Tag: Writing

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Culture Reading

Day 2024 and Almost Present Day

I guess I am going push past two thousand days of writing, come hell or high water. It’s funny that three years ago on day 804 (March 15 2023) I was blogging that all written content will be made by artificial intelligence soon.

In the post, I said I planned to keep writing the manual old fashioned way on this blogs and so I have. I appreciate the value of a process where one thinks, occasionally plans, writes, erases, writes some more and occasionally deviate wildly from the plan as you learn what you want to write about. I learn something from every attempt even the shitty ones.

Fun fact, that is the day I met Isaiah Taylor of Valar Atomics. I believed so much in the coming demand for energy and compute that I backed him. He’s doing very well. And I am excited that I look intelligent and am rewarded for it.

And while the tools the AI labs have delivered, I am still writing by hand with little machine intelligence involved in the act of my own thinking my writing philosophy.

The tools help me achieve more in other areas of life from passing policy to running silly experiments to aiding my own health journey. But I still write daily. That’s my present.

Sure every thought involved some research which is much easier now. I can search for a link I only remember in context much faster now. I may post a synopsis from an LLM for information conveying purposes (always labeled) but I’m generally on here to think for myself and not to convince an audience.

I do think being accountable to ones thinking can involve public debate, statements of belief and revisions of past opinions as information changes.

I am excited that others see the value in working those muscles. It’s always been the norm of startups to chronicle things publicly in the hopes that your answer might help someone else. It’s our way and I hope to take that from present day to near future.

Categories
Biohacking Chronic Disease

Day 2020 and Summertime Sadness Sick Season

I am feeling better today after a what felt like a long week of crashing out from a busy quarter of work, travel and side quests. As I was looking at my archives, it seems like mid July has traditionally been a time for medical crisis.

Last year it went from surgeries in foreign countries to two years ago hacking a long covid Nicotine experiment, but even further back I have struggled with energy and vitality and viral infections in these months. It shows up in my data year after years and the tags like up.

Maybe these heat death statistic needs to include the general quality of life dip that comes with a hotter climate. If we once went inward in to our psyche in winters and enjoyed summers of slightly crazy hot joy that life is passed.

Maybe the long now of the perma-weird has cast a shadow of stuck culture which that I see more clearly when life becomes unlivable outside. If you keep living out in the world things do move forward. It’s less pleasant to touch grass when it’s dead and a fire hazard. And so the summer slows us down enough to see inside ourselves

I spend more time inside in the summer than I do in the winter. And given that my home is in Montana, you’d probably expect it to be reversed. Thankfully we only have two months where the weather gets into the “indoors between 9am to 9pm” heat risk. Other lower latitudes have more troubles than we do and blessedly our power comes from our own solar grid so I never worry about running air conditioning.

Categories
Biohacking Chronic Disease

Day 2018 and Getting in Writing Reps In My Pressure Tube

I am a wreck. But now that everyone is discovering the value of daily writing (get in the repetition before the AI harms your skill), I have to gut it out as usual when I’ve got little in the way of cogent thought.

In an attempt to recover, I’m in a hyperbaric chamber sucking back oxygen under two atmospheres of pressure and I still can’t get my heart to stop pounding. Damned drugs.

It’s 100 degrees outside which probably doesn’t, help but even with oxygen, an eye mask, a soothing Endel NSDR session delivered by Bose noise canceling headphones, I could not get my heart rate under 100 consistently.

I wish I had a better theory than having over extended myself by traveling from mountain to swamp and desert to sea and then back again. Work and family call me, and they are not ever in the same place. It’s been a season of enormous wins but the price is being paid now.

It would seem that I’ve found my way to my first full system cascade failure since I went off my IL-17 inhibitor and onto a peptide regime with hormonal support.

I’ve had four glorious months of being able to act like I’m a reasonably healthy woman. Then I returned from a Fourth of July celebration in Utah to Montana and immediately fell apart.

My physician suggested the dreaded prednisone as well as a cycle of doxycycline. Goody goody gum drops. Both notably raise resting heart rates.

Want to see how bad? Get a look at this chart of horror and pharmaceutical malice. I woke up around my usual time and my heart has been pounding all night (no wonder prednisone makes people go nuts), my HRV registered as an 8 (average at my age should be 40-50) and this only registered as kinda in the green because I’ve had a week of it being in the mid teens. So yeah what the actual fuck. What do I even have?

