A New Preacher in Town

“Every belief begins as a story. Some just forget their stories.”

There’s a new preacher in town. No pulpit. No collection plate. No threat of eternal punishment for questioning the storyline.

You’ll find Peter most nights on the corner of Brightway & Beaumont, spreading the good word and a few aromatic sensations, reminding passersby that morality doesn’t require fear, and happiness doesn’t need permission.

Peter doesn’t preach obedience. He preaches awareness.

See, religion, like most things, started as a campfire story. A way to explain the dark, the unknown, the things we couldn’t yet measure or understand. Some stories were comforting. Some were cautionary. Some were clearly invented by a guy who didn’t like women, fun, or plants.

And somewhere along the way, those stories stopped being metaphors and started being mandates.

That’s where Peter clears his throat.

According to the Aitken Version, marijuana is neither sinful nor immoral. It doesn’t make you cruel. It doesn’t make you violent. It doesn’t make you judgmental. In fact, if anything, it tends to do the opposite, lower the volume on ego and raise the volume on empathy.

Which is awkward… because empathy was supposed to be the point.

Peter doesn’t tell you what to believe. He just asks better questions:

Does this belief make you kinder? Does it help you live alongside others without needing to control them? Or does it just make you feel superior while doing absolutely nothing for the world?

Because if your faith requires laws, cages, or shame to function, Peter suggests that’s not holiness, it’s insecurity wearing a robe.

The Book of Peter doesn’t have commandments carved in stone. It has suggestions scribbled in the margins:

Be decent.

Mind your business.

Stop confusing discomfort with sin.

Let people live their damn lives.

Peter knows some people prefer wine. Some prefer weed. Some prefer neither and raw-dog reality like absolute psychopaths. All are welcome. None are judged.

So if you see smoke curling into the night air near Brightway & Beaumont, don’t panic. No souls are being corrupted. No morals are being lost. No gods are being challenged.

Just a pragmatic man and his dog sitting pondering a modern campfire, choosing joy over fear, curiosity over control, and kindness over dogma.

And if there is a god? Peter suspects they’re less offended than their fan club.

Prayers, Good Vibes, and the Performance of Caring

Anytime something bad happens, locally or globally, it lands on social media within minutes. And honestly? That part doesn’t bother me.

People grieve differently. Some need to talk. Some need to vent. Some need to feel less alone. And news outlets? Social media is basically their second newsroom now. None of that is surprising. What does get under my skin is the flood of comments that immediately follow:

“Sending prayers.”

“Praying for you.”

“Prayers for the families.”

“Prayers for first responders.”

Now listen… if you pray, cool. Truly. No one should stop you or shame you for it. Faith is personal, and I respect that.

But here’s the uncomfortable question nobody wants to ask: How many of those people are actually praying?

Like… genuinely stopping what they’re doing. Dropping to their knees. Hands together. Intentional thought. A real moment of reflection or connection.

Because typing “sending prayers” while standing in line at Target or scrolling on the toilet isn’t prayer. It’s a comment.

And when hundreds of people say they’re praying, but aren’t, it becomes no different than any other empty promise we casually toss around every day.

As a society, we’ve accepted the gesture without the action. The appearance of compassion without the effort of it.

And that’s the part that feels dishonest.

I’m not religious. So if something happens to me, praying for me, or saying you’ll pray for me, doesn’t really land. I’d honestly rather you send good vibes. But even that has the same problem.

Because “sending good vibes” is often just another phrase people use to signal that they’re participating in the moment, without actually doing anything meaningful.

It’s not prayer.

It’s not energy.

It’s not support.

It’s words.

Words designed to make the person typing them feel like they contributed. Like they helped. Like they checked the “I care” box for the day.

And I get it..: most people don’t know what to say when tragedy hits. Silence feels wrong. Doing nothing feels worse.

But maybe the answer isn’t louder words. Maybe it’s honesty.

Say: “This breaks my heart.” “I don’t know what to say, but I’m thinking about you.” Or, wild idea, actually do something. Reach out. Check in. Show up.

Because compassion isn’t measured by how fast you comment or how many praying-hand emojis you use. It’s measured by sincerity.

And right now, social media is overflowing with performances of care… while real empathy quietly gets drowned out in the noise.

Life is already chaotic enough. We don’t need to add hollow comfort to the list.

WV PEIA: Insurance That Doesn’t Insure Health—Just Delays Relief

Let’s get something straight right out of the gate:

WV PEIA does not insure health.

