reading clearout - december 2021

Hi - some thoughts on (some) recent reading I won't bother putting into a full ("full") review ("review").

The Factory by Hiroko Oyamada (November 2021)

Things get just far enough out of hand in this odd little novel to where I could understand why a reader might dismiss it out of hand, but for me a couple of unexpectedly sharp observations elevated it to one of my favorite reads of the year. The first was a moment that outlined the broken logic of temporary work - someone brought into an organization that is unwilling to invest in its own workers comes under significant pressure to ignore his or her own potential, eventually becoming jaded enough with the concept of work to resist making any more than a minimal investment of effort into the organization. The second was a scene where one of the protagonists, suddenly finding herself with an unexpected half-day, cannot think of anything better to do than take a walk through the company grounds. These examples speak to two sides of a question that from experience it seems like anyone who works a full-time job will grapple with at some point in their career - the experience alternates from the extremes of meaningless to all-encompassing, often with nauseating volatility, and it leaves the average worker wondering if it's worth making the effort in a world that seems ready to move on without them, all the while as that same world seems to slowly encroach on every free moment of their existence.

The Cost of Living by Deborah Levy (October 2019)

Remember last time, when I extolled the virtues of holding off on a reading review? The other side of the coin is that sometimes you can hold off for so long that you forget everything you knew about the book. If this happens, you'll have a grand old time scribbling down your thoughts while watching a half-arsed helmet football game on Sunday afternoon. But, let's just get to business.

In this case, I went back and checked out a few reviews just to see if I could jog my memory, but this was to no avail. It seems like the most telling note I took down is the one that mentions how Medusa returned the male gaze and, well, look at what happened - portrayed as evil, then beheaded; the example speaks to the subtle and overt sexist experiences Levy draws upon to put together this work. I think there is always something universal in a well-written memoir, and some of my other notes suggest the same applies to The Cost of Living - the note, for example, that someone else's honestly makes it possible for listeners to respond more freely, rings true both from my conversational experience as well as the ease with which I can write about a book reflecting the same feature. I'm also quite convinced of the eternal wisdom in the idea of becoming an artist rather than dying of the past. As a final legacy of my reading experience, I noted that I should look into Arts of the Possible by Adrienne Rich, and I anticipate checking out this work sometime in the next year.

The most honest thing I can say about this book, however, goes back to my initial attempt to jog my memory via various summaries and comments. One review noted that this book was a must-read for Levy's fans, a club to which I claim no membership; I have no idea how I ended up with this book in the first place. It's a good reminder that when I mention certain books about Liverpool FC, reference a moment from a helmet football podcast, or preach about the various virtues of live U2 performances, I should make these comments alongside the all-important disclaimer regarding the intended audience.

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri (February 2020)

This collection, which I read almost two years ago, was good enough for me to check out Unaccustomed Earth, a book I mentioned in last month's clearout. There were three stories I noted for reread from this debut 1999 collection - "A Temporary Matter", "Mrs. Sen's", and "The Third and Final Continent". It wasn't a major challenge for me to find a PDF online of the former, and it might be worth sampling first before diving into the rest of the collection. 

reading review - english is broken here

I generally don't bother listing out subtitles, but you'll see it below for this book. In this case I found it a quite helpful summary for the main theme of this 1995 work. In these essays, Fusco examines both the theory and reality of how race and culture interact, with the focus mostly on the minority perspective. Although section 2 didn't resonate much with me ("Artists and their work"), I enjoyed the various insights from the rest of the work, and I reread "Pan-American Postnationalism". I also noted how the radio segment transcribed in the final section had the feel of one of George Saunders's satirical short stories, reinforcing how artists can find a way to convey a particular sentiment or observation through a full range of creative mediums.

English is Broken Here: Notes on Cultural Fusion in the Americas by Coco Fusco (October 2021)

One example Fusco highlights as common to anyone of a minority race is being described under one term or expression, which lumps people together with others who may not share all that much with them in terms of cultural background. When English is Broken Here explores this idea, it's done so with an emphasis on the Hispanic or Latino experience, which I think fits with Fusco's Cuban-American background. From my perspective, using Asian to lump me into a broad category isn't something I consider a major problem, but I think it does create challenges for people who are lazy with assumptions to understand how I might relate to another Asian person's experience.

To put it another way, there is nothing that seems more quintessentially American than the idea of an "Asian fusion" restaurant. Again, this isn't to suggest that I see any kind of problem - I've found the food at many of these establishments to be quite good - but someone who walks away with a sense of having enjoyed a multi-cultural "experience" probably also considers a nature documentary as a reasonable substitute for some quality outdoors time. There is, I suspect, a certain confusion regarding the distinction between experience and entertainment, with the latter responsible for maintaining the illusion that one is the other, perhaps by implying that ignoring differences is the same as relating across them, or by suggesting that one can grow without the growing pains. 

I think this leads to how Fusco points out at various times throughout the work that America has a certain history of removing culture from its context as a way of creating entertainment, particularly in the sense of how it allows mass culture to reinforce existing power dynamics. This could be in the sense of appropriation (which Fusco notes as the process of erasing authorship as work transfers across cultural lines) or in examples of misrepresentation (such as casting white actors to play a minority character). In these instances (among others), the process of removing context in order to create entertainment whose source comes from outside cultures implies a symbolic violence, where creators lose credit for work while economic and political power continues to accumulate in a systemically unjust fashion. 

As I wrap up my thoughts, I have two final comments to highlight, both of which I'm sure will stick around in my mind. The first mentioned a perspective that the US-Mexico border is a necessary protection to prevent the US from invading again; the second anointed Columbus as America's first illegal alien.

TOA Rating: Three cultures out of one

toa rewind - superpowers

I think part of the problem involved in encouraging people to reach their potential is their inability to recognize their own gifts. But I suppose this is a problem inherent to any gift - for the most part we don't really choose what we get, and sometimes that makes it hard to understand why we should value it. There is no reason to think that Spiderman prefers his powers to that of being able to read minds.

On the other hand, maybe this problem is just another symptom of sleep deprivation.

leftovers - sounds like a wage shortage from me (summer apartment search)

One thought that I ultimately removed from the original post last month was how our general cluelessness regarding the basic fundamentals of economics might manifest in the same behaviors as that of a greedy person. I remember this summer while looking for an apartment that most of the units I saw had been vacant for months, with realtors revealing that the landlords were simply unwilling to go beyond trivial concessions on their listing price. Would I be willing to put in an offer a couple hundred dollars lower than listing, just to help them understand the market and start a conversation about lowering the price? It made sense to me, but not for me, so I never took the next step in these situations.

Or maybe, I just fell into the flow of the conversation, nodding along to keep things moving, and only pausing in retrospect a few hours later to question whether this would address the root cause of the problem. Was the issue really a lack of information about the market? Wasn't the fact of widespread vacancy enough evidence? My building's on-site superintendent was adamant that greedy landlords preferred to leave units vacant at a higher listing rather than settle for a lower rent, a position perhaps influenced (and supported) by the multiple units in our building that endured extended vacancies during the pandemic. But I think at some point the math undermines the argument. When we are talking about two or three hundred dollars per month, I have to suspect that even the dimmest landlords will recognize how a short vacancy can wipe away the difference over the course of a year's lease. I think the problem was more that the landlords felt the shortage of prospective renters was the fact of a fixed condition rather than a simpler issue of mispriced units, this conviction perhaps reinforced by a muted response to a token decrease or two from earlier in the rental season, and this conclusion left them feeling powerless to generate new interest in their units via the mechanism of lowering the listed rent.

Would it have helped these landlords to learn that I had offered two hundred dollars below listing? It surely couldn't have hurt, but I don't think it would have made the difference. What the landlords needed to see, and I think this did come about eventually, was how units at lower listings were becoming more competitive. The logical next step would be to wait until some of those units started coming off the market, at which point a trivial rent decrease could entice anyone remaining to look at a slightly higher price point, a neat process that always ends somewhere in the middle. If the landlords had initially lowered their rent to a competitive level, they would presumably have competed against lesser units already priced at that number, and their units would have moved to the front of the line. But if their is a clear superior between two apartments listed at the same price, then why list them at the same price? This uncertainty loop is probably what kept those vacant units at their original listings for such a long time.

I don't think there is a clear connection anymore with this line of thinking to that of the original wage shortage post, which I hope clarifies why I took it out of the final. But I do think there is a lesson that applies - in the apartment example, the only reason to move first and lower the listing is to rent the unit as quickly as possible. I suspect that one underreported aspect of the labor shortage is related to how certain fields don't need to fill their openings with the strictest urgency. Much like how a landlord with no need for immediate rental income can afford to hold off on filling a vacancy, a business with the ability to operate at reduced capacity has no existential urgency to hire for openings. These firms may list jobs and complain about being unable to find workers, but if there is no intention to increase wages then it seems unproductive to me that it would be counted among those openings where the firm is doing everything possible to attract new hires.

toa rewind - trip to bermuda

I think what people don't understand about feedback is that it's almost impossible to tell someone what they need to know without hurting them in the process. If you can find a way to leave the smallest possible cut, then you may be on to something, at least if you value the process of helping others reach their potential.

I'm not sure if this is necessarily something I learned from using a particular knife, but when I lost it the point definitely hit home. Sometimes, you don't really remember something until you forget it, just as you don't realize what you have until it's lost.

leftovers - the toa podcast hall of fame (the takeover)

I wondered if my post about this episode raised a certain question - given what I said about it, why would I still include it in this series? There are two reasons, the first of which is the obvious one, though not necessarily something I feel obligated to state in each post - I have a great time whenever I listen to "The Takeover". This is worth emphasizing because it's true for anything I'll include in this series. Outside of all the analysis and reflections regarding the deeper implications of each episode, the core reality of my choices is that I enjoyed listening to the show, and I would enjoy listening to them again.

