Questionable indicators…

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The cool thing to do now is bitch and complain that inflation has made everything too expensive. Social media is full of discussions about the cost of everything. It’s one of the news media’s favorite topics when they have a few extra minutes or column inches to fill. I can’t remember the last time I went a day without seeing at least one passing reference to inflation and “out of control prices.”

Everyone is bitching that everything is too expensive, but every time I leave the house, I find that the shops are packed. The restaurants are packed. The roads are packed. There are scads of people crawling all over everything from morning til night. It doesn’t feel like the kind of behavior you’d see if everyone was trying to watch their pennies.

I’m left to wonder if it’s just the “very online” people who are broke (or at least keeping the narrative alive), because the sentiment isn’t matching my lived experience and personal observations. Given that Cecil County isn’t exactly an economically well-off region you’d think it’s something that should be noticeable. Maybe it’s just me being unreasonable, but it seems to me if there’s no money and everything is too damned expensive, more people would stay home.

It feels like consumer sentiment might just be a shit economic indicator. Chalk it up to another reason why I just don’t trust people as a group. I’ll be a lot more worried about the economy when people stop buying $1000 cell phones and I don’t have to wait in a line ten people deep at the local fast food spot.  

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Questionable aesthetic decisions. I drive past the house I rented when I first got back to Maryland every couple of weeks. I was dumbfounded to find that the current owner ripped off the large deck and planted a prefab garage in its place. It’s not just something simple that compliments the size of the house. Oh no. It’s a massive thing that overshadows the house completely. It doesn’t just look out of proportion with the property. but completely out of character for the neighborhood. It’s the kind of thing I’d lose my mind over if I had to look at it from next door. HOAs aren’t always ideal, but there’s absolutely a reason I’m ok with my local committee having to chop on any project that would alter the front facing profile of the houses here in my current hood. They may be the devil, but they’re the devil that will keep a neighbor from plunking down a massive steel building in their front yard. Sometimes that just has to be good enough.

2. Being old people. I unexpectedly found myself in attendance at a concert last Thursday. I couldn’t help but notice, when looking around the venue, that I was surrounded by “old people.” Old people who also knew that Chris Barron was the lead singer for Spin Doctors, a band who cut a swath through the early 1990s, and who remember his biggest two or three songs playing nonstop on radio and MTV. As it turns out it’s me. I’m “old people.” It was an unsettling moment of realization, even if sharing a very small venue with a guy whose music marked a pretty significant period in your life was a decidedly cool experience.

3. Self-denial. I’ve learned, over the last year, to go about the day in some varied state of hunger. Some days, I barely think about eating and don’t notice it. Other days, though, all I want to do is gorge on anything I can possibly get my hands on. Those days are the absolute worst, because falling off my particular wagon is no more than a quick walk to the refrigerator or pantry away. Self-denial has never been one of my unique gifts, so on days when hunger really sets in, it’s an all-day fist fight. They don’t hit as often as the used to, but when they show up, damned if they’re not brutal. 

A roll of the dice…

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You’d think that after nine days off, I’d have been rested, relaxed, and at least nominally prepared to go back to work. All those things might have been true on Sunday night, but on Monday morning exactly none of them are true. Wading in to the week deep backlog of email pretty much put an end to any opportunity for good feeling that could have bled over into the work week. Funny how that works.

One of the skills I’ve mostly mastered over the years is leaving the “work stuff” safely at work. I’ve been doing it so long now that I can even do it when the work stuff resides, for more days than not, in my home office. Once the lid on the laptop closes at the end of the day, it might as well cease to exist. It’s honestly a helpful mental trick if you can manage it. 

Unfortunately, because I like getting paid and would absolutely suck at living under a bridge or in a refrigerator box, eventually I have to start paying attention again – or at least I do for the next 11 years or so. Even so, it’s getting increasingly difficult to keep up the appearance that everything is a Big Serious Issue just because someone at echelons higher than reality says it is. 

Look, I get it that most everyone wants to believe whatever they spend their time doing is the changing the world or saving the universe. It’s comforting, but objectively it’s almost never the case.  On an average day, the average person working themselves into a lather doesn’t do much besides raise their own blood pressure.

