Sunny and the Kittens Update!

Wednesday March 12th, 2025

Tags: cat, life, mental illness, personal, photos

(previously...)

We had no idea what we were getting into when the vet said we would need to feed the kittens ourselves. I thought I heard him say they would need feeding every 4 hours, and maybe that was wishful thinking on my part, or maybe he was trying to soften the blow, but it's more like every 2 hours. Kittens need to eat a lot, and they vehemently don't want to be fed from anything but a mama cat. They will squirm and struggle and fight you every step of the way. They will also scream their adorable little heads off. There's no way to hold them that gives me access to their mouths without feeling like I'm torturing them. Holding them by the scruff of the neck helps calm them down, that's a natural way their mom carries them, but you can't feed them like that. You have to just try to hold them as still as possible and get the tube into their tiny screaming maws.

Despair

The first few times I tried to feed them, I melted down afterwards. I was barely able to get any food in them, and several parts of the process triggered the sensory sensitivities that go along with my ADHD or autism or secret third thing. I'm particularly sensitive to high-pitched repetitive noises, which is unfortunately exactly the kinds of noises kittens make. At this point, Sunny was also completely freaking out, understandably so. She just got back from being separated from her kittens at the vet and didn't understand why she couldn't nurse them. She never got violent, but was scrambling and desperately trying to get to them. It was heartbreaking to see, and her anxiety rubbed off on me.

Feeding all 5 kittens an adequate amount of food, helping them pee, trying to help them poop and getting them comfortable again takes, if you're lucky, about 90 minutes. I mentioned that they need feeding about every 2 hours. I'll save you from doing the math: that leaves approximately fuck all time to do anything else. My spouse did most of the actual feeding, and I do not know how. She's a superhero. Her dedication to caring for the babies was astonishing. I was mostly providing support: mixing formula, cleaning syringes, keeping us fed, trying to calm Sunny and keep up with the usual household chores as well as I could, and even that exhausted me.

I felt bad that she had to deal with my meltdowns when I tried to help. I felt awful that the kittens had to go hours between meals when our bodies demanded rest. I felt terrible about how scared and traumatized they must be. I felt shame at my failure, my inability to cope. I questioned several times whether we were doing a terrible thing, whether it would have been better for the kittens to have them painlessly put to sleep. And I felt like a monster for even considering that possibility.

A Lifeline

On Monday, in desperation, I posted in the mutual aid channel of a local community group asking if anyone could help, or knew anyone who could. I got several recommendations for a shelter who would be able to take the kittens and quickly find them homes with people who had nursing cats. I was so afraid to reach out to shelters, because I know how overwhelmed they are, how few resources there are to go around, and how big of an ask it would be to take such vulnerable animals that require constant care. I didn't know placing them with other mama cats was a possibility, and I started to feel hopeful.

I sent them an email because I was a little too emotional to communicate effectively in a phone call. Thankfully, someone got back to me very quickly and said they could help. They asked if we could take care of the kittens for one more night, and someone could come get them the next morning. I said we could. A ton of stress melted away and I immediately felt like a decent human again, knowing that rescue was in sight and they would be taken care of.

OneTwo Last Meals

When I got home, I helped my spouse feed them two more times before we had to sleep. By now, Sunny had started to understand that we were taking care of her kittens and wasn't so freaked out the whole time. We had to keep an eye on her and keep the cat carrier securely zipped, because she would stick her head in and try to run off with one if the opportunity presented itself, but mostly she was comfortable lying on the bed and observing. That's an incredible amount of trust for an animal to place in us, and we knew we had to do right by her.

With the imminent rescue and a calm Sunny, feeding the kittens was a lot easier. They were still screaming their heads off, but now that they're a week old, they're starting to catch on little better. After so much struggle, seeing a kitten latch on and start hungrily sucking the formula out of the syringe¹ was magical. I felt like a super genius cat whisperer when I got it to happen.

One thing that really helped, and this is going to sound inane, was me and Izzy talking to the kittens in baby talk and giving them cute nicknames.² Anyone looking on would've been convinced we were babbling lunatics, but I didn't care. It helped keep our morale up, and made what we were doing feel more normal. We celebrated the little victories together: boasting about how much the kitties ate and celebrating whenever we got them to urinate.³

After the last feeding, I barely cried at all, and it was mostly tears of relief and happiness. I was glad we were getting them to eat and proud of us for working so well together. But there was a little bit of regret, too. There was a part of me that was so pleased with our success, I thought "maybe we can really do this."

