Little annoyances (May 2021 draft post, now published)

In response to a cancellation of Shavuot hosting plans with a friend. All sorts of possible responses:

Wow that really ruined my day. If not my week. 

 Definition of scale back: to reduce or make a reduction in the level of activity, extent, numbers, etc.

There's nothing you can say that will make me feel better. I recognize it's a pattern of behavior for you, one that would be painful for you to admit to. But just because I don't ever say mean things, doesn't mean I don't notice how you behave. 

I want to stay friends, but sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. 

You went from "stay in a hotel so I'm not spending yom tov alone" to "I'm too stressed out, spending a third Shabbat in a row with my parents even though I'm already paying for an apartment". If you have separation anxiety, I can help support you. 

I genuinely want to help you, because that's what I do for people I trust. And then get burned when they don't see that. That's life. But I forgive, because anger is temporary and friendship is oh so much more important. It's just, I want to feel like there's some reciprocation. 

On one hand you counseled me to move all at once, on the other, you haven't managed to commit to completing your move for a few weeks now.

Your apartment looked fine to me.

Every few weeks work becomes very busy. Almost conveniently every two weeks.

I timed the planting in the best part of my garden bed so you would start gardening and have prime space just in time for radishes to be harvested. But you pushed the start of your learning to garden. From mid-April, to start of May, to end of May. I keep leaving space in my garden bed thinking that you will start planting but you keep pushing it forward. Gardening doesn't work that way, you can't cancel a week before like that. 

I want to welcome you to gardening the right way, but you never have time. 

I know you're free around noon, and not busy every Sunday. You could probably see the garden. It's just a quick show-around in the open air. Which means it's not a priority? Or is it?

There's committing, and then there's, whatever you like to do. I'm trying to do nice things for a friend but get very little reciprocation.

When I offer to do things together, you decline. But when you offer, I accept.

I booked a hotel, now I have to cancel it. 

We planned a whole menu, now you're cancelling it. 

How much more does your apartment need?

At some point you have to make the leap and spend Shabbat alone. It's called growing up. I'm happy to support you by staying in a hotel nearby, every Shabbos, and accompanying you to shul and back.

Things never calm down. There's always something happening. If that's how you prefer it, then tell me. Don't make me wait and hope and change my schedule to accommodate you, time after time. Tell me in advance if you think work will get busy. Try to forecast it.

Oh and while we're on the subject, I seriously overcommitted to learning Megillah reading for you on Purim. I spent hours every day for a month to learn the best trop, combination of two or even three sources, and then practiced and practiced till I could read the whole Megillah in one go, change the tune according to ancient customs in all the right places, and read with understanding, and do a good job. And then almost the day before you decided that it wasn't good enough and instead you would prefer to listen to someone read from a kosher Megillah. So we got to sit through a reading in a dimly lit backyard by someone who, with good intent, made a complete mockery of the Megillah reading, and by extension, of Purim. It was easily the worst (and fastest) reading I've ever had the displeasure of hearing, read by someone who doubtless believes that Purim is just a pointless holiday to get through, and skips all the joy and feeling of an amazing book. But we all bobbed our heads and thanked the reader because we're polite. But if that's the version of Judaism you prefer then you can keep it. That's the sort of thing I skip synagogues for. You even dragged your dad out to get him to listen to the Megillah. It felt so performative and I wondered if you even realized that. Oh and you didn't actually ask me to do this in the first place. You "hoped that Jonas or I would volunteer", out of the goodness of our hearts. So what's more important, being a good friend, following through on your commitments, or trying to build in your Jewish observance? You who decry the halachic stringencies of typical Orthodox rabbis and then turn around and use them to your advantage when the opportunity presents itself. 

And then you thanked me for coming out and joining you to chat in your backyard, when there were two separate Purim events I could have gone to that were a whole lot more fun, where people even asked me where I was. And I rationalized by thinking we could get closer, that's what friends do. But I don't know how you really see me, or how you expect to keep friends, if that's what you do. 

Or how about this, when in response to me asking you to come over for Shabbos dinner, you say you won't because it will require you to drive and you're trying not to, which is perfectly understandable. Except if there are Jewston events, then you might drive. This feels like you're giving an excuse but not even bothering to pretend that you don't want to see me. And yet you wanted me to help you with a menu, accepted my offer to cook, and study with you on Shavuot night, and stay in a hotel nearby? And even move in to the same complex? This isn't wishy-washy, it's called not really caring about a friend. 