But of course, there has to be more, right? The second reason is that this episode, as it was the case when I highlighted my choice from 99% Invisible, improved the way I think about the topic. It's possible this will also be true for my choices in this series, though probably not necessarily so (hard to make the case that Barry Hearn appearing on Men In Blazers "improved my thinking", but there you go, life's tough). As it regards the Reply All episode, what it did for me was highlight the problem of the internet falling short as a substitute for the original. I suspect this is hard to notice without training yourself to notice it, but I think people are coming around to the idea, perhaps with the assistance of excellent work like "The Takeover".

The internet links us to more information than ever before, yet people seem misinformed to the extent that it fueled (is fueling?) the severity of a pandemic; the venerated online connectivity tools seem capable only of disconnecting people, to the extent that it erodes their mental health while dismantling the sense of shared community that comes naturally when we occupy physical spaces; people are reading more than ever yet doing so in such scattered fragments that they retain nothing of value. In each of the above, the internet has always taken credit for its contributions without ever taking responsibility for the mess it's left behind. The internet, with the promise of distributing its infinite quantities to us in ever-shortening measurements of "no time at all", has left us incapable or disinterested in replacing what we've exchanged for it. Is it a net positive if you factor in all negative externalities? I think the challenge posed to us now is how to apply the most useful tool in human history in a way that makes it actually useful, at least in the sense of eliminating it from those places where a digital substitute represents a collective setback in terms of our community, understanding, or experience.

the toa newsletter - december 2021

Excuse me for a moment while I have a laugh imagining the scene - various readers from around the globe seeing this title and suddenly realizing, contrary to recently reset expectations, that the TOA newsletter is in fact alive and well, fit to continue spamming inboxes around the globe, a pointless missive on all things deemed too irrelevant even for the low standards of relevance otherwise maintained on this space. Yes, nothing beats a good chuckle while thinking about your exasperation.

So is it true? Is the newsletter back? Hardly. It just happens that my message for today coincides nicely with the calendar, so I'm reusing an old pizza box for this delivery. Today's business is more straightforward than the predecessor that once dominated the first of the TOA month. I'm just here to note that we're hitting the brakes again for a few weeks, at least into the new year. I'm a little better prepared for this break than I was in the summer so there will be a few things here and there, but for the most part TOA will shift to a reduced schedule.

What does this mean for your weekend? Well, I wouldn't expect anything substantial for the next handful of Sundays. I also think anything more than one post midweek is unrealistic. I may take some time to resurface lost "classics" (like this barrel of nonsense) and there will be some leftovers from the recent posts. I may also make those minor tweaks to the website that I've been threatening to do for the past several years.

But is there anything else? I think the rest is worth discovering as we go.

Thanks for reading, and enjoy the break. 

sounds like a wage shortage from me

It seems like one of the more popular news stories these days has to do with labor shortages (are we calling it The Labor Shortage yet? - Shortage Gate? keep an eye on this space, reader, and I will let you know). It's challenging to condense the story into a short summary, but let's give it a shot - there are more open jobs than available workers. This story makes sense to me. Over the past few months, I've made a handful of trips to Veggie Galaxy, an excellent vegetarian diner over in Central Square. The difference between now and those pre-pandemic days is that I've had to check each time if they were open before heading over. Their problems have manifested in different ways - partial menu availability, outdoor seating only, takeout only, outright closure - but the source has always been a staffing shortage. I am hearing a similar story in my own job when I speak to hiring teams - I've gathered that at the moment, it's a great time to be a job candidate, but not quite so easy to be hiring. The basic national story, one that speaks to the aggregated difficulty of filling open roles, is manifesting for me in the most straightforward possible ways.

I guess this leads me to a certain point of confusion - isn't this a basic problem where the simple answer is to raise wages? If I walk into the store and offer two bucks for a three-dollar item, the answer is always no, but if everyone does the same thing for a few weeks then eventually the price comes down. Hiring is technically more complicated than that example but in the general sense it's the same idea. I'm sure some firms are coming around and offering better pay packages, but if so then the details are somehow failing to make the front pages. My hunch is that this is not happening, or at least not happening fast enough or widely enough or consistently enough to resolve the current labor shortage. It's tempting to suggest that this is another example of corporate greed running amok, an observation supported with just a casual glance at the stock market - corporate profits seem larger than ever, yet for some reason they can't offer people enough money to take a job.

Of course, it could just as easily be the case that greed has nothing to do with it, the problem merely being that finance departments have a natural aversion to increasing wages - we could raise the wage by X percent, but we've always had people available to work at the traditional rate. It may simply be a matter of time until these departments come around and accept the current situation. It's hard to know the difference between a permanent shift in the market and a temporary timing problem, so it's no surprise that such departments would move slowly before committing to a change. But I am starting to think that we now have enough evidence in this case. Hasn't this been a topic of discussion for months? I think firms are either being willfully ignorant or incapable of grasping the logic. Isn't the other big story at the moment about inflation? If the price of everything is rising, then so should the price of employees. But again, maybe it's just hard to see the need for a change, a situation being enabled by the constantly recycled narrative that since there is a shortage, then no one is available at any reasonable price. I suppose at the very least that believing this also has the advantage of excusing you from handing out raises to your current staff. 

Perhaps the other side could present the argument that maybe job seekers are simply enjoying their unemployment benefits, which offered too much of a cushion. There are always some stories out there of people "being paid more to not work" but such anecdotes rarely expand the analysis beyond the transactional. Trust me folks, I've paid taxes on unemployment, and they show up in far more places than the 1040 or the W-2 or wherever. But I think the stronger point I can make is that this is yet another signal of the need for higher wages - if the government is paying people so much unemployment money that business owners are convinced people are "being paid more to not work", then I think the next logical step would be to increase wages. I'm not here to trot out the statistics, but I will point out that when Massachusetts's minimum wage becomes $15 in 2023, it calculates out to $30,000 a year for someone working forty hours a week, fifty weeks a year. I'm sure many folks out there would love to spend hours explaining to me how that's supposed to work, but I'd rather use that time to figure out how to increase wages.

As usual, nothing I say can or will (or should) change the state of affairs, so let's wrap up and get back to (not) work, which is our short-term reality. But is there hope for the future? We can count on things improving in the long run, that mythical horizon for which there are so many famous economic aphorisms, a category that I add to now with my own version - in the long run, we all move slow. Perhaps the most relevant personal example I can share is that each time I've arrived at the Veggie Galaxy, the prices have been the same. The missing piece with everything I've discussed so far is me, since the amount I pay on the tab is where you get increased wages, triggering the theory of synchronized movement which economists have mostly failed to notice ever actually happens in real life. Am I willing to pay $21 for a can of beer? Sure, maybe if my salary tripled. Would my employer triple my salary? Absolutely, if their revenues tripled. Could their revenues triple? Without question, if customers paid triple for their goods and services. What do those goods and services cost now? Well, I'm not sure, but this can of beer still costs $7, and it's going to cost $7 until someone wants to go first, so - who wants to pay $21 for a can of beer?

reading clearout - november 2021

Hi reader, what are you thankful for? I think my answer is that I didn't spend more time writing about the following books. The obvious follow-up point is that I mean no offense, it's just that some books are simply better to read than write about, but of course there is another reality in this case - sometimes, ignoring the details is the only way to see the big idea.

Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri (October 2021)

I think at some point in my life, say, maybe when I was a junior in high school (though let's be honest, it was probably true even two years ago), I would have been perfectly happy to sit down with the title story and connect every sentence to the larger theme of the work. I just as likely could have done the same with the collection as a whole, mining Unaccustomed Earth for every symbolic detail reinforcing Lahiri's meticulous patterns, which is the obvious suggestion when her characters seem to overlap so much in terms of their heritage, opportunities, and experiences. This time, all I tried to do was read the stories once, then return to the ones I liked the most - "Only Goodness", "Unaccustomed Earth", "Year's End" - without imposing any obligation on myself to dig further into the stories.

The unexpected thing was how I still ended up sensing a certain direction regarding the theme of this collection - it would be something about the way we are easily deceived into assuming others are seeing a situation with the same perspective as our own. In most cases, this is a self-delusion, and it comes apart with the same good manners of a shattering mirror. I'm not sure I could have noticed this if I'd considered each story within its own confines - the evidence in any given work is too subtle - but across multiple examples it became clear to me. The specifics of this lesson vary among the stories - some enjoy the solitude of a suburb while others are crippled by its isolation; silence about an event can be as much punishment as it is protection; the death of a loved one can be a moment of liberation just as much as it is one of suffering - but it's often the characters who bring the idea to the forefront, usually through a kind of epiphany when they recognize the temporary nature of a connection forged through similarity with others. Whether a deeper link results from relating across difference is the question left unanswered by Unaccustomed Earth, and it's one I'm comfortable leaving open for now.

Walking on the Pastures of Wonder by John O'Donohue (January 2020)

I'm tempted to insert a somewhat sensational claim about this book, such as "a miracle of a work" or whatnot, but as usual with books I read so long ago I'm having trouble recalling enough of it to support such a statement. That said, there is something to the thought because this collection of radio conversations involving the late O'Donohue is about as highly rated as any book I've ever searched online. Going through my notes, I saw much of what I liked about his work, and it led me to add Anam Cara to my list for the traditional December rereading month.