But I knew that wouldn't be fair to the kittens. Our success wasn't sustainable. There's no way we could give them all the care they needed for the next 3 or 4 weeks until they could wean. We'd need to go out for doctor appointments and supplies. It wouldn't be fair to make the kitties go hungry for hours while our bodies needed to rest. Neither one of us has the constitution for waking up every few hours in the night to feed them.⁴ Maybe if I didn't have to go to work, and we could watch them in shifts, we might've been able to take care of them...

But then we would've had to find homes for them, anyway. There's no way we could have that many full-grown cats around the apartment: we're barely allowed to have Sunny, and that's only because Izzy got a letter from her doctor stating that a cat would be good for her mental health. Our plan was to keep the kittens until they were done nursing and then find homes for them; circumstances just sped this process up. It would've been even harder to let the kittens go after that much more time raising them.

Rescue

I made the hand-off on Tuesday at around noon. Izzy had one of those aforementioned unavoidable doctor appointments: she had already rescheduled and been waiting since November, so she couldn't cancel or reschedule it again. So I offered to come home on my lunch break for the hand-off. It wasn't a big deal, I usually eat while I work and spend my lunch break doing something else anyway, and the shelter is about 20 minutes away, so the timing worked out well.

I brought the kittens out in a transparent plastic tote lined with soft towels. The kittens were mewing up a storm, and I explained that they were cranky from having not been fed since early that morning, but they were strong and healthy. Mr. Chonkers was trying with all his might to break out of kitten jail and the rest of them were anxiously crawling around. I showed her which kitten was the runt and explained that he had the most trouble eating, and would probably need a little extra attention. I offered our remaining can of kitten formula if it would be useful to them, which she accepted. And they were off to new homes and a better life.

It's hard not to feel a little bit like a failure for needing the shelter to rescue them, but I'm trying to tell myself we did the right thing. The person from the shelter who picked them up was very nice, but did tell us to bring Sunny in to be spayed when she was well enough "so this doesn't happen again." I thought it sounded a little judgmental, but she didn't know Sunny was already pregnant when we brought her in, so I tried not to take it personally.

Before heading back to work I spent a little time with Sunny. I figured she'd be sad when she realized what happened and I wanted to help her feel less lonely. It made me a little late getting back to the office, but whatever. I unzipped the cat carrier where the kittens were living and left it open so she could explore it. I figured it'd be easier for her in the long run than trying to hide it.

Now

When Izzy got back from her appointment, Sunny was in the carrier. She was visibly upset. She can't meow; we don't know if it's a physical issue from an injury or a condition she was born with, or part of her personality. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out, or it's a barely audible squeak that reminds me a bit of a cooing dove. She'll occasionally look at the carrier and meow silently. It breaks our hearts.

But she's recovering well from her illness, and she's more loving and cuddly than ever. When she was pregnant and nursing, she could be a bit standoffish—understandably! She would sit in my lap purring happily until my legs fell asleep, but she also needed time to herself, which we gave her. It made us a little sad to see her sitting by herself on the stairs, but she had been through a lot. She also seemed hesitant to get on our bed, despite our encouragement, and would usually sit in my chair or her cat cave while we were sleeping.

Also, at first, she strongly preferred me over my spouse. She wouldn't let Izzy pet her for as long, and wouldn't stay in her lap. I chalked it up to me just having a bigger lap that was more comfortable to sit in with all the babies inside her, but I worried that she wouldn't warm up to Izzy once the babies came.

Well, I had nothing to worry about. Unless she's eating or pooping, she's pretty much always in one of our laps or by our side. She sleeps with us all night and helps make sure Izzy's toes stay warm. She'll cuddle up and gently place her paws on us, a gesture so sweet we might literally die.

I think she knows on some level that we helped her get better when she was sick and took care of her babies. I think she's grateful to us. We're grateful to her too.

