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.
