Days twenty-nine, thirty, and thirty-one: Reflections on trying to blog every day for a month

I didn’t blog every day for a month. I didn’t miss by much, but it’s definitely easier to be disciplined about it at home than it is on the road.

I thought it would be a good experiment, writing slightly longer, compared to a tweet, and it often felt satisfying to mash the publish button. The daily pressure was noticed, though, and reminded me of the year I did one of those one-second-per-day videos. Sometimes you just need to point the camera at the sky; sometimes you just need to jot down some thoughts about jotting down thoughts.

I’m writing this on my laptop on a plane — not on my phone, where I wrote all (I think?) the other posts this month.

Maybe writing those posts didn’t help me separate myself from my phone, but it did give me an outlet for the spare energy of rattling-around thoughts, pithy ideas, and rambling about platforms and projects and photos and it was fun to pull some old file art off my phone.

About Not Tweeting Or Posting On Facebook

Um, many people have spit many hot takes on this topic, and there’s not much I can add. It felt like I was measurably reducing my daily anxiety by not spending much time on Twitter this month. When I did check in from time to time on my laptop during the week (or, admittedly, stealing down to the basement once or twice a day on weekends to get my fix), it was nice to see a joke or two, or someone’s Personal News, and there was that day I unfollowed more than a thousand people, that felt pretty good.

I was still checking news sites multiple times a day on my phone, to feed the “has anything blown up overnight?” monster in my brain, but if you feel overwhelmed and like maybe you need a break from the unrelenting wash of news, then yes, indeed, I would recommend cutting down on Twitter.

And Facebook, sure, although checking in there less was a good reminder that I’ve done a decent job of curating my friends and my feed there, so more often than not, looking at Facebook on my laptop a couple times a day made me feel good.

I kept Instagram on my phone, and although the babies and kids and dogs and meals there have a lot of overlap with my FB feed, I’ve been enjoying Stories.

What now?

Am I going to keep aiming to write a blog post every day? Uhhhhhhmmmmmm hmmmm errrrr… How about I just try to blog whenever I feel like it, whenever I have a thought longer than tweet-length, whenever there’s one of those empty cans making a lot of noise in my head, whenever I want to, more or less, without the long-gone pressure of worrying about my brand or how my work responsibilities and personal opinions (usually about future-of-news stuff) might not always be in alignment.

Am I going to start tweeting again?

Ehhhhhhhhh probably. But I’m going to keep curating pretty hard. I definitely have the thought of making my account private, and/or deleting my old tweets.

It’s tempting to just leave it behind.

Fish tacos, El Pescadito, Mexico City, 2019
Fish tacos, El Pescadito, Mexico City, 2019

Days twenty-seven and twenty-eight

Written on the morning of the 29th, natch.

Whenever I hear the words “business traveler,” I picture someone older than me in a suit. When I travel for work, I see those people, and except for the single-meeting trips where I might wear a suit jacket (honestly, I have no idea what’s a sport coat and what’s a blazer, so use your imagination), I usually look pretty casual and beardy and not businessy.

But there I am, moving through airports, traveling for work, doing my best to feel less like an electron going through a wire and more like a human being experiencing the world.

Even if that experience is trying to be invisible with my headphones on and saying as little as possible to anyone. šŸ˜‰

Days twenty-five and twenty-six

Hey this daily habit thing is challenging!

Whatever I thought I might write about today was just wiped clean because we just watched BlacKkKlansman and it’s going to take a few minutes to recover.

Spike still has some shots left in him, that’s for sure. I remember one time he gave a talk at NYU, in the coffee shop on the ground floor of Tisch, when one movie or another of his was coming out, but he had to get to the Yankees game and was a little impatient with us, short on time, and how many times had he given the same talk to every group of film undergrads who wanted to think of themselves as auteurs.

But there’s Spike, in 2018, saving the signature ride-the-dolly move for the last shot of his movie. Sorry, I guess that’s a minor spoiler for a certain class of nerd.

The tie-ins to the present of the black experience in America, the garbage rhetoric of those whose idea of greatness is whiteness, the clear cross-cut storytelling of what “white power” and “black power” and “black lives matter” mean — somehow all pulled off less heavy-handed than usual — and I even like it when he’s heavy-handed, heck, I cried thick tears at 25th Hour and needed a drink after it to calm down.

Day twenty-four

Part of what I love about Vampire Weekend is the fact that my wife likes their music, too. Spend your life with someone, and it’s nice if there’s not just music you can enjoy together, but music you can enjoy together across multiple states on road trips, for the 19th time, playing on repeat, and maybe if the kids can bounce around in their seats, that’s a plus.

There’s new music from Vampire Weekend (yes, yes, asterisk minus Rostam, fine) for the first time in six years, and it’s lovely enough.

Last time around I spent lots of time with MVOTC early in Genius’s run, and ended up building a spreadsheet out of all of VW’s lyrics from all their albums, looking for narratives and themes and clues to some bigger story, sure I’d heard a snippet of a song referencing some past character. There wasn’t some overarching epic woven through that I could discern, but it was a fun corpus for data science projects that never took shape.

In one of the new songs out today, there’s a completely transparent interpolating (as the kids say) of a song from the prior album, so there’s something to pull apart there, maybe, or it’s just their way of letting us know they still don’t want to live like this, but they don’t want to die.

