The scene around me is surreal. The house is filled with boxes from clearance hauls and Christmas prep. Games are strewn everywhere—from convention finds to review copies. Dishes are piled up, and the cats are running amuck. In moments like this, time feels like a distant concept.
I’ve talked at length about how hard it is to find time to do anything. One thing I realized early on was that communicating like this—writing, sharing, reflecting—was going to take time. Even so, I’ve been excited to share thoughts about games and other things that catch my interest.
It all sounds so good in your head when you say it out loud. What people don’t tell you is that writing comes with the same mental load and anxiety as any other creative work. When life got busier and harder, the anxiety around what I was creating—and how long it took—grew right alongside it.
The system I set up for myself was (and still is) pretty solid. I write on my commute or late at night when the day has finally quieted down. What I didn’t anticipate was how much I was already using those times without thinking about it. Maybe I put on a video to unwind. Maybe I needed that time to call pediatrician offices or argue with the phone company. When you take away the time you didn’t realize you were spending on those things, all that work has to go somewhere.
So yes, you may have noticed I haven’t written in quite a while. The post from earlier today has been sitting in my queue for months, and so much has changed since I wrote it. I’ll share more about what’s nudged me back onto the positive side of the motivation train soon, but for now I want to start by recognizing the little things we do with our time. I may not come out swinging with ambitious writing goals, at least not yet, but I’ve got a clearer understanding of when and how I’ll write alongside everything else.
Some games have movement that just speaks to you. You see someone tilting pieces around or the game shifting on its own, and suddenly you’re hooked by the motion alone. Tilt N Shout did exactly that—both for me and my kids, separately, which honestly says something. When we all have the same “Okay, that looks cool” reaction, you know the game is doing something right.
I don’t pretend my internal algorithm works anything like my children’s, but it’s rare when we all spot a game and get equally curious about how fun it could be. Thankfully, Big Potato Games reached out with a review copy and we got to test that curiosity together. Spoiler: the frenetic gameplay and the laughter weren’t just for show. Watching others try it was just as entertaining.
The instructions are wonderfully simple—so simple you can basically teach the whole game using the back of the box. Setup is quick, too. (Pro tip: snap the marble board in place before you start tilting it like you’re trying to win a carnival prize.) The whole idea is to say something in the given category and then tilt the board so the marble heads your way. The back-and-forth becomes its own little duel as you try to think fast, avoid repeats, and not crack up.
I played with my daughter first, and we quickly discovered how easily both of us could stumble, start laughing, and lose the round. The categories are genuinely fun, and the mechanic hits that sweet spot of simple-but-chaotic. Big Potato definitely has something that works for groups or for a quick head-to-head showdown.
This feels like a game we’ll break out with friends when we need something engaging that doesn’t demand deep strategy—just quick thinking and the ability to keep a straight face. Honestly, some days those are the best kinds of games and the best memories.
Overall, on our rating scale, I give this an 8 out of 10. It’s absolutely worth picking up to play with a group you vibe with. Just make sure everyone understands that Snuffleupagus is not an animal and is, in fact, a puppet. Don’t ask my daughter about it—we might still be recovering from that specific disagreement. I’m sure she’ll get over it before the next round.
How sweet mornings with my grandparents shaped my love for comfort food and connection.
I have fond memories of eating donuts. That might sound like a silly statement, and I’m sure others haven’t put as much stock into the times they’ve snacked on sweet treats. But I’ve had so many donuts, in so many places, that most of them blur together. Still, I distinctly remember having donuts with my grandparents each week. I savored the delicious sweetness then, and as an adult, I now relish the memory even more.
It might seem odd to call eating a donut a canon event, but let me set the scene. I was a kid who spent a lot of time with his grandparents. They watched me regularly, and I went everywhere with them — car shows, funerals, and church events were just part of life. I was their co-pilot, and sometimes the one who actually knew the directions to where we were going. I’m sure they often wondered how to keep me occupied, or how to steer my endless chatter. Sometimes that meant a trip to McDonald’s or counting things as we drove. But often, it meant a stop at our local deli for a donut.
Being in an area without a regular bakery, our donuts were daily imports from Auburn, New York — from the Cameron Bakery. The style was classic, whether it was a chocolate-covered round or a fried apple fritter. A full case in the morning would be empty by midday. They were known far and wide across town, a sweet treat nobody could pass up.
I remember walking in with my grandfather, his demeanor much like mine today. He could talk to anyone. I’d sit there and marvel at how he remembered everything about everyone — their families, their stories, their triumphs and troubles. He’d order an apple fritter, then glance at me to see what I was getting that day.
