We Don’t Have Much Time, So We Need to Make This Quick

What would you say to your 17-year-old self?

That is the question with which stacy-marie ishmael closed out the most recent edition of her newsletter, the very excellent The Main Event. For the context driving the question, you will need to read the newsletter. Which you should do anyways; it’s really quite good.

I read this edition of The Main Event as I typically do, early on Monday morning, while slurping coffee and desperately trying to activate for the day. It apparently caught me in a reflective mood, because I did something I almost never do: I wrote back. stacy-marie sent me a very kind note in return, which I’m not going to share, but I will share what I sent to her, in an expanded version.

This missive to my past self started off pretty sincere, but it didn’t feel right. Then I thought about what I honestly knew about 17-year-old Josh, and took a slightly different tack. It went a little off the rails, but eventually made it back to sincere-ish. This time, though, it felt authentic. Here you go.

Look, kid, I don’t know how long I have, so we need to make this quick. Yeah, I’m future you. Hola. I know you believe me because this is the sort of shit you spend a distressing amount of time thinking about. But in case you have any lingering doubts: remember that time [a highly embarrassing memory we will take to our grave and is thus redacted]. Right, yes, this is a real Back to the Future moment. No, you don’t need to recite your favorite BACK TO THE FUTURE 2 quotes to — no, I just said — look motherfucker, we don’t have much time, so I’m begging you: please, shut the fuck up.

First things first: here are the winning Powerball numbers for the next five years. High-dollar prize winners only. After you win, you tear this list up and you never, ever play again. You hear me? You don’t want to risk drawing the attention of the wrong people by winning big twice. What do I mean by…? Well, if I’m able to do this — talking to my younger self — then presumably other people can and have also. Since you don’t regularly read about some asshole from Iowa winning ten Powerballs in a row, it follows then that there is a secret watchdog organization whose sole reason for existing is to watch for these types of anomalous patterns and snuff them out. Better to play it safe. Which means: Don’t. Get. Greedy. Now, once you have your winnings, you’re going to start making some modest, relatively speaking, investments. Here’s a roadmap to follow. Again, the goal is to fly under the radar. You play this smart and do it right, before long you’ll be living someplace warm by the ocean, with all the time in the world to write, and maybe the means to do a little good in the world. You don’t care about that last one right now, but down the line, you will.

Now, that mercenary but necessary bit of business out of the way, if there was time, I’d also tell my 17-year-old self

If you fuck this up — and let’s be real, you have a wobbly moral compass, so-so impulse control, and an unfortunate predilection for thinking you’re the smartest person in the room — so there’s every likelihood you will fuck it up — it’ll be okay. You — we — have a good life. You’ll find your people, even if it takes til you’re almost 30 for it to happen. You’re going to become comfortable in your skin in a way you never believed possible, like your skin is a perfectly tailored suit. You’ll paint your toenails lavender and ocean blue and people will compliment you on it. You’ll call out strangers for not washing their hands after using the bathroom (yeah, we still get icked by lack of basic hygiene and sanitation). Your hair will start going gray in your thirties, but at 41 it will still be thick and luxurious. You’re also going to bleach it soon and go platinum blonde. (You haven’t started watching Buffy yet, but go to Lycos or Altavista or whatever and search for “Spike on Buffy.”) You won’t have kids (right? no clue how we managed to pull that one off) but you’ll become a dog person at the age of 38 (who knew?) and they will become one of the best parts of your life. You’ll blunder your way into a career that isn’t writing; one that not only pays well but that you also enjoy. (Spoiler alert: You’re gonna spend a lot of time in the Excel mines, moving numbers around on spreadsheets.) Speaking of writing: you’ll publish your first short story — in a reputable publication, no less! — and get paid quite a bit of money for it, and strangers will send you nice messages about it. This one’s a bummer, but the scourge of depression will discover you like it’s Christopher Columbus, and for a while, things won’t be easy. Most of the time, though, it will be manageable and better days will be ahead. I won’t tell you to be patient, because that is not a quality either of us possesses in much quantity, but fuck it: try to be patient. Enjoy being young. Take risks. Make mistakes, and try to learn but, ideally, not die from them. Take no shit. Stay curious. Keep writing. Please don’t fuck up this lotto thing.