One advantage of holding off on a review for so long is that I can give an honest account of what stuck with me from the reading. I'm tempted to highlight the note that memory is a kingdom filled with the ruins of presence, but this wasn't strictly true throughout these past couple of years (though it did resonate when I finally saw people again after a year of almost total isolation). I'm also intrigued by the idea that it can be a gift to help others open their imagination, but I must add that the past couple of years has reinforced how difficult this work is given how the average person initially resists the idea of thinking outside his or her established patterns. I think the winner in this regard is the insight that the most frustrating aspect of hearing a story is knowing that there is likely a more important story being left untold, with countless examples from my pandemic experience supporting the claim. It's undoubtedly true that the pandemic for many people was a time of doing nothing, but the fact that stories of nothing held the stage during what was surely an opportunity for growth of the inner life underscores the "unprecedented spiritual hunger" of our time, the satiety of which O'Donohue pursued with the full energies of his life's work.

Returning to my notes for this review also pointed me to a comment about God - there is nothing in the world that resembles God so much as silence. It reminded me of something I've noticed lately about digital communication - the greatest moments of isolation grow not out of feeling alone when there is no possibility of connection, but rather in those instances where the digital medium reinforces that someone is there but not present. As O'Donohue comments in this work, the opposite of presence is not absence but vacancy, and the way our digital tools can reduce priceless interpersonal communication into the background noise of modern life is symbolic of how being connected without necessarily being present is the surest way to strip ourselves of the very essence that defines connection.

everyone remembers you for something

I used to think that it would be pretty cool to run into my favorite writers and talk to them about some of my favorites pieces - Hey Bill, loved that column about the Azteca! or Murakami-san, I'm going to name my first pet after Mr. Honda, what do you think? Lovely notion, but once I started writing a few years ago I realized that this was nothing more than another daydream doomed by flawed logistics, the latest flight of fancy departing from my airport of the imagination, where it once seemed logical that I could circumvent the globe in a straight line if I had a duck boat. The problem I discovered through my own clumsy foray into TOA is that when someone comments on my writing, most of the time I initially have no idea what that reader is talking about, and by the time I've clarified my confusion the interest in further discussion has long disappeared, resting forever in that mythical beyond where sounds echo in eternal silence, having died in the same breath where they had been born. If I could barely remain on familiar terms with my relatively small archive, what gave me the right to expect that those who do this for a living would somehow have superhuman powers of recollection?

I suppose I could have saved myself an epiphany if I had paid better attention to certain telling examples from my pre-writing days. I remember one night, catching up with a friend over wings, being informed that I had once said something so memorable, so unexpectedly profound, that it had influenced his thinking throughout the years. I didn't know what he meant, so I asked, waiting in eager anticipation to bathe in the renewed light of my own lost brilliance, and perhaps learn something from the most unlikely teacher - myself. He wiped the sauce from his mouth and cleared his throat - you said "everyone spends their money on something." I basically spit out my wing. Really? What the fuck?? I felt like I'd been hit in the back of the head by a snowball. Of all the smart, moving, brilliant things that had flown from my lips - recently chewed wing notwithstanding - the one thing that had resonated with him was something I might have pulled from the shattered promise of a fortune cookie?

One could argue that I should have cut him out of my life on the spot, but had I done so I would be looking back now on the regretfully rash reflexes of an arrogant young man. The reality is that most of us barely remember anything, those including but not limited to the things we say or write, and it would be immature beyond measure to expect that others do this work for us. Perhaps the recommended way to navigate this problem is to take these moments in stride, little reminders that we aren't quite so brilliant or insightful or interesting after all, the lesson being that we can pretend to know about humility once we stop pretending we know about everything else. This may all seem a bit depressing, suggesting the possibility that this entire exercise called life is little more than a charade among goldfish, exchanging volleys of forgetfulness until we remember to die, and I can at least see the validity in such a perspective. But let me offer a different conclusion - if it's the case that one friend can distill years of conversation into what I would argue is among the most pointless things I've ever said, then it at least confirms that anything we say or write could become that one thing which changes someone's life forever. It's not quite as good as being able to choose what we are remembered for, but we can at least choose the things from which everyone else will choose, and that's good enough of a choice for me.

the toa newsletter - november 2021

Wait, is there news? Not quite, I'm afraid - I'm just getting the sense again that it might be a good time to hit the brakes for a few weeks. I think we'll go strong up to maybe the end of the month, then we'll turn it over to a somewhat reduced version of TOA - either less frequent or far shorter posts - while I work through another offseason.

I have no desire to deprive loyal readers of something today, so here's a link to the short story "Orientation" by Daniel Orozco. This happens to be the first story in his likeable collection Orientation I just finished last week, but I'm sharing it for another reason. During this moment when I hear plenty of talk about how this office or that company is making a return to in-person setups, it seems fitting to stop and ask - just what is it, exactly, that we gain by having everyone back in one shared space? According to Orozco, it's something different for everyone, which is also kind of true for short fiction. Here's hoping, at the very least, that this story will be a benign thrill, a faint blip, on the dull, flat line of your Sunday.

a stupid story

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned having problems condensing my thoughts on Thinking Without a Bannister, Hannah Arendt's 608-page collection, which covered a wide range of topics such as history, philosophy, and politics through selected essays, speeches, and conversation transcripts. My strategy for these tougher reviews is to focus on my personal reading experience instead of merely summarizing the work, reasoning that anyone could read it on their own to gather the same facts and insights I could otherwise list here. This inevitably leads me to focus on the things I learned from a particular read (such as the thought shared in January that we accept the last resort of war when we participate in the nation-state system). This method seems like the safest bet - if I focus on the things that caught my eye, perhaps I'm inadvertently honing in on the things other readers would find equally instructive. 

But there are cases where the passage of time allows other directions to emerge in my belated reading review process. What I'm discovering about Arendt's book is that certain passages have remained with me since I finished reading, popping up from time to time to help me better understand a given interaction or situation. It may be that the best way to review a reading experience is to write about how I changed after finishing the work. A good example came up this week when I saw a news story that reminded me of a comment from Thinking Without a Bannister. Arendt describes a story about a farmer from World War II era Russia who hid starving refugees in a space beneath his barn. This farmer liked to talk about his experience, describing the way they would eat anything, but Arendt makes her verdict clear to the reader - in her mind, the farmer's story was a stupid story because it was merely describing the behavior of starving people, and the fact of placing them in a particular time and space did nothing to change the underlying fact that this story revealed nothing about the world.

The news story that reminded me of the above example described a lost hiker who ignored phone calls from a search and rescue team (here's a link to The Guardian's brief article about the ordeal). It's probably the headline that caused it to spread across the internet - the lost hiker ignored calls because he didn't recognize the number! Oh, us damn millennials, at it again with our misguided ways! The problem should be apparent to anyone who pauses for a moment to think - how lost can someone be if they are still getting cell service? I could go on, detailing more discoveries made after I clicked into this stupid story, but I think my point is already clear - this so-called story is like so many others, stupid at the core in the sense of Arendt's comment, since it's doing nothing more than describing what a certain type of person does all the time. In other words, when you describe what someone does all the time, you aren't telling a story.

I'm temped here to suggest that the fact this became an international story speaks to some larger issue, the deterioration of both mind and soul perhaps reflected in the way we collectively allow what Arendt calls stupid stories to pass for urgent information. However, I think this would be mistaken - for Arendt, it came naturally to stop and think each time she encountered new information, but the rest of us are not up to that standard. What we do instead is rely on personal experience to highlight relevance, whether that be in the news, in life, or even in the struggle to write a reading review, and we do this with the hope that no one exposes the truth - our fascinating lifetimes of small revelations and sudden discoveries are nothing more than a string of non-sequiturs, little flashes of insight when someone with a brain shines a light into the dark corners of our minds, illuminating the things we would have known all along, had we just stopped for a moment to think for ourselves.

leftovers #2 - the boston mayoral race (turnout)

I've always wondered why not voting is considered the same as, well, how can I best describe it? It's as if you don't vote, then it's like you don't exist, at least in the sense of having voting rights. If there is an election that ends 1-1 but you didn't vote, then that's the final result, 1-1, which would have been equally true if you had your citizenship in some other country, like Estonia, where it's pretty easy to vote, unless you are trying to vote in an American election, which is hard even for Estonians. In other words, if you don't vote, then you might as well not exist, at least from the perspective of the final tally, since it was never possible to influence the result at all.

There are others who take this a step further - though I would argue it's a step backward, a regression of logic, mathematics, and civics - suggesting that by not voting, you vote for the other guy, because, you know, voting isn't about your choice, but rather ensuring that the autofill doesn't automatically assign your ballot, by magic, to the person you wouldn't have voted for, which they magically know about even though you didn't vote. Now what is this crap? Again, the example of the 1-1 vote, where you prefer one of the candidates. If you vote for the other guy, it would be 2-1, and your candidate would lose. But guess what, folks, since you didn't vote, the tally remains 1-1. Is this what we mean by a vote for the other guy? People who trot out this "no vote means voting for the other guy" logic should probably skip voting themselves and spend the day in a third-grade math class.

