The Fluffbucket Diaries

A little late for this, but I still appreciate it.

It dawned on me that I haven’t posted on Facebook in months. I stayed there in large part b/c my friend Jay used it so much.

Jay died last June. My enthusiasm for Facebook waned shortly thereafter. For some reason, my interest in the site declined more after my sister died (even though she didn’t use any social media).

I probably won’t quit the site. But it feels so sad and useless to me now. And honestly, I don’t miss it that much.

F and I made Filipino-style leche flan for the first time. It’s moments like this when I miss not having Mom and my sister around to try it and tell us how to improve it.

The flan turned out great. Hoping Mom and Eleanor are proud on this Mother’s Day.

Just watched an episode of “Everybody’s in L.A.” There’s a great segment with Fred Armisen assembling a “focus group” of old L.A. punks, including Exene Cervenka of X, Mike Watt of the Minutemen, and Lee Ving of Fear. Between that and Steve Albini dying of a heart attack, I am feeling my age. 😐

Welp, we finally got out to do our “research” of Filipino dessert tastes: turon (fried banana in lumpia wrapper) and halo-halo, plus flan and ube ensaymada to go.

My kid being a particularly picky eater who isn’t terribly adventurous, she barely ate her halo-halo, and I resisted the urge to eat hers after I finished mine. At least she drank a good portion of her calamansi juice.

We Padres fans had a great Saturday evening.

This time of year means landscaping crews everywhere on my block. As early as possible. My octogenarian neighbor, honest to God, mows at least thrice a week.

I will never be as loved as much as some people in my neighborhood love their lawns.

My kid persuaded her group in baking class to have a Philippines theme for their entry in the upcoming class Cupcake Wars project. We’ll be doing some “research” at a couple of Filipino bakery/restaurants this week.

Somewhere, I hope my mom and sister are smiling down on her.

My Padres are now 14-17. So much for baseball bringing me joy.

Working in the home office on 4 hours of sleep. But there will be midday Padres baseball in the background for me. That makes up for a hell of a lot.

What brings me joy: baseball.

What comforts me: baseball.

What settles my settles my troubled mind: baseball.

My meds preclude any consumption of ibuprofen or naproxen, so I’ve resorted to using Japanese pain patches on my aches and pains. They work pretty well, but I smell like a giant vat of Vicks VapoRub.

Oh, looky.

Yes, it’s early in the season. But let me revel in this.

The Padres social media staff is awfully good at tweaking the Cubs.

The Padres social media folks are having a great night; thanks for asking!

The epitome of speaking too soon on social media. Whoops.

Spoiled a perfectly fine Sunday afternoon by watching my team blow a lead/game/series. Going to try redeeming the day by playing with art supplies.

Fact.

You know what? This Gen Xer says good on you, millennial women.

Proud of you for aligning your priorities away from hustle culture. Life is so much more than climbing the corporate ladder, only to fall off the top rung and faceplant. (Emphasis below mine.)

For millennials and the younger generation Z and Alphas, who may never be able to afford to buy a home or retire at a reasonable age, there is a growing feeling online that hard work is fortifying a system that, at best, is giving them nothing back and, at worst, is actively screwing them over. And so the “soft life” revolution was born – where the priority is no longer about working yourself to the bone to be a #girlboss or “leaning in” to the corporate male world, as former Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg wrote, and pushing until you “have it all”. The goal of a softer life is more time and energy for what makes you happy and as little time as possible focusing on what doesn’t.

Given Buxton’s injury track record, I’m almost surprised the bratwurst didn’t mow him down.

Working in the wee hours because it’s much more soothing to edit when I’m not in danger of being pestered by phone calls or email. I can have an archived MLB.tv ballgame (in this case Tigers vs. Mets) on to keep me company. I’ll try to make up the sleep somehow, but I can work happier and more productively this way.

My Lenten observance wasn’t the most faith-filled this year. But I think I may have found an Easter message that made sense to me in what has become a season of grief-filled, election-year deconstruction for me. This, from Fr. Josh Whitfield:

So, wondering what to say to you this morning, I guess it’s this: Don’t be bad Catholics.

Now, before you storm off, give the office a call tomorrow, or tweet about it, let me explain myself. I’m not talking like a culture warrior here. I’m not immediately talking about morality or politics—although I wish more people would make an honest and intelligent examination of the Christian moral vision, and I do wish more people (equally left and right) would see through the false promises of politicians and quit worshipping those walking, talking golden calfs.

No, what I’m talking about is hope; hope despite everything. That, before anything else, is what makes you a good Catholic. I think of that line from that Wendell Berry poem: “Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.” That’s kind of what I mean.