The books convey a sense of fascism as this thing that happens slowly and then all at once. A thing people talk about until it’s a thing they’re being suffocated by. Feels relevant! Familiar.

Here’s what I like best about these books: ordinary people suddenly find themselves radicalized. One day they uncover, or are handed, examples of the small, concrete things people can/need to do to push back, to disrupt, to resist.

Resist is such an abstract, foreign word to me the past few years. A bumper sticker on a Tesla. I’m staying alive, is that resisting.

In Night Soldiers, resistance is described as “Knowledge that turns plain men and women into sharp weapons against the Occupation infrastructure.”

Resistance takes the form of:

• A single wall socket short-circuited to disrupt all the power in a particular building
• Knocking out phone lines and rail signals
• A cube of sugar in a gas tank to kill the engine
• A potato in a tailpipe to blow the muffler or fill the car with carbon monoxide
• Sharpened jacks thrown across a road to blow out convoy tires
• A soup tureen buried upside down, poorly, so it looks like a land mine and halts columns of tanks while a mine disposal unit is called

“For want of a nail, dear boy, and all that sort of thing,” someone says.

Phone lines are invisible and cars don’t have tailpipes anymore, but surely there are similar ideas that could be applied in similar situations today. Just thinking out loud.

OK damn look at that data??? I’m glad I started keeping track because I would have bet you real cash money that the trend was up in 2025 for the third year in a row. But apparently not! What meaning can we infer from this, I wonder. Perhaps I’m healing. Perhaps I’m getting better at recognizing my triggers. Perhaps there’s a z-axis thing happening where YOY I spend an increasingly large percentage of my life lying on the couch under a blanket and my non-participation in Life is having positive knock-on effects.

It’s currently doing great on the Subaru. I have gotten one (1) compliment on it.

I’ve been talking about doing this forever but felt locked in, inertial about it. I can’t leave! All my stuff is here! This mostly turned out to be a fake idea.

Also I was increasingly annoyed at my learned behavior around how I used Spotify. Essentially opening it and hoping the robot presented me with something good to listen to. I got very used to it despite the fact that it rarely ever worked, at all. I don’t care as much as you think I do about my favorite songs from 2023, robot. I don’t care about the Top Songs on Spotify, robot, and I never want to listen to Lady Gaga ever! And liking to listen to MY music late at night is not the same as wanting to hear auto-generated whale music every night, ffs. The robot refused to change their behavior, so who was really trying retrain who’s brain here, if you think about it.

Anyways.

I had tried to switch to Apple Music a while back, but it ended up completely bricking my phone. Something about Apple Music not being able to distinguish between what I wanted on my phone and what I didn’t. I try not to be a person who has a lot of opinions about Apple online but jesus fuck Apple can absolutely suck it these days.

OK so once I started an account on the Qobuz it dumped me into a service called Soundiiz (these are all good names actually) to transport over my playlists. This was free, easy, quick, and worked 85% amazingly.

Not everything transferred, but it showed me very clearly what did transfer and where it had trouble matching things up between the platforms.

I’d guess overall about 5-10% of the songs didn’t travel. Of those, about half I was able to find and add to playlists manually afterward, something about the differences in how songs are tagged and named between platforms.

The other half is just not there, which kind of sucks, hopefully as this platform gets more popular, it shows up, who knows. It’s nothing obvious or glaring, some random b-sides by indie k-pop artists, essentially.

Annoying but not a terrible price to pay assuming I’m deriving more value/pleasure/whatever overall on the new platform.

But this also afforded me a good opportunity to clean up my playlists. I had a lot of junky playlists from 10 years that were collecting dust and it was fine to just delete them. Love to clean house a bit.

Qobuz bills itself as having really high quality audio and they talk about this in the app a lot. This may be true but nothing about how I listen or how well/poorly my ears work indicates any noticeable difference.

They give me a light daub of algorithmic suggestions, in the form of daily and weekly playlists. Pretty straightforward, a mix of stuff I like and stuff that’s similar to stuff I like. Nothing that’s trying too hard.

The upshot is that I have definitely had to think more actively about what I want to listen to. This could be good or bad depending on your attitude toward life in the modren era.

Qobuz feels more album- and label-oriented. Not as much “Here are your randomly generated moods” as Spotify, more “Here are classic albums you might want to check out.” Classic according to whom you might rightly ask, but it seems pretty diverse, better than you’d get from a Rolling Stone listicle anyways. There’s nothing to indicate these albums have been chosen specifically for me, it’s more like: OK yes it IS weird I’ve never listened to that Patti Smith album maybe I should give it a chance.

So thinking more about what I actually want to listen to has resulted in me thinking more about WHO I want to listen to, and I’ve discovered a few no-brainer albums that Spotify absolutely should have pushed my way, but never gave me any clue even existed, like recent stuff from Tokimonsta and Gillian Welch. So that’s been fun.

What else. The desktop app isn’t quite up to snuff and lacks features of the phone app. Also one time my son called me while I was listening to music on my headphones and the music didn’t stop during the call, and then when I hung up everything completely stopped and I had to close out and restart everything to get the music to play again. There are wrinkles.

