Coldplay Kiss Cam: Caught in the Act, Caught in the Consequences

 

Let’s talk about the Coldplay concert the other night. Not the music, not the lights, not even Chris Martin’s vocals; even though I think that they are terrible without an auto-tuner. No, this is about the Kiss Cam moment that turned into a full-blown corporate scandal.

Two executives from tech firm Astronomer, CEO Andy Byron and Chief People Officer Kristin Cabot, were caught on the jumbotron in what looked like a cozy embrace. But when the camera zoomed in, they panicked. Byron dropped out of frame like he’d just seen a ghost, and Cabot covered her face like she was dodging paparazzi. Chris Martin, ever the showman, quipped, “Either they’re having an affair or they’re just very shy.” The crowd roared. The internet exploded.

Turns out, both are married. Just not to each other.

Now, here’s the thing: if you don’t want to be seen, don’t put yourself in a public position where you can be seen. You’re at a concert with 65,000 people, wrapped around someone who isn’t your spouse, and you think the Kiss Cam won’t find you? That’s not bad luck; it is just bad judgment.

The fallout has been swift. Viral videos, deleted LinkedIn profiles, a company investigation, and a whole lot of memes. And while some folks are crying foul over privacy, let’s be real: the moment wasn’t stolen—it was served up on a silver stadium screen.

So to the rest of us: let this be a reminder. If you’re going to play games in public, don’t be surprised when the scoreboard lights up.

Stay Old, Bold and Bald

Wake Up, People — Israel Isn’t the Problem

 Here’s an enhanced version of the blog post with suggested visuals (you can add them directly into your Blogger post or website editor):

---

Wake Up, People — Israel Isn’t the Problem

📅 Posted on: June 21, 2025
✍️ By: Old, Bold, and Bald

---

There’s a dangerous trend sweeping the Western world right now, and it’s not just the latest TikTok dance or the next weird way to drink overpriced coffee. No — this one actually matters. It’s the bizarre, misplaced sympathy for a regime that openly calls for the destruction of Israel while actively developing nuclear weapons. And it’s being fueled by a liberal media echo chamber that’s more concerned with optics than truth.

---

🇮🇱 Why I Stand With Israel

Israel isn’t perfect — no nation is. But it is a beacon of democracy, stability, and innovation in a neighborhood where freedom is in short supply.

Small country, big target. Israel’s surrounded, yet still thrives.

They don’t start fights — they finish them. They value free speech, religious freedom, and the right to exist. That’s more than you can say for the ayatollahs in Tehran.

---

☢️ Iran: The Real Threat

Iran’s regime isn’t just developing nuclear capabilities for fun. They’re not stockpiling uranium to light up their cities. They want leverage. They want power. They want destruction — and they’ve made that crystal clear.

Let’s not pretend we don’t know what this means.

They back terror groups with our own money, thanks to naïve deals pushed through by weak-kneed politicians who think being nice to dictators wins you peace prizes.

Spoiler: It doesn’t.

---

📺 The Liberal Media Is Selling You a Lie

The people crying “Free Palestine” while waving flags of groups that throw gays off rooftops and indoctrinate children with hate — they’re not informed. They’re indoctrinated themselves — by headlines written in editorial rooms full of latte-sipping ideologues who've never faced a rocket or worn a uniform.

When truth becomes inconvenient, narrative wins. Until it doesn’t.

They ignore context, distort facts, and present emotional fiction as objective truth. And the worst part? People believe it.

---

🚨 Here’s the Bottom Line

• Iran must give up its nuclear program. Not negotiate. Not “slow down.” End it.

• Israel has the right — and responsibility — to defend itself.

• The West needs to pick a side. And if you're still confused, go live in Iran for a week. Then we’ll talk.

---

✊ Stay Old. Stay Bold. Stay Bald.

Don't fall for the noise. History has seen this movie before — appeasement, denial, and then disaster. Let’s not play that role again.

And to the keyboard warriors sipping oat milk and tweeting Hamas talking points: Maybe sit this one out. Grown-ups are talking.

Give Me an Emoji, Dammit!

 You know what grinds my 60-year-old gears? The fact that in the year 2025 — with AI smarter than half of Congress, Teslas doing figure-eights in parking lots, and my coffee pot talking to my fridge — Twitter (or X, or whatever Elon’s calling it this week) still only lets you react to a post with a heart. Just one, solitary, painfully earnest little heart.