Now it’s my turn to ask: What would you say to your 17-year-old self?

The 17-year-old in question.

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Since this one is already running long, we’re going to end here today. The normal reading/watching/Kirbying stuff will come out in its own shiny post later this week.

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Mother’s Day, 2023

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and mom-like figures out there, but especially to my mom. We will be celebrating as we usually do on this day, by going out for Mexican for lunch.

She hates pictures of herself, but tough shit, Lori — this one is cute.

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Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

Two-thirds of the way through BEYOND THE HALLOWED SKY, by Ken MacLeod. I don’t read many space operas these days, but it was favorably mentioned in one of the 800 newsletters to which I subscribe, so I figured I’d give it a shot. (That it’s only 320 pages was also attractive.)

The plot summary per Goodreads:

When a brilliant scientist gets a letter from herself about faster-than-light travel, she doesn’t know what to believe. The equations work, but her paper is discredited – and soon the criticism is more than scientific. Exiled by the establishment, she gets an offer to build her starship from an unlikely source. But in the heights of Venus and on a planet of another star, a secret is already being uncovered that will shake humanity to its foundations.

I’m enjoying this one quite a bit. There are a bunch of characters, as one would suspect from a sweeping space opera, but their characterizations are distinct enough and interesting that it’s been easy for me to keep track of who is who. The plot is engaging and MacLeod never gets too infodump-y with the worldbuilding and the science/engineering bits. HALLOWED SKY is apparently the first in a trilogy, so unless the last third of this book goes completely off the rails, I am planning to read book 2.

Watching:

For my birthday this year, my sister got me a membership to the Drexel, one of Columbus’s indie theaters. We used that membership for the first time to see POLITE SOCIETY last week. The story follows Ria, a young martial artist and aspiring stunt woman, as she attempts to rescue her older sister Lena from marrying Salim, a rich and slimy chud. The plot is a little insane in the best way possible. Lots of ridiculous fights, humor that actually made me LOL, plus a talented and charming cast, and – most importantly – the runtime is only 104 minutes.

We also watched VIGIL, a murder-mystery set aboard a British nuclear submarine, the HMS Vigil. This one was so good that I actually stayed up past my bedtime – on a school night, no less! – to finish it.

Wanting:

This Steelcase Series 1 Work Office Chair, in canary. I think I’ve mentioned it here before, but for a while now the skin on my current office chair has been peeling off like it’s a character in a HELLRAISER movie. It needs replacing, but I can’t quite bring myself to pay $548 for a chair. Sure, my current chair has served me well for ten years, and I spend >9 hours a day with my ass planted on it, so, like with buying a bed, if I’m going to spend a third of my life (god, that’s depressing lol) using something, it probably makes sense to invest in something that will be comfortable and supportive to the old meat bag. I’m just not there yet.

Listening:

The most recent Hardcore History, HH 69* – The Twilight of the Aesir.

*Nice.

And Kirby:

I shared this on Instagram, but am also going to put it here, because 1) he’s just so darn cute, and 2) to illustrate why his nickname is Kirby Roo.

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Busy Doing Nothing

I’m back.

We spent the back half of April in and around Santa Rosa Beach, down in the panhandle of Florida, doing our best to abide by the mantra of busy doing nothing.

Most days were spent at the beach, reading and dozing, cavorting in the surf, and watching the sunset. We had so much seafood. I ate my weight in redfish, mahi-mahi, and shrimp. Food there is so expensive; we spent $60 at a hotdog stand. A couple of Black Hawks from a nearby airbase buzzed us. Because we’re us, we found two bookshops and somehow managed to buy more books than what we brought with us. The view from our back porch was like looking into Jurassic Park. A valet at one of the swankier restaurants offered to sell me drugs because he “just got a vibe from me, man”; I was flattered.

Kirby came with us, of course, and lived his very best life in Florida. Almost everywhere down there is dog-friendly, so he went out with us a lot, ferried along in his trusty wagon. Sunsets on the beach, dinners on patios, and time spent wandering through bookshops. He became a mini-celebrity: In Seaside’s town square, one woman, on the phone with her husband, exclaimed, “It’s Kirby!” as we walked by. She’d met Kirby on the beach the night before and had just been telling her husband about him, and asked if she could get a photo of him. A different woman spent twenty minutes in line at a restaurant petting Kirby and telling him how beautiful he was. In a different life, Kirby would make an excellent wingman.