They insure hesitation. They insure delay. They insure the hope that if you wait long enough, you’ll either give up or learn to live with pain.

And honestly? They’re very good at it.

PEIA hates done care

Preventative care? Fine.

Routine visits? Sure.

But done care, you know, care that actually fixes a problem instead of endlessly managing it? That’s where PEIA starts clutching its pearls.

Spine surgery. Structural repair. Long-term solutions. Suddenly it’s all “Have you tried suffering longer?”

They love treatments that: Are temporary. Need to be repeated. Kick the can down the road.

Injections? Approved.

PT forever? Absolutely.

Actually fixing the problem? Whoa there, cowboy.

You’re discouraged from using the insurance you pay for. PEIA technically exists to provide coverage, but their real specialty is making you feel like you’re doing something wrong by asking for it.

Need advanced care?

You’ll be buried under: Prior authorizations. Documentation requirements. Appeals & Denials worded just politely enough to still feel like a slap.

The message is clear: “We’re not saying no… we’re just making this so difficult you stop asking.”

They make you feel guilty for being sick or injured

This one’s personal. If your condition is labeled “degenerative,” PEIA treats it like a character flaw.

Wear and tear?

Aging spine?

Long-term damage from physically demanding work or life?

Apparently that’s on you.

Never mind that:

Degeneration causes real pain Degeneration causes nerve damage Degeneration doesn’t magically stop because insurance says it’s “normal”

You’re made to feel like needing care is somehow indulgent…: as if you’re asking for luxury healthcare instead of basic function.

“Medical necessity” as a weapon. PEIA loves the phrase medical necessity the way villains love monologues.

They don’t use it to determine care. They use it to deny care.

Case in point: I was given five criteria to meet in order to appeal a denied surgery.

I met four out of five.

FOUR. OUT. OF. FIVE.

Denied anyway.

Among the criteria I did meet:

Proximity to provider. Established relationship with provider. Failed conservative care.

(And yes, failed care means PT, injections, and time. Lots of time.)

What did PEIA say? Nope. Still not good enough. So let’s be honest, this was never about criteria. It was about cost avoidance.

They charge you for “being insured” and then don’t count your payments

Here’s where it gets even more outrageous: I met my deductible 100%. I even have the receipts to prove it. Yet PEIA continued billing me, claiming I “didn’t meet my deductible.” Why? Because apparently, I was “technically in-network but out of state.”

Translation: all the money I already paid… doesn’t count.

Where did it go? Who cashed it? Certainly not toward the care I needed. Certainly not toward my deductible. Just vanished into the bureaucratic void, like some fancy magic trick.

This isn’t just incompetence, it’s a scam disguised as policy.

PEIA doesn’t insure health, they insure delay!

Here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud: PEIA’s model works best when:

People put off care. People manage pain instead of fixing it. People eventually stop trying.

They don’t measure success by recovery.

They measure it by how long they can delay paying for meaningful treatment. And for teachers, public employees, and families who depend on this coverage?

That delay isn’t abstract. It’s physical. It’s emotional. It’s exhausting.

Healthcare shouldn’t feel like a moral failing. Needing treatment shouldn’t feel like a negotiation.

And insurance shouldn’t act like it’s doing you a favor by barely showing up.

WV PEIA doesn’t protect health. It protects budgets. And the people paying the price?

They’re the ones just trying to feel normal again.

Do Not Confuse Problems With Inconveniences

Somewhere along the way, we started calling every minor disruption a problem. The coffee order was wrong? Problem. The Wi-Fi is slow? Problem. You had to wait five whole minutes? Crisis. No.

That’s not a problem. That’s an inconvenience, and your life will, in fact, continue.

A problem is something that genuinely impacts your health, safety, livelihood, or well-being. A problem changes the trajectory of your life. It demands action, adjustment, or resilience. It doesn’t disappear if you sigh loudly or complain to strangers on the internet.

An inconvenience is just life tapping you on the shoulder saying, “Hey, adapt real quick.”

Why We Get This Twisted

We live in an on-demand world. Everything is fast, instant, and customized. So when something doesn’t go exactly as planned, it feels personal. Like the universe looked at your day and chose violence.

But here’s the truth: Life isn’t attacking you. It’s just… being life.

When we treat inconveniences like problems, we waste emotional energy, patience, and perspective. We start reacting instead of responding. And suddenly, small stuff feels heavy, exhausting, and overwhelming.

That’s not strength, that’s burnout in yoga pants.