In any case, I’m back at work for the next few weeks… and keeping my mouth from calling out every bit of fuckery I see seems like it’s going to be the project of the summer. How well that will work really is a roll of the dice at this point. 

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Fasting. As if the unremitting diet isn’t bad enough then there’s the periodic bloodwork that must be done while fasting. How in the year 2024 has science not progressed to the point where a man can both have breakfast and know his cholesterol simultaneously. I swear, for all our fancy scans and computer enhanced diagnostics, we feel about two steps removed from casting bones and reading entrails sometimes.

2. No plans. We’ve reached the point in the year where I traditionally start burning off vacation time. The catch is, I used to take my time off and go places and see interesting parts of the world… or at least go sit on a beach receiving a heavy dose of sand and rum. It’s been a good long time since I’ve done that. I bought a house, a couple of vehicles, ended up with a few pets that I hate the thought of being separated from and suddenly it’s been a decade since I’ve been any further away than a quick road trip lasting no more than a couple of nights. Oh, I’ll go scouting for some books, do a bit of TV binging, and be absolutely thrilled about not being tethered to work in any way, but there’s part of me that wishes I was headed off somewhere exotic next week, just to get a proper change of scenery.

3. Everything else. In addition to the traditional beginning of annual leave season, it’s also that time of year when where I get unreasonably angsty and out of sorts about nearly everything as my birthday closes in. At this point it’s no longer just a glitch, but a feature of the last few weeks of May every year. Look, especially this year, I appreciate the arrival of another birthday as a sure sign that I managed not to drop dead, but it’s still a stinging reminder of how much I haven’t gotten done – and how much grows increasingly unlikely to ever get done as the years crack on at what feels like an increasingly frenetic pace. I know my mood will improve once I get through next weekend… for now though, you’d best think of me as decidedly surly. If I were a sign, I’d be brightly painted “approach with caution.”

At work (but not really)…

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Look, I am nominally “at work” this week. There are a couple of days where I’ll even schlep into our very own version of fluorescent-lit cubicle hell to prove that I’m doing my job for the man. With that said, I think it’s only fair to point out that while I may be physically present, my brain is already deeply plugged in to the vacation time that I’ll be taking next week. 

As I cast my thoughts back to 2023, I seem to remember every time I took some time off leading to some new and unpleasant medical issue popping up. As we approach leave taking season 2024, I very much would like to believe that trend can’t possibly continue. I’d like to not spend the lion’s share of this year’s vacation time not sprawled on the couch or hanging out with new doctors. 

After whetting my whistle for down time this past Friday, I’m honestly checked out.

This week is already off to a stupid start, with something I thought I put nicely to bed last Thursday before I logged off for the long weekend raising its ugly head while I was otherwise occupied. I suppose I shouldn’t be in any way surprised that it’s only after something should have been done, finished, and over that the great and the good have decided to start paying attention to it. Ass backwards seems to be the only way we ever really do anything.

I know this is just another work week, but I’m absolutely going to need people to ratchet back their expectations to the absolutely bare minimum – and then maybe go just a little bit lower. Short of someone walking over to my desk and literally setting me on fire, I’m going to have a hell of a hard time finding the motivation this week. All I’m saying is that if there’s something you need from me – and you want it done with any level of attention to detail – maybe wait until we get into June. Otherwise, you’re going to get what you get and I’ll make no apologies. 

Maybe it’s just a passing fancy…

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I like writing. I mean that in just about every possible way. I like the feeling of my hands on the keyboard. I like sitting down and filling a page with ideas that were, just a few minutes ago, just some vague ideas banging around the inside of my head. I like the notion that, thanks to the permanency of the internet, that somewhere some of these thoughts will continue to exist in the ether long after I have ceased to be. I suspect that’s something of the same reason why I have such an affinity for old fashioned paper books. I accumulate them in hopes that one or two might somehow survive the passing of the years to become the rare old survivors that people wonder about when they eventually come to light.