Walking in with my grandmother wasn’t much different. Her sharp mind made her not only a great talker but also a great listener. As the village clerk, she knew so much about so many. Where my grandfather was a salesman, she was a public servant. Conversations about charities, helping folks in need, or cleaning out someone’s house after they’d passed were always on the menu. Her tastes in donuts varied, but she always ate them carefully — napkin in hand.
As I get older, I have a harder time recalling the details of our conversations. But certain things never fade: their smiles, their energy, the love they shared with me — and just how good those donuts were. That memory returns every time I take a bite. The taste washes over me, reminding me of some of the best parts of life, and of being the best I could be.
That’s why donuts are my comfort food. I’m sure I’m also addicted to the sugary goodness, but it’s more than that. Though my grandfather has been gone for many years, I still see his face with an apple fritter in hand. Bless her, my grandmother is 98 now, and I long to bring her a donut to share. It’s why I bring donuts to others — hoping to share a little of the comfort and warmth I feel every time I do.
There was a big question in the air about what we’d do the weekend after our wedding. We had the kids set with their own plans, but Jocelyn and I waited until the last minute to decide where we were going. It was Labor Day weekend, so prices were steep, and that added a little apprehension. Still, we knew we wanted time together, just the two of us. After working a wedding in Alexandria Bay earlier this year, I’d been reminded of the simple beauty there and what it meant to me. That settled it: the Thousand Islands would be our place.
I found the 1000 Islands Hart House online and immediately connected with its owner, Jamie. He clearly cared not only about running a welcoming bed and breakfast but also his guests experience and about Wellesley Island itself. When we arrived Saturday night, we were greeted warmly — well wishes, cold drinks, and plenty of tips for how to spend our time. Each room carried its own theme and character, and the house itself had history. It was once part of Hart Island’s Boldt Castle before the Boldts decided it didn’t fit and moved it across the water. A smart decision, because this place was worth saving.
Mediterranean Platter
I made dinner reservations for two restaurants that looked promising both for celebration and for gluten-free options. Our first night we sat outside at The Boat Yard in Clayton. The reviews praised the flavors and atmosphere, and in practice it mostly held up. The staff wasn’t as confident with the gluten-free menu as we’d hoped, but we landed on some great dishes. The Black and Blue Nachos were unique and piled high, the Garlic Chicken hearty, and the Mediterranean Platter had unexpected depth. The star, though, was the platter’s hummus — smoky, rich, and unlike any version I’ve had with Mediterranean food before. The Boat Yard was a great choice for flavor as well as starting to feel the atmosphere around us.
The next morning brought a surprise. Over breakfast at the Hart House, Jocelyn spotted a familiar face: one of her kids’ former teachers, staying there with her husband. The four of us ended up laughing through the meal, sharing stories and coffee as though we’d planned it. I looked across the table at my wife, grateful again for the joy she so naturally shares. These are the small moments that remind me how lucky I am.
Williams Baseball Pinball
We spent the day exploring, guided by Jamie’s recommendations. Thousand Island Park was our first stop, also the site of our second dinner reservation. Along the way we ducked into The Guzzle, a boutique-style grocery and coffee shop that doubled as a game space and mini arcade. I grew up with pinball machines, so seeing an old baseball-themed pinball game made me light up. Jocelyn, meanwhile, reminded me she’s the real gamer in the family by absolutely crushing me at pool. Places like this — small, quirky, alive with character — are what make travel so memorable.
Later we drove down the St. Lawrence to a few smaller riverside towns. This was Jocelyn’s suggestion based on her own history. Her grandparents had a place nearby, and she has fond memories of summers spent exploring. Walking through Cape Vincent and Clayton with her as my guide was like stepping into her nostalgia. The shops were small, the people friendly, and even at the end of the season the towns felt vibrant. I love connecting with people when we travel, so that energy gave me a spark.
We had high hopes for dinner at the Wellesley Hotel. The building itself felt like a piece of history — polished woodwork, simple design, a reminder of a time when grand hotels filled Thousand Island Park. Most of those are gone now, victims of fire or time, but the Wellesley remains as the last in that line. Walking in, it carried the kind of weight that makes you expect something special.
Pomme Frites
The start was promising. We shared Truffle Pomme Frites, crisp and fragrant, though we quickly learned each bite needed a good hit of parmesan to really sing. Still, it set the tone for what we thought would be a refined meal.
