USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving. Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free. I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these." "They just come with the table, man." They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner. This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat. I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared. "Did we…?" "Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless." Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined. My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude." Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man. I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy. Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived. I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most. Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.

Leading The Way. 🏁🏎️

My forecast thoughts this morning..plus a couple scenarios..still think there’s an opportunity between peak storm times (late AM, late afternoon)..I’ll get several more inputs of model data today, so we’ll update this again tonight..and then again very early Sun morning #Indy500

Jim Furyk accepting the 2027 Ryder Cup captaincy is the golf equivalent of that scene in an action movie when the grizzled ex-operative is sitting on his porch, finally at peace, when a black SUV rolls up the gravel drive. Furyk doesn't even turn around. "No." The suit gets out anyway. "It's Adare Manor. We're sending you in." Furyk takes a pull from his beer. "I already did my tour. You know how that went," as he stares off into the distance, the camera cutting to a yellowed NYT newspaper with the infamous interview on his desk. The suit slides a dossier across the railing. "Bethpage was a disaster. Morale is gone. Half the roster won't return our calls. You're the only one they'll follow into Ireland." You can see it in Furyk's eyes — the math of a man who knows this is almost certainly going to end badly, who remembers exactly how cold the Atlantic wind gets on foreign soil. He knows nobody else is walking through that door. He also knows this Hail Mary is the only thing that can free him from the past. Furyk picks up the folder, seeing a photo of a smiling Luke Donald shopping for shampoo and a headline announcing Patrick Reed is back in form. Furyk goes to his shed, takes off the tarp from his captain golf cart. "One more thing," the suit says. "Bryson is thinking about being a full-time YouTuber." Furyk laughs. "Good. For a second I was thinking this was going to be too easy."

Cormac McCarthy’s estate is auctioning off his 1995 Lotus Esprit S4S on Hagerty Marketplace, if you’re interested. 18k miles. Highest bid is currently $2,600 (I expect it to go a good deal higher, of course). Close of auction is April 27th.

Who uses word???? Serious question. Since Google docs came out that is all I used, who is paying to write word documents?