The Future

We followed up with the regular vet after her emergency stay, and they gave us some medicine. She's been taking it like a champ and forgives us every time. We've been lucky enough to afford all of her care so far—this happened shortly after getting our tax refund, so we had a buffer⁵—but being a former stray, she has the potential for a lot of health problems and I feel dumb for not anticipating this. She seems to be recovering well, and her appetite is back with a vengeance. We have another follow-up with the vet scheduled, but that might need to wait until the next paycheck. She seems fine, but the uncertainty sucks, and I wish we were rich so we could afford whatever care she might need for anything that might come up. But whatever happens, we're going to love her as much as possible and give her the best life we can. What else can we do?

When we were still expecting kittens to start popping out at any moment, Izzy wrote "The Final Countdown!!!"⁶ on one of the fridge whiteboards. We hadn't thought of a suitable replacement, and once the kittens were gone, it felt a little more lonely in the apartment. So, not really knowing how to accurately represent a black cat on a white board, I nevertheless gave it my best shot:

"Is that supposed to be me? 😒"

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Every Day Carry

Tuesday March 18th, 2025

Tags: archive, life, personal, photos, review

I'm not that big on stuff, but the few possessions I do have, I'm pretty attached to. I've seen a few folks post their everyday carry or personal inventories, so I thought it'd be fun to share mine. This is all stuff I've found that works best for my personal context; if yours is similar to mine, you may find some of it useful. I'm not making a commission or anything, this is all stuff I actually recommend.

Backpack

• Red Oxx Sky Train

This was a very expensive purchase I made in 2017, when I was still single and making what (for the time) was a decent income. It was a "buy it for life" decision, because I was sick of buying cheap backpacks and having them fall apart within a year. This one's a little beat up, and some of the zippers have broken off, but I don't doubt it'll be a functional backpack for the rest of my life. It has a lifetime warranty, and I could probably send it back and have the zippers fixed, but that could take weeks and in that time I wouldn't have a backpack, so I haven't taken them up on it yet. I think visible mending is cool, but the paperclips are maybe not the coolest example of it. I'd like to figure out a more attractive solution.

Wallet

• Wanderings leather passport wallet

I bought this when I got my passport in 2016. It's held together quite well (the passport, not so much.) I don't really care about the RFID blocking, I don't think having my credit card data skimmed from the NFC chip is a plausible threat model, this was just the most affordable leather passport wallet I could find at the time. So far it's been a very good buy.

Watch

• Timex Expedition Scout

Like the backpack, I bought this because I was sick of buying new watches every year. I've had this one for about 3 years and the fabric band is holding up well; more importantly, it's designed so I can replace it myself without special tools if it ever does break. Sorry about the scratch, that's my fault. I try not to think about it.

Headphones

• 3M Worktunes Connect

Critical piece of gear. Wireless hearing protector headphones help me go out into the world without my worst sensory issues being triggered. Vital for bus rides, walking near traffic, big box grocery stores, obnoxious neighbors, hot rod drivers, fireworks, crowds, fans and air conditioners, sirens, pretty much every aspect of urban life. I replaced the foam ear cushions with the silicon gel ones so I can wear them all day, which I do. Both things typically last 1-2 years.

Phone

• Samsung Galaxy A16

(artist's impression)

I wrote about this in a previous entry. It's "fine". It's also my camera, ebook reader, mp3 player, GPS, compass, calculator, calendar, translator, notebook and alarm clock, so it cuts down on the number of things I have to carry around every day considerably. There are a lot of downsides to the smartphone business model, but needing to buy and replace all of those things separately would arguably be worse. 🤷‍♀️

Speaker

• Altec Lansing Baby Boom XL

Shockingly good for its size. I wouldn't want to listen to all my music on it, but for occasional background music or podcast listening, it punches above its weight. Doesn't get nearly as much use as the headphones, but it comes in handy sometimes.

What's actually in my bag

Aside from the speaker, I always have snacks, medicine, band aids, candy (andes mints are a favorite), cough drops, a bike lock, tape, a sharpie, my work badge and lanyard, deodorant, cleansing wipes, a wide-toothed comb and a detangling comb.

What's not

• A laptop

It's too bulky to carry around all the time and I'm rarely in a situation where it would get any use. I'll bring it if I know I'll need it.

• A hacked 2DSXL

It's a very good handheld, but again I don't have enough occasions to use it that it's worth being part of my EDC. But, it's indispensable on laundry day.

• A water bottle

I don't find myself in many places with a water cooler or drinking fountain, so this wouldn't get much use either. I spend most of my time at home and work, where I drink from a glass.