I think the way to analyze this situation is to regard it as a split vote. This makes some sense to me - if you don't really know which candidate you prefer, then it might be a bit daunting to choose one or the other. You know those bars where you can pay for a drink, then the bartender spins the wheel and you get whatever it lands on? Why would those people vote? Let's try, for the last time, that really convenient example of the 1-1 vote. Imagine if the tiebreaking vote was being cast by some guy who can't choose between an IIPA or a DIPA, so he goes to the roulette wheel and comes back with a PBR. You want him to break the tie? He can't make a decision, and he just spent $8 on a $3 draft. I think we're better off just going to the tiebreaker, which I believe is a penalty shootout involving England.

The reason I bring up all this nonsense today is because these mayoral elections, which are referred to as "off-cycle", are notorious for low turnout. The arguments made by the people who understand this stuff, who know what they are talking about, can explain this far better than me. But this nous isn't readily demonstrated by your average citizen, who will simply demand that you vote for no reason except that you should vote because you should vote. But if I don't know the difference, why should I make the difference? Maybe we can give everyone two votes, both of which can be allocated to one candidate if you feel strongly about one choice or the other, to encourage some of these wishy-washy folks who are standing on the sidelines. Or maybe we can just point to those above paragraphs, and remind them that if you really want to split your choice, then you can just leave the ballot blank. I've never done the full blank, I've only come close, but I know by now that they'll never count the bubbles before giving you that sticker. It'll say you voted, no matter how much you actually did, since by walking through that door you made the only important decision you can ever make on election day, or any day really, from your whole life - deciding to show up.

proper corona admin, vol 105 - taking my jabs

All this TOA election talk, what a bore! And I think there is one more post coming on Tuesday. Let's take a break today and talk about a fun topic instead.

The first dose

I spent months trying to understand why these COVID vaccines were being referred to as The Jab. Well, I should say, I know why, the motion of injecting an arm is similar to what a boxer does, that short and quick version of a punch is called a jab, and that's sort of, well, not exactly, but it's close enough to how I got my vaccine from the nurse, so it's The Jab.

But why do we need this nickname? It seems fine to me if we call a vaccine a vaccine, but instead we have The Jab, which has become so common that a Google search for those two words returns articles, podcasts, and videos about the COVID vaccine. Some additional "research" (that is, more Googling) revealed that "jab" is a more common expression in the UK for vaccines in general, but that doesn't explain why the COVID vaccine is causing it to catch on here in the US. Haven't needle-based inoculations been a core part of the US healthcare system, at least for my lifetime? I'd think if it was going to catch on, it would have done so long before the pandemic.

One obvious answer is from my experience on TOA - I know from proofreading that I avoid repeating words within a sentence (and the less common the word, the less I want to repeat it). The same ethos defines the broader trend of how people naturally invent new expressions for the same old thing - nicknames, jargon, acronyms, localized terms, just writing out this sentence shows me that the category itself is its own example, spewing an endless list of ways to say the same thing. At the core, I think there is something here about the way new expressions help build and reinforce community, almost like a collective form of an inside joke, at least in the sense of how such jokes serve as an unofficial ID badge for membership in an otherwise undefined group. Let's be frank for a moment - the only functional feature of a Boston accent is signaling you're from Boston.

So I guess this begs the real question - what is the social purpose of calling it the jab? My musings in the prior paragraph have me on the lookout for a community, though the scale is such that at best I can only generalize, leading to the plausible BS that longtime readers know as the TOA trademark. My best guess goes back to January, when I was unsettled by the blinding pace of the vaccine's development and found myself asking questions which seemed to make no sense to anyone - why is everyone so dismissive about the unknown of long-term effects? What's the deal with mRNA? Wasn't the approval process a little fast? Was there an approval process at all? My voice was lost under the endless drumroll of stampeding feet, all headed to the first place that would jab them, marching to a drummer I'd always ignored - jab, jab, jab...

Sometimes I think back to these days in the beginning of the year and I wonder - what was the big deal? The fact is that what I know about the vaccine is one-millionth of what people who know about vaccines know about vaccines (and I would say that, on average, I know more about vaccines than most people). If people who think about vaccines all day say a vaccine is ready to go, then it's not so important what I think about it.

The second dose

He was wearing a mask. This wasn't the problem with the guy, in fact the mask made him seem almost reasonable, like the sort who files away his papers and pushes the chair under his desk before leaving the office. A believer that superficial displays of organization would make him more organized, maybe. The problem was that he had walked right up next to me, so close I could almost smell him, like we were about to play Red Rover with the folks lined up at the other end of the crosswalk, or maybe Red Light, Green Light, the pedestrian version, where the colors were switched. In fact, my body was the first thing to register his presence, like a sixth sense was tickling the hairs along my spine, before I turned my eyes and confirmed his proximity. He wasn't looking back, though, he was looking around, lost, a tourist both in the city and in life, ready to ignore the traffic signals, waiting to follow the herd and its cues that would ensure and endanger his safety.

I stepped sideways to my right, though I didn't feel the need to keep my distance as I had done at this time last year. Still, my shift seemed to get his attention, his sense of vision - and perhaps his sense of life - dependent on movement. He gave me a puzzled look and possibly even spoke, but I couldn't tell - he was wearing a mask. It was all for the best, I thought, as he shuffled into the street alongside a couple scurrying to beat a truck through the intersection. I didn't have anything to say that would have made sense to him or anyone else who would wear a mask while standing at my shoulder - maybe keeping a safe distance would work better than a mask, but he wasn't going to do it unless he saw everyone else doing it. Sometimes we see no sense in making our own decisions, perhaps regarding it like one of those anonymous gifts - no receipt, no recognition, just done for its own good, and what's the point of that? I guess there is always a moment when everyone else becomes irrelevant, when knowing what you know is all that matters, and I knew I could wait for the light while the second jab protected me.

Side effects

I hadn't been anywhere like this since the start of COVID, possibly even longer - pool tables, bowling lanes, an entire room full of arcade games, why if it wasn't for the two bars at opposite ends it would have existed solely to host birthday parties for ten-year-old boys. We were among the earliest groups, separated by closer to sixty than six feet from all others, with the plexiglass barriers reminding everyone of the COVID restrictions. But for what purpose? I wore my mask to our table, then removed it to go play pool. When it was time for a drink, I went to the bar and yelled at the bartender because she couldn't read my lips - I was wearing my mask. I think we're all doing the best we can, I just don't know what we're doing.

There's been talk of vaccine passports, which would require proof of vaccination to enter certain public spaces. I think there are some good reasons for and against, though if I had to make a decision I would be strongly in favor because doing otherwise would place a huge risk burden on the staff of these establishments. However, the question of being for or against something like a vaccine passport misses the point, creating the same false duality that plagues so much of what passes for public discourse these days. The question on my mind is whether something that requires a vaccine passport should be open at all, but I don't think anyone wants to go to the trouble of having that conversation. The problem might be hard to see at first, but I think I got it from my experience proofreading TOA - this discussion of what's safe and not safe in a pandemic, it just sounds too much like what we've all heard before, and I just know that nobody likes to see the same words twice unless I can trick you into reading them.

Or maybe it's far simpler than that, maybe it's the same reason why we can ignore the risk while we drive cars or play helmet football or drink a couple of beers at an arcade for adults - I suppose we've decided we can live with the illusion of safety, and if something goes wrong, then that's life. We're all tourists here, pretending to be interested in the same old things. In the meantime, we survive by creating and preserving our communities, which means doing things together like taking the jab, or just calling it that. I had a couple of beers while playing pool, but it was safe - I didn't poke anyone's eyes out while taking my jabs, and I exchanged my cue for my mask before going to the bathroom.

Booster shot

It's been nice to hear the booster shot referred to as a booster shot, in line with the language I've always used to discuss routine healthcare. It makes life seem normal again, doesn't it? But I don't think I was so alone back in January, was I, when I discovered that I was more of an anti-vaxxer than I'd thought for my whole life? It was easy to be 100% pro-vaccine when it referred to a bunch of things that happened before I turned on my memory, you know? I suspect this was the case for quite a few people, maybe even millions of people, who I'm sure will probably never talk about it, preferring instead that superficial signal of consistency to the real thing that lurks within - the messy set of contradictions that we carry with us through our whole lives. But why would anyone talk about it? It's a scary realization, pointing to the possibility that there may be other beliefs we currently consider integral to our identities which are in fact nothing more than unchallenged self-delusions, ready to crumble away under the withering examination of another moment as serious as this pandemic.

I suppose the fact that I went in and rolled up my sleeve, somewhat reluctantly and always at the back of my line, is evidence that I could benefit from letting my actions speak instead of my words. But then what are my words for? We called it a jab, I think, because we had a lot of people out there who weren't so comfortable about a vaccine produced in record time, and someone knew that the right words can take the sting out of a needle, can make something serious seem like no big deal. They knew that just by establishing a certain set of words which everyone could repeat like a secret handshake, the power of community would emerge to help carry countless others past that initial moment of hesitation.

I think I was something like that high school student who knows everything he needs to know about drugs - his report card has the "A" to prove it - and yet he finds himself astonished that the best argument against him is nothing more than a series of nicknames, each trying to make the case that some things are just not worth worrying about. Mary Jane? Molly? Special K? It just doesn't sound so bad when you put it a certain way, and everyone's doing it. One source reported that "the jab" goes back over a century, to "morphine and cocaine fiends". What expression is more likely to get someone over that initial reluctance - hypodermic injection, or jab? The fact is that what I know about jargon is one-millionth of what people who know about jargon know about jargon (and I would say that, on average, I know more about jargon than most people). If people who think about jargon all day say that a vaccine is a jab, then maybe it's not so important what I think about it.

leftovers - the boston mayoral race (the poverty criteria)

Those familiar with TOA may have scratched their heads at one point in Sunday's post - why does the definition of leadership matter in this case? Haven't I said on multiple occasions that my vote will go to the candidate who is going to make more progress against poverty? If this is allegedly my number one priority as a voter, then shouldn't it be the only criteria with which I judge candidates?