I am redder-finally-turning-into-browner, more relaxed, and happier than when I left. It was nice to come home and return to the routines of daily life, but – always the marker of a great vacation – I will be ready to go back.

Not a postcard.
“Damn, I was going for thoughtful.”
He wants to believe.
This was on the beach early one morning. It looks like some clue Indiana Jones would need to find Atlantis.
Was not expecting to see deer on the beach.
How does a dog who is so derpy in real life manage to look so dignified and majestic in photos?

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Warm Nights, Chill Vibes

Programming note: after this week’s edition, josh bales [dot] net will be out of office for the remainder of April, returning on May 7. My aim is to be off-screen as much as possible during our retreat to the Florida panhandle, but there will no doubt be some posting on Instagram. So if you want to see pictures of my dog and the ocean, feel to follow along there.

In Dayton this weekend to see comrades both old and new.

The new comrade – like two-weeks-old new – I was honored to hold for several hours yesterday, something less awkward for me now than it would have been a few years ago, before I became accustomed to holding a geriatric dachshund in the same manner. Then dinner at Salar last night, several perfect hours spent on their back patio, the air warm but the vibe chill, with many drinks and foods consumed.

Today we see a few more people, including attending a birthday fête for Sarah.

I have adjusted to being a Columboner for the most part and generally enjoy it, though it’s always wonderful coming back home to Dayton, a city I love and where (most of) my people are.

‡

Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

I don’t often give up on books, but I am with THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS. As much as I liked LOVECRAFT COUNTRY, its sequel is just not working for me. Once upon a time, I would have felt guilty about setting a book aside. Now, though, my philosophy is that life is too short to power through something I am not enjoying.

…I feel like this should apply to more than just books.

Watching:

Uh, nothing this week. I’m not even sure I turned the TV on. Oh, wait! I watched DREDD the other night. I wanted something short and delightfully violent, and DREDD was streaming. It’s a terse, fun film. I’m bummed they never got to make more of these.

Wanting:

To bleach my hair platinum blonde. Something like this. I’ve been wanting to properly do it for years, ever since I sort of did it fifteen years ago and it turned out mostly orange. My grandma had dark hair, and when it began to gray, she went blonde. So, to my haters, I say: if it was good enough for Grandma Millie, it’s good enough for me.

Listening:

The sun has been out in full force and the weather warm, which for some reason correlates to wanting to listen to punk records. One such record I’ve replayed several times this week is Screeching Weasel’s EMO. I know this is not every Weasel fan’s favorite record, but it’s one of mine. It’s earnest in a way that feels authentic, while also being hella catchy. This one doesn’t have a bad song, but “Passion” and “Last Night” are two of my favorite tracks.

Their cover of the Cranberries’ “Linger” is also fantastic, but, alas, it’s not on Bandcamp.

And Kirby:

Enjoying that wagon life.

Plus a bonus! Molly:

This picture of Molly came up in one of Jess’s memory things, and I had to share it. She could somehow make even the bitchiest of resting bitch faces look sweet. I miss her.

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Time Traveling with a Wright Bro

A few years back, Jess sent me an announcement from the Wright Memorial Library in Dayton. The library was putting together an “art and literary zine” to commemorate their 80th anniversary, and they were seeking contributors. They wanted pieces that focused on place (libraries, Dayton, etc.) or the passage of time, either looking backward or forward. The zine was going to be titled GLIDE.

It was a fun concept, and I hadn’t written anything of substance in a while, so I figured why not throw my hat into the proverbial ring? There was just the not insignificant question of: what did I want to write about?

There used to be a life-size sculpture of the Wright Brothers’ Flyer in downtown Dayton that I would walk by every day on my way to and from work. Wilbur is piloting the Flyer, while Orville runs along beneath it. I wondered how the brothers would feel if they could get a glimpse of such a monument to their success. Especially if it came in a dark moment where they wondered if they should give up?

And so it was settled. I would write a time travel story about Orville and Wilbur Wright.