Just now, though, it’s the writing itself that is intriguing me. Part of me really wants to get back after it in a more methodical way. Is it time for a follow up to Nobody Told Me? Should I take another crack at short fiction? Do I have more to say if I follow either path? Maybe I should just serialize something here instead of dealing with the pain and aggravation of relearning the electronic publication platforms.

The big question – the one that rules them all – is ultimately one of how much time am I willing to allocate to it. Back when I was going at it strong, I was writing every day. That was more than ten years ago now, but back then I was ginning up 300-500 words for the blog 5 days a week and then doing another 500-1000 words a day on other projects. Doing it, even in the halfassed way that I went after it, represents a relatively significant investment of time. Doing it whole-assed, of course, means laying in ever more time than that.

At some point I’ll just have to be very honest with myself about whether this is a passing notion or something that’s going to stick around for a while and be grit in the gears if I don’t do something about it. For now, it falls somewhere on the list of things I’m pondering without applying too much mental horsepower.

On my distinct lack of give-a-shit…

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There are a million things going on in the world, and if I’m brutally honest with you (and with myself), there’s not a single one of them I feel interested enough in to write about today. Sure, my privilege is showing or whatever, but I just don’t have it in me at the moment to be morally outraged, vaguely interested, heartbroken, or whatever appropriate response is dictated by the events of the day. 

All I really want to do – and therefore what I will spend my evening doing – is sitting here comfortably with a book. Jorah will inevitable be napping next to me. One of the cats (Anya for sure) will be curled up between my knees. Monday is bad enough on its own without trying to dwell too much on all the ills of the world. 

This is a thought I keep coming back to. I know it’s made an appearance here more than once. There are probably lots of valid questions – How engaged should we be in what’s happening outside our bubble? What do I owe the world if I’m keeping shit together inside my own fence line? Should I even be bothered by what’s happening out there beyond my immediate span of control? 

The last year has, somewhat of necessity, been focused internally – on what I’ve needed to do in an attempt to follow doctor’s orders and the various episodes of fuckery that resulted from that. While it hasn’t been a full-on shitstorm, it has been the better part of a year of the number of things I’ve had the bandwidth to care about being reduced pretty dramatically. Maybe that was self-preservation, but the downstream consequence seems to be that my naturally low give-a-shit level is almost nonexistent these days. Believe me when I tell you that any time you think you see me giving a shit (and it doesn’t directly involve animal welfare or mocking the feckless or stupid among us) I’m 100% faking it… and probably doing a piss poor job of that in the moment. I’m honestly not sure if I’ll ever adjust this attitude or if I even want to. Like so much else, that is apparently yet to be determined.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Morale building activities. Our office seems determined that it’s going to lick the morale problem by doubling down on potluck lunches and after-hours team building events. I invite you to piss directly off with that nonsense. If you want me to be part of a team activity, schedule that mess while you’re paying me for it. And damned well don’t expect me to cook (or inflict my colleagues cooking on me) in order to participate. Why the hell we can’t just take an hour or two, get out of the office, and patronize a local restaurant like normal people is completely beyond me. It’s all a hard pass for me. If that reinforces my rep as a non-joiner or problematic player of team ball, so be it.

2. Late night interruptions. The number of times each week I wake up at two in the morning to take a piss, spend an hour flopping around not sleeping, and then drifting off for an hour or so of absolutely ridiculous dreams before waking up to start the day bleary eyed and disgruntled is something of a too regular occurrence. It’s not every night, which would drive me batshit crazy, but it’s easily once every week or two and that makes it more than regular enough to be obnoxious. There’s a whole level of frustration knowing you can’t hold your water or fall back asleep on command the way you used to. Most other nights I still manage to sleep like a baby, but not knowing whether the night will be restful or ridiculous is just short of infuriating.

3. Protests. I’ve always looked slightly askance at protestors as a group. Clogging up sidewalks, roadways, or parks and making a spectacle / nuisance of yourself never seemed like a good way to make any kind of point. Once I started working in DC, I developed an even lower opinion of the average “protestor.” Inconveniencing me as I’m just trying to go about my daily activities is, I promise you, no way to ever convince me of the virtue of your cause. In any case, any time I see news of protestors getting all froggy – whether it’s on city streets or on college campuses – I just get preemptively annoyed and assume they’re chanting and occupying whatever for some cause I’ll inevitably think is foolish. 