Korean Shortrib
For mains, we ordered steak with Gorgonzola cream sauce and tried the Korean short rib. Both sounded perfect for a celebratory evening. The flavors were there — that sauce in particular was superb — but the execution left us wanting. Her steak wasn’t cooked to order, and the sauce portion was too light to balance the dish. My plate was even more unbalanced: one small rice pancake, a tiny streak of chimichurri, and no vegetable to round it out. It looked elegant, but it simply wasn’t enough to stand as a main course.
Superb Sauce
The kitchen clearly had the right ideas on flavor, but the proportions missed the mark. At this price point, and with the elegance the Wellesley represents, we expected more.
And yet, as we lingered in that old dining room, I found myself less concerned with the meal and more with the company. My bride and I laughed at the mismatched plates, shared what worked, and left with a memory that will last longer than any entrée. The hotel stands as a relic of history, but the real treasure that night was time together.
Our last morning was quiet. Another breakfast at the Hart House, a few more goodbyes, and then we were on our way. We left knowing this little slice of New York was one we’d return to. The Thousand Islands have a calm and charm that feel exactly right for us. My new bride and I need that, and I can’t wait to share it again — with her, and with those we love.
Capybaras have been living rent-free in our heads lately. The zeitgeist is strong—you see them in games, posters, and funny videos. I’ve never been the type to hold strong opinions about them, but their simple cuteness is undeniable. That charm serves them well, especially as the foundation for a game.
Capybara Crush, designed by Dylan Coyle, fits right into the aesthetic of the Charming Games Collective. They’ve built a niche around irresistibly cute titles where the art pulls you in with playful characters. Meeting Dylan, I got the sense that the cuteness isn’t just marketing—it’s part of who he is and how he approaches games. They’ve leaned into it with clever packaging (stuffed animal containers!) and even standalone plushies to snuggle. Spending time with folks from Charming gave off exactly that cozy, joyful vibe.
A Charming Selfie
The game itself is a card-drafting puzzle where you’re trying to build patterns and sequences for higher scores. The lore sets the stage: the river has flooded, and heroic capybaras are saving other animals by letting them ride along on their heads. River sections can swap out, giving special powers that let you rearrange your tableau, flip cards, or adjust your strategy. If you skip using those powers, they’re worth points at the end. Between drafting choices and power activation, there’s more strategy than first meets the eye. Playing with my son, we found ourselves thinking carefully about those nuances as the board took shape. He summed it up best: Capybara Crush is competitive, but it leaves you with good feelings.
One thing I appreciated this time was the rulebook. Compared to the last Charming game we played, this one had a much cleaner layout, making the interactions and setup easier to follow. It’s a small detail, but it makes a big difference when you just want to dive in and play.
Overall, I really like what Dylan and the team are doing—you can see their passion firsthand. Their games fit the family-fun vibe while quietly building skills. For me, the base game earns a solid 8 out of 10. Add in the deluxe edition with its fuzzy container, and I’d give it an extra point. Bring some capybaras to your table and try not to smile.
My partner and I are easily entertained. Over the past few years together, we’ve learned that the simple things make us happiest. Since we’ve both been married before—and we each have kids—we knew we didn’t need a grand production this time around. What we wanted was a celebration: something warm, genuine, and full of the people we love. That’s when I realized something surprising. In our relationship, I’m the Primadonna.
I work with weddings often, so of course I’ve built up opinions. The first time I got married, I was young and didn’t think much about the details. Now, after officiating and attending so many ceremonies, I knew what I liked, what I didn’t, and where I wanted to land.
One thing was clear: I didn’t want to elope. I’ve been lucky to meet and love people from all walks of life, and I wanted to share the day with as many of them as possible—without going broke. That meant something bigger than a Vegas Elvis wedding, but still rooted in simplicity.
We found a venue in Lyn’s hometown, run by people she already trusted. Brooke, Ty and their team at Rustic Ties were incredible—friendly, flexible, and even employing classmates and friends of our kids. We told them the essentials: gluten-free food, no strong opinions about napkins or décor, and a preference for keeping things simple. They rolled with it completely. It helps that their Dolgeville, NY space is naturally beautiful: rustic, warm, and welcoming.
We didn’t go with a florist or stress about color palettes. Instead, Lyn’s mom—who helps with the local farmers market—connected us to someone selling wildflowers. A quick conversation later, we had everything we needed: bud vases, boutonnieres, and bouquets. I dusted off my old floral training to pull it together, and it felt like hopping back on a bike. One pro tip: don’t hand your bouquet-allergic fiancé too many flowers. They’ll feel better once you stop.
