Thursday, July 16, 2026

Addicted to Nostalgia 🎢


 

My mother recently handed me a small archive of my modeling work from the late 1980s: a Jordache jeans campaign and photographs from Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” music video. She has held onto my photos and artefacts for years. Moms are cool like that. 

Nostalgia rocks our brains 🧠 🎢 

Nostalgia is more than looking backward. Brain-imaging research shows that nostalgic experiences engage the hippocampus, which supports autobiographical memory, alongside reward regions including the ventral striatum and the dopamine-producing substantia nigra/ventral tegmental area. 

According to experts in this field, the stronger the coordination between memory and reward systems, the stronger a person’s reported experience of nostalgia. 

Regions associated with self-reflection also participate, which may explain why an old photograph can recover a whole lot more than an event. It can recover our former sense of self.

Researchers propose that when a personally significant memory is recalled and experienced as rewarding, the association between the memory and its emotional value may be reinforced. 

That remains a developing model rather than a settled account, but it offers a compelling explanation for nostalgia’s peculiar force: remembering can renew our connection to the person who originally lived the memory.


If you have an archive of photos from last year or decades ago, consider this a prompt: consult with your family archivist — unless you’re the archivist, in which case consult with yourself — and pull out some old photos for yourself or someone else. Might as well spread the dopamine-producing (feel-good) neurotransmitters! 🀩 


For those who want to read more: 

The principal research is the study of hippocampal-reward-system coactivation during nostalgia and a later review developing the broader neural model. Oba et al., Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience⁠; Yang et al., Social Cognitive and Affective Neuroscience⁠.


Monday, July 13, 2026

What Happens When You Seize The Day?


When I am feeling happy, I laugh about the times when I was grumpy. From the comfortable distance of a better mood, yesterday's irritations lose their authority over my emotions. They shrink into small, badly managed shelf kingdoms ruled by someone who put them on the shelf and then in reflection, looks suspiciously like me. 

When I am in fact a bit on the grumpy side, however, I prefer my wit served with a side of slapstick. Subtlety can come back when it has brought some snacks to share. On those days, I want something to fall over. I'm not saying pies are involved, but they aren't not involved either. Gravity should always accept some responsibility because I mostly blame it for what it's doing to my bioenergetic mechanism - even on good days. 



So, what does that have to do with the comic above? Well, the comic began with a graph showing the total pageviews for my blog. The line was mostly ordinary until June 22nd when with tremendous confidence, the line increased. My mind flipped that over and instantly I was making fun of myself, saying well that was the day I actually seized the day. Or thought I was. 

That made me laugh. It's what happens perhaps when you read a lot of data. You start giving graphs backstories. I don't have to make myself laugh. I just laugh. My brain seems to be predisposed to it. 


This dude claims to be wired towards humor. Perhaps better said is that he's a typical wise-arse, and that wise-arsery makes him laugh. It does me too, within reason. 

Going back to the graph. Most people read pageviews with one thought in mind: getting more. When I first started getting pageviews on HTTF, my immediate thought was "Why are all these people coming to my blog?" Followed by "Don't they have anything better to do?" 

Remember that bit about wise-arsery? Well, this may be an adjacent example of that same mindset. Anyhow, I just kept writing and people just kept visiting. The last time I checked, back in 2014-2016, something like that, the blog went from 20 million to 33 million to 44 million within a short window. But then one day, the spike hit the opposite direction. Google changed its algorithm and my pageviews went down to 0. 

Wow. For someone who didn't really pay much attention to pageviews, all of a sudden it had my full attention. If digital currency could be reset, the implications were broad. In protest, and to start my test over, I deleted all 7k+ followers I had on FB. I removed 80% of my connections on Twitter. I deleted all 10k+ followers I had on Insta. And then I stopped blogging and drew comics instead. I recently resumed posting on HTTF but haven't yet recorded another spike of the magnitudes I saw during that original window, except for June 22nd. Not sure why. I didn't even post that day. Plus, I don't advertise and only a handfull of my colleagues even know (or care) about my humor experiment. I don't follow traditional posting rules. I post whenever I have time or a thought I want to record. That is about 2% of my week. 