It was the end of a decade…

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For the last ten years, approximately a third of my work year has been dedicated to party and event planning. This week is the first time since 2014 that the annual big show is set to start and my fingerprints aren’t all over it. My feelings are unexpectedly mixed.

I’m absolutely thrilled that I haven’t needed to convince dozens of presenters that they need to do things my way. I’m ecstatic that I haven’t had to deal with months of schedule changes and wanna be primadonnas making absurd demands over every detail. I’m incredibly grateful that I haven’t had to spend time discussing the best way to lay out tens of thousands of square feet of circus tents, how best to remove light poles from the parking lot, what live bands we can get for three consecutive nights of social extravaganzas, or whether it’s strictly legal for the US Government to host a whiskey tasting and cigar bar as part of an industry engagement event. 

I won’t need to figure out the inevitable chaos of registration and check in. The moment something goes wonky with the live stream won’t be my problem. I won’t be fielding complaints from people in the audience who have an outsized sense of their own importance because they’re an Executive Vice President of Who Cares. 

I’m not going to get a panicked Teams message that the bathroom is flooding. I won’t spend the night dreading the possibility that the whole tent complex could blow down if a reasonably strong thunderstorm happens to pass through the area. 

There’s nothing about that that doesn’t feel good. 

There is, however, a small part of me that will miss being a minor shot caller this week (Mostly because number of bosses who wanted their name associated with this mess was always very limited). I’ll miss working closely with some of the key players without whom the whole effort would collapse. I might even miss the sense of barely hidden mayhem and chaos that could break out at any second during a live event.

It’s just as well that this experience has passed to others this year. I’m not at all sure I’d have been in the mental or physical headspace to give it the level of attention it needs way back when planning kicked off in the fall.

I wish the team leading this ongoing, multi-year hot mess the very best of successes. I hope they knock it out of the park… if only so people will stop thinking my name is somehow inextricably linked with this particular Big Show. This week is going to feel just a little bit weird, but then I guarantee I’ll be 100% pleased as punch to have the thing be someone else’s problem. 

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. A deferred milestone. I thought I was on track to hit the next weight milestone – 200 pounds even, or down 130 – on or about my birthday. Although I’ve started slowly creeping down again, the previous three weeks where I held all things equal has pretty much guaranteed I can’t get there from here unless I develop a pretty nasty stomach bug. It’s disappointing, of course. I was hoping to sit down to my traditional birthday lunch of crabcakes and hushpuppies and proceed to getting back to a “maintenance” level of eating. That feels out of reach. But I’m still damned well planning to have the crab cakes and hushpuppies.

    2. Foreign aid debate. You know what one of the most successful bits of foreign policy of the post World War II era? Yeah, that would be when the United States poured out absolute shiploads of cash, material, and expertise on Europe and rebuilt a shattered continent. It turns out prosperous liberal democracies bound together by deep ties of trade tend not to try to kill each other nearly so often as they did when international diplomacy was a zero-sum game. The weight of American troops and weapons arguably won the war, but it was the Marshall Plan that won the peace. It’s a pity that Americans consistently refuse to remember their own history when we’re talking about relatively paltry sums in the contemporary foreign aid budget. Every scrap of progress we can make by throwing money at the problem is far less expensive than anything that happens when we need to get involved kinetically. 

    3. Walking. Gods, even with the latest in listening technology, walking is just a deadly dull way to spend 30 or 40 minutes every day. Yes, the scenery in the neighborhood is nice. Sometimes I get to see neighbors doing something stupid in full view of the sidewalk. Aside from occasionally getting to interface with the local wildlife, I’m sorry, but there just isn’t much to recommend it. Living at the far end of the dead end street, there are only so many ways to make the path different… and after six months, I’ve trod all those down multiple times each week already. Look, I’ll keep doing it… under protest and purely because the doc says I must… but you’ll never convince me that there isn’t a more interesting or entertaining use to those 30 or 40 minutes of every day that isn’t called off on account of weather.