AnnieModify

I need to get back on the monthly routine because I’m squinting back at August like Uuuuuuuuuuh I vaguely remember it so anyway let’s see how this goes. 

Piglet by Lottie Hazell

What could she say? What sentence would pierce him while leaving her intact? She had built her life so carefully around him. To say something, to do something, to feel something, would be to self-destruct.

Okay. So. I want to like this book. I love books about food, involving food, including food. And this book has a lot of food. Of course it’s a tool, a metaphor, a… I don’t know, an environment. But still: Food. Hell yeah. Actually maybe that’s what I don’t like. I love the messy earthy good realness of food and people taking pleasure in it, cooking and sharing and enjoying it. Food in this story is not that. It is a measure of control, self-inflicted punishment, purgatory, avoidance, annihilation. And that makes me sad. ALSO I think if we’d moved things along and had the final inevitable explosion happen at, say, page 215 instead of page 300-ish, that would have been better. Also also, I said the writing was good and it was but. But there were a lot of stretches of text that went like this: She (did a food thing). She (did another food thing). She (did another food thing). Details of the ingredients. She (did another food thing). Sizzle. She (did a food thing). She (did another food thing). She (did another food thing).  Etc. 

I don’t know how you’d write it different but it got repetitive. It was too much. I was inwardly screaming OKAY I GET IT I GET IT SHE IS COOKING AS A WAY TO HAVE CONTROL SHE IS EATING AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR ALL THE OTHER THINGS SHE SHOULD BE DOING I GET IT. 

Also it annoyed me that he (the fiance) did a horrible thing that ruined it all but we treat it like a big mystery and it is never clarified. I know the point is it doesn’t matter what he did. The point is he betrayed her and instead of rising up with immediate willpower and boundaries and hell naw she just cooks and eats and pretends it’s fine. (Until she doesn’t.) I get that in a really personal way of having done the same thing myself (less cooking, less eating, but just as much pretending it’s fine) and I know it doesn’t matter how the betrayal happens, what matters is that the betrayal happened and what matters even more is the self-betrayal that happens and then keeps happening. Until it doesn’t. Again: I GET IT. But also: I WANT TO KNOW. Tell me what he did. 

Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

This book both destroyed and healed me. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about it. It’s beautiful, it’s full of music and connection and fear. It’s a time-outside-of-time book but you know, the whole time, that there is a reckoning, there is an end, and you know it will pluck your heart out and smash it like a grape and you go forward anyway. Because you are there too and the music you can’t hear is carrying you along and the slow threads are weaving together and you are somehow woven in and then your heart is broken and you have no one to blame but yourself. And Ann Patchett. 

I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman

Is there a satisfaction in the effort of remembering that provides its own nourishment, and is what one recollects less important than the act of remembering? That is another question that will remain unanswered: I feel as though I am made of nothing else.

First pick for the book club. We had our first meeting the last week of August and I picked this book without knowing anything about it other than I wanted to read it. It wasn’t what I expected. I’m not sure what I expected. Something lighter, I guess. Anyway I loved it but I felt kind of bad about picking it for CBBC because it is weighty. It is depth. It is pondering.  It is kind of bleak. Also beautiful. Also heavy. It’s a book I want to read again in a few years and see how it hits me. 

Perhaps, when someone has experienced a day-to-day life that makes sense, they can never become accustomed to strangeness. That is something that I, who have only experienced absurdity, can only suppose.

I guess this is a stranded-on-a-desert-island book, kind of. But only in the sense that the environment, the context, has been set up to give us this thought experiment, this experience, this long echoing question of purpose and the even more important unignorable thump-thump-thump of loneliness.

Anyway this book is excellent. Read it. Or don’t. But do. Also read The Wall by Marlen Haushofer.

Crazy Hawk by R.J. Stewart

I was not sure about this book but Stewart wrote and produced Xena, Warrior Princess so I figured it would be worth a shot. And yes: It was. If you like well-written badass heroines doing cool shit in a dystopian world (I do) you will like this. 

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow

Really quite gorgeous. I liked the characters, good adventure, good pacing, good story. A satisfying if bittersweet fantasy (don’t worry, the ending is good).

Dream Snake by Vonda M. McIntyre

Loved this one. Scifi, really, but reads like fantasy. I should say more about it but I’m tired and I have already said a lot of words. 

Without Her Consent by McGarvey Black

Okay thriller. Plot twist was not so surprising. Tolerable writing. Good escape for a few hours. 