‡

“A Brief Detour” is a gentler story than the sort I typically write. No violence is done to anyone (bicycles notwithstanding), what few cusses there are are mild, and the tone is lighter. And it was exactly the story I needed to tell, then, to drag myself out of the rut I had been in, writing-wise. Writing it was… I won’t say effortless, because it wasn’t — but it came easily. Then working with the folks at the library to edit and refine it into the best version of itself was a pleasure. (One day I’ll write a whole thing about how much I genuinely enjoy the editing process.) Seeing “A Brief Detour” in print, holding GLIDE in my hands, gave me the confidence to tackle “In the Land of Broken Things” later that year.

I’m not sure how many copies of GLIDE were printed. Enough for all the contributors and some extras for the public. If I’m ever fortunate enough to publish a novel, that future book will sit next to my copy of GLIDE on my bookcase’s ego shelf.

A PDF version of the zine is still up on the library’s website, but it’s a bit clunky to read. So I’ve decided to give “A Brief Detour” a second home, here on josh bales [dot] net. You can read it here. There’s also a link on the Writing page.

Hope you enjoy it.

‡

Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

Working my way through THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

Interesting thoughts from Warren Ellis on How To Build A Blog Without Social Media. josh bales [dot] net syndicates to various social media platforms, but my SM audience is relatively small. Perhaps 300 people see what I write. But I blog because I enjoy doing it, not because I expect a ton of people will read what I write. Blogging in the era of social media is certainly a labor of love, emphasis on the love.

Watching:

I really enjoy the works of John le Carré, but I love the adaptations of his books even more. This past week we watched the limited series of THE NIGHT MANAGER, which is right up there with the 2011 TINKER TAILOR SOLIDER SPY for me in terms of “fuck this is good.” Tom Hiddleston always makes for a somewhat bland leading man — looking at you specifically, KONG: SKULL ISLAND — but he does a solid job here. Hugh Laurie, though, is magnificent as a cold-blooded but charming international arms dealer. The joy of the show is watching Hiddleston’s protagonist insinuating himself into Laurie’s character’s work fambly, all of whom are interesting and multi-faceted, and manipulating them into tearing their fambly apart. The show aired in 2016 but I learned a second season is now in the offing.

The new INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY trailer dropped yesterday at Celebration, and it made me so happy.

Wanting:

A vacation. Which, thank the sorcerer, I will be embarking on in a few weeks.

Listening:

I have been knee-deep in spreadsheet hell this week — Ex-hell, if you will — so I’ve been listening to a lot of moody ambient music. Dark ambient, metropolis and Cthulhu is one of my favorites.

And Kirby:

He’s got no eyes, but you can still somehow feel the judgement radiating from him because Jess wasn’t sharing her cereal milk.

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Haiku and China Buffets

Let’s mix things up a bit this week, and allow me to demonstrate my magnificent versatility as a writer. Here is a haiku. One inspired by true events.

leave the cabaret
happy drunks ambling, seeking
the China Buffet

Yes, I know haiku aren’t supposed to rhyme. No, I don’t care. When we know the rules, we are allowed to break them.

(I don’t actually know the rules, but I also dgaf.)

The China Buffet in question.

‡

I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu writing this (again) this week, buuut: we are finally getting over our Covid (again) up in here. (Yeah, I ended up developing the rebound bullshit, too.) Our rona woes have become trop chiant to write about, thought, so let’s move on.

‡

Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

This week, I started THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS, by Matt Ruff. It’s the follow-up to the excellent LOVECRAFT COUNTRY.

“The Revolution Against Shady Landlords Has Begun”:  Molly Crabapple’s new cover story for THE NATION details the fight against shady landlords being waged by New York tenants and housing advocates. (You can use 12ft Ladder to bypass the paywall.)

Watching:

OUTER BANKS, season 3:  I don’t quite hate-watch this show like I do Emily in Paris, but the teenage characters make all kinds of idiotic decisions and are constantly shouting at each other, which I find stressful. There’s also a new adult protagonist whom I loathed, and every episode I kept thinking, “Maybe this will be the episode he dies.” That said, this was still the best season of OUTER BANKS yet, and the treasure hunting storyline that had been building for three seasons concluded in a truly satisfying manner.