Dear reader, I agree with your objection (and thanks for reading, by the way) but in this case I think I should have clarified that I had a hard time distinguishing the candidates along those lines. This isn't meant to imply that the candidates are ignoring the issue, but as usual no candidate has bothered to state in the simplest terms "my goal is to end poverty". The reality is that no candidate I'm aware of has ever made such a claim, which means that I've never really had an opportunity to vote along such lines. I'm looking forward to it, let's say, though I won't guarantee that I'll live to see the day.

I did make an attempt to think a bit more about how the candidates might indirectly represent this goal. If you asked me whose policies would leave us closer to the end of poverty, I would suggest Michelle Wu as being more likely to bring progress in this regard. However, as I look over their respective websites, I see examples of how someone might challenge my conclusion. The first paragraph of Wu's campaign website, for example, states a commitment to "closing the racial wealth gap", which I assume would be parroted by whomever decides to make the end of poverty an official campaign promise. But when I look at Annissa Essaibi George's website, it doesn't take long to get to her version of the same basic idea, which in her words is "fight back against economic inequality". It would be a disappointment if my choice loses the election, but at least I'll have the idea that Essaibi George will make some progress against poverty during her term.

I'm realizing that the problem with my criteria, which sounds so high and mighty in the abstract, is how a candidate truly needs to place it front and center before it can have any relevance. The question of poverty is of such a scale that it can't be dealt with as a secondary concern, or treated as something that will naturally ease over time due to the second-order effects of other policies. They say that climate change is one of the greatest issues of our time, and perhaps rightfully so, but such declarations forget that the claim hinges on the collective decision to ignore the problem of poverty, which has been central to the human experience since the dawn of civilization, and remains the only issue of all time. There are scores of candidates who seem to get it - change, change, change, something needs to change, they tell us they'll change it. But what is going to change? When I see the candidate that fits my criteria, it will be a commitment to a simple thing - change will mean the end of those questions, sometimes directed at me on consecutive street corners, from tired voices or fraying cardboard signs, asking me if I have any change.

the boston mayoral race

I voted for Michelle Wu in the preliminary round of the Boston mayoral election, and I've known since she made it to the final round that I'll vote for her again sometime this week. This conviction might explain why I ruled out the idea of analyzing the final round of the election in greater detail, comparing Wu's positions against those of her opponent, Annissa Essaibi George, because to me such an exercise conducted after the fact would be more about justifying my choice rather than providing a balanced examination of my decision. But it's also true that just as it was the case when I last went to the polls - er, the mailbox - the reality of my vote is far simpler, making such a comparison entirely unnecessary. The reality is that my choice wasn't really a choice at all between two candidates and their campaign promises, but rather the result of applying my definition for leadership to the situation, with the end result of that process dictating my decision.

I suppose this requires me to clarify my definition for leadership, which is a minor challenge given that we collectively lack a consistent definition for the skill. This shortcoming often becomes apparent to me during an election because the coverage seems incapable of providing information about a given candidate's leadership qualities, particularly in comparison to other considerations such as endorsements, accomplishments, or positions on key issues. I think it would be hard to find a voter who dismisses the importance of a candidate's leadership skills, but the way election coverage presents information suggests voters have little interest in weighing leadership skills as part of their decision. The campaign websites in this mayoral race reinforce my hunch - it's hard to find any reference to leadership skills on either site, with the closest thing being the odd mention of having demonstrated leadership in a prior role.

This is slightly puzzling to me because I think a lot of voters, particularly those who have been generally untouched and unconcerned by the coverage of the election, would find it helpful to know more about the type of leadership a candidate would bring to the mayor's office. In fact, the only consistent piece of information that seems readily available about the race is how Boston will soon elect both its first woman and first person of color as mayor, which, in addition to being slightly disrespectful of Mayor Janey's interim term, also implies that the point of voting this year is not to participate in the city's democratic process but rather to collect a participation trophy for being seen at the ballot box on a historic day. What I mean by this outburst is that since I suspect a lot of observers may initially have a hard time distinguishing the candidates, the lack of clear information about their contrasting positions may discourage unmotivated voters from showing up to cast a ballot, particularly in an off-cycle election. It may be instructive to look at CNN.com's summary of the preliminary round, which could be the only thing an outsider might know about the race. The summary cites the following differences in the candidates - race, the fact of Essaibi George being more "police-friendly", and their endorsements. How many undecided voters are going to make a decision based on those factors? And if these voters remain undecided, how likely are they to vote?

And yet, perhaps this problem is somewhat unavoidable. I realized something just last week about the race - I don't think I'll vote in another election at this level of government where the two final candidates seem to share so much common ground over key issues. One illustrative example starts in the first paragraph of Wu's campaign website, which states a commitment to "closing the racial wealth gap". Essaibi Geroge's website requires some scrolling to get there, but it does come up - she'll "fight back against economic inequality". If your singular concern as a voter was to have a mayor committed to addressing inequality, well, what do you make of those examples? I'd probably stay home, too. I guess the more appropriate response here is to dive deeper into the details, where eventually one candidate will distinguish herself from the other, but I don't think too many voters have much interest in getting that far into the specifics, preferring instead to choose a candidate based on clear ideological signals. In other words, what we have in the mayoral race is a little different from the stupefying simplicity of two-party politics, which has conditioned me to expect that if I support one candidate, then I'm supposed to consider any opponent to be more fit for a prison sentence than a term in the same office.

I guess the lingering question here is that if all of the above is true, then how have I managed such a clear decision? Well, there is no magic answer, it came out of some time spent in those pesky details, and although it wasn't anything specific in those details that caught my eye, the process ultimately helped me to my conclusion. What emerged in my examination was a trend that suggests something of a contrast in leadership philosophy - Wu seems interested in solving the problems that need to be solved, whereas Essaibi George is more inclined to solve the problems that can be solved. I know some people don't consider this to be much of a distinction, but from my perspective it's the kind of detail that can shape two entirely different approaches to leadership.

Take one of the more popular talking points, setting free the "T", which is Wu's proposal for fare-free transit. This isn't such a big distinction from Essaibi George in an important way because her website mentions "decreasing the cost of transportation... for disadvantaged groups". Given that a single subway ride costs $2.40, the difference between Wu taking it down to $0 and Essaibi George finding some middle ground between those fares doesn't seem like a massive distinction at first glance. But if you look further into the question, you can find some interesting moments from the campaign regarding Essaibi George's skepticism over the fare-free proposal. In a recent debate, Essaibi George asked point-blank - "who's going to pay for that?" I'm tempted to say that if the price is $0, then no one pays, but instead of being a smart-ass I can instead point out the obvious - if fare-free isn't working, we can always just start charging people again. The status quo has left the "T" in a staggering amount of debt, with quite a bit of anxiety surrounding the discussion of its financial future. So why is a mayoral candidate pushing a platform of same old, same old, as if things will suddenly change in 2022? It's not like our transportation situation was in great shape before the pandemic, either, so a return to the good old days isn't going to do much good. The broader point is that the "T" example highlights the main distinction between the two candidates - one is going to try a bunch of things, failing at most, while the other is going to succeed with a much smaller agenda. It's not surprising at all that the CNN summary would point out Essaibi George's position on police reform since it's a common topic of discussion in both national and local politics. However, I'd like to clarify something about the position - isn't it easier to keep the money in the police budget if you don't have any other ideas for reallocating the dollars? Maybe the right answer to the earlier question is that the police would pay for those $0 subway rides.

It's as if Wu's plan is to try twenty-five things, succeeding at seven, while Essaibi George is looking to go three for four. Or maybe, it's like both candidates want to go for a hike, but Wu is picking the trail that leads to a higher peak. There's probably a time and a place for each approach, and I guess the ability to know which is the right fit for the moment is my definition of leadership. Ultimately, there is no one right way to demonstrate leadership, no single set of skills that will apply to every situation, but it's clear as I look back on a decade in this city that too much has changed about daily life to expect much of the status quo. The way I see things these days, I'm much happier to go for those seven successes, knowing that such a plan would bring failure eighteen times more frequently than going three for four, hoping that those seven wins outweigh the effects of failing those other eighteen times. To me, it's the right moment to emphasize the number of successes rather than the success rate. What is so good about life in the city that we should avoid taking risks to build a better future? I think the definition of leadership that fits this situation describes Michelle Wu, and that's why I'm voting for her in this election.

mission impossible

After a stretch of successfully churning out a reading review within three or four months of finishing a book, I've encountered a bit of a rut recently that's left some of my early reads from 2021 on a gradually expanding backburner. This happens to me from time to time, with the obvious reason being length - there's too much in the book to easily compress into a review. I offer this reasoning, for example, to explain why Thinking Without a Banister has sat on my to-do list for over six months - Hannah Arendt's essay collection is listed at 608 pages. If I could do it, it would be done, right? The problem is that this explanation demonstrates a common reasoning flaw as it relates to backlogs. If you think about it, all I'm doing by pointing out the length is describing an aspect of my process that should be accounted for in my turnaround time. After all, if I set three or four months as the deadline, it suggests that I've done so after factoring in the impact of long books.

