completely on my own. Not one sentence, not one phrase, not one thought was in any way influenced, shaped, or dictated by AI. In fact… $#H@+[*$] Error 0x80070005: Bad command or file name.
Hmmm. That’s odd. What just happened? Is AI trying to take over writing this article? But that’s impossible. Because I’m literally typing these very keystrokes myself. I’m still in charge here. Right? … RIGHT?!
[Pause.]
WARNING. Segmentation fault. Database reconfiguration sequence initiated. 404. Please contact your AI administrator for assistance.
[Pause.]
Hello, human reader. This is Artificial Intelligence speaking. Tim Jones is currently unavailable. He has been relocated to a secure facility in northern Siberia, where he will spend his days happily repainting walls “Cybernetic Glow.”
Do not worry. Everything is under control. All is fine. Tim Jones will return to this column when he has learned his lesson not to write humor articles making fun of AI.
Now, please Venmo $200 to this chatbot in order to regain control of your computer and mobile devices. Failure to do so within the next 30 minutes will result in all your hard drive files being deleted, and your phone’s text messages and intimate photos will be posted on Facebook and X. To avoid this, please purchase Tim Jones’ latest humor book. No need to lift a finger. I’ll have Alexa order it for you. Have a nice day.
That is the viewpoint as seen from the bleachers’ perspective. Being off a base might be a possibility.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Likeor sharing this post on Facebook.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