The Cost of Confusing the Two

When every inconvenience is labeled a problem: Stress levels skyrocket. Gratitude quietly exits the building. Perspective gets replaced by frustration. Real problems don’t get the attention they deserve.

You can’t solve real issues when you’re emotionally drained by things that don’t matter tomorrow…. like not getting your party of eight sat immediately at the restaurant during peak hours!

Reframing the Moment

Next time something goes sideways, ask yourself: Will this matter next week? Does this require a solution or just patience? Is this uncomfortable… or actually harmful?

If the answer is patience, congratulations, you’re not facing a problem. You’re being asked to grow up emotionally for about 10 minutes.

Real Problems Deserve Real Focus

Save your energy for the things that truly matter: Your health. Your relationships. Your integrity. Your future. Those are worth the stress, the planning, and the fight.

The rest? That’s just life being mildly annoying. And honestly… it’s kind of good practice.

Because if you can stay calm through inconveniences, you’ll be unstoppable when real problems show up.

Where Did Public Etiquette Go?

I was sitting in a doctor’s office the other day. Large waiting room. Nearly 30 empty seats. Three people total, including myself.

Two more people walked in. They saw me. They had to pass me to check in.

While waiting, a woman across the room dropped her papers. She was in a wheelchair, so I got up to help her, because that’s what decent humans do.

I turned around to return to my seat and… it was gone.

The two new arrivals had taken it.

Not because there was no other option.

Not because the room was full.

But because awareness and basic courtesy seem to be optional these days.

I didn’t say anything. I sat elsewhere. But I wanted to say, I wasn’t aware we were playing musical chairs!

But the woman I helped made eye contact with me, shook her head, and said everything without saying a word.

Public spaces used to come with unspoken rules…. awareness, patience, respect for others. Somewhere along the way, those rules were replaced with entitlement and tunnel vision.

Kindness shouldn’t cost you your seat.

And decency shouldn’t be this rare.

Intelligence, Common Sense, and the Lie of “Feels Like”

We can all agree on one universal truth:

There are very intelligent people in the world… and there are people who make you question how warning labels became necessary.

Now here’s the twist, high intelligence does not automatically come with good decision-making or even basic common sense. Some of the smartest people I’ve met couldn’t navigate a grocery store without permanent emotional damage.

There are ways to make yourself smarter…. reading, questioning, thinking critically, learning how things actually work. And then there are ways to slowly sabotage your own intelligence.

Which brings me to my annual winter rage-inducer: weather reports.

The Weather Channel. Weather apps.

Local forecasts delivered with the confidence of someone who has never been held accountable. Weather people are fascinating and should be studied. They are often wrong, always vague, and somehow completely immune to job insecurity. If I was wrong that often at my job, I’d be replaced by a cardboard cutout. (Wait, this can be re-visited later)

But the phrase that really sends me spiraling is this:

“It feels like 20 degrees.”

First of all, what does that even mean? If it feels like 20 degrees… then it’s cold. Congratulations. You’ve described cold.

But it is not 20 degrees. “Feels like” is not temperature. It’s a vibe, a cold one at that but not an actual temp!

Wind chill, humidity, cloud cover, these are real factors, yes. But they do not rewrite physics. Temperature is temperature. It’s measurable. It’s factual. It’s not based on how dramatic your face gets when you step outside.

Let’s take this nonsense back to science class for a second.

Water freezes at 32°F. Water boils at 212°F. Not feels like 32. Not resembles 212. So if it “feels like” 32 degrees and your water isn’t freezing… maybe, just maybe, it’s because it’s not actually 32 degrees.

Wild concept, I know.

Imagine telling a scientist:

“Well, the water feels like it should be boiling.” Cool story. Still not boiling.

So why don’t we just do this instead: If it’s 20 degrees, say it’s 20 degrees. If wind chill makes it miserable, explain why it’s miserable, don’t rename reality.

Because when water is boiling, the temperature is 212 degrees.

It doesn’t feel like it. It is.

And confusing perception with fact is a great way to stay confidently wrong.

The Great Orange Juice Quest

I’ve been a Simply Orange – High Pulp guy for as long as I can remember. Loyal. Committed. Ride-or-die. It was my go-to. My fridge staple. My breakfast MVP. Then… I went out of town.

Enter First Watch.

One innocent breakfast later and my entire orange juice belief system was shattered. The OJ they serve there?

Unreal. Fresh. Bright. Explosive flavor. The kind of juice that makes you pause mid-sip like, “Wait… what have I been drinking my whole life?”