If your schedule freed up, I can help you de-stress by inviting you over to the museum. But somehow I think this will cause you more stress.

If your schedule freed up since you're not hosting on Shavuot, maybe you want to go visit the community garden? But somehow I think this will cause more stress. Or you'll find a reason not to go. 

Did the pandemic really make you that scared to do things on your own? 

I thought you were an independent mature woman. Now I see you're a lot more childish than I thought.

That hurts, and you should know that. 

It shouldn't have, but you just me caused a lot of mental stress and emotions.

If you were really sorry, you would make an effort to stop being so wishy-washy. I don't see that happening. It's just a constant pattern of behavior with you. 

There's a million things I could say, but I won't, because I care about your feelings, your stress levels, and I don't want you to feel more embarassed. But it feels like you don't extend me the same courtesy. It's called being polite, maybe considering how it would feel to be on the opposite end. I'm not just a useful idiot, I have feelings too.

I could say things like - I want to support you in moving out alone. Don't host a ton for Shavuot. I'll be there for you. Have a small meal. Learn with me and Jonas. But instead you cancelled entirely and fled to the safety of home. You're 26. Grow up. 

April Fools!

 Look, another burst of inspiration to post. In this case something that could never appear on Facebook. 

Read Desert, an anonymous anarchist "meme" screed from 2011: https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/anonymous-desert

Was not particularly impressed. Some of the criticisms on Amazon Reviews were definitely relevant. 

A new Religion

 Another long hiatus. I wrote just six posts in 2020, none about tech. Just goes to show much the pandemic affected me (and of course a large workload that only let up in October and an illness). 

Between January and early May of 2020 I experienced an illness that could have killed me. In the days after an intervention and short stay in the critical care unit of a nearby hospital, I experienced a renewed flow of oxygen into my body, as the doctor-prescribed medicine took effect. The sunsets were especially beautiful, and I recall one in particular that stretched like a canyon across the sky. It seemed as if this was the first sunset of the rest of my life, or the first sunset after a long period of gloom. I had been resigned to being always out of breath, and now I had a new chance on my daily walks to experience the wind in the trees, smell the pollen of spring, feel the sun on my skin, and revel in the physical sensations that we take for granted. 

In the weeks that followed I continued to find joy and now a mystery in the winds that breathed through the pines and the oaks of my neighborhood. Not with a little self-consciousness, I would stretch my hands outspread, shut my eyes, and walk along humid, pandemic-stilled streets, feeling more alive and connected with the nature around me than ever before, daring myself to walk as long as possible before opening my eyes.

As months have passed and my body has returned to a healthy normal, that sense of intense connectedness has lessened, but it's left a mark on my beliefs. I currently believe primarily in a Shechina (composed of the aforementioned wind) and secondarily in a God of the little things (like lost objects). It can even be said that I believe in the wind, which is kind of pagan really. Since the only pagan experience that's fresh in mind is "The Holiday" scene from Andrey Tarkovsky's film "Andrei Rublev" with the pagans skinny-dipping in the river, it will have to do as a model of this new religion of wind.

1. It will be called Breezism. Adherents are Breezies. (Expect to see schisms with the Gusters, the Blusters, and the Winders. On no accounts are we to be confused with Environmentalists.)

2. Our prayers will take place outside during periods of strong breezes or gusty cold fronts. Short prayers during microbursts and thunderstorms are also acceptable, as long as prayers are offered to the wind. Blessings on lightning and thunder are a separate business.

3. Adherents shall prefer to wear loose flowing clothing.

4. As the wind is not directly a force that provides something valuable, such as health, prosperity, or light or water, I expect that adherents may frequently be sailors, where the wind really is important.

5. I hold the wind to be the most noticeable manifestation of the spirit in which I believe, so prayers can be offered to it. It takes or gives and is, of course, gender-less. Mind-altering substances are not part of the worship, however there is a benefit to psychedelic mushroom experiences. (Care must be taken not to become an Environmentalist though.)

6. Our sign shall be that of a wind turbine, in case you need something to hold onto. The three blades point to the land, sea, and air, from which originates the wind. To criticisms that this closely matches the Mercedes-Benz logo I say, tis' a work in progress.