EUPHORIA:  Jesus Christ, this show is intense. It reminds me exactly of my high school days, except with more drugs, sex, and violence. I dug the first season a lot, but wasn’t quite ready to jump into the second season. I need a little break from teen angst.

Wanting:

I want this Casio G-SHOCK Men’s A1000 Watch Pink Rainbow Vintage so, so badly.

Listening:

Jenny Lewis announced this week that her fifth solo album, JOY’ALL, comes out in June. She also dropped a new single from it: “Psychos.”

We are seeing Ms. Lewis perform this summer at the House of Blues in Cleveland, and I couldn’t be more stoked.

And Kirby:

Enjoying the sun on his face.

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Post-The-Rona

The weather here in Columbus, Ohio is currently engulfed in a civil war. One side is fighting for all things sunny and flirty and beautiful; the other is hell-bent on thunderstorms and gloom, which has a beauty all its own.

Which side will win? It doesn’t matter.

Our household is slowly coming down from our brief experimentation with Covid. Both Jess and I are largely feeling much better. I’m still experiencing some general fatigue, and have a persistent headache and some body aches, but it’s been manageable and I was able to work most of the week. If we had to get Covid – and let’s be real, we were bound to get it eventually – I’m grateful that it was now, three years after the rona first reared its ugly virus face. Now, after we’ve been vaccinated and boosted, and things like antivirals exist and, in this country at least, are readily accessible. Paxlovid can be a bit of a motherfucker while you’re on it, but its efficacy at reducing the length and severity of Covid, as well as lowering the risk of experiencing long Covid health issues, has made it, to me, worth it.

All told, the last two weeks could have been a lot worse.

ADDENDUM: I wrote the majority of this post on Saturday morning, which apparently was interpreted by the universe as me giving it the finger. Because on Saturday night, Jess developed what is colloquially referred to as “rebound Covid.” Apparently, in 4% of people, five days of Paxlovid isn’t a sufficient length of time, and their Covid symptoms return. In theory, those symptoms are supposed to be mild, but we shall see. In the meantime, our household shall live with the fog of Covid a little while longer. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It be like that sometimes.

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Here’s what I’ve been up to the last couple of weeks.

I finally finished THE GLASS HOTEL, by Emily St. John Mandel. This is the second novel I’ve read by Mandel, after SEA OF TRANQUILITY, and I can quite honestly say she has become one of my top five favorite authors. THE GLASS HOTEL is set before, during, and after the 2007-2008 financial crisis. A key plot element involves a Madoff-like Ponzi scheme collapsing, and those both involved in and impacted by it, but that’s not the main point of the story. The narrative is not linear, continually jumping all over the timeline and switching points of view. It’s occasionally jarring, but by design. This could be annoying and confusing in the hands of a lesser writer, but Mandel is the opposite of a lesser writer. A subtle feeling of the surreal threads throughout the book, especially in the last seventy pages, which gives it a dream-like quality that just enhances the story. Mandel’s writing is gorgeous and haunting, sharply funny at times, and very easy to get lost in.

Watching:

BONE TOMAHAWK: A gritty, character-driven Western for the first hour that turns into a brutal horror movie for the second hour. It’s really good, but some of the more horrific scenes are hard to watch. Kudos to the sound design team, though – while you might be able to close your eyes, you can still hear everything, in vivid, squelchy fashion.

DO REVENGE: A darkly funny teen/revenge film loosely inspired by STRANGERS ON A TRAIN and every teen comedy you’ve seen from the past 30 years. This makes for a hilarious and chaotic viewing experience. I loved loved loved this film. And it boasts a killer soundtrack, to boot.

Wanting:

I’ve long admired the work of Belgian artist Sammy Slabbinck. One of his more recent pieces, THE EQUATION, is quite stunning and will one day find a home on my wall.

Listening:

I was out somewhere a while back and heard a song that I vaguely remembered from my youth. Didn’t know the band or song title, only that it was from the 90s and had the line “I only wanna do bad things to you.” I googled it and all the results were for some shitty Machine Gun Kelly song. It took a ridiculous amount of detective work (10 minutes on Google and Wikipedia), but I eventually found the song I was looking for. Turns out the actual lyrics are “I never mean to do bad things to you,” and my brain had just misremembered them. In short, the shitty MGK song included interpolated lyrics from the 90s song I was thinking of, which is what was confounding my google search. Apparently, both my brain and the songwriters of the shitty MGK song had independently arrived at the somewhat hornier lyrics of “I only wanna do bad things to you.”