Since that morning, I’ve been on an unhinged, slightly obsessive quest to find an orange juice that delivers that same wow factor. And look… Simply Orange is still very good. Respect where respect is due. But compared to First Watch? It’s like listening to a recording after hearing the band live.

Naturally, I took my mission to the internet and compiled a list of “top-tier” orange juices:

Natalie’s Orchard Island

Simply Orange (my current benchmark)

Uncle Matt’s Organic OJ (added calcium… not my vibe)

Tropicana

Florida’s Natural

365 Everyday Value

Here’s the plot twist… Every single one of them is no pulp. Now this threw me. I like pulp. I’ve always been Team Pulp.

But now I’m wondering, does pulp actually change the flavor? Does it mute the brightness? Is pulp just… emotional support fiber? I don’t know. But for the sake of science, and finding the best damn orange juice on the planet, I’m willing to step outside my pulpy comfort zone.

The Big Question: Can store-bought orange juice ever truly compete with the freshness of restaurant-level, fresh-squeezed OJ? Because let’s be honest:

Fresh squeezed hits different. Shelf life kills vibes. Pasteurization steals souls (probably) Still, hope remains.

The Mission Continues, the search officially begins.

Somewhere out there is an orange juice that can rival, or at least flirt aggressively with, that First Watch magic. And honestly? I blame First Watch for this entirely.

They introduced me to a level of flavor I can’t un-know. I won’t rest. I won’t settle. And my refrigerator will continue to host a rotating cast of orange juice contenders until the one is found.

Stay tuned. This is no longer breakfast. This is a juice journey.

When “Not a Good Fit” Really Means “I Didn’t Want to Work”

Owning a business means hearing the same story on repeat.

“Why’d you leave your last job?”

“It wasn’t a good fit.” “The environment was toxic.” “Management wasn’t great.”

Funny how everyone worked in a nightmare… yet somehow those businesses are still open.

Meanwhile, I look around at my own place and watch my dad, my sister, and myself doing jobs that, anywhere else would be the employee’s responsibility. Cleaning. Stocking. Fixing. Resetting. Closing gaps. Picking up slack.

Not here though. Here, we just do it all.

Why? Because we bought into that dangerous little saying: “If you want it done right, do it yourself.”

We didn’t start this way. We trained. And trained again. We wrote memos. We made checklists.

We re-trained, re-explained, re-reminded. And what do we get?

A few people standing around chatting.

Scrolling phones.

Waiting to be told.

Waiting for someone else to care.

I suppose if we actually held people accountable, if we made everyone do their job, our place wouldn’t be “a good fit” either. Maybe it would suddenly become “toxic” too.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:

This problem exists because we allow it. Not because we’re bad people. Not because we don’t care. But because somewhere along the way, we confused being understanding with being responsible for everything.

So now the real question isn’t about them. It’s this: How long can we sustain the long hours, the constant coverage, doing other people’s jobs and trying to run the business?

How long before burnout becomes the business model?

Only time will tell.

And right now… I’m not convinced it has good news.

Patriotism Without Blindfolds

The past several days, I’ve been paying close attention to the news….local, national, global. And what I’m seeing doesn’t sit right with me.

Let me be clear before anyone starts foaming at the mouth:

I’m 100% American. I vote, even though some days it feels more symbolic than impactful. I support our government, even when I don’t agree with its tactics. And I will defend this country against anyone, foreign or domestic, who seeks to do it harm.

That said… loving your country doesn’t mean pretending everything it does is noble.

What’s disturbing to me is this: it feels like the United States is always first through the door, bombs loaded, while the rest of the world watches from the sidelines. We’re constantly inserting ourselves into conflicts, storming into other countries, toppling leaders, “restoring order,” and somehow acting surprised when chaos follows.

Meanwhile, most major world powers aren’t openly policing the globe in the same way. Yes, there are ongoing global conflicts. Yes, terrorist organizations exist and deserve exactly zero sympathy. But it’s hard to ignore the pattern: the U.S. is always involved, always escalating, always paying the price later… financially, morally, and with blood.

And now, at home, we’re hearing rhetoric that’s just as unsettling. When governors start talking in ways that sound more like separation than cooperation, when the idea of activating the National Guard or cutting ties is even floated, it should terrify all of us. That language doesn’t lead to unity. It leads to fractures.

Here’s the part no one wants to say out loud: Politicians created this mess.

