'In conclusion, it is important to note that AI will play a crucial role...' — The State of the Blog 2025:

Daley Plaza, March 7, 2025

     This blog debuted on July 1, 2013. For its first decade, I would present a "State of the Blog" around the actual anniversary, usually the last day of June.

     But this year, as June melted into July, I was in New Jersey, helping my older son move his young family down the coast, and didn't feel like picking through the past year. So I just skipped it. No one noticed.
     Beside, I do pretty much the same thing at New Year's, marking the end of the calendar year, and I figured: once a year is plenty. Maybe even too much.
     You don't need me to tell you that 2025 seemed fairly grim. The return of a liar, bully, fraud and traitor to the White House when he really should be in prison. Elon Musk's giddy defacement of the federal government. Masked thugs seizing people on the street based on the color of their skin. The normalization of an administration of infamy that we should never feel comfortable about, not until it is gone and history. Not even then.

     On the personal front, a series of losses, beginning with my mother in June, then my cousin Harry in September. Sister Rosemary. Lori Cannon. Tony Fitzpatrick. As bad as that is, it seemed a foretaste: the people you love are going to go, one by one, and then, eventually, your turn. I mean, "my turn." 
     Not a lot of gas in the tank to pick over a years worth of column. But plodding forward is something I do well — God knows I've had practice — and now that I've done my picking, I'm glad. Because honestly, when I look back on the past year, unaided, it all blends into a uniform buzz. But actually rambling through the entries, I do find pieces that make me feel ... well, proud would overstating the case. More like "Satisfied that I'm not completely wasting your time, and mine."
     Five point three million views over the past year. Though if we discard those outside the United States, all bots for sure, it falls to 1.6 million. About 4,500 actual readers a day. That sounds about right. Small ball, social media wise. Kim Kardashian gets 5,000 hits in a minute for coughing into her fist on Instagram
     But if 4,500 people were gathered in an auditorium, waiting to hear what I say, that would seem a considerable crowd, and I would show up and choose my words carefully.
      Enough. What were the highlights?
     In January, I presented a surprisingly moving visit to Cooperstown, 'No crying in baseball'? There is if you visit the Hall of Fame.

     February, a story that began about volunteers who sit in court as silent witnesses during pet abuse trials, turned into one gripping case of animal cruelty: "Oh my God! It's a dog! It's alive!"
     In March, I thought to compare a fictional TV gay fire fighter with the real thing and —mirabile dictu —the CFD actually cooperated, itself a noteworthy occurrence.

     In April, after Illinois comptroller Susana Mendoza put out a video urging Chicagoans to go to Little Village, to make up for locals afraid to leave their homes, we sat down to dinner together to talk about the situation.  

     In May, the founder of Facebook announced that most Americans have fewer than four friends, and offered to sell them some AI buddies. I mused on real friendship in "Mark Zuckerburg wants to sell you new AI friends."

     In June, Chicago said goodbye to Sister Rosemary Connelly, whose life I was proud to outline. 'She saw our kids as people, not as disabilities.' 

     July found me in Washington with my new granddaughter. I looked at the capital of a nation renouncing its basic values, with DEI at DC memorials ripe for purging.

     August was goodbye to Lori Cannon, tireless 'AIDS angel,' dead at 74: 'She took care of the whole universe'. I also spun a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park into a rumination on humanity in What if crowds don't have to spoil the view.

     September, I was back in Washington, talking to the National Guard: At least the Washington Monument is safe. And when the guard arrived in Chicago, I wrote a front page story recounting Chicago's long history as a battleground for federal troops.

     October I turned the dullest bit of history ever into a front page story: Erie Canal, the ditch that made Chicago great, marks its 200th birthday. 

     November, the blog continued to support those our government is lashing out at: People still exist even if the Trump administration refuses to see them.

     In December, a rare bit of satire, mocking YouTube sleep videos: Can't sleep? Don't count sheep — use this guided meditation for healthful snoozing.

     Thanks seem in order. First to all the regular commenters, particularly those who point out errors without trying to make sense of them. "When you write 'hte,' do you mean the Norwegian surname, or did you misspell 'the'?" 

     To my wife, for bearing up under this odd obsession of mine. To Charlie Meyerson, for regularly amplifying this blog on his Chicago Public Square. To Marc Schulman, at Eli's Cheesecake, for supporting this blog from the very beginning. If you haven't clicked on their ad, gone to their enticing website and bought a cheesecake, well, I don't see how you can live with yourself.

    My world got smaller, colder and darker this year, with the exception of one glorious grandchild, which, when she's within sight, banishes all other considerations. 

     I complain a lot, as is my nature, but I still love writing this. Love writing just about anything, really. The buzzing cloud of life's concerns falls silent, and it's just me tapping away for a few hours, turning out another one of these things. That people also read them and get something out of them, well, icing on the cake.

    How did Norma Desmond put it? 

     "You see, this is my life. It always will be. There's nothing else. Just us. And the cameras. And those wonderful people out there, in the dark."

     Gloria Swanson was 51 when "Sunset Boulevard" was released. I'm 65. Tick tock.