Watching people melting down online over their parasocial relationship with an alleged assassin was not on my bingo card this morning.
It gets so exhausting to be chronically sad.
Watched “My Neighbor Totoro” for the sixth or seventh time (third or fourth in a theater). It’s not the very best of Studio Ghibli—that would be “Spirited Away” or “Tale of the Princess Kaguya,” probably—but “Totoro’s” classic sweetness never wears thin.
The homily at my parish is always a crapshoot. One Sunday it’s an excellent Advent exhortation by one supply priest to be prepared for Christ; the next Sunday it could be a warning from another supply priest that plants bought from a Masonic yard sale could bring Satan into your household.
Ever have a day where you feel so overwhelmed and out of control at the end of your work week that you desperately need Vietnamese comfort food and an avocado shake for dinner to calm you down?
Only me? Oh.
This may explain why I am so deeply uncomfortable with the whole “extend your life to 100+ years” thing: “Never die? The dangers of transhumanism in the 21st century” (America magazine).
Watching old episodes of “Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations.” It was my comfort viewing when I was on maternity leave almost 17 years ago after my sister said she liked it because Bourdain’s snark reminded her of me.
It’s now comfort viewing because it reminds me of E. Not a bad way to grieve.
I’ve deactivated Facebook and either deactivated or simply logged out of Insta and Threads; it’s hard to tell because the process of FB deactivation was such a mess that I’m not sure whether it affected the other Meta accounts.
As smitten as I have been with Bluesky, I admit that I miss Threads a little. It dawned on me that although I found some lovely people there, the platform as a whole had begun to annoy me. I got tired of Threads forcing the algorithm down my throat and making it awkward to turn to the chronological follow-only feed. And the spike in engagement bait, obviously scraped material, and cloying, performative posts just made it harder to stick around there. The migration of bots and trolls just pushed me over the edge.
That said, I was somehow not terribly self-conscious there. I became more real about personal stuff on Threads, and it was nice to know only a handful of people there from real life. (I even blocked people I knew from real life or other platforms because I liked the anonymity so much.) And people were nice and welcoming about that honesty. I began to own the idea that at almost 60, I have almost no fucks left to give.
But on Bluesky, I’ve begun trying too hard to be witty or smart; the self-consciousness I nursed – the fucks I gave in my previous social media experiences – has resurfaced, and I don’t like it.
I need to be real. I don’t need the fucks.
Meeting at work today: “Please follow the company account on Bluesky.”
No. (Proceeds to block said account.)
This doesn’t take into account my recent burst of interest in Eminem, but this is largely correct. I did love me some anime soundtracks this year.
I tell myself this every time the Church disappoints me. Which is often.
So, I’m doing this thing on Bluesky where you post a bunch of book covers:
“Choose 20 books that have stayed with you or influenced you. One book per day for 20 days, in no particular order. No explanations, no reviews, just covers.”
Just because I feel like it, I’m posting all 20 covers here.
My work week isn’t over; I’m off tomorrow but have to go back to work Friday. But the week already feels like two or three weeks. 😐 The days feel more and more disheartening, and I want the disheartening to end.
It’s not yet Thanksgiving, but it’s not too early to break out a Christmas holiday tradition: Paul Shaffer’s rendition of Cher singing “O Holy Night.”
Hearing my first glimmer of Christmas music just now in a waiting room. I honestly don’t remember how I responded when I had the same such experience last year after E’s passing, which I guess says something.
Hoping I can be slightly less numb this holiday season.
E died a year ago today. Taking the day off work. Not sure what I’m going to do aside from be quiet, drive around aimlessly on this very gray fall day, and get a breakfast burrito, which reminds Chris of her because she would insist on us having breakfast burritos when we’d visit.
Why I’m smitten with Bluesky, reason No. 4,263.
A wee bit disappointed that this ube waffle turned out to be more brown than purple. But that didn’t take away from the excellent ube taste (accented with a coconut glaze and whipped cream smattering). So happy with the Filipino breakfast at Maypole in Wheaton, Illinois.
Anybody got suggestions for a good intro to basic Anabaptist theology? Asking for my curious Catholic self.
I’m so used to Calvinist-versus-Arminian evangelical talk in social media that I’m unsure where our Mennonite et al. friends land in my admittedly poor understanding of Protestant theology.
My first thought when looking at the latest Trump attorney general appointee is “Ivanka with a law degree.”
Discovered this morning that my Insta/Threads account was suspended for “violating community standards,” so I looked at both sites. I’ve not posted on Insta in months, and Threads is largely the same stuff here plus an occasional post on why I like Bluesky.
I “appealed”—which in my case entailed clicking an “appeal” button and spending too much time logging in and failing until I said I forgot my password—and am back on there.
I honestly don’t know why my account was suspended; the notice didn’t point out a specific post. It was my first time being suspended from any online platform. Weird.
In any event, I think Meta confirmed for me where I’ll be spending the rest of my social media time for a while.
Came home to an open umbrella on the floor. There was no open umbrella on the floor when I left to pick up my kid. She did not have an umbrella, open it, and leave it on the floor when she came home.
Apparently our dogs and cats are smarter than I thought. Or have opposable thumbs.
Via Threads.
Next Monday marks a year since my sister’s passing after months of declining health and difficult circumstances. It was unexpected but not surprising. Yet it remains a gut punch a year later. I miss Eleanor all the time.
It’ll be her birthday 5 days later. She would have been 68 this year.