Two weeks ago I found Dropbox had downloaded 350GB of shared team projects to my comp. Today, found Apple Music downloaded over 100GB of music on my phone. Each time basically bricking the device. There has to be a better way.

This is a real horse-mill definition for what should be an exciting word.

Twitter—a haiku

contest in a middle school.

‘No, mine is better!’

Life with electric kettle. Learning its sounds. The cymballine tremble as it gets going. A long grumble. Then gathering quiet as it nears boiling. The abrupt, oceanic roar of a rolling boil—further crescendo—fortissimo—and, snick, the switch flicks off—decrescendo—silence.

Today, I “went for a run” but really jogged—first time since injuring my calf weeks ago. While out, I realized that jogging, with its trademark bounciness, is much harder on the calf than a kind of flat, hard run. So did that instead. Alas, it seems to be hard on the KNEES.

After a few weeks of posting daily, I find myself suddenly skeptical of microblogging. Who is this performance for, really? Are my talents at all suited to a form that feels more like stand-up than like writing? I’ll keep at it, I guess—but skeptically, skeptically.

“The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.” My grandma loved this quote. I always thought it shortchanged lightning bugs. But it’s a good point—and applies to more than just words.

Every time I get into some new piece of software, I get curious about who is heading up building it. And each time it’s some messianic dude enthusing about how their tool (networked notes! a web browser!) is actually the key technology for the new paradigm, the next age.

“Hobbits didn’t exist in prehistoric Middle Earth. No. Instead...let’s see, useless nomads with random plant matter in hair? That’s right.” JRR Tolkein feels deeply certain that this is best invention yet. “And—they’re called—wait for it—oh yes. Har-Foots.”

“family time”

In my timid return to the blasted space that is Twitter, I keep being struck by how much the presence of an immediate audience (even of just 2-5) affects my writing. Consciously, I don’t care and intend to write whatever—but, in practice, I’m obsessed with being liked.

Just re-read @davekarpf’s great takedown of the big Bezos clock, with its “3.65 million unique chimes composed by musician Brian Eno.” How perfect that this warning against “longtermism” came out in January 2020 https://www.wired.com/story/the-10000-year-clock-is-a-waste-of-time/

I'm finally closing in on a personal salsa verde recipe. Will write about it in Lightplay, but two key realizations:

• Use ricer to separate tomatillos from skins.
• Use ground, toasted pepitas to balance tartness with earthy richness. (Shades of mole.)

Being a vacuum really sucks.

No, I am NOT being a joker. Sorry if you thought I was. I’m just picking up what you’re laying down. I’ll take in your criticism.

What? I promise: vacuum puns really aren’t my bag.

This conversation has left me feeling emptied out.

I need to disconnect.

I’m going through a tiny book / zine phase: 

—saddle stitched

—fewer than 30 pages

—lovingly handmade

—no bigger than A5 and preferably A6 or smaller.

I love these small books' ephemerality, their ease, the way they invite you to take it all in in one sitting. I’m filling a little box on my coffee table. It makes me happy.

When my grandfather visited in 2000, he set up a space heater to keep the bathroom at 90 degrees. His nightmare? Cold loo from an 8- or 11-y-o grandson or their friend not closing the door. How to prevent this? He affixed a sticky note to the door: “WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?”

Frolicking in the surf, getting pushed around, diving under waves, water up nose, the big susurrus, a big set, laughing with a friend, jumping into a wave, saltiness, getting rolled, wet hair, stinging eyes, shorebirds, lifeguards, afternoon breeze, dry towel—that’s the stuff.

“Help! I’m a bunny, you see. And I’m about to be inserted into a giant toaster. Kind friend, is there any way you could free me? Surely there is enough bread in the rest of this loaf to sate your hunger. Yes! Carry me outside! Thank you. Wait, no! No, not the toaster! NOOO!”

A few days after I delivered a ~15-minute diatribe about how astrology is BS—useful BS—but only as useful as any other random prompt for contemplation and self-study, my partner sends me this extremely precise call-out of all my Libra character flaws/features. Hmmmm.

Planners love talking about how new freeways and wider freeways “induce demand” but what’s the term for tearing freeways out, closing lanes, and shutting off routes?

Personally pulling for “repulsed demand”—and ready for it.

Love to hear rumblings of something, think it sounds like some BS, and then read an exhaustive and brilliant essay that removes all doubt. If you read one thing on the so-called “Dimes Square” scene, highly recommend this piece by James Duesterberg.

Watching The Rings of Power, I keep wishing someone would give the show the Wizard People, Dear Reader treatment, endowing these batshit scenarios, fantastic costumes, and non sequitor performances with the narration they truly deserve.

A tack-sharp photo of my dashboard.

To the license plate reading “DDDADDY”—you may have won this round, but I promise to keep on fighting. I WILL have your photograph on my phone.

“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf?” asks last remaining sheep in family targeted by notorious lupine mutton-hunter. “Me! I’m afraid of Virginia Wolf!”

As a writer both half-seduced by and totally unable to see how to actualize the “Thousand True Fans” hypothesis, I found this essay by Dave Karpf quite helpful. My internet work remains 100% unmonetized.

davekarpf.substack.com/p/the-hol…