A Ceremony and a Rick Roll
Our officiant was Levon, a dear friend, business partner, and brother from another mother. He’s done weddings before, and he struck the perfect balance: heartfelt and hilarious. Yes, we got Rick Rolled in the middle of the ceremony, and no, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Every vendor we worked with shared that same spirit of simplicity. Our photographer is a friend and fellow educator who’s captured family photos for years. The music, sound, and karaoke came from a team in Syracuse I’d trusted before. When we met with anyone, we said the same thing: we just want to have fun, we don’t have a lot of specifics. They all rolled with it, exactly as we hoped.
On the day itself, I couldn’t have asked for more. It was simple, but it overflowed with humor, emotion, and love. Our kids looked as amazing as they are on the inside. My bride took my breath away and made me cry when I saw her in her dress. We danced, we laughed, and we celebrated with the people who mean the most.
Simple and Lovely
And really, it can be that simple—if that’s what you want. A wedding can be you and four friends in a park, crying through vows. It can be something more elaborate if that fits you better. But it doesn’t have to be complicated just because tradition says so. As Lyn likes to remind me: “We’re in our forties, so we can do what we want.” I’d argue that’s true at any age. Create the wedding that feels right for you—even if it’s simple.
There are so many tropes about how we see the world. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The grass is always greener. Is your glass half empty or half full?
I usually land on the half-full side. I like to be positive and look for the brightness in things. That perspective guides much of my life, but as I grow personally and professionally, I’ve realized how important it is to think outside that single frame.
It’s easy to stay locked in one perspective. If you’ve faced hardship, your outlook is shaped by that. Even smaller things—like getting a headache every time you eat chocolate (who could that possibly be?)—can change how you see something. Chocolate itself isn’t bad, but your experience creates a negative frame around it.
Games work the same way. Trick-taking card games may share mechanics, but themes change how we experience them. One might feature axolotls in cowboy hats, another cooking utensils making a dish. Different players respond differently, depending on their own frame of reference.
Frames of reference are often justified by reality. Our lives are shaped by circumstances we don’t always control. Take work: if there are no jobs in your field nearby, you can’t just will them into existence. But how you frame the situation matters. You might see it as a failing of yourself or your profession, which isn’t constructive. Or you can reframe: look for how your skills translate, explore opportunities your region does offer, or decide to move. The frame shapes whether you feel stuck—or see options.
This is where positivity and negativity matter. In my experience, approaching problems positively leads to better outcomes. It helps us set goals, treat ourselves kindly, and treat others well along the way. Negativity, by contrast, often spreads and festers. And that mood feels especially present across the U.S. right now, in many aspects of life.
But positivity alone isn’t enough. If we ignore negatives, we risk being naïve—caught off guard by challenges we could have anticipated. Not everyone acts in good faith, and positivity won’t magically change that. The best frame blends both: hopeful, but realistic.
So what do we do? A simple exercise is to pause and shift your frame, even briefly. Look for positives or negatives you hadn’t considered. Think about the perspectives of others in the situation. Talk it out with people whose outlook you value. Just as negativity spreads, so does positivity—especially when paired with preparation.
Funny enough, I started this post thinking only about how frames shape games and work. Writing it shifted my own frame. That’s the point: don’t be afraid when your perspective changes. Sometimes it pushes you out of your comfort zone in good ways—like volunteering, joining a local group, or simply learning from older folks eager to share wisdom.
My challenge to you: take a moment to see through another frame. Not every perspective will fit you, but exploring them will leave you better informed—and better equipped to shape your own life, and the lives of those around you.
Have you ever embellished something? Was the fish longer in your story than it was in real life? Does your dating profile talk a bit more about your passion for reading than may be true? Is your age dependent on the day? This may be exactly the right game for you.
We first came across this game earlier in the year by Left Justified Studio. It is a story bluffing game developed by Adam Bain and Grant Lyon where you have to embellish your ability in or feeling on something positively or negatively by a certain amount. A party game, Big Dill is centered around the players’s ability to communicate and the fun that can come with a little fibbing. With an ability to score from both the storyteller and those listening, there is a great competitive dynamic.
Our biggest problem was getting this to the table. Though we had it for some time it was harder to get out with a group of three than with a group of four. As soon as we did though we quickly had fun telling each other about all our “skills”. We did this as a family, so it allowed me to talk about things that I have never brought up with my kids. They also heard from their stepmother about things that they would have no context for yet. It made a very interesting generational interaction where I think this game can shine with families. For friends who think they know each other this also is a great way to bring together in-jokes and callbacks to familiar history.