2026 Reset: 
  • 47 followers
  • 1450 posts
  • 272 comments
  • All Time: 2,781,900 
  • Today: 1,526 (13:01 UTC-7)
  • Yesterday: 6,086
  • This Month: 50,099
  • Last Month: 180,662

Above this point I'm walking through the explanation of how this comic came to be - with a side of backstory. This is why explaining humor ruins jokes. Explanation promises clarity, then escorts the joke into a brightly lit poorly decorated little room with two guys and a lie detector. By the time everyone understands exactly why that moment was funny, the joke has requested legal counsel. 

Still, the comic says something true about perspective. The same line can represent ascent or descent depending on how we show up. The same day can feel triumphant while we were living it and ridiculous when we remember it later. Or another day when we thought we performed poorly, we record the highest level of documented EBITDA. 

Now that's funny. 





 

Saturday, July 11, 2026

What Is Your Play Signature?


People express play differently. Some create imaginary worlds. Some make puns. Some invent rituals. Some transform tension with one exquisitely timed sentence. Others conduct small domestic operations involving googly eyes, ransom notes, or the relocation of an object by two inches each day.

No one is always playful. That would be sheer hyperbole. Often enough is sufficient for a recognizable pattern.

These patterns are best understood as play signatures, rather than permanent personality types. A signature is recognizable without being fixed. It changes with trust, culture, age, stress, and relationship. You may play differently with a child, a partner, a sibling, a colleague, a friend, or a dog who has been appointed regional manager of the kitchen leftovers department. 🐢 

Read the following descriptions and notice where you recognize yourself.

1. The Recognition Player

Recognition Players show affection by noticing.

They remember the expression you make before disagreeing politely. They know which phrase will make you laugh during a difficult conversation. They notice the salient detail everyone else omitted. 

Their humor is specific. A generic joke has limited value to them. They prefer the joke that could only have been made for this person, within this relationship, at this moment.

Inside jokes belong here. To everyone else, the reference may remain illusive. To the two people in on the joke, the file is complete.

The loving message beneath Recognition Play is: I see the details that make you you.

This form of play is attention wearing a party hat. It is also one of the clearest expressions of a principle explored in the article “Humor is Love”: we love a person rather than a type of person, and the humor that reaches us most deeply is often equally specific.  

2. The World-Maker

World-Makers express affection through imagination.

They give objects personalities. They invent histories for strangers seen across a restaurant. They create voices for animals and assign motives to malfunctioning appliances. A delayed flight becomes a territorial dispute between the airport and time itself.

The R46 Stick Figures live naturally in this field. A few lines and a heart create enough structure for an entire philosophical thought experiment. The reader supplies what the image deliberately leaves open.

A joke may also function as a seed without literally being one. Something said casually at breakfast may grow into a family character, a yearly tradition, or a story repeated for decades. The original moment disappears from view, while its form continues living elsewhere.

The World-Maker’s message is: Your imagination is a place I enjoy visiting.

World-Making Play loves by helping playfulness love on. 

3. The Benevolent Mischief-Maker

Benevolent Mischief-Makers create safe surprise.

They hide a gift and leave clues. They put eyes on household products. They compose ransom notes for toys. They answer an ordinary question with something dramatically unnecessary.

In an early Raising Funny Kids essay, I described hiding my children’s toys and sending ransom notes because my son found the operation hilarious. The game worked because he understood its structure. The toy was safe. The parent was trustworthy. The apparent crisis existed entirely for shared amusement.  

This is the ethical foundation of good mischief. Surprise creates excitement, while the relationship preserves security.

The Benevolent Mischief-Maker’s message is: I know where your boundaries are, and I know how to surprise you inside them.

This form of play depends upon timing, social perception, and restraint. Loving mischief protects dignity, welcomes refusal, and leaves everyone with a story worth keeping.