Look, not every post deserves love. Some deserve a laugh. Some raised an eyebrow. Some a facepalm so intense it should come with a chiropractor referral.

What I want—no, what we deserve—is emoji reactions. I’m talking:

• 😂 for the tweets that made me choke on my coffee

• 🤦‍♂️ for the ones that make me question the human gene pool

• 💀 for the truly unhinged posts that are so off-the-rails, I have to respect the chaos

• And maybe 🤬 for when someone decides to be loud and wrong in the same sentence

Facebook’s had this since the dinosaurs roamed the News Feed. LinkedIn — a place where people lie about hustle culture for likes — has more expressive options than X. What gives?

Is it that they think the single red heart will keep the rage machine humming? Keep us from defusing tension with a simple “haha”? Because believe me, I’d much rather emoji-laugh at some blowhard’s meltdown than pretend I "love" it. The heart, in this case, is a lie.

I say it’s time we storm the algorithm. Demand a real range of reactions. Bring some humanity back into the hellsite. Or at the very least, let me acknowledge that someone’s meme made me do the old man snort-laugh without having to reply like a boomer.

Until then, I’ll keep hitting that heart ironically, grumbling like a man who remembers when emojis were called “smilies” and internet arguments ended in AOL chatrooms.

Stay bold, stay bald,

Old, Bold, and Bald 🧓💥👨‍🦲

ICE Raids, Riots, and the Rule of Law: What Happened to Common Sense?

 Let’s call a spade a spade. I’ve been around long enough to know when the wheels are coming off the wagon—and folks, they’re wobbling hard right now.

ICE raids in Los Angeles are back in the news, and like clockwork, out come the protestors, the chants, the signs, and, sadly, some rioters—trashing property and blocking streets as if that’s how democracy works. They’re screaming about “rights,” “justice,” and “resistance,” while conveniently ignoring one tiny detail: the people they’re defending broke the law just by being here.

Now, before someone starts frothing at the mouth and calling me every name in the politically correct book, let me be clear—I’m not against immigrants. I’m the grandson of one. But my ancestors came here legally, stood in line, signed the papers, and worked their butts off. They didn’t sneak in under cover of night and then demand constitutional protections that aren’t even legally theirs to begin with.

So here’s the question: what “right” do people who are in this country illegally think they have to stay, to protest enforcement of the law, and to be protected under a Constitution meant for citizens and those here legally? Are we just rewriting the rules now based on feelings and hashtags?

You want to protest? Fine. It’s a free country—for Americans. You want to burn flags and riot? Not fine. That’s not protest—that’s anarchy. And when you riot in defense of something that’s illegal by definition, you’re not making a moral stand—you’re lighting a match next to the rule of law and daring it to burn.

We can’t have a country that picks and chooses which laws to enforce based on who’s yelling the loudest or crying the hardest. We either have borders or we don’t. We either have laws or we have mob rule. And frankly, I didn’t spend sixty years respecting this nation’s laws just to watch them get trampled by people who were never supposed to be here in the first place.

So to the rioters: you’re not brave. You’re not righteous. You’re not fighting for justice. You’re demanding special treatment for people who broke the rules. And that’s not how America is supposed to work.

You want change? Fine. Change the laws. But until then, spare us the lectures, the Molotov cocktails, and the moral grandstanding. Because at the end of the day, being loud doesn’t make you right—and being illegal sure as hell doesn’t make you entitled.

---

Stay strong, stay sharp, and don’t let the nonsense wear you down. Most importantly: Stay Grumpy!
—Old, Bold, and Bald

Old, Bold, and Bald: Owning Every Inch of Who We Are

 There’s a certain power that comes with age. It doesn’t whisper—it roars. You stop caring about the nonsense. You laugh louder, live slower (on purpose), and carry a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to be announced. And if you're like me—Old, Bold, and Bald—you wear it like a badge of honor.

The "Old" Part

Let’s get this straight: “old” isn’t a four-letter word. It’s a trophy. Every wrinkle? A roadmap of stories told, jokes cracked, and lessons earned the hard way. Sure, the knees might creak and the memory might forget why you walked into the kitchen—but the soul? The soul’s never been sharper.

