sunday seven

On another platform I used to frequent, there was (and may still be) a tradition called “Sunday Seven” where you’d share seven different ideas, usually in a shorter format of about a paragraph each. I’m going to try to resurrect that here this year on as many Sundays as possible for a few reasons. Primarily, to force myself back into the habit and practice of putting words together on the regular, and secondarily, I’m at a bit of a loss for topics that merit a longer treatment at the moment, though those will surely still come, too, what with democracy ending, and all.

A quick medical update. A few people know this already, but for everyone else’s awareness, I’ve been having trouble with herniated and degenerated discs in my neck. There’s an impingement there on some of the nerves that run out to my arms, resulting in weakness and numbness. Mercifully, no pain, but the lack of dexterity and strength is notable. Of course full use of my arms and hands is a pretty big deal to me for obvious reasons, so I’m in the process now of seeing various neurological specialists to figure out the best course of treatment. So far, the medical establishment is not impressing me, but I will persevere. By the way, this started a few months ago, and therefore contributes significantly to my position that 2024 is the worst year in history. I’ll keep you posted.¹

So many social media platforms are dying or becoming unusable. Ten years ago, I spent a probably unhealthy amount of time on Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr. Today, those numbers are zero. I’m still on Insta for now, and I spend some time on BlueSky. But I’m going to probably leave Insta soon because I can’t be even a tiny part of Zuckerberg’s project to overthrow democracy, and BlueSky doesn’t quite have the juice yet despite a promising start. One observer (can’t find the source, unfortunately) described the Internet as “feeling dead” now, and I kinda get that. Speaking for myself at least, I’m back to looking at a few web sites for news and commentary, and reading newsletters in my inbox. It feels very twenty-five years ago. I’m not making any value judgement here about whether this state of affairs is better or worse, though I might say “static” or “impersonal” rather than “dead.” At least until the AI slop takes over once and for all. Then I guess I’ll tend carrier pigeons, or see if I can singlehandedly resurrect USENET.

I’ve been playing around with painting lately, though I hesitate to use that word. It’s more accurate to say I’m putting paints on canvas. To call this “painting” or, especially, to call myself a “painter” feels like a grave insult to those who actually do it. I feel this way about a lot of self-descriptions. I am comfortable calling myself “guitarist,” “software engineer,” and recently “runner,” though I still have some reservations about that. I’d never call myself a “golfer,” for example, because even though I’ve been doing it for 30 years I still carry a 25-handicap. I’m not worthy of the word. I feel that way about “writer,” too. Yes, I’m writing right now, but I’m a dilettante, a nothingburger. I mean, two paragraphs ago I told you I’m out of ideas. Other problematic self-descriptors include “singer,” “photographer,” and “pianist.” The trickiest one is “parent” because while I am undeniably one of those, I don’t think I have any clue how it works yet.²

Los Angeles, man. Our language lacks words for the horror of the fires. This will easily be the costliest natural disaster in American history, and maybe the one that displaces the most people, too. I’ve always loved LA. Before I started working in the Boston area all the time, it was probably the city outside of Chicago where I spent the most time. My wife and sister lived there for years, and so many of my college friends live there now (or did, anyway). I even kind of harbored some crazy ideas that maybe it’d be a place I could ride out the winters after I eventually retire. This thing is very much not about me, I’m just saying I have my own additional, tiny ties to the heartbreak. I’m trying to figure out the best place to donate some money to help; if you have any great ideas, please let me know.

Speaking of Boston, a few months ago I passed the five-and-a-half year mark at this job, making it the longest stint at a single employer in my career. It’s not a perfect job—none is—but I still enjoy the challenges and most of the people. I hoped when I took the job I could last there until the kids were through college, at which point I won’t quite be able to retire, but at least I could downsize to something less stressful. That plan still looks good from here, though all caveats and assumptions about health, finances, family circumstances, and political strife / refugee status apply.

I never did eulogize Arlee here. Now it seems like too much time has passed, and I don’t want to dig all that up again, anyway. It was such a sudden and cruel coda to the worst year ever. She went from more-or-less fine to gone in a month, and at not even ten years old to boot. I still occasionally find myself looking for her, or saving the last bite of a meal to share. So I won’t make an obituary, but I do want to carve out a little space for all the veterinarians and their staffs who took such good care of her through the end, and to express gratitude for how compassionate they were with her and with us. Also, to our friends and family who all seemed to know just what to say and do to support us: thank you. You know who you are. 💙

We’ve picked up about 17 minutes of daily sunlight since the solstice. It’s definitely enough to notice, especially in the evenings. There’s a little bit of light in the western sky at 5:00pm that wasn’t there three weeks ago. I still remain utterly without hope for America in 2025 and beyond, but the retreat of the cold, penetrating literal darkness should make the impending metaphorical kind just a little easier to take.