I saw my first new-Who David Tennant episodes on Netflix while trying to write papers for my master’s degree back in – 2009? 2010?

I became a devoted fan of the Moffat/Smith and then the Moffat/Capaldi eras (well, the first two Capaldi series anyway), and bought those series via iTunes and Amazon. I simply HAD to be part of the conversation as new episodes were released. I ate them up, along with the online reviews, the podcasts, the extras.

I liked the big decisions of the Chibnall era – Jodie Whittaker’s joyful energy, Segun Akinola’s fabulous music (so much more fun to listen to again and again than Murray Gold’s), the new lenses that provided a new look for the show, the companion casting – but the stories … well, I missed the Tesla episode and then totally avoided the Flux storyline. I felt like I didn’t miss anything.

I signed on to Disney+ for the Davies Mach II era and was as hopeful as all other fans – the Tennant/Tate episodes were so fun and, like everyone, I’m dazzled by Gatwa’s style and zazz.

But the stories … why were the best stories of the Chibnall and Davies II eras – “The Haunting of Villa Deodati” and “Rogue,” respectively – written by other writers? (Though I have to say, “Dot and Bubble” is the exception that tests the rule.)

The ineffable magic of the first Davies era is absent in Davies II. Even though he brought the band back together, the creative lightning did not strike twice.

The episodes are sumptuously staged, the acting spot-on, the callbacks to earlier days very welcome and warming, but the stories … well, I have now taken to reading a few trusted reviewers’ opinions first and if they don’t like an episode, I give it a pass. I have skipped more episodes of Gatwa’s second series than I have seen.

I will likely tune in to the finale because that’s what I do, but I think I will be soon signing off from the review sites and podcasts. Time to sign off with a grateful and heartfelt goodbye for all the fun the series gave me and move on.

Finished reading: Scenes of Visionary Enchantment: Reflections on Lewis and Clark by Dayton Duncan 📚

Growing up in the South, Lewis and Clark were names in a history book. Important enough to study for a test answer, but with no local associations to their exploits they did not live long in the memory. (In North Carolina, it’s all about the Lost Colony, a few Revolutionary War sites, lots of Civil War battlegrounds, and a few civil rights landmarks.)

When we visited the Fort Clatsop Bookstore near Astoria OR in 2024, I bought several Lewis and Clark related books because I knew nothing about them. I opted for essay collections because I thought they would provide both a sweeping view of the mounds of historical data compiled about the Corps of Discovery and spotlights on specific moments that defined the expedition.

The first book I read, Stephenie Ambrose Tubbs’ Why Sacagawea Deserves the Day Off and Other Lessons from the Lewis & Clark Trail, was a good introduction for a newbie but it was a warm-up for the real deal, Dayton Duncan’s Scenes of Visionary Enchantment: Reflections on Lewis and Clark.

For my money, this is the best introduction to Lewis and Clark, why their exploits were so important, and why they have a hold on not just historians but the public imagination. Duncan’s essays are grounded in a love for and personal scholarship of the Lewis and Clark lore, a plain and straightforward writing style that clearly conveys information and detail, enough personal details and opinion without the essays centering on the writer, and an approach to the material that is respectful, imaginative, and clear-eyed.

What do I mean by that latter claim? Duncan is a Lewis & Clark enthusiast and until reading these books, I did not know there were so many devotees who re-read the journals of the expedition and trekked to retrace the Corps’ path. It’s his imaginative evocation of the Corps’ historical melieu that helps lift his storytelling – or retellings of these well-known episodes – to a more expansive dimension.

Duncan is always careful to remind the reader that, while we know the expedition’s outcome was successful, that was never something the two captains assumed. Duncan reminds the reader, at all times, that boldness, prudence, resourcefulness, grit, hard work, physical endurance, and sheer luck worked together to bring all the expedition’s members – save one who died of a burst appendix – back home safely. As Duncan points out, this is one of the few such excursions in history that actually ended successfully.

I never knew, for example, that the Spanish Army had set out with hundreds of soldiers and Indians to either capture or kill the Corps’ members. But information traveled so slowly and through such torturous routes in those days, that Lewis and Clark never encountered their pursuers. It’s likely they never even knew they were being pursued.

Duncan takes the data – Lewis and Clark and several of the soldiers under their command kept journals, and the wealth of firsthand information is what makes L&C scholarship such a rich field – and serves it up in really appealing ways. One essay is all about what the homefront newspapers were reporting during the two-year trip and how Jefferson was sweating waiting to hear about whether his bet on Meriwether Lewis and the expedition would pay off or whether they would simply vanish without a trace.

Duncan’s essay on 10 leadership lessons from Lewis and Clark starts as a take-off on those faux-business leadership books. But he indeed draws 10 good lessons from the journals by retelling and reframing the stories, mining the journals for details that evoke that time and place.

As for clear-eyed: as this quote makes clear, the aftermath of Lewis and Clark’s discoveries was not a success for the native tribes or the natural world. Comparatively little of what the Corps saw on their travels can be seen today due to dams, development, and American capitalism’s inability to let a good thing be. The native populations that were so numerous and culturally vibrant were reduced by smallpox, broken treaties and promises, and depleted natural resources.