The finest prank increases affection and produces minimal paperwork.

4. The Reframer

Reframers help other people carry difficult moments.

They hear the strain in a conversation and find the one absurd detail that gives everyone room to breathe. They turn a frustrating experience into a story. They recognize that an event can remain serious while the people living through it retain permission to laugh.

When the first interpretation turns everyone to stone, the Reframer quietly supplies Plan B.

This capacity is central to the philosophy of Happy Thoughts Travel Fast. Humor changes our relation to a moment by restoring levity where thought has become rigid. It introduces another angle without erasing the underlying experience. It lightens burdens, inspires hope, and connects us to others by making more than one interpretation available.  

The Reframer’s message is: You do not have to hold this alone or in only one way.

A difficult day can also contain a ridiculous email. Grief can coexist with a story that makes the whole family laugh. A failed plan can become the origin story of an unexpectedly good adventure.

Sometimes love rewrites The Night Before Christmas πŸŽ„ and replaces all the characters with the ongoing jokes the family shared when they were playing poker ♥️ drunk as 🦨 

Reframing is affection expressed as regained perspective.

5. The Idea Player

Idea Players show love by inviting minds to move together.

They enjoy riddles, puns, philosophical questions, speculative scenarios, unusual comparisons, and arguments conducted with enough warmth that everyone still gets dessert. They may ask what Socrates would think of social media, whether a Wi-Fi password constitutes domestic intimacy, or whether Snow White’s dwarfs are separate individuals or competing dimensions of one consciousness.

For the Idea Player, thinking together is closeness.

They may prolong the game by asking for one more premise, followed by another, followed by a rule explaining why the previous premise applies. The conclusion waits patiently while the conversation continues. The delay is not necessarily resistance. Sometimes the path around the conclusion is where all the interesting things are located.

The same mind may be considered disruptive in a classroom, difficult in a seminar, and delightful over dinner. The activity has retained its origin while acquiring a different social function.

In “Fostering Playful Humor,” I wrote about playful forms requiring children to consider alternate modes of expression and combine ideas that ordinary categories keep apart. This is the intellectual movement behind Idea Play.  

The Idea Player’s message is: Your mind interests me, and I want to see where it goes.

They are frequently accused of overthinking. They regard this as an opening proposition.

6. The Ritual Player

Ritual Players build affection through repetition.

They create the song sung every birthday, the phrase used before a family trip, the dance performed when dinner turns out well, the annual photograph, the recurring joke, the secret handshake, or the household rule that someone must announce “Release the hounds” before letting out one extremely small dog.

Repetition turns a playful act into shared history.

The Ritual Player’s message is: I remember us, and I intend to keep remembering.

These rituals often appear trivial to outsiders because outsiders lack the accumulated context. Within the relationship, they function as compressed memory. One phrase can retrieve an entire holiday, friendship, marriage, childhood, or chapter of family life.

The ritual may move from spoken words to a message, from a message to a drawing, from a drawing to a tradition. The forms are visibly different, yet a common structure remains.

Ritual Play gives continuity a recognizable sound.

Business As Play



I laughed when I found this photograph, mostly because it brought back good memories of hanging out in Jamaica with my brother on vacation. 

Then I turned it over. On the back, one of our friends had written, “You couldn’t hide from that damn phone.” He was right. I remember that phone. It rang at breakfast, by the pool, in airports, and while I was trying to convince my friends that I was taking a vacation.

They used to say that meant I was a workaholic. I think I was playing. I was still working, of course. The contracts were real. Payroll was needed to be approved. Deadlines were very very real. Clients get snotty and demanding. Yet inside my head, business felt like a game I had been playing for years. Someone would hand me a problem and my brain would immediately begin moving the pieces around. What if we tried this? What happens if we move that over there? Who already solved part of this without realizing it?

I loved figuring things out. I loved walking into problems that had no obvious answer. I loved meeting people from different countries and learning how they thought. I loved negotiating, building, organizing, improving, and seeing a project on paper before it existed in the world. Business held my attention because it gave my mind somewhere novel to go.

