For those who don't believe in #foundpoetry or #erasures, the Scantron machine in the adjunct office broke. Someone wrote a warning on the whiteboard. Then it got fixed, and someone replaced the warning with:

"Scantron seems to
have been fixed."

Then it broke again, and people started erasing:

I'm like, "With all the AI BS on the internet right now, I won't believe it unless I see it with my own eyes. Surely ChatGPT can get something as simple as counting letters right, right?"

Nope.

I'm feeling like I need to make her a Krypto costume before @loscon.bsky.social 51. But I don't think they sell dog memberships...

Because there's been some confusion, here is a pi chart:

Let us not forget the late 1970s, when this creature roamed the halls of the White House.

THEM: Why aren't you getting any writing done?

ME: I have no idea. (Plays his 12,000th game of Solitaire.)

I could provide context, but what would be the fun in that?

You asked for it...

So, I'm part of an online writers' community that occasionally does motivational challenges. A recent one resulted in me composing a concrete poem and, well, I have no clue where I even *might* publish it, so here it is, world, for free:

Does anyone happen to know what might be causing a schnauzer to turn purple?

Apropos of nothing, do you ever feel judged by a dog?

Scored a much-coveted square in Whovian Bingo last night. I got to see Bonnie Langford live on stage in Old Friends at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles.

If you love Sondheim, the show is great. Bonnie Langford deserves a Tony for her work.

It's here until March 9, then transferring to NY.