But I am who I am and these two small very small really inconsequential things enrage me so here we are 

1. When the Login link/button opens the login page in a new tab.

STOP IT. If I am logging in do you think I want the pre-login home page to stay open in a separate tab NO. I do NOT. I am here for one purpose and one purpose only and that is to login. Tabs are precious. I do not have any to waste on the prior page, the pointless page, the unused and unneeded pre-logged-in home page that you insist on keeping open in its own tab. Do you think I’m going to tab back to it and read your latest homepage copy or peruse the social proof or NO. I am NOT. I am ALREADY using the product that is why I am here to LOG IN. Quit target blanking the login button. 

2. When the buttons are just scattered around all over the place WTF IS THAT.

Want to do action? Click this button here on the right side!

Want to see things related to the action you just took or will most likely take next? No problem! Click this button. Where is it? On the right side near the last button you clicked? 

NO IT IS WAY OVER HERE ON THE LEFT SIDE! SURPRISE! Click it. Go ahead. 

Want to do the final action in this sequence of clicks which have to be clicked sequentially to do the thing? Okay! Click the third button. Where is it? Here? On the left side where we’re now putting buttons? NO! On the right side where the first button was? ALSO NO! It’s at the BOTTOM. You fool. You absolute idiot. Why didn’t you know that. 

A mental model or set of values starts as a shelter from the unrelenting chaos of reality. We need these shelters. Living without them isn’t really possible.

We can’t take in and process adequate information fast enough to make truly new decisions. We need to categorize things and go with default reactions, otherwise we’ll get stuck, overwhelmed, never able to move from processing and analysis to action.

Beliefs, mental models, values: These are shortcuts to decision-making. We adopt the ones we are given, adapt them according to our experiences, and use them as a way to understand the world (at least in some fashion). They tell us what the best thing is when we face a choice. They tell us how to react to other people’s choices.

These structures give us shelter from chaos. They give us shortcuts so we can live. We stack a bunch of these structures together and call it something bigger: a religion, a culture, civilization. The interactions between the structures form the system we understand as reality.

The problem with every system is how it evolves. It begins as a means of supporting the structures, keeping everything working; it ends up as a self-referential entity with the core goal of sustaining itself.

The individuals within a system may change and grow and need the system to change and grow with them. But systems resist change. The individuals in a system are often not served by the system, but they’re serving it. They’re trapped within it. Does it shelter them? Does it provide some resources? Does it, perhaps, even keep them alive? Sure. So does a prison.

Scifi tell us to fear AI; at some point, the artificial intelligence will become real, exert will, take over. But we should, instead, look at what we’ve already created that has taken over: our structures, our systems, our organizations, our civilizations. Gaining sentience was not even necessary. We, the inhabitants of the system, provide the necessary sentience to grease the wheels, crank the gears, repair the breaks, patch the holes. How could we refuse? After all, it keeps us alive. This shelter, this system, this prison.

This blog is on Pika. 

Part of having a Pika blog is having (if you want it) a guestbook. 

I have it, I want it, I fucking love it. 

I was kind of surprised by how much I love it. 

I had a self-hosted WP blog for years and years, but many years ago I turned off comments. The maintenance effort wasn’t worth it. I haven’t had analytics of any kind for years either. I like it better that way. I blog about whatever bullshit is on my mind; maybe I have a little chat about it on Mastodon with a few folks; maybe I get an email or two. The end. It’s lovely. 

Let me be clear, lest I sound like I do not want attention or praise: I love attention and praise. 

What I don’t like is pressure. 

Dealing with comments and comment spam feels like pressure. 

Receiving and responding to an email feels like a conversation. 

Knowing how many clicks or visits happened on my blog feels like pressure. 

Getting a little note or drawing in my guestbook (aka friendbook) feels like a little treat, a hello from a neat person. Maybe there’s even a link to a blog I’m gonna love. 

I recently had a blog post show up on Hacker News and the way I knew is that my inbox was full of Someone signed your guestbook notifications.  It took me a day to figure out why. I enjoyed all the notes and drawings and figured a dubiously important internet personage had linked to my blog for some reason and brought me all these new friends. 

Close enough, I guess. 

Things have been quite busy for the last couple of months. I haven’t done much in the blogging world, reading or writing, and I’ve missed it. I read a bunch of comments on Hacker News and thought Oh boy I better blog about something really smart and insightful next.

And then I was like, Nah. 

No pressure. I’m not here for pressure.

Only friends. 

Friction is a force of resistance. Overcoming friction takes energy. More friction takes more energy. Reducing friction frees up energy.

Friction is a force of resistance.

It resists, or opposes, motion.

Overcoming friction takes energy.

In general, if you can reduce the friction required to start doing or continue doing a thing, you’re more likely to do that thing, and keep doing it longer.