I had played this game growing up. On a farm, there was always something to fix, build, check, move, or understand. Water had to reach the right place. Equipment had to work. Animals, trees, weather, timing, and people all had to be considered at once. Even the neighbors who never seemed to leave. I learned to see how one thing affected another long before I had language for any of it. I had a few jokes, but those usually resulted in time out. I was judicious using this technique. After a while they said I did it on purpose. I digress. 

That may be why the phone never felt entirely like an interruption. It was often an invitation back into the game.

Children play by inventing situations and then figuring out what to do inside them. The floor becomes lava. The couch becomes a ship. A box becomes a house. The rules are made, tested, adjusted, and sometimes abandoned when a better idea appears. Adults do this too, although we usually give it more serious names.

I called mine business.

The scale changed as I grew older, and the consequences became larger, but the habit stayed the same. I remain curious. I keep moving pieces around. I keep asking what else might work. That kind of play gave my mind enough freedom to notice possibilities and enough discipline to build something from them.

My friend saw a young woman who could not hide from her phone. Looking at the photograph now, I see a woman who had found a game she loved and was still in the middle of it. 




Take More Time To Play

 



I was thirty years old when this photograph was taken. We had returned to the United States so that I could work on the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory National Ignition Facility project, and my daughter was learning English.

The room tells most of the story. There are alphabet cards, pictures, books, a chalkboard, a globe, I’m wearing steel-toed boots πŸ₯Ύ and my daughter smiling from behind a small desk with a FedEx packaged neatly tucked between building blocks and building minds. I am standing across the room, also smiling, which suggests that whatever lesson I had planned had already become something else.

That happened often. It still happens. 

Children learn through repetition, but they also learn through movement, surprise, imitation, exaggeration, sound, and play. A word becomes easier to remember when it belongs to a story. A sentence becomes less intimidating when it is spoken by a puppet. A mistake becomes part of the game and therefore something we can examine, repeat, and laugh about together.

The play did more than make the lesson enjoyable. It gave her mind room to work out basic algebra equations using a scale, dice 🎲 and toys 🧸. Writing ✍️ equations came naturally, after we balanced the amount of cookies πŸͺ each got. 

That is the part I want to explore next.

Play creates a temporary space in which the ordinary rules can be loosened. A cup can contain imaginary tea. A stuffed animal can answer a question. A familiar word can be stretched, repeated, mispronounced, and turned around until its shape becomes clear. The mind is still learning, but it is learning through possibilities rather than through a single required path.

That freedom is closely related to creativity.

A novel thought originates in a first draft. It begins as a connection between things that had previously remained separate. One idea brushes against another. Whoops! Excuse me πŸ˜‰ 

A memory enters from somewhere else. A word suggests an image. An image changes the question. The mind follows the association for a while and discovers that it has arrived somewhere new.

Play gives that process time. 🎒 


Moral of this post: Take more time to play. 


Play As A Love Language


Love occasionally arrives with flowers. More often, it arrives as a parenthetical remark that means nothing to the rest of the room and everything to one person. 

It arrives wearing shades. It invents a biography for the family dog. It sends you a photograph of a potato because the potato bears suspicious resemblance to someone you both know. It remembers the exact word you mispronounced eleven years ago and has preserved it, with great care, as part of the new vernacular. 

We usually describe love through its serious forms: loyalty, patience, tenderness, protection, devotion. These expressions deserve their place in the hierachy of felt and expressed love. Yet affection also has a lighter register. We tease gently. We invent private words. We reenact old stories with increasingly inaccurate details. We make ordinary objects speak to us, on command. And at times, inconveniently. Like Google or Siri easedropping and then responding to our conversation. Whoopsie. 

We dance badly in kitchens. We sing at the top of our lungs. We aren’t sappy, but we soften with a recognition that we trust the person enough to become briefly ridiculous in their presence.

Most of all, it says: Come into this little world, we have orange soda.