Anyhow, that’s my long-winded way of saying I’ve had Fastball’s “Out Of My Head” stuck in my head for a while.

And Kirby:

While Jess and I may have not felt great the last two weeks, Kirby has been having a marvelous time being connected to his mom’s hip even more so than usual.

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J’en Suis Certain

Took three years, but the rona finally caught us.

While we don’t feel great, we could be much worse off. I am supremely grateful if we had to get covid, we got it now, three years into the pandemic, and not a couple of years ago, before vaccines and antivirals were widely available.

Regular service at josh bales dot net should resume next week. In the meantime, take care of your bad selves.

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Forty-One

The 11th of March marked the terminus of my 41st revolution around the Sun, and the beginning of my 42nd. That’s an extremely cool and in no way dorky way of saying I turned 41 yesterday.

I started the day off with a very large cinnamon roll for breakfast — made even better because it was a “yesterday’s cinnamon roll” from Kittie’s and only cost a dollar. Spent the majority of the day hanging out with Jess and Kirby. Then last night we were invited by friends to a fundraising dinner for Niche Seekers, a newer non-profit with a really cool mission. The cause was good, the company great, the drinks very strong, and the food very elegantly delicious. There was even a mashed potato bar!

Purple potatoes: Tasty treat or a key element in the secret Eucharist rite recognizing Grimace?

And of course, we had to take the obligatory selfie as proof that we really do leave the house and do stuff sometimes.

(Quick aside: While we were taking the below photo, I realized I now only own one nice shirt that can be tucked into pants. I wore it for my Cincinnati Dinner Train birthday shindig last year, then again for a funeral last October, and now last night. The in-office to remote wardrobe evolution is real, y’all.)

I’m happy and smiling, I promise.

To cap this birthday week off, later today we’re going to get Mexican, where I may or may not drink a margarita the size of my head. All in all, it’s been a fine way to begin this next year.

‡

Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

Working my way through THE GLASS HOTEL. It’s quite good, but this week’s been busy with other stuff, and I just haven’t been in the mood to read as much.

A fascinating look at Arnold Schwarzenegger at age 75.

Watching:

THE INVISIBLE MAN. This was so hard to watch. Two hours of watching this poor woman be gaslit and emotionally tortured by her “dead” but invisible ex, an abusive piece of shit of the highest caliber. Murder really should be legal sometimes.

Watching INFINITY POOL was just me saying variations of “what the actual fuck?” over and over again for two hours.

Wanting Acquired:

My current media center is eight or nine years old, and has been a solid comrade during that time. But it’s old, tired. Its OS is no longer supported. It periodically can’t find one of its hard drives (I can relate). It’s time for it to retire and move to Arizona, where it will spend its golden years living on a commune with other retired computers, growing apricots and weed, and making hemp bracelets to sell at the farmer’s market.

I’ve backfilled its position (har har) with a Synology NAS (networked-attached storage) and an 8 TB hard drive, which, paired with Plex Media Server software, essentially create a compact, powerful media server connected to my network and that can stream to any device in the house. I was wary about setting it up — it seemed like it was a bit above my weight class, but it was ludicrously easy to set up. Took less than an hour. Now I begin the arduous task of converting my physical movie/tv collection into digital, because I doubt I’ll ever want a wall of Blu-rays in my house ever again.

Listening:

The new Miley album dropped Friday. I’ve listened to it once so far. It’s no BANGERZ, or even YOUNGER NOW, but I dig the vibe.

And Kirby:

Kirby and the neighbor boy, Alfredo, saying hi. Right after I took this photo, Kirby marked his territory on the fence line. And right after that, Alfredo marked his territory in the same spot, but he is so much taller that his golden arch of urine landed on Kirby. And after that, Alfredo did that instinctual, ground-kicking thing dogs do, and kicked a few pieces of mulch onto Kirby’s head. Alfredo is the sweetest boy, I think he just doesn’t know what to do with a tiny, blind, old man of a dog. Kirby was over the whole experience, and I nearly expired from laughing so hard.