Great! Helpful. Unless the thing is something you don’t want to keep doing.

A lot of our optimizing behavior is about reducing friction. We try to set up the easiest, smoothest ways to manage all the tasks. This can be helpful. But I find that sometimes what I actually need is more friction, not less.

Reducing friction can enhance efficiency, but efficiency is overrated. With the advent of Open AI, Gemini, Midjourney, Apple Intelligence, and other services that seem more intent on thinking and creating for us—we would do well to hold on to meaningful friction in our lives. We must be even more vigilant and intentional about how we interact with technology.

For me, opportunity and balance are found in intentionality: being deliberate about the tools I use, setting boundaries around consumption, and prioritising quality over quantity. It’s a dance. I get lazy and am guilty of following ’shiny new things.’ But I’m also committed to resisting the tyranny of convenience. And high school physics taught me that friction is a form of resistance.

— Aleem Shaun, Of Cassette Tapes and Dial-up Internet

For example, having a frictionless to-do app means I end up with too many fucking tasks. Some things need to be unsaved, neglected, forgotten, ignored, left undone so better things can be done. Or so I can spend more delightful moments at ease, not doing  but being.

Let there be lapses. I am not  a machine. 

Having a phone constantly with me for frictionless communication means I can be easily overwhelmed, inundated by what is sent to me rather than what is developed within me. I get distracted by voices not my own, unable to commune with myself. 

Do you ever find yourself saying or thinking or feeling things that don’t seem to belong to you? 

Hmm. Wonder how that happens. 

We are biologically very interested in saving energy. Whatever is frictionless is appealing.

We are emotionally very invested in predictability. Whatever is familiar is appealing. Known things make us feel safer than unknown things. This is true even if the known things are objectively shitty.

Overcoming friction takes energy.

This is a good thing when we don’t want to start or continue doing something because it’s actually dumb and self-sabotaging and makes us feel yucky but it also provides one of those delicious dopamine hits we crave.

We can use purposeful friction to make dumb things more difficult, to make familiar but shitty defaults less convenient.

Friction can force more awareness. When doing something is so easy it requires no pause, no thought, it’s easy to act without conscious choice. Inserting friction does not guarantee we’ll be more thoughtful, but at least it gives us an opportunity for it.

I love a habit. I adore a routine. Doing things in a certain order, or certain time, or certain way. Over and over. I love the dependability. I love the resonance, the echo, the beat. I love the surprising power. Layering one small movement over another and another until the tiniest action builds itself into a structure. A wall of your identity’s home.

Rituals? I can’t stop myself. They’re so good. Absolutely breathtaking. Humanity’s finest work, perhaps. They make no sense. It’s all about beauty, about made-up meaning, about art. Rituals add unnecessary, arbitrary extra requirements to a simple action. Light a candle first. Kneel. Wear a certain outfit. Carry flowers. Make this shape with your hands. Take off your hat, or put it on. Not that hat, the special one. 

I love talking to kids around 4 to 6 years old. You can ritualize anything and they’ll go along and they’ll be so serious but they know what you’re doing and they’ll join in.

You say, Oh no we can’t climb the stairs until we’ve dinged the stairway bell!

And they nod and go, Oh yes of course. And you ding the bell and they nod along. It can be an imaginary bell. Just make the motion. They get it.  You say, Okay now we can go. But they one-up you. They say, Uhmm you forgot to bow to the big stair first. And you have to say Oh you’re right! And follow along as they lead you in the appropriate bow. Dinging the bell took 15 seconds. This bow will take 4 ½ excruciating minutes. Do not try to rush it. They stuck with you through your bit. It’s not their fault your imagination is lazy. They can construct a 249-step bow with no repeated moves on the fly and all you could come up with was dinging a bell? Try harder. Do better. 

You’ll make it up the stairs eventually. Who cares. It’s not about the stairs. It’s about the art. It’s about each other. It’s about being alive. 

You can ritualize anything. Your whole life. Light a candle before you pay bills. Light the bills on fire. Never mind, don’t listen to me. 

You can combine rituals. Change rituals. Exorcise old crusty rituals that hold pain instead of beauty. Build brand-new rituals to convert shame into love. You can wear a red shirt every Tuesday and it means you are holy.  You can think about how you want to feel and what you want to experience and you can give it to yourself in slow drips, all day, any day, while doing the most regular stuff. You can choose meaning and when you don’t like the available options you can create meaning. 

Rituals do not add anything sacred to life. Life is already sacred. We know this whenever we face death. Rituals remind us, let us acknowledge it. Help us push our heads thru the fog a bit. Help us grapple with this weight, this heart-rending joy.