No, I will not ask Microsoft Co-Pilot to draft any of this. In fact, I’ll believe we have true AI when Microsoft Word stops making the most random formatting mistakes. With a simple page like this, I don’t have to worry about anything. But when I’m working on a brief that has headings and subheadings and block quotes and numbers, and things don’t align; or I want just one line to be single-spaced—no, no, then I’ve asked for too much. AI is supposed to context sensitive—quick shoutout to the N64’s Conker, in the hit Rare game, Conker’s Bad Fur Day, for teaching me what that meant—so I expect it to know what it is I’m trying to do. At the very least, it should have the context clues to not make the spacing between one heading and a paragraph some indeterminable decimal point distance that is just off enough to notice and not easily correctible with Word’s own preset distance options. But, as usual, I digress.
Here I am in February 2025, finally giving myself the time to write in my usual manner and reflect on the past year with the aid of the books I read. Of course, I will also list what I’ve written as the little note of encouragement to myself to keep both of these rituals going. But first I have to start with a brief confession: I’m already ashamed not to have written more this year, but I’m not being hard on myself for the following reasons:
- The last piece I wrote, entitled, “J.D. Vance Fooled Quite A Bit of People,” was a labor of love that took a lot of time and energy to complete. I did come out of it physically exhausted.
- What was more exhausting than having to see Trump win again was the feeling that I had been so blatantly misdirected by the liberal media who rang no alarm bells, who expressed little concern, for Kamala’s actual chances of winning. I felt myself physically drained.
- Work has encroached on my personal time.
That said, I did write on the second topic noted above, in an attempt to pull me out of my stupor. It will be published after this is, and—again, giving myself credit—that piece is formed and near complete. It just needs one more read through. The issue, dear reader, was a sort of existential barrage I had to endure where I knew the answer to question, “Why bother?” was simply, “Because you feel like it,” but that was not a clear enough answer because it just as easily cut into the opposite direction—I also felt like not doing anything. Why did my thoughts matter, why wasn’t it enough that I had written down what I wanted; why was the next necessary step to publish? I have a clearer answer now. Why bother? Because I like to do it. The reception doesn’t matter. The impact doesn’t matter beyond the benefit I receive. Ultimately, everything I write is for me, to sort myself out, to organize my thoughts, to talk to my Self. More on that capitalization later.
For now, let’s go through my books.
Spook: Science Tackles The Afterlife, by Mary Roach.
This was something of a re-read, though I also have to confess that I don’t think I read this the whole way through when I first posted it on my Instagram years ago. I can now confirm that I did read this the entire way through. If you know me, you know that because of my religious upbringing, I developed something of a fascination with the occult. While I dare not yet dabble with something like a ouija board, I do love asking people if they’ve had experiences with the paranormal. The author, who I can also confidently state influenced my own writing style, approaches the realm of paranormal phenomena and studies with a skeptic’s eye, but not an incredulous mind. She compiles various ways men of science have tried to prove things like the weight of the soul, or whether psychic powers can stand up to the rigors of the scientific method, or how one might reliably produce ectoplasm. The conclusions regarding all topics are, ultimately, inconclusive, but the book is a funny read, not only because the author herself is hilarious, but because the methods employed to try to understand what we otherwise consider supernatural are themselves amusing.
Boyslut: A Memoir and a Manifesto, by Zachary Zane.
I do not recall how I discovered Mr. Zane and his work. My algorithm must have decided to combine my interests for books and, let’s say, risque topics. Boyslut follows Mr. Zane’s own journey of sexual and self-discovery. Through his work as a sex writer, he’s found himself in a number of situations that make the perpetually horny and debaucherous among us claw our faces off with envy. But it’s not all roses, because to get to a point where one can seek out such experiences and enjoy them fully, one necessarily must go through several learning periods that include managing expectations, understanding emotions, and acknowledging one’s own shortcomings. No pun intended. The book’s true purpose is to affirm the validity of bisexuality. I didn’t pick it up because I needed that validation. I was, however, surprised to see just how committed Mr. Zane is, through his life and work, to affirm the existence of bisexuality for society at large. Sounds like the bisexual sex parties are a blast.