My kids are not interested in any of this and do not want to switch. They are on their own journey, except to the extent that they want to be on my paid family account.

Overall, interesting experiment. Not mind-blowing enough for me to insist this is the one way forward for everyone. Not bad enough that I have regerts or see myself returning to Spotify anytime soon. Seems possible I keep exploring and try something else down the road? Who can say. Overall a relief that it doesn’t seem to be that big a deal either way.

UPDATE A FEW WEEKS LATER:

OK no one be mad at me but I switched music streaming platforms again. A few days after I posted the above Qobuz prompted me to listen to the nth different cover version of After the Goldrush and I was like woof maybe I’m at the wrong party.

I have no interest in talking about this even more than I already have but I switched to Deezer and 100% of my songs transferred over and there’s things I like (lots of my types of music) and stuff I don’t (auto-generated playlists tend to play 3 different versions of the same song). But it’s fine for now and they pay artists more than Spotify and good enough the end.

Apple Schorle was the champ of the trip. Apple juice diluted with sparking water. Not as sweet as a Martinelli’s and about a million % more fun than plain seltzer. Ramseier was my favorite but these were all good.

What had happened was I was helping 3 other people carry a large metal cabinet from a loading dock into a moving truck and my foot slipped off the edge of the truck. I went down, and my corner of the cabinet went down, right onto my hand. Everyone was immediately like: oh no that was bad. I pulled my hand out from under the cabinet. I happened to be wearing heavy leather work gloves, so the fact that there was still blood everywhere was: concerning.

It’s hard to overstate how quickly I went into caretaker mode for the people around me. “I’m OK! I’m OK!” I assured them. “It’s not a big deal, It’s not broken!”

I scurried off to find the bathroom, spotted a first aid cabinet on the wall along the way and grabbed a few things.

Aside: Even before this happened, I have really come to appreciate a well-stocked and easily available first aid kit in my work and home life. You absolutely do not want to be scrounging around looking for things when you need them. Once I was touring a new office space and in the machine shop I couldn’t easily spot a first aid kit. I asked the building managers and THEY couldn’t easily find it either. It turned out to be down the other end of the shop, on the opposite side of a support column, facing away from anyone who would ever need to see it. I was like: Fuuuuck this place. IN the machine shop!

In the bathroom I pulled off my glove and there were two deep gashes on my index finger, bleeding profusely. I ran them under the water to clean them out a bit, wrapped my finger in paper towels, and then laid down on the floor and breathed. I was aware that my adrenaline was bouncing off the walls and was like “You are absolutely not going into shock on top of everything else.”

After a few minutes I felt more relaxed and clear-headed and the bleeding had mostly stopped, so I bandaged up my finger and went back and repeatedly reassured everyone that I was fine, it was fine, I’m sorry to worry everyone, totally my fault, yes I would go to urgent care, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.

And I did go to urgent care. And while I was sitting there for an hour (accidentally bleeding on their carpet) I was reflecting on my rush to comfort the people around me for having to react to my injury, and remembered my one and only interaction with the school counselor in 6th grade. Back then elementary schools didn’t have counselors, psychologists, all that. 6th grade was the first time this concept was introduced, and I imagine his mandate was to meet with each kid at least once that year.

So I got called in, and I’m already semi-wondering if I’m in trouble for something, because I was always worried I was in trouble for something. He has me sit down and asks how I’m doing. I immediately have to hold back a flood tears. No one has ever asked me this. I don’t even know what’s happening in the moment, I just know that whatever emotions and feelings he accidentally scraped loose need to be locked down. My instinct was: I don’t want this guy I am meeting for the first time to have to worry about me or take care of me. So I just say “I’m fine, I’m fine, nothing to report, everything’s fine,” desperately trying not to leak tears all over myself, until he sends me back to class. And that was the last time I thought about that until now.

What’s that about one might wonder. Not me though.

The people at urgent care were super nice and helpful. They confirmed it wasn’t broken, glued everything back together instead of stitches, which was fun for a change. At the end I thanked the PA for being so amazing and helpful and she said “No, thank you, I got into this work for the gross stuff, this was a really good one.” Helpful!

At home, afterwards, I located secondary and tertiary injuries I hadn’t even noticed (gigantic scrape along my left forearm, huge bruised swelling on my right shin).

The whole time I was thinking about something C said to me in high school. I was telling him a story about how I had tried to climb a tree in a snowstorm, slipped and fallen very far down, flat onto my back into the snow, such that it completely knocked the wind out of me. I just laid there in the snow, laughing. Because it was so scary and also so dumb.

It’s good to get a little hurt every once in a while, C said.

• Kendall Square, where I worked at that one place;
• Back Bay, where I worked at that other place;
• Past Berklee, where I temped in the 90s and (famous personal anecdote alert) saw Melissa Etheridge’s social security number;
• Symphony, where I worked before that (we’re back in my 20s now), in the office that was a converted bank and there was no HR;
• That corner between Washington and Harrison that some mornings smelled exactly like being dropped off at camp when I was 8. I hated that camp, the smell stapled irrevocably to a sense of I do not want to be here.

