Americlecticintellectica
In the latter part of this year I ramped down my posting on Facebook (as I had previously done on Twitter) in favor of BlueSky. Time to get serious about resisting the oligarchs. [Previously.]
We all miss you Dad.
The era of social media is on the wane, and here’s the proof: I wrote far fewer Facebook (and other) posts and comments than in years past, and instead of spending the last few days of 2023 recapping them like I usually do, I felt no urgency to, and did other stuff instead.
Scientists, last month: harvest freshwater at sea. Researchers Want to Try Harvesting Fresh Water From Ocean Vapor
Me, 2007: harvest freshwater at sea. Save the World With Admiral Bob
In the mid 1990’s I had recently moved from Pittsburgh to California, and my dad, a lifelong New Yorker, was nearing his sixtieth birthday. More distance separated us now than ever before. He frequently exhorted me to visit, morbidly emphasizing that he didn’t know how many more times we’d get to see each other.
Many, as it turned out; about twice a year for the next quarter century, sometimes here and sometimes there (and occasionally elsewhere) — long enough to welcome two grandchildren, and frequently enough to be very present and beloved in their childhoods. He watched with pleasure and pride as they grew into accomplished young men.
Those same young men were with me in New York today, along with my sister — our dad’s complete genetic legacy — as he drew his final breaths after a long decline.
His body may have died today, but much of him lives on in me. Every time I take pleasure in a job well done, that’s my dad. Every time I keep my word, that’s him too. When I muster my self-confidence, when I deliver a firm handshake, when I plan ahead or stand up for myself and others, that’s him. The joy I derive from my loving family — that is one hundred percent my dad.
He equipped me with the tools I needed for building a good life, and for enjoying it. Thank you Dad, and goodbye.
Not bad, 2022, not bad. Military aggressors and self-important blowhards pwning themselves; wrongdoers held to account; monopolies declining; voting rights, climate solutions, and labor on the rise. 2023 are you paying attention? (Previously.)
[Friend comments, “Fuck this shit” when Betty White dies right at the end of 2021.]
I like how another FB friend put it: “History will align the end of this dark period with the passing of Betty White. She sacrificed herself to usher in a new era of health, joy, and kindness.”
When the year fails to acquit itself well, it is my self-appointed duty to compensate with witticisms and clever observations. (Previously.)
Not everything in 2020 was bad.
Not everything in 2021 will be good.
Also, it's foolishness to assign credit or blame for events to the calendar.
Still happy to have 2020 behind us. Happy new year!
Seldom has a year been more unloved
Or with such relish on the trash-heap shoved.
(Previously.)
Achievement unlocked: roman candles IN ROME.
[Friend in Rome complains of not knowing I was there.]
You and I appear to have the same policy of not telling Facebook we're out of town until after the fact.
Anyway, we were there as part of the Varsity All-American Rome Tour (https://rome.varsity.com/) and their itinerary kept us pretty busy.
Buon anno!
‘Twas the night before Christmas
In, I think, ’82
And for once, the day came
With no things left to do
The gifts had been bought
And been wrapped in advance
To relax and be still
We at last had the chance
We sat in the living room
Candle-lit, calm
And chatted like grownups
Not a boy and his mom
The Christmas decor
Caught the flickering light
It sparkled and gleamed
As we talked through the night
Our tone, as we spoke
Was hushed and subdued
Neither one wishing
To spoil the mood
It’s my perfectest mem’ry
Of how Christmas could be
I wish peace like this
To my friends and fam’ly
When it comes to man-making, we are now two for two.
This particular man showed up thirteen years ago today. He has used that time to become an athlete, a dancer, and a multi-instrumental musician. As a student he’s curious, eager, and attentive. He’s a dutiful son and a loyal friend. He is full of intelligence, wit, and compassion. He makes it all look effortless, but we know the hard work that he cheerfully puts into it all.
The secret of our success in raising such a praiseworthy person? Set a good example. But Archer has far exceeded any example we could set. We now strive to live up to his example.
(Strangely, this one also has to do with socks.)
Jonah: Archer, can I borrow your black socks?
Archer: If… [thinks] …you give me a compliment.
Jonah: You have excellent socks.
(Previously.)
We made a man.
When the planets literally aligned for his first appearance, thirteen years ago today, Andrea and I hoped to make him smart, confident, hard-working, and respectful (despite having to guess at how one achieves that). We never dared to imagine we’d get funny, honest, handsome, inquisitive, thoughtful, athletic, resourceful, kind, generous, friendly, responsible, dependable, creative, and mature into the bargain, but that’s what we got.
We take some of the credit for laying the foundation, but most of that good stuff is all you, Jonah. We’re long past being merely proud of you. It is a privilege to know you.