The real explanation may have revealed itself over the weekend, when I tried to make progress on two such books - Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong and Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino. Both collections share a certain feature in the possibility that I might be better placed to relate to the work than the average reader - my experience as an Asian American could be reflected in Hong's work while Tolentino's age and background suggest I have more in common with her than I do any other writer on my 2021 reading list (so far). The issue that became so obvious over the weekend was the realization that although I wasn't necessarily wrong with my hunch, I definitely didn't get what I expected from these books, and perhaps I need to reset my thinking so that I can look at these books without the influence of my expectations before I can finish the posts.

One moment that sticks out when I think back a few days was the way a note from Trick Mirror seemed to be a better fit for my thinking about Minor Feelings - specifically, that the innocent question of "who would play you in a movie?" is a bit of a challenge given the lack of actors who look like me. I don't want to go back and dig out my "TOA Leadership Bias Test", but I think the same logic applies - if you put one minute on a timer and name as many actors as you can, I bet you won't have many Asians on that list. This example seemed to apply in reverse, as well - I felt that the basic theme of Tolentino's collection is scamming, and the way scams define the millennial experience of the system that dictates modern life, but when I look at the notes I took from Hong's work I understand that a book about race, the biggest scam of all-time, will have much more to say about the matter than a few essays with a broader focus.

It's perhaps somewhat appropriate that I took a break from all of this on Saturday night to catch a movie. I worked hard all day, you know, trying to write these reading reviews, so it was time for a rest. This was the first time I recall seeing a film in close to a decade, which I suppose is a relevant detail given my earlier complaint - I stand by my quiz about Asian actors, but the fact is that I can't name many actors of any race. The thought occurred to me during a quiet moment of the movie, when I briefly reflected on my self-imposed exile - did I stay away from the cinema simply because there was never any representation of me in these scenes? The movies, so often aspiring to become enduring portraits of this American life, are perhaps just another scam, its mission made impossible without Asians. But maybe that was Tolentino's point, or was it Hong's? I guess for now it's mine, my point being that I walked away from movies ten years ago for no explainable reason, and that I'm now considering whether this had something to do with the people asked to star in these films.

I didn't linger on this thought, returning to it only just now, because I had to focus on the film, a spy thriller from a franchise I'd once followed with devotion. The movie turned out fine but it wasn't quite good enough to crack my long-forgotten top ten list. Wasn't there a movie called The Prestige on it? I think I did like The Shawshank Redemption, though maybe I'm just confused, having read the story. I do know for sure I loved The Last Samurai since I rewatched a few favorite scenes during those dark days of the pandemic, though the several Asian actors starring in the movie would throw a wrench into my snarky little quiz. But why worry? I have my answer for that stupid question, and besides I'd be stunned if anyone could name more than the star of the film. Wasn't he in a spy film, too, or did I just dream it? He doesn't exactly look like me, either, but hey, it's all a scam anyway, right, the movies, race, all of this? If he can at least speak some English and Japanese, then I say it's all you need to play the role, it's all I'm doing now, it's all I ever do, just go on long enough until the audience, all of us, are convinced I'm fit for the part, though we do have to go on longer than most. But anyway, the guy can play a samurai or some agent or even a secret agent, he can probably play me, I mean he has played me, he's played us all, but who can blame him since he's only being asked, since I'm asking? It's his mission if he wants it, should he choose to accept it.

time to end early voting

I think it's time to end early voting - not the concept, but the expression. I don't think it's a helpful way to describe this feature of the democratic process, specifically the use of "early", which implies either that there is something distinct about the idea or that it's possible to have such a thing as "late" voting. Let's start with the former. My experience voting early has been no different from my experience voting on the hallowed election day - excuse me CNN, Election Day. If I showed you video footage of me at the polls, you'd have a hard time telling whether it's from early voting or not. To me, it makes sense to call identical things by the same name. Getting rid of the early voting label would better demonstrate the irrelevant distinction between showing up to polls early or "on-time". Would election week work? Maybe voting season? If our national debt is as bad as everyone says, maybe we can sell the naming rights - Ten Days at The Polls, presented by Coca-Cola. Call it what you want, just don't call it early.

I'm tempted here to expand the argument, perhaps suggesting that this type of change would make us collectively more receptive to other election changes, such as allowing online voting (we can call this an "innovation", if you are the sort who ignores that Estonia started this a decade and a half ago). The possibility that a name change could improve chances for future process improvements might not seem entirely important to a certain type of American, who I will gently describe as oblivious, perhaps primarily concerned about watching TV on election night, excuse me Fox News, Election Night. However, if the nonsensical controversies generated by mail-in voting last year proved anything, it's that we are suffering for a collective fear of change in this centuries-old process that defines our system of government, and we should be trying everything in our power to help others overcome their fear. If something as simple as using new labels helps people come around, then I think we need to try it.

But forget that for now, let's return to the latter point from above, the "late" voting concept and what it implies, which I bring up more as a symbol of the issue. The point is that I think words matter, particularly names, in the way they help us understand what's going on in the world, and in this case calling it early voting might suggest to some that it's not a serious way to cast a ballot, or at least the correct way. I suspect there are countless people in every election who, having had an opportunity to vote early, never gave the possibility any serious thought, reasoning perhaps that the correct way to vote was to stand in line like my father's great-grandfather did back when Columbus wasn't just some guy who got lost. It seems like an innocent decision, this impulsive notion that early voting is simply incorrect, and of course it's almost obnoxious of me to criticize someone else's decision about voting - I mean, isn't the whole point of voting to accept someone else's choice? I think so, even if the behavior of Democrats and Republicans suggest otherwise.

But in this example, all I think someone accomplishes by waiting until the correct day is to make the line a little longer for someone who didn't have time to vote early, and who definitely doesn't have time on election day - excuse me NBC, Election Day. Life in this country is simply too difficult, and we should accept that not everyone is going to have an hour to stand around waiting to cast a ballot on some Tuesday evening in November. And that's not to suggest the only effect is on others - what if this hypothetical voter, waiting patiently to do the American thing and vote at the right time, suddenly has to deal with an unforeseen circumstance and can't go to the polls? When I say what if, we know what I mean - the vote is lost, wasted, not counted at all, the same way it's not counted anytime a person goes home because the line is too long. I suppose the reasons explaining these types of lost votes may only hold the most tenuous connection to the label of early voting, but I think the stakes are too high to dismiss anything that might cost the country even one vote.

I'm open to change, but I'm realistic about it, too - we have early voting, but we'll never have late voting. So what's the point of calling it something that might lead to a missed vote, which means a wasted vote? This is an American tragedy that only an Estonian can truly appreciate. Since there's nothing special about calling it early voting (and according to my rant thus far some possible negative effects), I ask - what's the point? Most of the average Americans I know won't even try new food unless they saw it on TV, so we should be sensitive to the difficulty of rethinking basic democracy, which has unfortunately become tied into the big event mentality of election night - excuse me ABC, Election Night. There is a certain pageantry of participating in a collective activity, then seeing your fellow citizens on the news that same night, and given how we're talking about an almost uniquely American event I know it's a hard sell to change our ways. But what the cameras miss is everyone who was left out, either by chance or by design, in part because we are mired in the 18th century thinking that dismisses out of hand the concept of having a fortnight to cast your vote. They may call it a civic duty, but I'd prefer to think of it as an obligation, not to just cast your vote but to make sure we all can; we should be doing all we can to make it easier to vote, even if it's something so small like thinking about a better name for certain parts of the process, because doing otherwise would mean living in a county that's not worth voting for at all.

reading clearout - october 2021

Hi reader,

Some updates on reading I won't feature in a full "review". Or is it "full" review? Who knows, who cares.

Gold Boy, Emerald Girl by Yiyun Li (September 2021)

In an unusual departure from my standard reaction to short story collections, I actually enjoyed this work as a whole more so than I did any single story; I didn't bother marking a single story for a repeat read. The few notes I took from the book speak to a handful of bleak tales, with the characters and their decisions almost always influenced but never entirely defeated by the weight of experience. The stories shared a blend of resignation and distance that created an unexpected effect for me - rather than inhabiting the perspective of any one character, I found myself placed as an observer within these scenes, more often accepting rather than understanding the compromises that make us capable of moving on in a world too inflexible to accommodate our specific circumstances.

Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine (August 2021)

I suspect I picked up this book because I came across either Citizen or Just Us (maybe both) and decided that it would be wise to read this book first given its earlier publication date. I enjoyed Don't Let Me Be Lonely, but it didn't have the same effect on me as it seemed to have for the many other readers who were compelled to post gushing reviews. I suppose one explanation for my indifference is that Rankine's referencing the numbing effect of television had no impact on me, having used the concept myself as the centerpiece for several (hundred? thousand?) TOA posts (1). The numbing achieved through television's sensory overload is necessary to fully witness the pain, suffering, or sadness in the world without becoming incapacitated by it, but for me seeing the message put across in this work didn't help me see anything new in the idea. I'd say there is the strong likelihood that this is one of those times when I just need to hold up my hands and admit that the book didn't happen for me, and that this experience will not temper my enthusiasm for reading either of those aforementioned books.

The Lives of a Cell by Lewis Thomas (April 2021)

I followed up with this one after enjoying The Medusa and the Snail, but I didn't like this book of short essays quite so much as the last one. That said, I did come across a few interesting ideas in this read, though perhaps the sense was more that I was being reminded rather than educated by these pieces. The theme that we often overstate our knowledge was once again present, with perhaps the most amusing note being that, historically, the most important service provided by doctors was being present at the time of death; Thomas adds elsewhere that a source of waste in medical spending lies in forgetting that most illnesses get better without intervention. The insight that growth tends to make people lose their innate sense for living humanely was a fascinating concept, with his specific example highlighting the failures of large cities to protect the vulnerable.