The effect of alcohol on the mind

 Sometime in July, or was it August, I resolved to quit drinking alcohol, or wine. At the start of the pandemic, convinced that there would be a run on alcohol stores, I had bought several bottles of alcohol thinking that society would devolve into bartering any day now. In those early days I had any number of ideas of what would happen, and so did many others (and some of the strange people over on the "PandemicPreps" subreddit, prepping to this day for a second toilet paper run that has not happened). Funny enough, I didn't actually drink this alcohol as had been my wont previously. I even bought a bottle of St Germain which, strictly speaking, was not kosher certified, thinking any port in a storm (heheh). But once my illness began, my concerned parents took all the booze home (with my approval), and thus began my teetotalism.

At first, it was unwilling, and difficult. I lacked the impulse control to avoid wine; in fact one of my Shabbat rituals, besides for the traditional rushing to do all the preparation in the last 45 minutes, was to buy a bottle of wine at HEB and drink it all in one swoop (typically), or half on Friday night, half on Saturday night. Inured as I was to the effects of alcohol, having a miserably high tolerance, this was just fine. I was also at a stage in my life where chips went well with alcohol, especially high-alcohol double- or triple-IPAs, and that pairing dogged me throughout the days, as did the ensuing weight gain.

In August I decided, let's make it till the end of the month without wine. It wasn't easy, but I made it till Rosh Hashanah before drinking wine with my parents. Sukkot was an exception, and then I kept at it, drinking maybe two bottles of wine and perhaps a couple of beers in between then and now. And most unusually, as I noticed when I drank two cans of beer this past Thursday, between July and December I'd lost the taste for chips. To get high, or low, I'd much rather have a bag of oranges and some bubbly water. My alcohol tolerance dropped, a thing I had not believed possible, and I stopped taking a detour through the chips & candy aisle at the groceries, daring my consciousness to resist while my eyes devoured the puffy bags of salty goodness. 

Tonight I had a bottle of stout, one of those very high-alcohol versions that always comes out during the "holiday" time of year, of Goose Island brewery fame, or whatever. I posted a comment on Facebook that someone else found rude and decided to correct me on it. Thus it was that I re-discovered my tendency to make combinations of words that may seem positive but really aren't. I became despondent upon realizing how I'd spent time drinking and eating raspberry iced pops while watching the last season of Bojack Horseman instead of reading up on red-team infrastructure for a meeting tomorrow. And it wasn't until I went for an extremely belated walk that I realized that the beer had an effect that was very unusual: it made me sad. In years past, if I wanted to be sad (such as after yet another breakup with someone I thought I knew only through the voices of the phone speaker), I'd drink cups and cups of water, fearing the levity that would come with beer. But now, it seems, from a happy drunk I've become a sad drunk, as if the beer shattered an illusion of a life I had constructed, free of the worries of a pandemic-full world, where deaths and egotism wreak havoc on the psyche of anyone who isn't materialist or selfish. Those things did not concern me; I had a bike, a garden, friends, work, books. But the beer had other plans. Who knows what troubles might lie in the murky depths of a chocolate stout?

My Goals

 Sometime between now and 2026, assuming there eventually is a functional coronavirus vaccine and sufficient numbers of people take it, I will move to a different city that has a higher population of young Jews with a similar religious outlook on life. Hopefully the K-shaped economic change will not significantly affect this city, such that I will be able to have a social life without feeling like I need to carry protection with me or feeling like I really missed the boat on my goals in life. I will find someone who is meant for me and marry her. At that point we will decide to either continue living in the city for a time, or move to a different city or region to escape the encroaching effects of climate change or simply be able to experience snow. Most likely, life's burdens will continue to become more difficult, but at least it will be a little easier to bear with someone else and I can forget the intervening 8+ years during which my other part-time job was dating. I can then prioritize my career only to the extent that I can be there for my kids. Since the long-term outlook for the earth and humanity is grim (regardless of the little bubble that corporate environments like to pretend their employees hold), growing up with my kids will be the slim consoling factor, even with the small nagging thought that having kids in an overpopulated world is a fundamentally selfish idea. Giving of myself will always be more important than the extent to which I can make KPMG more money. With this attitude, I should be a manager in no time, capable of executing on engagements within my area of expertise, working on proposals, and developing new service offerings to keep KPMG offerings up to date.