Notes from My Journal:

Wednesday and Friday evenings at my private Cigar Club in Delray Beach are always good but never the same. And that’s probably because the people that drop by for a chat have so many different interests and experiences. 
 
The number of people that show up also varies considerably – from small gatherings of just five or six to pop-up parties of 40 or more. The size of the crowd depends on how many “We’re open this evening” emails I tell Gio to send out. Most of the time, the notice is restricted to my inner sanctum. Sometimes, when I’m feeling spunky, it goes out to a larger list. And sometimes, she sends out nothing at all because I’m on a deadline and planning to work late or I’m feeling like a solo sulk. (If I change my mind after she leaves, I can signal that we’re open with a little remote-control gadget I keep in my desk drawer that illuminates a string of little lights that run across the outside of the building.)
 
Last Friday was mostly an inner sanctum night, so I wasn’t expecting a big crowd. 
 
The first to arrive was R. He had emailed me earlier in the week, telling me that he had started a business using Ready, Fire, Aim for ideas and inspiration, was going to be in town for a few days, and would like to stop in and say hello. My memory, as you know, is nothing to brag about, but I did remember having several conversations with him years earlier. I remembered him as smart and ambitious. And for some reason, I mistakenly remembered him as having red hair.
 
We spent the first 15 minutes reminiscing about the old days, but I didn’t get to ask him much about his business before the “regulars” began to appear. (I gleaned that R was in the general field of direct response marketing and that he had clients, as opposed to customers, but that was about it.)
 
P, a good friend and occasional business partner for 30+ years, was my next guest. It’s always good to have one or two of my older friends around at these get-togethers – not only so they can experience the fun, but because I’m interested to see how they interact with the younger people and hear what they think of my reactions and “takeaways.” Above all, I want to know if they thought the conversations were as good or as bad as I thought they were.
 
Next was H – a young man who was delivering pizzas six months ago when he decided to drive to South Florida to volunteer to work for R, whose ideas about optimizing artificial intelligence he found exciting. H just walked into R’s office, said he wanted to work for him, and said he’d be happy to do it for free. I met H several times after he began working for R, and I had high hopes for him. His advancement was even faster than I expected. He’s currently running one of R’s many income streams. 
 
A pleasant surprise (something that has happened at least twice before with these smart, young people) was that H was accompanied by his mom and dad, who, according to H, wanted to meet me. They were both delightful and, to my chagrin, at least 10 years younger than I am. In introducing us, H told the story of how it was that knew who I was. Apparently, in his high school years, H’s father made him read books about business, wealth-building, and self-improvement. One of them – which H now swears was his favorite – was Ready, Fire, Aim.
 
Let’s see… Who else was there? 
 
Oh! Z showed up! Z is a guy I’ve known for six or eight years. I don’t know how to describe his occupation. I guess I’d say he’s a well-regarded influencer in the world of plant-based medicine, particularly the kind that Dr. Timothy Leary was interested in. Z gives lectures to doctors and psychologists, produces documentaries on his field of work, and sometimes conducts “guided experiential tours” for his clients. From what I can tell by following him on social media, he’s lately become popular with some professional athletes and movie stars and such. But he’s not letting this go to his head. He still drops by the Cigar Club when he’s in South Florida to check in with me and hang out with us ordinary people. 
 
Then B arrived. I’m sure I’ve talked to you about B before. Like Z, B’s work is multifaceted and cannot be explained with a title or in a single sentence. In his 30s, B made a fortune starting and then selling some sort of software company. Since then, he’s been consulting with and sometimes investing in software start-ups. He’s also an accomplished musician who has opened for A-level rock bands, a writer of screenplays, and a formidable opponent in debate. 
 
A few more were present, but you get the picture. The conversations that took place were lively and diverse, covering topics ranging from classic movies, to legendary comics, to politics, to the war in Iran, to the average IQs of various ethnic groups. And it wasn’t long before we were exchanging news and views about – yes, I’m going to get into it again – artificial intelligence.

Postscript: 

And now for some music written by and played by real people…

This is great. This guitarist (who I’ve seen before somewhere) upgrades Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars into a Bach fugue. It’s technically impressive. And it’s edifying. I’ve heard “Bach fugue” defined before, but it wasn’t until I listened to this short piece of music that I understood how it works.

Notes from My Journal: 

And an Unexpected Marketing Opportunity for Paradise Palms 
 
I had a visit with SA, my chiropractor, whom I haven’t seen in years. I wanted to check him out to make sure he would still be there for me when I needed him because I had just found out that Dr. B, my longtime doctor, was retiring at the too-young age of 65. I was shocked. I felt abandoned. So, I made the appointment with SA, half hoping he would look youthful and decades away from retirement and the other half hoping that, at 75, I looked better. The day came and I was happy to see that, aside from the fact that his hair had grayed, he looked vital and strong. I noticed that his appointment calendar was maxed out at four patients an hour for eight hours straight five days a week at $45 an hour. “$45 an hour! Is that all I’m paying you?” I said. “I pay my Jiu-Jitsu trainers twice as much to break my body into pieces.” 
 
