Well, we are dog sitting this morning, as Michelle and family are off to Oli’s high school graduation. For reasons unknown, Montgomety County high schools are all holding their graduations in Baltimore this year, and Michelle didn’t want Zeke to wonder where everyone was while he was locked up in his cage. In fact, graduation is also being streamed, and I asked Zeke if he wanted to watch. He gave me his “are you kidding me?” look and just walked away to the closest window.

Speaking of high school graduations, mine was on June 6, 1960. Maybe someone remembers it better than I do. Everything I write about may be fiction, but I recall it as a two part event. The first part was called baccalaureate. AI tells me that a baccalaureate ceremony is an “intimate, reflective” ceremony held a day or two before graduation. I don’t remember it that way, and I don’t even remember if we got our diplomas there or at graduation, but I remember we participated in some sort of procession at the baccalaureate ceremony, I think in cap and gown. I was paired in the ceremony and the preceding rehearsals (we marched by twos) with Linda Weissman (I have changed her name to protect the innocent. Her real name was Linda Weisman. Oops.) This felt a bit weird, maybe to both of us, because I don’t think we had ever said one word to each other before that. But it turned out we got along very well. As I recall, our caustic senses of humor complemented each other’s and we had a surprisingly good time. Of course, we never spoke to, or saw, each other again. Such is life.

I turned on the basketball game last night, and lasted about 45 seconds. Let’s be honest. When you are 7’4″, it is not difficult to put a ball in a net that you can reach just by standing up and raising your arm. Hardly a sport.

Of course, the highlight of the evening was Avery Wilson’s courageous rendition of “Oh Say, Can You Boo?” But I can’t talk about that. This is still no-Trump week.

The facade of Metro headquarters has some interesting, if hard to explain, protrusions (is that a word?).

We were there yesterday to get a new Senior Smartrip card for Edie after the mysterious disappearance of her original one. I assumed that would take 30 seconds, but no. It is a process. Like waiting at the DMV, or a doctor’s office. They first have to agree that you are at least 65 years old. Once assured, they can proceed.

Digression. A week or so ago, for the first time in quite a while, I bought a bottle of wine at Whole Foods. The clerk asked me for my ID. I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation about the possibility I was younger than 21, so I gave her my driver’s license. She took it, and scanned it into the Whole Foods data base. Now, researchers of the future will be able to affirm all of my personal data (eye and hair color, et al) and tell you what kind of wine I bought and how much I overpaid for it. Big Brother Jeff B is watching us all. End of digression.

Back at Metro headquarters, where they too seem to know too much, they make you sign an affidavit (“lie and you die” sort of thing). And then they tell you that they are cancelling your old card, so if you find it, destroy it, or else!

I never thought of how much WMATA must know about my Smartrip card? They must know every trip I have taken on the 15+ years when I have used that card.

My question is. If I demanded to see my Whole Foods wine records or my Metro trip records, would I be allowed to? It seems to me that I should be able to know as much about me as they do.

Back to graduations. Of course, 1960 and 2026 are very dissimilar. But if Oliver Curtis is marching today along side of a 2026 version of Linda Weissman, is their marching and their conversation being recorded for future use? Will it be shared with Jeff Bezos? Will it one day be encrypted on their Smartrip cards?