Footnotes

1) Don't think, don't worry, everything is just fine...

Or, possibly, I should just blame the Zoo TV tour. Anyway, readers will be delighted to know that several upcoming posts, including the one this Sunday, will once again place TV in TOA's crosshairs.

the bias for data

I just finished taking down notes for Ruha Benjamin's Race After Technology, and the process confirmed that this will be on my list of best books from this year's reading. Benajmin's book focuses on the ways algorithms, applications, and programs, which are often presented to the public as neutral, can reinforce or deepen inequality, bias, and structural racism. I'm looking forward to collecting a few of my thoughts for a reading review later this year.

There is one idea I have been thinking about this week, which is related to Benjamin's comment regarding the way some will demand more data before committing to action. From her perspective, this comes up even when many experts are already in agreement regarding the necessary next step toward solving a problem. Benjamin uses the task of improving childhood education as an example of this phenomenon, noting how despite expert agreement that reducing poverty is the most important intervention toward achieving this goal, some demonstrate a certain perversion of knowledge by demanding to collect more data before committing to the intervention.

There are many reasons why some might demand more data in this type of situation, with cynical motivations certainly among the possibilities. However, what I've been thinking about this week regards the type of mentality that could lead to an innocent mistake - the tendency among data-driven thinkers to view the collection of data, either in volume or quality terms, as an unassailable strategy. There is, in other words, a bias for data, and this bias manifests in situations where data collection itself becomes both process and outcome, with no consideration allowed for whether additional information can improve the quality of upcoming decisions. The trend over the past few years has elevated the importance of being "data-driven" to the point where it would be unfathomable for a person, team, or organization to describe itself otherwise, but like with many empty buzzwords its strictest adherents would struggle to explain the drawbacks. The key distinction to me is that although having more data increases the odds of making the right decision, there is no guarantee that collecting additional data in a given moment will increase the odds of making the right decision.

The question in my mind as it relates to Benjamin's example is how to separate the cynical intent from the innocent errors made by those who have stumbled blindly into the cult of the data-driven approach. But in a general sense, the distinction may be a trivial one, for those who believe more is always better will never sate their appetite for additional data, which means their behavior will always be indistinguishable from those in outright opposition. The good intent of data collection simply hides the fact that this mentality has more in common with certain sins like gluttony or greed, which are likewise defined by the inability to know when enough is enough. I would prefer that we generally adopt a more careful approach to data collection. I think it's impossible to effectively adopt a data-driven mindset if those in charge of a project cannot identify how much data is necessary to reach their outcome; those collecting additional data for its own sake likely do not understand the issue at the core of their specific problem. 

I've had this on my mind over the past week because I recently realized that I will soon encounter this type of situation in my work. Over the next few months, I'll join a workgroup seeking to drive progress against a set of inclusion, diversity, and equity goals within the organization. I'm unsure about how to implement or even introduce my approach because I fear it will challenge and possibly threaten some members, particularly those who perceive themselves as data-driven without having given the label a great deal of thought. Should I simply demand to see the plan that would be set in motion given the accumulation of more data? Or is it best to start with the idea, then work out a way to apply the philosophy to the situation? It may be wise to simply point out what I think is plainly evident - if the goal to improve decisions necessitates collecting better data, then the obvious question is to find a consensus regarding the point where we have enough higher quality data. In healthcare, there is a concept defined by HIPPA known as "minimum necessary", and perhaps invoking this principle could help us find the right starting point.

My fear is that we will make the kinds of mistakes that result from good intentions. For example, we may decide that certain decisions will be driven by the kind of information we can extract from only the highest quality data. This sounds good in the planning stage, but it's easy to imagine that we'll have more success collecting such data from those who are the easiest to collect from. And who would be the easiest to collect from? My strong hunch is that we'll collect from those already affiliated with our organization, excluding the potential supporter groups that we are trying to include in our work, which would only reinforce the existing structural challenges that prompted the establishment of the workgroup in the first place. This concern will remain right at the front of my mind, placed there perhaps by what I've recently read and noted from Race Against Technology, which maintains this kind of thinking as its unofficial theme - we must think seriously about how we use so-called neutral tools, and remember that their neutrality is no guarantee we won't use them to reinforce existing biases.

proper corona admin, vol 104 - out of shape

It's been about a month since I returned from a four-week writing break, but I would argue that I'm still returning to peak writing fitness. Tonight, for example (October 6), is the first time I've written on four out of five nights since the end of May, speaking to some of the burnout that in hindsight was always the logical outcome of my pandemic schedule. But in addition to the volume, there is also the more basic question of forming words into the chunks befitting a TOA post. Take this very sentence, for example. I had no plans to write such a thing until about five minutes ago, when I realized that I needed more time to finish the piece. No problem, but this left me in a pickle because I had thought it would be finished tonight so that it could go up tomorrow.

So now what? There are things on my mind, subjects of sentences on the page, but nothing is predicated. Where is that familiarity I once knew about the process of connecting one word, one line, one thought to the next? I feel like I did this morning, stumbling into two colleagues who were sitting outside a café, two people I had not seen, in person, for over a year and half, trying to get caught up in the eternity of ninety seconds, a minute and a half wondering just what I had done in the past when I knew where to look, knew what to say, and knew when it was time to stop.

the toa podcast hall of fame - reply all (the takeover)

There was a time when Reply All and its unofficial predecessor TLDR were among my favorite podcasts. My interest in the shows has faded over time for a handful of reasons, those being irrelevant to this post (the TLDR version is that, at least in my mind, the show has drifted from its original focus on short, quirky stories about the internet). Today's episode - Reply All's 29th - best captures what I liked about these shows. It's about a teenager who started a Facebook group where its members could pretend - over message boards, emails, and chats - to work in a corporate office.

My favorite aspect of this episode is not necessarily what I liked about the podcast series. The best part of hearing these shows over the years was the way a certain observation would reappear over and over across various stories - eventually, each story reached a point where it implied that the internet is not much different from the other tools in our lives. The specific details unique to highly unusual episodes might challenge this conclusion from time to time, but for the most part it seemed to me that the show confirmed how the internet is merely a digital substitute for what could otherwise happen in the physical world. Given that it is a substitute - meaning the results of using it are mostly interchangeable with the alternative - then the decision to use the technology comes down to factors such as speed, accuracy, or ease of use (which always favors the internet). Think about TOA as an example - I could distribute this as a print newsletter, but would it be a great use of time to ship "proper admin" to home addresses? The main lessons I've drawn from years of listening to these shows feel similar to those a dedicated bookworm could have drawn up in 1995 - that we humans are starved for connection, ready to build new communities around our interests, and almost always too shy to bring up life's biggest questions until we sense an added layer of safety.

The previous paragraph might seem like I'm just stating the obvious, but it leads me to an idea - the fact of the internet being faster, more accurate, or easier to use is often provided as the explanation for regarding the internet as an unambiguous improvement, at least in the sense that results improve by substituting the internet for the in-person alternative. This is like suggesting the view from a particular mountaintop would improve if someone cleared the trail leading to the summit, or that a sandwich tastes better because you cut it with a sharper knife. The challenge with my TOA example from above is separating the process of collecting, distributing, and posting from the end product. It's certainly an improvement to rely on the internet for much of the process, but it's not so clear to me if having TOA on the internet has made me a better writer.

The logical question that results from this thinking is something I've wondered about "The Takeover" - if the process improvements can make it seem like the outcome improved, then is it possible for process improvements to actually hide a situation where the outcome has been made worse? It's like the hypermiling driver whose obsession with fuel efficiency means he never arrives on-time. My thought about this podcast episode is that although the internet seems to improve the learning process, there are certain instances where these process improvements obscure how some situations are ill-suited for the digital classroom. The subject of this story is essentially using an internet substitute to mock an aspect of a particular in-person culture, which he understands well enough to parody yet hasn't connected to any larger explanation that could clarify why this culture exists in the first place. I think this failure is partly reflected in the way he seems to consider the web-based elements enabled by his project as sufficient for a full recreation of the culture - what happens within the group is a truthful rendition of the culture, but outside its original in-person context the digital participant misses the point.

It would be a different story if this had happened two decades ago, where the subject could have rounded up some friends and pretended to work in a company for the purpose of mocking corporate culture. But what would happen next? I think it would become pretty clear that any person who wasn't participating in the silly premise would be detracting from the group, and this person would soon be asked to stop playing the game. But isn't this what happens in the corporate office when a colleague refuses to participate in the culture? The point isn't so much that the iguana joke is stupid, the point is that the joke signals who wants to be part of the team. The digital parody could never capture this insight because there is no pressure to keep anyone in the group, but I think it would have been different if he had tried this in-person. I'm not sure if the subject would have necessarily learned this lesson just by trying this experiment outside the digital setting, but it seems to me that he at least would have stood a chance.

The revelation about corporate culture is that there is a certain safety in numbers, particularly when the consequences of sticking out at work can be devastating in terms of both professional reputation as well as personal finances. I suppose you can learn this in one of two ways - either you are in a setting where you felt the power of that safety, or you listened to the end of "The Takeover" and appreciated the irony. It's not clear to me if the subject recognized the connection between his rejection of the culture and his eventual demise, or if he bothered with a logical follow up question to his initial idea - if this culture is so stupid, so banal, then why do so many otherwise intelligent people tolerate it? I think the way the story ends gives us a look at one answer to this question, where colleagues rely on strength in numbers to protect themselves - not from any visible, stated, or obvious threat, but from that ever-present reality of the relentless, grinding gears that chew up so many isolated corporate employees.

reading clearout - september 2021

Hi reader,

A few thoughts on books I won't include in full reading reviews.