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In German, San Diego Means

I flew home from San Diego this past Tuesday. It was a smooth and easy travel day, especially in comparison to my outbound trip the week before, which was full of things like bad weather! canceled flights! unscheduled stops in Phoenix for fuel! dropped pretzel bites from Auntie Anne’s! In the end, the important thing is I did make it there and back again. The rest of this week has been about easing my way back into the real world. Coming home to Jess and Kirby helps.

This was my first time in San Diego since 2019. Up til that point, I had been at least once a year since 2012. I was scheduled to make my annual jaunt on March 19, 2020 — flights were booked, plans were made — but that didn’t happen for reasons that rhyme with “bran gimmick.” 2021 and 2022 were also clustercusses of a year, so I didn’t go then either. This year, I was determined to go even if it meant shipping my dead body in a pine box by cargo train, like some kind of Midwest, knock-off brand Dracula. Rail freight transport ain’t cheap, so thankfully that scenario didn’t prove necessary.

Being back in San Diego felt good, like a power-up to the soul. The weather wasn’t what one typically associates with Southern California. It rained several days — one inch on Saturday — and was generally chilly. There was one pleasant day when I was able to feel the sun on my face. None of that really mattered, though. I don’t go to San Diego for the climate. I go there to see one of my favorite humans in the world. So long as that happens, the location, while lovely, is irrelevant.

This time ‘round, I watched a bunch of movies, dined at Jeune et Jolie, my first time at a Michelin star restaurant (my closest encounter with one previously was Gabriel’s restaurant in EMILY IN PARIS), saw COCAINE BEAR, played a Buffyesque version of D&D — my drop-in character, essentially a guest star of the week, was a lockpicking cheerleader named Sheena — got a Thai massage, watched more movies, and generally just hung out.

It was a goddamned delightful time. I can’t wait to return next year.

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Here’s what I’ve been up to this week.

Reading:

I didn’t read for most of the trip, then read Jane Pek’s THE VERIFIERS in basically one day. I love detective fiction, especially when someone has a clever take on it, which Pek definitely does. THE VERIFIERS is set in the world of the dating app industry, and the protagonist, Claudia Lin, is a detective of sorts for an agency that folks hire to verify the identities of people they’re dating. It’s a fun concept, but what really makes the book stand out is Claudia’s family. They’re complicated, funny, and feel very real. I enjoyed the bits with them just as much as the overarching “mystery.”

AI is magic, but the bullshit kind.

Watching:

COCAINE BEAR is everything you could want from a movie called COCAINE BEAR. Even better, the characters are generally well-drawn and interesting, which is unheard of for most horror movies. Also, the kids actually talk and act like real kids.

I watched BEVERLY HILLS COP on the outbound flight to San Diego. It had been years since I’d seen it, but I was confident it was a safe bet to watch on a plane, and if there were anything too risqué, then Delta would surely edit it out. Reader, there was and they did not. There’s a whole scene in a strip club that I had 100% forgotten about. The uncomfortable experience of watching this five-minute scene, full of shots of topless women with big 80’s hair dancing badly, was shared with the sweet old lady seated next to me, who in theory was watching THE BIG BANG THEORY, but was also definitely glancing at my screen.

THE MENU: holy shit was this good. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this, and I mean that in the best way possible. We watched this after dinner at Jeune et Jolie, so I was able to better appreciate things like the amuse-bouche.

Wanting:

A new computer chair. Mine is ten years old and has been steadily sloughing off its skin for the last six months. Considering I spend at least 8-10 hours a day in it, it’s time for it to go live on a nice farm upstate with other aging computer chairs. I’d like to get one that is more ergonomic, and also not shedding. I have no idea what to look for in a chair, beyond not shedding and [waves hand vaguely] “ergonomic.” I am open to suggestions.

Listening:

“Thunderclouds”: What a chill, lovely, catchy song. (Yes, I realize it came out like five years ago. I don’t care. Shut up.) This week I watched its music video, which operates on an entirely different level, for the first time and under ideal conditions. Hypnotic, beautiful.

And Kirby:

Patiently waiting for his dinner. Photo by Jess.

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