At each layer my associations/memories of my life during those periods went from happier or at least balanced to darker/more unhappy/resentful. This was perhaps my body or the universe telling me something about the place I was commuting to. But at no point during the commute was I reminded of any period in my 30s or my teens so it was an imperfect metaphor.

The situation boiled down to: We (Company A) have developed [widget], but we are having trouble selling it because we lack [network of buyers]. Company B wants to partner with us b/c they do not have [widget] but they DO have [network of buyers]. Are we putting our work at risk (long term) by partnering with this company to sell our widgets to their network in the short term. i.e.: What if Company B steals our widgets, aka our IP, aka our Ideas.

My immediate reaction was: ideas are worthless. We need the money now, let’s do it, and see what happens. If our ideas get “stolen” (happy to debate about whether that’s a thing), who cares, we have other ideas. Or: the fact of our ideas isn’t our value, it’s the fact of our having written and developed the trainings.

I said so. Coworker stared at me, almost angry, and insisted: That is wrong. Ideas are valuable.

I don’t know where things landed; my brief time there ended soon after for unrelated reasons!

Why am I even mentioning this. I guess sometimes you look back on a past conversation and see a different side, reconsider things, realize you were wrong. Not me! Still right.

There’s a Saying Yes thing here, a There’s no bad ideas thing, a No such thing as writer’s block thing, an Everyone has an idea for a book, BUT thing here. Foundational personal philosophy, innit.

I’ve been slowwwly working on putting together my next EP and I’ve got like 4 ideas for songs and I’m just waiting for that 5th idea that fits with the other 4 and then I’ll know it’s time to focus up and finish it up. Every day I sit down, see what happens. The ideas come, who cares. They are used or set aside. Ideas are not the point.

Related: I’m not convinced backing up your files is that important.

2. the cat shelter where I’ve been volunteering for seven-ish years is closing down this year and I’m sad. I like volunteering there! I like the cats! all of our cats have been from that shelter. I met Ethan‘s cats before he did! I briefly interacted with one of Kat‘s cats before she did! we started volunteering there because my older son had to do some kind of community service in junior high. he lost interest after this service quota was filled but I loved it, kept at it, one Saturday every month every year since then. where are my future cats going to come from? how will I meet them? It sounds slightly drug dealery but having an inside line on new cats was so choice. sad.

3. related: when I was un/underemployed the past few years I had time to volunteer at the food pantry down the street at least once a week every week. loved it. then I got my current job (which I really like! it’s going well!) and had to be in the office every day, so I haven’t been able to volunteer there since then. I miss it! and I have gone from 2 places where I volunteer to none. this is now a hole in my personal identity.

4. one thing I have learned in the past few months that probably shouldn’t have been surprising: if you carry a flashlight every day, every day you find a reason why it’s a good thing you are carrying a flashlight.

5. favorite beverage these days still the cherry coke celsius. how the fuck is this so good. I’m also trying to make my own kombucha but charitably that is still a learning process.

6. related beverage sacrilege. I’ve joined the ranks of annoying people who vocally hate water. idk. something shifted over the past few months. Now I’ll take an empty Polar liter bottle, fill it with a celsius or one of those TJ’s arnold palmers, and then fill it up with water the rest of the way. somehow this is both not gross and way better than regular water. somehow this helps me through the day.

7. the other day I was thinking about how one of my high school Spanish teachers (30s, wore some things that definitely wouldn’t be “acceptable” today, absolutely 100% would have slept with my friend S) told us her favorite music was Ray Conniff. like WHAT.

Idk who even reads this website but jesus fuck, we literally used to make things on this internet. I was thinking about She Hates My Futon the other day, things like that, where every day on the internet someone was just working on something, sharing their progress, plugging away at a thing that simply needed to exist. I admit I am not on tiktok but I strongly doubt this is happening on tiktok. But Josh finished this thing that I love and it’s super cool.

What is Chokeville: Chokeville is a hilarious, breezy, and impeccably crafted neo-noir maritime thriller about two estranged sisters trying to just exist in a town full of bizarre and mysterious characters wielding complicated and dangerous weapons they have absolutely no control over.

Plus also: the comments on each chapter are pretty solid. It’s really fun to see which details—in a story crammed full of wild-ass ideas—people pick up on. Mind-blowing story, thoughtful readers, solid community? In 20 fucking 25. Name another person who’s done this recently.

Chokeville has been through many incarnations over the years. I have read more drafts than I can remember, and each version has been my favorite book ever (except for the one where [redacted], I was glad to move past that one). So what I am doing, in posting about this here, probably looks to any given reader like I am posting my encouragement for others to check it out. Kind of! But really, really: what I am doing is marking this time, this moment, this year, when someone who has always been one of my biggest inspirations completed something that I genuinely, extremely love. It’s a feeling worth hanging on to.

So OK.