The box itself is an interesting shape, but is set up correctly to size. The game employees whiteboards for each player as well as markers so you can guess and then erase. I especially enjoy this scorekeeping element. The pickle motif across the entire game also is a great tie in. It makes some really fun puns and different pickle designs for each board. John Kovalic and Kenzie Lindow’s art brings these pickles to life, and I think in future expansions art could be put in more places.
I also want to shout out the expansion Gets Nerdy. I feel they did a great job with it because it expanded more whiteboards for more players as well as nerdy topics. As a self-professed geek, I can confirm they have put in some really great topics for this specific trope. I know I’m going to have to get this out with a different group than just the family, but when I do, I cannot wait to nerd out.
In the end, we had a great time playing the game and it’s one of the rare ones where kids wanted to keep going. I also cannot wait to continue to test my paces of storytelling through this unique game method. I think there’s good room for more expansions that I look forward to seeing.
Overall rating is 7.5. Thank you to Left Justified Studio for providing a review copy. Next time I’ll bring the pickles and the game will bring some laughs.
Is Beaver Falls part of Pittsburgh? When I gave the call out to get an idea of where to go in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania this was easily the top commented place to go. I’m not as familiar with the area as I would like to be so I do not know if this is exactly in the greater area. No matter what, the people of Pittsburgh agreed that this was the place that I needed to go check out.
We were on our way to Gen Con and this was a great stop late morning to grab something. Doing the research it appeared that not only did Oram’s specialize in old fashion type donuts, but they were one of the only places of note open on a Tuesday. Where I live Monday is the day that most places are closed so it’s interesting to see a difference regionally.
We drove through Beaver Falls which was quite quaint, and matched the vibe of the shop. It was close to closing time, but still a perfect time to get a doughnut. I love the old façade and sign that greeted your eyes upon seeing the shop. It really brings me back to the nostalgia I love with donuts.
Donuts and Pastry
Inside with my kids, we got a nice variety of items. I took a vanilla with cream filled, my son got a special orange frosted with jelly, and my daughter took a chocolate muffin. They also seemed to specialize in cream horns, so we got one to try together. A big difference right away was that the top of the donut was buttercream, which escaped my mind when I was recording, but my daughter was quick to point out. There was great contrast with the cream inside the donut, so it made a spot on flavor. A lot of sweetness in these donuts, but you can tell that is the effect they are going for. Both of the kids enjoyed their picks, and when we got to the horn, it was crisp and delicious. I was impressed that it was not too sweet compared to the other items and very good to see the contrast.
Overall, I think Oram’s Donut Shop is a good all-arounder. For a return trip, I would love to see what their full selection is, but that late in the day I think we got some good things. The folks in the shop were friendly even in tight quarters. The lack of seating is difficult but understandable. I put them at a four out of five and definitely add them to places worth stopping at in Pennsylvania
While traveling last week, a friend brought up that they judge donut shops based on a glazed donut . They get that variety of donut wherever they go, and use that as their baseline looking at places. It is not my methodology, but it does bring up a great point to think about; could a glaze donut be the universal measure?
I think there’s a lot of value in having something universal to go by. Doing research you know that by removing variables you are able to measure more accurately. Looking at the sticky sugary covered yeast donuts in every location does give a parallel viewpoint. Glazed is also what many people think of in terms of a donut. Other than the pink sprinkle frosted, that donut is very much the icon of donut symbology.
You can conduct these reviews on a few different measures. The content, texture and taste of the glaze is the first thing to touch your tongue. From there you can feel the fluff or weight of the donut itself. You can tell how well it was risen for the size and determine what it does for your mouth feel. So many factors are clearly useful with all this in mind.
On the other hand, what do we miss with this method? First of all, it excludes any cake donuts. I would wager also it eliminates rice flour based donuts. Certain shops have those as their specialty so they are out of the running almost immediately if that is the only thing we’re keying in. We also miss creativity from other areas that donuts are expanding. From fillings, to frosting, to candy covered treats on top, there is much to be said about harmonizing these new and different flavors and building methods for a doughnut. Case in point; I stop when I see something in a donut case that I don’t see you every day.
Where does this leave us? As Miley Cyrus said, I think we have to think of the best of both worlds. Getting a glazed someplace can help you get insight in the universal sense of their donuts. You also need to be able to see where else a bakery could shine outside of that mold. For me, I am the ultimate winner because it seems like I’m going to order two donuts every stop now.
Thank you Ref Dave for that insight. You will have to teach me how zebras eat donuts.
The Donut Guy Blog 