The worst Whoop recording I’ve ever had

Maybe I just need to quietly let the steroids tamp down any inflammation and let the antibiotics kill off any bacteria that have decided to colonize me but I won’t lie I am terrified that those good months were a fleeting moment and this is my new normal.

Thankfully I know in my rational mind I’m in my luteal phase of hormonal horrors and I’ll get bloodwork as soon as my menstrual cycle lets me bleed.

It’s likely I’ll be in need of some new hormonal pellets sliced into my ass and any infection or inflammation is just a function of having gone a bit too hard and too fast in my glee that I can feel good again.

Categories
Aesthetics Culture Media

Day 2017 and Pangram Pansies

There’s a new genre of moralist who likes to shake their finger at you if they believe you’ve used artificial intelligence in the making or editing of your written product.

I find this particularly amusing because I was raised in a hippie family with all kinds of esoteric ideas on the importance of reading and being read to as a child, as well as the dangers of too much screen time.

I believe it served me well and panic essays in the Atlantic notwithstanding, my family was always a member of the reading class. They weren’t fancy but they loved books. We went to the library. My father always brought home a “dad book” after a business trip that he’d give me. Probably why I love science fiction so much as Michael Crichton was his favorite

My mother was more of a theorist and she didn’t hesitate to introduce theory into practice as I got older. Marshall McLuhan and Neil Postman were the stuff of dinner table conversation, although usually in reference to why I could not watch Star Trek later that evening. Sometimes she’d give in.

So when I say that I come by my need to write honestly, it’s because many of the startup families who believed both in the liberatory potential of computers and leans heavily on the “computer as a bicycle metaphor” in that computers are tools extending our capacity just as bikes extend the human range. Now here is a surprise for you I also using a dictation application right now. Oh no what purity test have I failed? None as far as I am concerned.

I rarely dictate because, generally speaking, this is a diary, which is, of course, the original form factor of blogging from the early days of chronological feeds and personal websites. It’s my space and I only cheat myself if I don’t use it to benefit my own understanding of my thinking.

What point would there be in mere dictation? That is for notes. Writing is one of the better methods through which you learn to analyze a subject. Others exist, but this can be done alone. Committing a thought to a public forum under one’s own name, even in a private blog, shows you taking accountability for thinking and learning.

I write a blog because I want to get my thinking on a subject down on paper. Maybe from there I either wish convince somebody else that I am right or find somebody else who share my interest on a particular topic. I do this for myself and also so others can know what I am about. Together we may learn something just as in the past peers exchanged letters. Or in my era, emails and message board responses

Back then, you might share particular esoterica or hobbies with others who might not have the same interest as you did because you lived in a small town or in a relatively remote area where nobody else had the passion that you did. For instance, say, libertarian space mining or Warhammer.

I know it’s funny that now I mostly talk about compute policy and nuclear energy along with musings on aesthetics, semiotics, geopolitical chatter and whatever the styles sections are up to when I remain such a nerd. But that’s why the internet is a human space in the first place.

So go ahead and see what parts of this look AI generated if you care. I used Wispr Flow. I have no idea how orality has made its way into my literacy. But by putting it out into the world, it becomes part of my written tradition, and maybe that’s useful someday.

Categories
Aesthetics Reading

Day 2016 and Cracks in Timelines and Stratum Corneum

I write every post on my blog with my own mind and my own hands. I type on my phone whatever my mind has managed to organize on a given day. It’s a ritual for thinking more than an attempt at being read by others.

Funnily enough, on Day 804 aka March 15 2023 (the day I first met Isaiah) I wrote about how AI writing seemed primed to over take all natural human brain brewed artisanal content.

Three years later Isaiah’s reactor went critical, I’m still writing my human brain derived content, and timelines from Twitter to Substack are drowning in pithy highly readable artificial intelligence written content. Poor Will Manidis has jokingly taken responsibility but feed slop was coming one way or mother.

It does make a chronological feed as a timeline a much better choice for personal use as algorithmic buffing of content will make a night river of a platform into a million tributary parts. The feeds crack as the water of thought are routed elsewhere.

This metaphor has clearly reached me as yesterday I went to some effort to do a full shower, exfoliate, shave and wash routine with new products meant to improve my epidermis from tip to toe. I ended up giving myself a number of itchy red notches and spent the evening slathering on lotions and cortisone creams.

