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