Day twenty-three

When I was in third grade or so, I thought “23” was going to be the perfect age. I’d be out of college, a successful adult in the world, driving my Maserati or whatever I thought was cool — but not that cool — as an eight-year-old, and living the good life as the founder of Sholin Industries, whatever that was going to be. Business!

Maybe that was the year I wanted to be “a businessman” when I grew up, which no doubt led to grandparents telling me I should go to Harvard, because that’s where you go to become “a businessman.”

I ended up with a Harvard sweatshirt, and it was great.

Was that the same year I wanted to be a lawyer? Because that’s where you go if you want to be a lawyer. And of course, as my own children have entered the “debate every suggestion with ten minutes of pedantry” phase, I wonder out loud if suggestions from adults that children “would make good lawyers” are perhaps no less than 97 percent in jest.

I had a busy day, didn’t check the news much, and only now in the evening read about a shooting today in a bank in my home state. This is the moment where I’d like to check Facebook on my phone to see if my friends and family are all fine — although I’m not sure how useful FB would be for that — or really, to figure out whether I know anyone there.

When you grow up in Florida, every Florida Man story is an opportunity to worry about whether you know the weirdo in question. Usually, you don’t.

Day twenty-two

A busy day of work and parenting, somehow fitting in XBox skating with the boy and measurable progress on the Vargas Llosa book I’m reading (translated into English), but practicing my Spanish has been one of the highlights of my week so far.

I’ve explained hundreds of times, en EspaƱol: Soy de Miami, y cuando era joven, estudiĆ© EspaƱol por muchos aƱos en escuela. Despues, estaba viviendo en Nueva York, y estaba hablando EspaƱol con mis vecinos PuertorriqueƱos y los camioneros Mexicanos a mi trabajo.

(I can go on, often mentioning my wife’s family, or where I practiced Spanish when we lived in Santa Cruz, or Albuquerque, or somewhere else along the way.)

These days I explain that I don’t know much business Spanish, but puedo hablar de comida o familia sin problema, context is everything. And probably repetition.

Day twenty-one

It was so cold today here that I ended up with Tom Waits in my head: “…colder than a welldigger’s ass…”

And I can’t remember now if Diamonds on my Windshield is on Heart of Saturday Night or if I first heard it on the hilarious/sad/underwhelming Beat Generation box set I bought myself (likely with my employee discount) all those years ago, after coveting it for months in the record store.

It had some real gems on it, Ginsberg reading America as the closer, touches from Burroughs, Lenny Bruce (beat??), Kerouac himself reading his own work, implanting his cadence on my memory of some of his favorite words, exposing how much he enjoyed them himself.

But also, for some reason, Tom Waits makes multiple appearances.

Whenever I spot these sorts of oddities, it’s my record store days and my understanding of film rights for music that make me wonder if the same label had the rights to a bunch of it and just flipped through their own catalog for filler.

Need something else tangentially about Route 66? Check Tom’s stuff. Probably something in there about a road.

Day twenty

Yesterday, we watched Temple of Doom with the kids (well, the one who was stubborn enough to stay on the couch and suffer through it with us).

Let me be the last one to tell you, it is as bad as you remember.

I knew I had never really seen the whole movie more than once, because of the part with THE HEART but do you remember…

  • The poorly developed female character?
  • The racism?
  • The other racism?
  • Pretty sure there’s a third racism in there, too?
  • Monkey brains?
  • Bugs?
  • The condescending continuity gaffe of setting this movie before Raiders but then having Indy pull the “brought a gun to a knife fight” trick again?
  • Spielberg and Lucas’s joint excuse that they were going through breakups at the time and things just got really dark?

Today, we made up for it by watching Black Panther and it was glorious.

Days seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen

I’ve been dealing with what appears to be literally the flu, which seems to justify some excused absences from blogging here.

We’re getting to the age where “living vicariously through your children” becomes a viable thing to do. They’re not what anyone would call “overscheduled,” but we do get out to swimming and soccer a few times a week, spending little bits of evenings by the pool or the field or the gym.

I usually try not to sit inside the indoor pool area anymore, preferring the slightly less chlorinated air quality of the benches on the other side of a glass wall, but there’s a lot to be said for the light inside that place.

Day sixteen

I almost forgot again!

This aging challenge thing, where people are posting pictures of their early avatars and then today — this seems like close to the worst we can do, but maybe it’s just in fun. How many things is that true of, though?

I saw one today of a glacier.

Literally, 10 years ago, much ice, big wall, and today, kinda melty. You get the idea. I saw another meme about trans people NOPEing right off the road rather than play this game.

It does seem insensitive: Reveal your old self, in context of the present, in full view of all your friends and family and really, maybe baby pictures are easier than that.

Or maybe it depends on your age. 10 years ago or first profile pic is no big deal to me, but if you so much as breathe near a picture of me from age 13-19 or so, I would not be a happy camper.

The earliest profile pic of me still around online is this one, a heavily overprocessed thing cropped out of a much much wider shot where I am operating a camera crane in front of a sailboat on a mountain in New Mexico and really that sounds much more impressive when I write it all down.

I have no idea if I ever owned a print of the original, if someone mailed it to me, which seems unlikely, or if it was taken with my own camera by a colleague, also unlikely.

It’s from October 2002, one of my last days in New Mexico, working on Off The Map.