My stratum corneum cracked just as my timeline did. The moisture in my skin is we sucked out by acids and scrubbing. I’d taken off a few dead skin cells and irritated the rest.

Just like the insights and prose have been buffed and pumiced to a flat surface of legibility in our feeds. Nothing was buoyant or smooth. It was flat with the occasional warm to the touch but of discomfort. Slopping on occlusives might help my skin but I have no fix for the timeline.

Categories
Aesthetics Media Travel

Day 2007 and Notes While Airborne on Condé Nast Traveler or My Life Commodified Without Pay

I wrote these notes while a little bit high, both literally (a transcontinental flight) and figuratively (CBD & a THCa blend meant to give anti-inflammatory relief without hitting your mind but it probably does) but it’s hard to say if I’m less focused than when I’m on the ground. You be the judge of that. Nostalgia machine clicks on

Business class and its perks are lost on me as I don’t drink alcohol. So I had rhubarb and raspberry tonic water in whatever passes for cut glassware on airplanes now. I said no at the fancy lounges to very decent champagnes but I don’t want to get dehydrated. I got a sugar crash instead.

I’m listening to Ethiopian jazz as I find this piece relaxing in the context of airplane travel. Mulatu Astake is a master in a genre I don’t even like but this particular piece has always spoken to me.

You may know it as it was featured in an episode of the Bear where a pastry chef is sent Copenhagen to study at maybe Noma. I’m annoyed that a cuisine and a composition I used for marketing fifteen years ago is now the stuff of prestige television. 

Nobody paid me for the diffusion but I was paid for the original campaign. A lesson for anyone bitching about how their work wasn’t compensated by the artificial intelligence models that ingested their contributions. 

I brought the chef for a pop up event for Club Monaco sometime in the early teens before he was a full blown sensation (and well before the fall).

How funny that I should manage a Club Monaco Facebook page involving a pop-up event for a chef that would go on to define so much of culture.

I worked with impossibly cool creative director on the account who was famous in Japan for his photography and also as the guy who made Pabst cool for hipsters. I sometimes wonder where he ended up when his talent set was so hype sensitive.  But we were pretty ahead of the times on this one.

Before this fashion agency career, in the post GFC aughts, lived across from a weekend installation of a projected light Pabst installation when I was in North 7th and Bedford.  My Turkish banker roommate and I used to throw raves there so we couldn’t exactly complain about the lights hitting our living room. But it was a good campaign in a good location.

I shot low budget fashion shoots during the day with a very competent hungry young editor. She worked as a waitress at night and for me during running our fashion editorial to get toehold in the business. It seems to have worked.

She has an amazing career, a handsome husband, a beautiful child and kicked it off with an impossibly stylish wedding which every hipster you knew copied till well past the Tommy Hilfiger event horizon of having no soul. We had a tortured Swedish nepo-baby photographer too.  I adored him. It was a very “rents were cheap” time in hindsight. 

Anyways, in transit through Heathrow, I picked up a raft of print magazines from the Cathay lounge which kicked off this nostalgia. I’d browsed Wallpaper but as I’m not a design person a flip through was fine.

The Cathay Delight is the same shade as this campaign from Van Cleef and Arpels.

But Condé Nast Traveler caught my eye as I went in to grab the pink Financial Times. I got Tattler as well as why else fly British Airways if you can’t get some gossip on this social hierarchy right?

It’s just that taste is so far down the commodity chain anymore it’d hard to know when and where to find any thing that’s not made to be sold to someone. The menu on my flight had basque cheesecake. That became a joke on a trip I threw together last minute for girlfriends in Corfu. Apparently it’s made it into the Club World menu much to its detriment. 

The choices from Condé Nast on a perfect summer was so on the nose. Montana’s Rocky Mountain sybarism and off the beaten path Adriatic and Ionian options for exploring covers and lots of seafood.

The whole damn thing reads like my travel itinerary.

Yeah that’s my coastal move with friends and family. And I do rather loudly live in Montana. It’s like am I joke to their psychographic team? A department that has three people no less. And they only market to women exactly like me. Funny that. I’ll have to check up on their old editor Lilit. She was much better than whatever this nonsense of repackaged Julie seems to be.

Categories
Biohacking Chronicle Emotional Work Startups

Day 2000 and Don’t Stop Believing

Well I’ve done it. I have written and published to the internet a blog post every single day for two thousand days in a row. So I am going to toast myself to a job well done.

