Wonderful summing-up final paragraph from Stefany Anne Golberg’s essay on The Long Lost Friend

There’s a mood of disorientation and longing in The Long Lost Friend ’s title that strikes a different note than the confident claims to be found inside. Maybe this is the book’s “Long-Hidden” message, its essence, and the essence of all the self-help books that would follow it. The self-help book, via The Long Lost Friend, is an appeal to the American still wandering in the wilderness, curious about everything, needing nothing, wanting it all but not knowing how to get it, believing in the magic of utility, and the utility of magic.

Walt Whitman:

It does a man good to turn himself inside out once in a while: to sort of turn the tables on himself: to look at himself through other eyes—especially skeptical eyes, if he can. It takes a good deal of resolution to do it: yet it should be done—no one is safe until he can give himself such a drubbing: until he can shock himself out of his complacency. Think how we go on believing in ourselves—which in the main is all right (what could we ever do if we didn’t believe in ourselves?)—a colossal self-satisfaction, which is worse for a man than being a damned scoundrel.

See also

• Reading LEAVES OF GRASS as a Self-Help Book
• Song Of My Self-Help: Follow Walt Whitman’s ‘Manly Health’ Tips (Or Maybe Don’t) : NPR

Walt Whitman tells a story:

A woman I knew once asked a man to give her a child: she was greatly in love with him: it was not done: he did not care that much for her: he said to her, “all children should be love children”: then he thought she might repent if the thing was done: after his refusal she said: “Now I suppose you despise me.” He said: “Despise you? no: I respect you: I feel that you have conferred the highest honor on me.” Years after, he met her again. She was married—had children. But she said to him: “I still love my dream-child best.”

Back in the ‘90s and early 2000s, I used to listen to Audible.com pre-podcast-era “podcasts” presented by Robin Williams and Susie Bright. I listened to them while commuting or walking or doing housework, and that’s still how I consume podcasts today. In those days, I listened to maybe two or three half-hour episodes a week before going back to the audiobooks.

But the rise of podcasts and other forms of audio media mean I now spend as much time trying to keep up with my podcast feeds as I do email, RSS feeds, etc. What used to be diversions and snacks have now become the main course.

As problems go, I can’t complain.

I use Overcast as my player of choice. I like its flexibility and features: for example, I’m able to set custom speeds for some podcasts. For slow-talking podcasts, I jack up the speed to 1.4 or even 1.8; for fast-talking podcasts, I keep it at 1.0. Smart Speed — which reduces pauses and long silences — is almost always turned on.

App Settings

• Continuous Play is On.

• New Episodes download on wifi only.

• Delete played episode after 24 hours. (Played episodes are not replayed, but they’re available if you want to go back and listen to a specific passage again. I waffle between deleting immediately and keeping them around for a day.)

• Nitpicky Details: Seek Back By 30 seconds, Seek Forward By 60 seconds. (This helps me skip through ads; if I overshoot, then I need go back only a little ways. Also useful if I’m listening to something boring.)

• Nitpicky Details: Smart Resume is On. Love this setting.

• Nitpicky Details: One-Tap Play is On.

• Nitpicky Details: Play Next By Priority is On. As it says on the tin: “When an episode in a playlist ends, play the topmost unplayed episode next instead of the following one.” If you keep episodes for 24 hours, this is good; the next unplayed episode will always be next.

• Nitpicky Details: Icon Badge Number is On. I like to guilt myself.

• Nitpicky Details: Remote Episode Skip is On. I use this constantly with my Bluetooth headsets and Kinovo receiver in my car.

• No notifications set for new episodes of any podcast.

• Keep all unplayed episodes.

My Smart Playlists

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I prefer Smart Playlists because they filter by Podcast Name. Manual playlists filter by individual episode, which is not interesting to me; with so many backlogged episodes, that’s a lot of decision-making, scrolling, and tapping.

• All Episodes. Sorted Newest to Oldest. I exclude 5 podcasts for now (described below), but generally this list includes everything I subscribe to. Here’s where the Play Next By Priority setting does its thing. With it set to On, I’m always listening to the most recent podcast that appears at the top of the list. So if staying current is important to me, that’s good.

• 1. Sorted Oldest to Newest. All my Doctor Who podcast feeds, which are also included in All Episodes. This list is convenient when new episodes of a series are released. I want to catch all the buzz and comment before going on to my other podcasts.

• 2. Sorted Oldest to Newest; excluded from All Episodes. My Sleep With Me podcast feed. I don’t listen to Sleep With Me every night, but I listen to it often; since I’m playing it or selecting episodes in the dead of night, I like for this feed to live in its own list. I use Overcast’s Sleep Timer to play an episode for 20 or 30 minutes, depending on how sleepy I feel. I prune this list a lot, since Scoots may recap episodes of The Good Place I haven’t seen yet.

• 3. Sorted Oldest to Newest; excluded from All Episodes; Smart Speed turned Off. My ambient music podcast feeds, mostly fed from links in Warren Ellis’ newsletter. I’ve taken to listening to them at work when I need to focus on writing or research.

• 4. Sorted Oldest to Newest. This is a new list I’m auditioning; I’m calling it my “binge list.” I went through a period where I got behind on lots of podcasts: You Must Remember This (now on hiatus), Gilbert Gottfried, Marc Maron’s WTF, Great Lives, Criminal, The Next Track, and others. So for this playlist, I will select one of those podcasts with a large backlog and start listening.
  