Blue Nights by Joan Didion (August 2021)

I generally wait a couple more months before I post my thoughts on a recently finished book, but I had my conclusions regarding Blue Nights ready to go just a couple of days after completion - Joan Didion's daughter died, then she wrote this book about it, and I think that's about the most appropriate thing I can say in a review. There is always the temptation to talk about this kind of book like any other, and maybe at some point in the past my immaturity would indulge this urge, but every time I came across a part of the work that I couldn't quite fit into the broader frame of the book I would remind myself of the immense courage required to pick up the pen in the face of such a personal tragedy. I think a reader who can keep this in mind will find something worthwhile in Blue Nights that may prove elusive for those who will regard this like any of the others on the shelf.

Glimpses of Grace by Madeleine L'Engle (July 2021)

This collection arranges selected passages from L'Engle's five decades into three hundred sixty-six daily readings. In addition to its demonstration of the proper respect for leap years, I was generally impressed with the concept of the work and I ended up pulling quite a few interesting observations into my book notes. The fact that sticks out about my notes is how the collection covered more than L'Engle's meditations on scripture, which I think worked better for me. As the author herself notes, what someone says about God reveals more about the speaker than about God, and from my point of view (as well as those of my former readers, I'm sure) it's hard to read writers who are constantly speaking about themselves.

Ultimately, my thought on whether I can recommend this book follows the same type of logic I'll employ when suggesting whether one should attend the first of what will surely be many U2 farewell tours - do you like what you already know about the artist? (That is, do you count to fourteen on one hand?) If you've never read her work, it's probably not advisable to pick up Glimpses of Grace, but I suppose the counter is that there might not be another chance for an introduction. 

Intimations by Zadie Smith (May 2021)

This tiny collection of six essays, all of them written in the first few weeks of the worldwide COVID-19 pandemic, proved for me to be an enjoyable but mostly forgettable reading experience. I think reviewing my book notes strengthened my conviction - there are some important ideas, but for me commentary on universal healthcare, privilege, or America's unspoken terror of facing death are mostly review exercises. Her essay that mused on the importance of finding things to do just to pass the sheer amount of time felt like something between a wink and a dig at TOA, but it doesn't matter - I'm happy with either interpretation.

proper admin, september 2021

The rumors are true - TOA is back! Let's get restarted with a classic Proper Admin, the usual roundup of anything that isn't quite fit for its own post, to get us caught up after the summer break.

The return to library normal

I mentioned two weeks ago that part of my break included a pause on taking book notes. To clarify, this means that I continued reading as usual while letting the finished works pile up on my to-do shelf for eventual note-taking. Longtime readers may recall that most of my books come from the library, which means that having books in such a condition is a sure recipe for a familiar "invoice" from the local circulation desk. The caveat is that I'm not sure if the library is ready to levy the fines like it's 2019, when I once emerged (five dollars lighter) from the West End branch clutching a receipt that resembled the CVS scrolls produced as evidence of a recent Crunch bar purchase.

There are wild rumors circulating about the imminent resumption of library fines, but recent communications have provided little clarity about the situation. I wonder if this is related to a recent "cyberhack" of the BPL system, which was disclosed via email to members at the end of August. It's not a situation to joke about, but I can't help wondering about the point of such an attack. Imagine ransomware demanding some kind of payment from the library? As far as I know, its only source of revenue is strongly linked to me deciding each morning if it's worth walking forty minutes roundtrip to stop the accumulation of penalty dimes. Here's a thought - how about ending fines altogether, so these criminals have less leverage in negotiations?

The pointless of the green 

I am delighted to report that I managed to move apartments without using a car, which surely ranks up there in terms of the all-time pointless green gestures. I could go on about the details, but let's just put it this way - one of my goals in the new place is to acquire enough furniture such that I don't even consider repeating the stunt for my next move.

This isn't to say I had a bad experience, or that it was a superhuman feat deserving of public recognition. Like anything useful, it simply required small bits of consistent work over several weeks. For example, I made time this summer for recycling trips, which included weekly bike rides to donation bins as well as a visit to the citywide hazardous waste drop off event to discard small appliances. The question of my bulkiest furniture, most of it wobbly beyond usefulness, was resolved by the regular curbside trash pickup. It left me with enough possessions for about twenty trips, all of it carried across Beacon Hill on one (OK, two) summer days. Again, a pointless exercise, though it helped that it was exercise, which is never pointless; people travel from all corners of globe for the privilege of walking around this neighborhood (pardon me for enabling the flat-earthers with that expression).

The problem with framing this as some kind of grand green gesture is in the scale. If green living is considered in terms of results rather than signals, then my moving day had the same effect on the planet that removing one sprinkle from an ice cream sundae has on a waistline. Actually, it's probably far less than even that - I read this month that in 2020, when the individuals of the world basically stopped in a global solidarity measure against COVID-19, the measured reduction in carbon emissions was somewhere in the range of five to ten percent. This is no small consideration, but I feel it does more to underscore the scale of the climate change issue, which is rightfully leading to panicked hand-wringing anytime the temperature drifts even five degrees above normal. The problem is simply not resolvable by direct individual action, or the accumulation of those actions. This shouldn't serve as an excuse for us to go outside today and act like a bunch of assholes, but I think we'd be better off without the shaming and self-righteous proclamations about the climate that I tend to come across from time to time in this neck of the woods. The way forward is in those little indirect actions - electing the right leaders, supporting the right institutions, gently encouraging those terrified of change - which reset the standard for the status quo, in terms of what the citizenry considers acceptable for public behavior.

Beds

Moving in the manner described above left me with certain urgent tasks, the most notable of these being buying a new bed. My solution was always going to lean on these heavily-trafficked lanes of the Information Superhighway, but there are certain challenges where the internet will simply appeal to a subset rather than the entirety of the population, and I believe the bed purchase is a prime example.

I don't know how it's possible for someone to write a useful review of a mattress, or perhaps I should say - I don't know how it's possible to produce a comparable set of reviews for multiple mattresses, which to me is the only way mattress reviews would be of any use. The consensus as I understand it is that a mattress always takes some time for acclimation, which means any reviewer must devote significant time ("sleeps", say those damn millennials) to each product before having the necessary experience to offer a thorough analysis. But who has time for that kind of work (especially if you sleep on the job)? The next best thing would be having a team of reviewers working through their own list of products, but although I accept the good-faith effort there is simply no way to ensure that the difference in two reviews is down to the product rather than the writer. In the end, I decided to find as many "best mattress" lists as possible, note the products that appeared the most often on those lists, then read reviews for my finalists with an eye toward my preferred features rather than the overall rating.

This is still a better process to me than going to the local mattress store and lying down a couple of times before making a choice. Again, the question of acclimation is top of mind. But it also bears a resemblance to the way I might be presented a bottle of wine in certain restaurants, where the server pours out a tiny sample into a glass for my tasting. As I sip the wine and try to think of the right thing to say, I can't help but wonder - is it really an option here to send it back? The mattress feels fine, and isn't the fact that I'm testing it already indicating a certain future? As I nod my approval and offer my glass for the full pour, I remind myself that my preference is to figure out what I want before I order it rather than rely on the whimsical nature of the taste test.

Baths

The lowlight of moving dovetailed with a much more serious news event from early September - the flash flooding produced by the remnants of Hurricane Ida. We Bostonians missed out on the most serious results suffered elsewhere in the region, but in terms of my life there were some consequences - it just so happened that the rain led to a small flood in my new building's storage space, which exposed a few of my stored personal items to an unanticipated rainwater bath. The next morning, I brought everything to higher ground and assessed the damage. Most items, I decided, were in a salvageable condition, and their problems were resolved by leaving a few items to dry near the windows. A few paper items were soaked beyond saving, so those went straight into the bin. Of these items, perhaps the most noteworthy were old newspapers commemorating certain local sporting events, including The Boston Globe the day after the Red Sox wonthe 2004 World Series, but fortunately for me I've moved on from my interest in memorabilia; this news was less about the disappointment of loss, and more about the surprising reminder that I'd once thought to lug these with me from lease to lease.

The couple of things that fell in the middle of the "safe or soaked" continuum represented near misses. One such item was a middle school yearbook, which seemed initially like a problem until I realized it was from 7th grade, a non-graduation year (the 8th grade yearbook would have been a loss). I toyed with the idea of trying to save it, but I soon turned to a strategy advocated by tidying expert Marie Kondo and went through the book, page by page, tearing out anything that I would find relevant for later. I ended up with somewhere between ten and twenty pages, mostly those including scribbles and messages from my classmates wishing me the best for the upcoming summer.

The notable feature of these pages was in a discovery about the way my classmates, including me, casually threw in words, phrases, or expressions that, in an attempt to summarize as concisely as possible, I'll suggest would merit cancellation were those same messages expressed today. It reminded me of a specific insight I've always liked from Eureka Street about the cause of change - it's not so much that we feel something is the right thing to do, or that we have a certain ethical or moral obligation to change, but the much simpler explanation that it would be embarrassing to stick with the status quo.

Beyonds

How many words was that? Ten thousand? Ten million? Who knows, who cares, TOA is back in business (but still, for now, a true nonprofit).

Thanks for reading! We'll be quiet for a few days (enough time to go back and review anything you skipped in the above) but we should be back later this week with a few reading reviews.