The Anomaly, by Hervé Le Tellier.
This book was recommended by my boss, Nick, who seems to prefer science fiction books. I remember reading the reviews for this book in the Nook store—it did not review particularly well. At least, that’s what it would have looked like if I had only seen the cumulative score. But you see, dear reader, I learned long ago, when I started on my path to earn my Associate’s Degree and reviewed Rate My Professor scores as I prepared for class sign-ups, that the cumulative score is the most base level information one could gather about any particular topic, and you’d be a fool to simply look at that and make a decision. When I read the comments to this book, after seeing what looked to me to be too low a score, I realized that the low scores were driven by the few reviewers who bothered to leave their thoughts, and whose thoughts revealed that their criticisms had more to do with poor reading comprehension, or just poor overall reading ability.
“Too many characters,” they said. “The chapters jump from character to character and I can’t keep track of them.”
Yes, the book does have a number of characters. The chapters are also organized and based around single characters, though there is interaction between them in later parts. I didn’t find this a particularly difficult organizing principle. As such, I thought the book was fine. More than fine, I appreciated the cyclical nature of its tale because I felt that it combined mysticism, in an implicit manner, with the explicit science fiction genre that it rightly belongs in.
The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Another confession: I know Jordan Peterson is a much-maligned figure among certain liberal circles, but I learned of this book’s existence because of him, so credit where credit is due. One day I may also pick up Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s, “The Gulag Achipelago,” which is another book he frequently mentions. For now, though, I’m glad to have read The Master and Margarita. The book serves to highlight certain societal absurdities that aren’t unique to Soviet life, though that is where the book is set. Bureaucracy and controlling order are easily undone by appealing to basic human needs, especially when such needs are actively dismantled or denied by said bureaucracy. While Woland’s magic acts as the prototypal force that moves the story forward, it’s not his illusions that require explanation, but rather why the Soviet subjects—and members of society, generally—permit their own oppression. All change requires is a conscience ready to accept what is obvious before it.
It seems fitting, then, that the year began with a non-fiction book about science’s attempt to explain the supernatural, and ended with a fiction book about the supernatural upending society. That contrast bears its own thinking. Perhaps another time.
Oh, as to the earlier capitalization of Self. I am currently reading, “It’s On Me: Accept Hard Truths, Discovery Your Self, and Change Your Life”, by Sara Kuburic, The Millennial Therapist. I don’t know if that’s her official title—I presume there’s a Ph.D somewhere there, too—but that’s how her name is printed on her book. I’m not one to seek out self-help books, but this was recommended by a friend who wanted to read it together and I was happy to oblige because I hadn’t yet landed on what I wanted to read next. More importantly than that, I feel that the correct books to read are those that fortuitously fall on your lap. That’s my little acknowledgment of forces beyond me guiding me toward a greater good, with books, experiences, media, etc. acting as the materials needed to make good use of present circumstance. Anyway, the author speaks of the Self as a very real, separate but innate being that necessarily lives within us, who is us, but who one may not actually know well, if at all, and who therefore appears separate from us. Without knowing it, my writing exercises—this one included—act as my attempt to understand my Self and be in tune with it. The road to inner peace, you see, is found through reflection. I substantiate that reflection through writing.
Speaking of, here’s the list of what I wrote in the last year. I intended to publish something once a week. That proved too ambitious a goal, but I’m happy with the output regardless.
- The Necessity of Companionship: Re-Reading Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men
- Progress Through Deficit Series — #1. Inferno Hiding: On Climate and Compromise.
- Ron DeSanctimonious: A Brief (Vocabulary) Lesson
- Snakes and Ladders: On Loading Screens
- Understanding “The Devil” Concept Through Contract Law
- No One Puts Bibi in the Corner
- Genocide For All To See
- A Criminal Conviction
- Dear Non-Voter (2024 Edition)
- Taken To Its Logical End
- D. Vance Fooled Quite A Bit of People