  Another way to do this would be to select the podcast from Overcast’s home screen and play the episodes from there; but that means scrolling, getting distracted by other podcasts, etc. Putting those episodes in a playlist of their own at the top of the list will, I hope, make the choice easier of what to listen to next.

Why do I use numbers to designate my playlists instead of words? I read a study from my information science days of librarians categorizing music scores. They tended to categorize more quickly and have more confidence in their judgments when the categories were numeric rather than semantic. Numbers, while perhaps showing hierarchy, tended not to have the emotional associations and nuances that words did; they quibbled with themselves less often when categorizing the scores by number.

I could certainly name my lists “Doctor Who,” “Sleep With Me,” “Ambient,” and so on. That would work since they’re just for me. But I like the cleanness and simplicity of the numbers.

In sorting through the old vinyl, I run across several “what was I thinking??” purchases. Curiosity, no doubt; the desire to hear “something different.”

This album is one such item (I’m conflating lots of subtitles to make a longer one): Wound-Up Opera: Great Hits From the Opera Played on Rare Antique Music Boxes From the Rita Ford Collection.

The liner notes, which include a brief history of music boxes, contains this warning to the listener about the odd noises at the start of side 2:

… for it is simply the sound of a music box being wound up [before playing] an unforgettable rendition of the Toreador Song from “Carmen,” the principal melody of which is played by the cylinder while a counter melody is chirped by an extraordinary mechanical bird right inside the box!

YouTube user “fountainhead” found a copy of the album in a thrift store and uploaded a digital recording of it, with a video both quaint and unsettling. Skip to 20:50 to hear the box being wound up, the Toreador Song, and the mechanical bird.

Discogs has an entry on this record with a track listing. According to the stats on that page, at the time of this posting, there are 34 users who “Have” a copy, 23 who are selling, and only one who wants a copy.

Albums and music boxes: insert clever yet warm-hearted comparison here.

The first image in this collection of pictures of smartphone users around the world reminds me of nothing so much as those images of 1950s movie audiences wearing 3D glasses. Will those images of smartphone users look as quaint and innocent in 50 years?

via CJ Chilvers’ newsletter

From ProPublica: the number of IRS audits of a poor county in Mississippi makes it the most heavily audited county in America.

In a baffling twist of logic, the intense IRS focus on Humphreys County [in Mississippi] is actually because so many of its taxpayers are poor. More than half of the county’s taxpayers claim the earned income tax credit, a program designed to help boost low-income workers out of poverty. As we reported last year, the IRS audits EITC recipients at higher rates than all but the richest Americans, a response to pressure from congressional Republicans to root out incorrect payments of the credit.

The logic is clear, as the final sentence indicates: Republicans in power want to remind you who’s in charge, no matter what the cost in dollars or fairness.

Brilliant, tough, compassionate story from Buzzfeed’s Joe Bernstein on the Baraboo photo:

The culture of racist irony that prevails online and offline today is, in part, a distancing technique that creates the space people need to dehumanize and harm other people. The Christchurch shooter’s video is the most chilling and extreme documentation of this phenomenon. But it’s a mistake to think this dynamic only exists in extreme cases. Intolerance in Baraboo frequently came from a distance: shouted from a speeding car, carved into a sidewalk and left to shock, posted to the doors of the middle school. What does a racist joke do except create the cognitive distance necessary to do harm, dissolve the bonds of moral obligation? Ironic hatred, captured at the wrong time, was capable of pulling bedrock feelings of belonging and safety in a close community into question.

Another part of the story got my attention: the lack of context not just of the photo, but of each community member’s — parent and child — lack of knowledge of history and in some cases willful blindness of possible harm caused to others.

During the last semester of my master’s program, I was crunching the numbers on my survey and writing my thesis. Since I had to be on campus anyway, I wanted to take a fun, just-for-me course.

I found it in the Slavic Languages and Literatures Department: a course on Anton Chekhov, one of my favorite writers. The course surveyed his short stories, some of the longer works, and of course his plays.

After a particularly hellish year, this class was a tall drink of cold chocolate milk. I loved the readings, the discussions and insights of my teacher, Dr. Radislav Lapushin, and simply the opportunity and luxury of spending time savoring and thinking about Chekhov’s remarkable, subtle, devastating writing.

For the final project, Dr. Lapushin suggested I take a story I’d not read before and really dig deep into it. I chose a late story, “On Official Business.” It’s one of Chekhov’s last stories and, typical of that period, nothing seems to happen yet everything changes.

I’ve scanned in the paper with my teacher’s handwritten notes and comments ON ACCOUNTA I’M PROUDA WHAT I DID. Reading it over, I’d certainly tighten it up, take some things out, emphasize other things. Do I repeat myself? Probably. But it turned out really well and was the best thing I wrote my entire time in grad school. It also confirmed for me that, if I get another degree, it will be an MFA in Creative Writing. Or at least lots and lots of literature classes.

My paper: Dreams and Reality in Chekhov’s “On Official Business”

From Robin Sloan’s latest newsletter:

Beware, anytime you hear anybody talking about reading novels as self-improvement – because they “increase empathy” or something like that. A close cousin is when people say you should read science fiction because it “helps you imagine the future.”

Here is my proposed alternative: read novels because there are novels…

It’s unfortunately very common in the San Francisco of 2019, this quest for a deeper “because” that finds its foundation in self-improvement. Resist.