In earlier milestone posts, I was always surprised I’d made it, but now the harder thing to decide is if or when I’ll stop, not if I’ll keep going.

Half a decade goes by a lot faster than you think. The accomplishments actually do add up if you keep yourself pointed in the right direction.

In a personal capacity, we got ourselves to Montana, set up a life that let us live the way we’d always dreamed and invested in the future we wanted to see.

From a civic perspective during that time we helped pass meaningful reform in housing, testified for crypto rules of the road and worked to ensure Montanans have a right to compute.

A new era of networked algorithmic power has been building for many years and our rights to use compute as we see fit is bolstered by our 1st, 2nd and 4th amendments.

From an investing perspective, we have been first in Solana’s most crucial infrastructure player Squads. Because yeah crypto is going to matter a lot in an artificial intelligence age. We have stuck to our core mission of adaptation by backing the tools needed to benefit from our new AI speed run.

And yes we care about open source. From vector databases to inference labs to experimental dueling models, we have snuck into some strange experiments. And oh yeah we were the first check in a small modular nuclear reactor that is winning the atomics renaissance race (at least this week having achieved criticality).

There have been a lot of failures in those years though oddly not investments or policy. I have battled health issues and fought to not just maintain working capacity but to gain back the capacity I thought I’d lost forever.

I did woo woo whacky things from PEMF and HBOT to peptide stacks and traditional biologics. Thanks to the horrors of hormones and steroids I was early to GLP1s and made some good investments there too.

Maybe I’ll tag all of this more cleanly later but I do think it’s important to remember the days are long but the years are short.

Get on the airplane. Go meet up in person. Buy that dream house. Build a solar array and a sauna. Do wildly romantic things and go to galas. Say yes to more.

And open your heart to the heroic efforts others are also putting into making our lives and our world better. We live among every day heroes. And yeah lots of bad shit has happened in this time too. My father died. We failed for five years straight at getting a visa for a close family friend.

I am aware of the shitty compromise we all make to survive. But you have got to hold on to that feeling. So yeah on day 2000 I think I’ve earned the right to be corny as hell. Don’t stop believing.

Categories
Aesthetics Culture Travel

Day 1995 and Mongoose On The Loose

I am scouting real estate (it’s an involved story) and came upon a weasel or polecat who appeared to be become stuck in an empty pool.

The setting was a rocky, wooded coastal habitat which I learned is also exactly the kind of edge habitat where small hunting carnivores like weasels and polecats move between cover and human structures to hunt lizards, insects, rodents, and even snakes.

Little Rikki The Least Weasel needed some help getting out of an empty pool

Naturally my mind went straight to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi of Rudyard Kipling fame. “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi” is a short story by Rudyard Kipling, first published in The Jungle Book in 1894, about a brave young mongoose who protects a British family in India from cobra snakes. You can read it to your child or to yourself here.

The story is simple and timeless. A boy and his fearless animal bravely face down danger with love and loyalty. Rikki-Tikki is rescued after a storm by the family, with whom he bonds. It’s tale beloved by children as the mongoose especially cares for the child Teddy, and fiercely protects him from the danger of the poisonous cobras.

He spent all that day roaming over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose into the ink on a writing-table, and burnt it on the end of the big man’s cigar, for he climbed up in the big man’s lap to see how writing was done. At nightfall he ran into Teddy’s nursery to watch how kerosene-lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too; but he was a restless companion, because he had to get up and attend to every noise all through the night, and find out what made it. Teddy’s mother and father came in, the last thing, to look at their boy, and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow. ‘I don’t like that,’ said Teddy’s mother; ‘he may bite the child.’ ‘He’ll do no such thing,’ said the father. ‘Teddy’s safer with that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to watch him. If a snake came into the nursery now

I did indeed feel safer knowing a least weasel was patrolling the perimeter of the property. The area had a large overgrown garden which must have had good hunting. So we set about finding an empty hose to give Rikki something to climb upon so he could make his way out of the pool.

The “least weasel”safely out of the pool or is he a genet or a mustelid?
Curious as any polecat or genet he looked eager for help.
Rikki Tikki Tavi keeping the Ionian save from snakes and lizards.

Thankfully the mustelid or young beech marten was every bit as curious and interested as the mongoose of Kipling. He ran right up to the hose, grabbed onto it and raced up just far enough to reach the height of the pool ladder onto which he leapt and scuttled up and over the poolside to freedom. He very nearly waved goodbye to us. I felt much safer exploring the overgrown garden knowing he was on the prowl.