Some of the most affecting passages for me were descriptions of what happened to the captains and crew after their triumphant return. There are few records of what happened to all the Corps soldiers. And Ambrose is clear-eyed about the individual failings of Lewis and Clark; while the trail and its outsized adventures and exertions brought out the heroic best of their characters, their return to civilization almost inevitably shrunk them back to society’s size.

Lewis suppressed the publication of a book by one of his soldiers so it would not compete with his own account – which he never wrote. Lewis’s depression swiftly returned after he re-entered civilian life and he was dead 3 years later. (Murdered or a suicide? Again, lots of lively debate on that .) Clark’s slave, York, accompanied him on the trail. As Duncan speculates, York’s voice was considered during crucial votes taken along the trip and the hardships of the journey equalized all the men (and woman). But back home, Clark refused to free York and was irritated by York’s insistence on joining his enslaved wife.

That’s what I love about Duncan’s essays: they show the high and the low, the best and the worst, the heroic and the craven, the beautiful and the ugly. The Lewis and Clark story is too vast to be one thing. It’s many things encompassing many stories, and these essays can start a new explorer of that landscape on the right path.

So, I finally finished downloading hundreds of Amazon ebooks and comics after the announcement that Amazon is removing that capability.

Was it worth the trouble?

Ebooks that (I assume) authors and publishers have pulled from active sales are still in my library. Relatedly: on Audible, I subscribed to several of their programs before the days of podcasts, such as Robin Williams’ interview show. You can’t find that show on Audible anymore but those shows are still in my Audible library.

I’ve never had reason to download any Amazon ebooks or comics before. Why did I do it now? I remember a friend saying years ago how “they don’t want us to own things, they just want us to rent them.” Hence his ongoing purchase of CDs and DVDs and Blu-ray’s. Amazon’s announcement proves he’s still not wrong.

I may just zip up all these books and store them someplace in Backblaze and never look at them again. Just like I do now with all the physical books on my shelves and the ebooks on my Kindle Oasis.

Update, 2025-05-30: Duh. I have a Kindle Oasis. I downloaded all the books I really wanted to keep, hooked the Oasis up to my MacBook, and then copied them over. Much much less hassle.

A weird occurrence illustrating “respond to what shows up” and “why the hell does the universe think this is my business?”

Our cohousing’s condo building is next door to a big church that holds a Christmas village soiree over two weekends. It features a lighted Christmas ‘hayride’ that goes around the block and typically exits a few hundred feet up from our property.

Occurrence #1: I happened to be outside yesterday afternoon when two guys from the church asked if they could use our driveway to exit to the street since their usual exit was blocked. Me: Um, well, OK, I’ll email the community and see. Send the email, gather responses, call the guy back. He thanks me and says they discovered another driveway exit in between their usual exit and our driveway, so they’ll use that instead. OK, fine.

Occurrence #2: Hours later, the hayride truck has been making its rounds, and I am taking out the recycling; this happens to be the night when the bins are moved from their usual locked corral to the street curb. I go out to the street and – lo! – I see an SUV pull up and park right where they will block the truck exit.

I let the couple know that the driveway is being used and point out where else on the street they can park. They thank me and park across the street.

So what?, you may well ask. My first thought in both of these cases was, “Who the hell died and left me in charge of this furshlugginer driveway??” My second thought was, “Well, I’m not in charge here but something tapped me on the shoulder and placed me here to take care of something for some reason. So, take a breath, respond to what’s showing up, and take care of it.”

The whole thing reminded me of one of David Reynolds’ Constructive Living sayings, “I am Reality’s way of getting Reality’s work done.”

I learned a new word: bumf, meaning “reading materials (documents, written information) that you must read and deal with but that you think are extremely boring.”

According to the Merriam-Webster site, it’s of British derivation, short for toilet paper or (pardon me) bum fodder.

You’re more than welcome.

Daniel Lemire on how the current system of producing PhDs is backward and unsustainable. As he says,

“…[T]his system works like a charm as long as universities are expanding. But what happens when they hit the brakes? You guessed it – a PhD glut.”

During my year in PhD land I was always astonished by stories of the medieval personnel management practices and politics, and the infantilization of the PhD holder: stand before us every few years to justify your existence and why we should let you stay in the club.

A few personalities are well-adapted to the system and succeed in staying themselves while climbing their ambition’s ladder. But too few.

I had no job. I was about to have no house, I still hadn’t found a boat. I had jumped into all of this without any kind of a backup plan. Every other accomplishment in my life had been part of a sane, linear progression. Now I faced a series of unknown what-ifs. What if my house deal fell through? What if I couldn’t find a boat I could afford? What if I couldn’t handle a boat? What if I got sick or ran out of money? All I could do, I realized, was surge ahead, clear one hurdle at a time, and keep on believing that I would be okay.

It wasn’t much of a game plan, but it was what I had…

Mary South, The Cure for Anything is Salt Water