The Invitation Inside Play

A child hands you an empty cup and tells you it contains tea. The cup is empty in one sense and completely full in another. Accepting the tea means accepting the child's temporary arrangement of reality. For the next few minutes, the cup has contents, the stuffed bear has opinions, and everyone must behave accordingly. 

This is one of our earliest forms of intellectual hospitality.

The child is offering access to an imagined world. Your participation communicates more than approval of the game. It tells the child that the world inside their mind is worth exploring. 

Adults continue making these invitations, although we learn to disguise them. We call them banter, nicknames, traditions, hobbies, impressions, flirtation, fandoms, running jokes, wordplay, stories, games, and the inexplicable voices we use when speaking on behalf of our pets. 

The form changes, but the invitation is still open. 

Throughout Happy Thoughts Travel Fast, I have treated humor as a way of noticing, thinking, reframing, and connecting. Humor creates an opening in ordinary reality through which another arrangement becomes visible. A stressful event can also contain absurdity. An appliance can acquire hidden motives. 

On that note, I kid you not, my dishwasher has ADHD. It waits all darn day to wash the dishes, and then does them at the last minute, beeping right after I retire to my chambers for the evening. Annoying af.  But on its defense, it was manufactured across jurisdictions and has some identity issues. I think it wanted to be a washing machine so it could have a dryer companion for life. This is another reason to recycle. We might be helping some appliance merge with other components, achieving a lifelong dream. I digress. 

A philosophical problem can be approached through Snow White, Pac-Man, waffles, Wi-Fi, or a stick figure trying to understand existence. The archive repeately places discovery and laughter close together, at the point where the "ah-ha" meets the "ha-ha".




Play is the wider field in which this kind of humor hangs out. It allows us to rearrange the familiar long enough to see it again. 

The Big Red Heart 

R46 Stick Figures began as simple drawings and developed a distinctive identity over time. Their most important addition was a BIG RED HEART. Their faces remained absent so that readers could project themselves into the figures without the constraints ordinarily placed upon age, race, gender, profession, or social position. Their apparent simplicity leaves room for the reader's imagination to complete the picture. 

The picture is simple, but it is not empty. Its few elements are combined in a definitive way. The line, the posture, the surrounding objects, and the heart together project a possible state of affairs. The reader recognizes enough of the structure to enter it. That combo explains something important about play as love. The open figure says, There is room for you here. The heart says, You're safe to enter

A successful comic requires the reader to complete it. The drawing provides the conditions, while recognition supplies the joke. Loving play works similarly. One person offers a possibility. The other understands the invitation and joins. 

A punchline completed in another person's laughter is a small act of mutual understanding. 

Coming Up Next

In my next article, I'll jump into what the brain is doing while we play, and describe the top six ways people play. 




















 

Friday, July 10, 2026

I Made Us A Fort πŸ•️ 🌟 🐰

 


I made us a fort before the evening could grow too ordinary.

It stands beneath the blankets, warm with lantern light and soft enough to hold every thought you carried here. The pillows have been arranged around a little table where the teapot is waiting, though it has been known to pour more stories than tea. πŸ«– 

The bear 🐻 beside the entrance has promised to keep watch, but he is easily distracted by biscuits and may need help.

You may come in exactly as you are. There is no password. The fort knows you by the sound of your footsteps.

Inside, the rules of the day have loosened. The star-shaped pillow can hold a worry until morning. The books beside the lantern open to different pages depending on who is reading. The drawings on the floor sometimes change after midnight, and one of the rabbits has been trying for weeks to tell us where the missing crayons go. We have listened carefully, but rabbits have their own way of getting to the point. 🐰 

Sit here beside me. The tea is nearly ready, and the cups are small because this is the sort of place where you can always ask for more. ☕️ 

When the lantern flickers πŸ•―️ we will each tell one impossible thing. It can be something we remember, something we hope for, or something that has never happened anywhere except here. 

We will give it a name, dress it up, and see what it does next.

That is how the game begins. One person imagines a door, and another person agrees to walk through it. πŸšͺ