Categories
Chronicle Emotional Work

Day 1994 and Wondering if 2000 Days Should Be The End? Or A New Beginning

I am getting closer and closer to a big milestone on here. Day 2000! I’ve been writing for two thousand days in a row and hitting publish. Five years and five months (almost six at 5.7 months) or 285 weeks of daily journaling in public.

I began in the height of the pandemic, and one can hardly recall just how bizarre those years were now. The great weirdening which began long before the pandemic arrived for almost everyone sometime in those long years.

Static and yet unstable. A long horizon of the long now, keeping us in semi-stasis as the institutional bulwarks cracked, and then crumbled, and then began accelerating into change. Everyone is holding on tight and pretending like it’s not a white knuckle era.

We are over the vibe shift, the Vibecession, and another vibe change after that and who knows what is coming next. I feel the same sense of being unmoored as I did when I started.

This despite having built a stable and thriving family and investing career. The biggest problems I had when I started (children, visas, family abroad) remains the same problems I have now. The temptation to simply change how we live is ever present. We escaped from some of flatland but more can be done to build communities and nations that are capable of thriving in the ceaseless change.

I still feel like I don’t know what’s coming, even as the future I sensed has come into being at an alarming right. But the perpetual not knowing can drain hope and energy if you are not careful to replenish. It’s exhausting physically too. The energy to understand what’s coming gets harder day by day and so we must get stronger ourselves.

I’ve probably put over a thousand hours of writing into this (maybe closer to 1500 as it runs from 20-45 minutes of time on any given day) so I’m a better writer but I don’t know if I’ve become a more palatable or appealing one. I don’t care too much as this is for me more than it is for any audience.

Most humans seem to prefer smoothed algorithmic writing over hand crafted artisanal human writing. Which is fine by me, as I don’t necessarily want to change my personal spaces to pander to anyone.

I was on a podcast recently where I reiterated my hope for being a node in the future. I want us to hope for the best by seeing clearly about the worst. That focus on solving problems is replenishing for the soul.

I’ll remain a little under the radar as a specialty node broadcasting to my oddballs. I’ll feel better about broadcasting know that is the long. The longevity posting, the nuclear posting, the odd travels and strange people posting will continue. I will try to broadcast on the pirate wires of the human web.

Categories
Aesthetics Internet Culture

Day 1958 and Skymall Kities

My father loved gadgets. He was always tinkering with something and was always upgrading his electronics to some new specification.

Is it any wonder that I married such a handy husband? Men love futzing around with stuff. Sometimes they have daughters and then you’ve got women like to mess around with projects too.

I am sure we will have endless rounds of nostalgia for the eighties and nineties era gadget, electronics and novelty shops. You could get lots of mileage out of building your own computer.

But even setting up something silly from Skymall or Sharper Image captured some of the joy. The novelty of a new invention was visceral. I wouldn’t say no to a Hammacher Schlemmer renaissance myself.

I didn’t love it when we remade that style of retail into quirk chungus millennial fandom but I didn’t hate getting Star Trek tchotchkes either. And now I dearly love websites that my friends have built like WireCutter.

My husband was humming the tune to a piece of YouTube esoterica that is a deep cut to the original editor of that bastion of shopping guides. Choire Sicha launched the WireCutter but it’s in some ways the least soulful of his franchises. A Mike Albo shopping column already nailed the bit we’ve just been redeeming it since then.

Choire gave us Gawker 2.0 before his his incredible era of independent publishing streak making properties like the Awl and the Hairpin.

In a world with more shops and essayists than good shoppers or readers, Choire found the good ones and shared. And one of his discoveries was Nina Katchadourian’s work.

And so now my husband sings the tune of SkyMall Kitties and he sometimes can’t get it out of his head.

Maybe that is my own submission to the “thing I think about too much” essay franchise. It’s my own personal Negroni season or Supreme’s clusterfuck of totally uncool jokers.

I’m sure we will enter an exciting new era of curating down the perfect piece of cultural detritus with artificial intelligence. But I will always be grateful to electronics dads and savvy buying guides for teaching me to enjoy the joy in making something. Even if it is profoundly uncool. I’m still team Barbara Kruger though. Don’t believe the hypebeasts.