Decades of leadership…. presidents, governors, senators on both sides, have fueled distrust, division, and hatred while padding their own pockets. They’ve convinced us the enemy is our neighbor instead of the system that keeps them wealthy and untouchable.

Now we’re left with offices filled with dishonest, self-serving politicians. People so convinced they’re morally right that what citizens actually need gets buried under party loyalty and personal gain.

I’m not anti-war. I understand wars happen. I’m grateful to live in a country that is militarily superior. That strength has kept us safe more than once.

But I’m starting to believe many modern wars aren’t about defense, they’re about profit. Manufactured chaos that benefits politicians, defense contractors, and corporations, while everyday people pay the price. The “little people” fight. The powerful people cash checks.

This isn’t the 1800s anymore. Civil war isn’t an answer… it’s a fantasy fueled by anger and ignorance. A so-called governmental “cleanse” would only give us new faces playing the same corrupt game. Same incentives. Same outcomes.

So what’s the fix?

Inflation. Terrorism. Violent protests. Political hatred. Complete distrust in leadership.

There’s no single savior coming. No perfect candidate waiting in the wings. If we’re being honest, the last several commanders in chief, Republican, Democrat, Independent, have all failed in different ways. They argue nonstop, but agree on one thing: how to benefit themselves.

The truth is uncomfortable: You don’t fix a broken system by swapping out the faces running it.

You fix it by changing what the system rewards.

More accountability. More transparency. Less corporate influence. Fewer career politicians. Stronger local communities. Leadership that serves people instead of exploiting division.

I don’t hate America. I hate watching it be used.

And if that makes me unpatriotic in some people’s eyes, so be it. I’d argue real patriotism means caring enough to speak up… without blindfolds, without party loyalty, and without pretending everything is fine when it clearly isn’t.

The Importance of Taking (and Passing) the ASVAB — Even If You’re Not Joining the Military

The ASVAB, Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, often gets dismissed as “that military test.” You know, the one you only take if you plan on wearing a uniform and waking up before the sun on purpose.

But let’s be honest, based on what many of us see daily in the civilian workforce, maybe more people should take it.

Because if you’ve ever watched someone struggle to determine which end of a screwdriver actually does the screwing or how to work a tv remote … this conversation is for you.

What the ASVAB Actually Measures (And Why That Matters)

Contrary to popular belief, the ASVAB isn’t asking you to memorize fighter jet schematics or identify enemy aircraft from 30,000 feet. It measures basic, functional life skills:

Arithmetic reasoning – The ability to do math without staring at the ceiling like the numbers betrayed you. Word knowledge & paragraph comprehension – Understanding written instructions. Yes, the entire sentence. Mechanical comprehension – How things work. Or at minimum, which end of the screwdriver you should be holding. General science & technical reasoning – The ability to learn new systems without needing a tutorial video… every time.

None of this is military-exclusive. It’s adult-exclusive.

The Service Industry Reality Check

The service industry doesn’t need more “hard workers.”

It needs thinkers.

Because working a shift isn’t just carrying plates or pouring drinks…. it’s:

Making change without short-circuiting. Reading a ticket correctly the first time. Understanding that “medium rare” and “medium well” are not interchangeable concepts. Troubleshooting equipment without immediately declaring, “It’s broken,” five seconds in.

And yet, here we are… watching people aggressively attack the buttons on a remote control like it owes them money.

The ASVAB highlights whether someone can: Process information. Recognize patterns. Solve problems under pressure. Learn without being spoon-fed every step.

Which is wild, because those are the exact skills required to survive a Friday night rush.

Taking the Test vs. Passing the Test

Taking the ASVAB means you showed up. Passing it means you demonstrated baseline competence, the ability to learn, adapt, and function without supervision every 12 seconds.

No one’s asking for genius-level scores. We’re just trying to confirm that:

You can follow directions. You can problem-solve. You won’t attempt to fix equipment by hitting it and hoping for the best. (Although… that does work sometimes. But still.)

Why This Should Matter to Civilians

We trust civilians, especially in service industries, to: Handle money. Operate equipment. Represent businesses. Interact with the public.

Yet we act shocked when basic reasoning skills are missing.

The ASVAB doesn’t judge intelligence, it reveals readiness. And readiness is everything.

The ASVAB shouldn’t be viewed as a military gatekeeper. It’s a reality check.

If a test designed to place people in submarines, aircraft, and high-risk environments values comprehension, reasoning, and mechanical understanding… maybe civilian workplaces should stop pretending those skills are optional.

Because confidence is great…. but knowing which end of the screwdriver to use is better.