Being old means you’ve seen things. Lived through change. You’ve ridden the highs and lows of life’s rollercoaster without throwing up (too much). You've learned to stop sweating the small stuff—because experience teaches you that most of it is small stuff.

The "Bold" Part

Boldness isn’t just for the young. In fact, boldness belongs to those of us who’ve already weathered a few storms. It's not reckless—it's refined. It’s standing up when it would be easier to sit down. It’s telling the truth, even if it shakes the room. It’s dancing at weddings even when your back is screaming “please don’t.”

Bold is wearing what you want, saying what you mean, and doing what you love—whether or not the world approves.

The "Bald" Part

Let’s address the shiny dome in the room. Baldness? It’s liberation. No more overpriced shampoos, no combs, no drama. And while some people chase their disappearing hairline like it's a runaway train, others of us embrace the chrome dome.

Bald is beautiful. It’s aerodynamic. It’s sleek. And best of all—it’s real. No hiding. No pretending. It says, “This is me. Take it or leave it.”

Final Thoughts

Old, Bold, and Bald isn’t a state of decline—it’s a stage of arrival. It’s where wisdom meets courage and says, “Let’s do this.” It’s where we stop trying to be someone else and finally become fully ourselves.

So here’s to all of us who’ve earned our stripes, scars, and shiny heads. We’re not fading away—we’re turning up the volume.

Still here. Still standing. Still laughing.

Still Old, Bold, and Bald—and loving it.

Old, Bold, and Bald: The First Week of Freedom

 One week. Seven days. 168 hours.

It’s been a week since I stepped away from my Just Over Broke (JOB), and honestly? It feels more like a vacation than a transition. No deadlines breathing down my neck. No alarm forcing me to shuffle into the daily grind. Just the wide-open space of possibility—and the strange realization that I had to check a calendar just to remember what day it is.

There’s still gas in the tank. I’m not done. Not even close. This isn’t retirement; it’s recalibration. The search isn’t for any opportunity—it’s for the right one. Something that matches experience with ambition, that respects the road already traveled while offering a new destination worth driving toward.

This week was about unwinding. Next week? It’s about refining. Because when you’re old enough to know better, bold enough to take a leap, and bald enough to own it, there’s no settling for less than what fuels the fire.

#OldBoldAndBald #NewBeginnings #MoreThanJustOverBroke #StillRolling

Last Day on the Hamster Wheel – A Grumpy Farewell from the Bold, the Bald, and the Burned Out

Well, that's it. Stick a fork in me. After years of dragging my sorry, balding carcass through meetings, outages, false promises, and soul-numbing IM threads, 05/16/2025 was my last day at work. And no, there wasn't a cake. Not even a dry, store-brand donut. Just a farewell from the few that mattered and radio silence from the ones that should’ve.

Let me tell you how it went down, because this grumpy old man isn’t going quietly.

First off—saying goodbye to the team was brutal. Not because I’m sentimental (okay, maybe a little), but because these are the folks who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me during some real messy times. We kept things running through constant chaos. Daily page outs, duct-taping systems just to keep the damn lights on. And that pain—we shared it. One teammate took their own life during those dark times. That kind of grief doesn’t fade. So yeah, I sent out a group message, and three personal notes to the long-haulers who were in the trenches with me. They earned that respect.

And then there's leadership—or should I say, lack thereof. No parade, no “hey, why are you leaving?” Not a peep from my so-called leadership peers. Except for one guy I’ve known over six years. He actually reached out like a human being. Everyone else? Crickets. Heck, even my director ghosted the last morning huddle. Left early before it was his turn to speak. That’s right—bailed on my last meeting with the team. Real classy, JERK.

And don’t get me started on the CIO. Tuesday meeting, he’s all “Sorry I didn’t connect sooner. I’ll reach out later in the week.” Did he? Of course not. Maybe he lost my number. Or his spine.

But amid all this bureaucratic brilliance, one old director of mine (a rare breed of honest leadership) told me what I needed to hear: You did the right thing. Walking away was about my health—mental and physical—and that place was never going to change. And let’s face it, he’s right. You don’t fix a rusted-out ship by repainting the deck chairs.

So what now?

I’ve got a third interview with a new org next week. We'll see where that goes. I’m not holding my breath, but I’ll show up like I always have—bold, bald, and still too stubborn to quit.

Retirement? Not yet. But liberation? Damn right.

Stay grumpy,
—Old, Bold, and Bald