My two favorite experiences at Paradise Palms, the botanical and sculpture garden I’ve been building in West Delray Beach, is seeing adults amazed by how many rare and beautiful plants we have to offer and seeing young children playing in “Kid’s Town.” Kid’s Town is a collection of a half-dozen buildings, including a school, a General Store, and three little houses that are equipped with kid-sized furniture, appliances, and other things one would expect to find in a real house but much smaller. For several years, I’ve been toying with the idea of finding someone to market Paradise Palms to groups to help pay the $500,000+ per year that it costs to keep the place open. I’d interviewed a half-dozen people, tried out one or two, but hadn’t found anyone that could move the needle. Then E appeared. She had been invited to a birthday party at Kid’s Town and decided she wanted to help us promote it. She went right to work, initially without even asking my permission. By the time I met her, she had produced a viral video that got 9,000 hits, made dozens of appointments, and sold six tours. E is a very rare bird – a person who has the rarest and most essential business skills: She’s both a Starter and a Grower (see today’s main essay, below). And if I can make the right deal with her, she’s going to put our little botanical garden (and Kid’s Town) on the map. 

Another poet I discovered recently. And another poem that has me reading poetry again.

Excelsior Fashion Products, Easter
By D. Nurkse

They pay us time and a half
and don’t dare catch us
drinking: we don’t insist,
don’t pass a bottle, but each sips
a private pint, all sitting
in the narrow room with our backs
to the center, each facing
his work – router, stain tray,
buffing wheel, drill press –
and with that sweet taste echoing
in our bones, we watch our hands
make what they always made
– rosewood handles – but now
we smile in delighted surprise
and Marchesi brings envelopes
that record a full day’s work
though it’s still noon,
processions still fill the streets,
choirs, loudspeakers bellowing,
Hallelujah: and we change
into our finest clothes in the locker room,
admiring each other’s hat brims, passing bottles
freely until all are empty, and at last
we separate in the brilliant street, each
in the direction of a different tolling bell.

About D. Nurkse 

Dennis Nurkse is an American poet known for his profound explorations of personal and political themes. He was born to Estonian parents who escaped Nazi Europe During World War II. His father worked for the League of Nations, and his mother was an artist.

He has won numerous awards for his poetry, including grants from the NEA. He has also worked for human rights organizations, and was elected to the board of directors of Amnesty International USA. (Source: Poetry Foundation)

When robotic hands move past human anatomy, they don’t just use tools they become the tool.

The Linkerbot L30 can tighten and loosen different types of screws in seconds. It is biometric, tendon-driven, and uses adaptive grasping, all of which allow it to have the same or better flexibility in comparison to a human hand.

Watch it in action here.

During a recent festival in Beijing, a group of very talented young martial artists performed a spectacular dance in perfect synchronization with a group of elaborately costumed humanoid robots.

Is this real or AI? What do you think?

In this video, impressionist Jim Meskimen performs the classic Jackson Browne song “The Pretender” in a variety of celebrity voices, including Christopher Walken, Robert De Niro, Joe Pesci, Ian McKellen, Colin Firth, George W. Bush, and Burgess Meredith.

And here it is performed by Jackson Browne himself.

A Quick Essay on Negotiating and a Fun Video

This is another effort to put together a mini-issue for you that is (a) worth reading, and (b) able to be read in less than five minutes.*

(* I looked it up. The average reading speed for English-speaking adults is 250 words per minute. This issue is about 1100 words long.)

An Essay and a Poem You Should Read

This is the first of what may become a regular production of short posts – mostly about 500 words – which the average American should be able to read in about two minutes.

As a long-striving poet of mediocre verse, I read poetry regularly – every day, if I can – to improve my ear, if not my brain. For the last 15 or 20 years, however – and with a few notable exceptions – I’ve been disappointed with the quality of American verse. It often strikes me as calculated and self-conscious. More clever than true. Recently, however, I’ve been seeing a new style of poetry emerging – one that feels more honest and stronger. I haven’t a name for it yet, but it is more informed by Charles Bukowski than TS Eliot. (Not that there’s anything wrong with Eliot). I hope you can get a sense of what I mean with this poem by Hayden Carruth, which captures one of those rare moments when we know we are perfect.

Scrambled Eggs and Whiskey
By Hayden Carruth

Scrambled eggs and whiskey
in the false-dawn light. Chicago,
a sweet town, bleak, God knows,
but sweet. Sometimes. And
weren’t we fine tonight?
When Hank set up that limping
treble roll behind me
my horn just growled and I
thought my heart would burst.
And Brad M. pressing with the
soft stick, and Joe-Anne
singing low. Here we are now
in the White Tower, leaning
on one another, too tired
to go home. But don’t say a word,
don’t tell a soul, they wouldn’t
understand, they couldn’t, never
in a million years, how fine,
how magnificent we were
in that old club tonight.