...but should be

• Some kind of multitool

My keychain is a carabiner-style clip with a few fold-out tools, but it was just a cheap promotional giveaway. I could stand to get a good one, or at the very least a decent knife.

• A proper first-aid kit

I have some band-aids and OTC painkillers cuz that's what I need the most, but it's never a bad idea to have a more complete kit.

Thanks for reading 🦝

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The Last Time I Called Someone "Sir"

Saturday June 11th, 2022

Tags: archive, personal

My first job as an adult was at a local chain gas station in a podunk town with a 4-digit population. It was right off an exit ramp of a busy interstate, so things could get very hectic, particularly on heavy travel days, right before or after holidays, etc.

Sometimes, even with both cash registers crewed, there would still be two lines back to the cooler display. Sometimes that's just the way it was. There usually wasn't a third person present to take over, so sometimes I didn't get to take breaks. I wish I knew then what I know now about labor laws. I wish I knew a lot of things. I wish I knew just how much they robbed me in the form of stolen breaks and unpaid overtime.

When you have to stand at a cash register for hours, you dissociate. I didn't know that word at the time, but that's what it was. You have to. That's the only way you can do a job like that and retain your humanity. I went into a fugue state, my mind left my body, I operated on pure muscle memory.

A short bald person with big thick glasses stepped up to the counter. An image of Mr. Magoo involuntarily popped into my head. The person dropped a few snacks and drinks on the counter. "Will that be all, sir?"

I was just following the script. That's never all. They always need to pay for gas, or want to buy cigarettes, or snuff, or lottery tickets. Unless it's a kid, of course.

The person was silent. I thought that was peculiar. They're supposed to say something. Going off-script brought me out of my fugue. I actually looked at the person. It was a teenage girl, probably only a few years younger than I was at the time. Her gaze was downcast.

"Sorry... miss?"

She nodded, not making eye contact. I finished ringing her up. I told her the total. She handed me the money. I wordlessly finished the transaction and bagged up her items. I didn't know what I could possibly say.

What I did say was "I'm really sorry."

She was crying. "It's okay," she sobbed, quickly turning and heading out of my life forever. I wanted to run after her, I wanted to try to offer some sort of explanation, say anything to try to make her feel better, but I couldn't. She probably wouldn't have cared about my explanation. She probably didn't want me to bother her anymore. And I couldn't leave if I wanted to, I still had a line of customers going back to the coolers.

That was the last time I ever called anyone "sir". It's no big loss. I never liked calling people sir anyway. No one who would be offended by not being called "sir" is someone who deserves my respect. I do still call people "ma'am" from time to time, because when you grow up in appalachia (and probably the south) there's a certain type of old lady it's almost impossible not to address as ma'am. They were destined to eventually someday become ma'ams. If I tried to get their attention with "hey", like I do with people I perceive to be men, they'd probably faint gently to the ground like a leaf in the breeze.

But in general, I try not to address anyone with any gendered honorifics or pronouns unless I'm 100% sure that's what they want. It's just not fucking worth it if you guess and get it wrong. I learned that lesson the second-hardest way. In hindsight, I'm glad it's a lesson I learned early, but I'll always bear the shame of causing more pain to someone who was already hurting. I can never fix it, I can only try to do better next time 🦝

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When I Ended My Relationship With Stuff

Tuesday June 14th, 2022

Tags: archive, media, personal

When I first decided I was breaking up with stuff, it was for purely selfish reasons.

It was the early 2010s, and I had just watched the movie Slacker for the first time. It's a little embarrassing to admit that such an inane movie had such a profound impact on the way I think about life, but well, life can be inane sometimes. The scene in question is this one but I'll briefly describe it here if you're not in the position to watch a video right now:

An old man and a young woman, presumably the man's daughter, are walking home with groceries. The old man is telling his daughter a typical long-winded old man joke-story, and his daughter is humoring him. When they get home, the front door is open. The camera moves to a stranger in their home, looking through a book and mumbling to himself. The man and his daughter, realizing something is off, peek in and try to figure out what's going on. The invader, caught off-guard, panics and draws a gun, which he points at the old man.

The old man relaxes. His posture is one of relief. "If you're here to steal something, you've come to the wrong place. Nothing much here. But look around, take whatever you want."

There's a pause, and the burglar isn't quite sure what to do. The man says "Why don't you let me put that up for you? It's really not necessary." The burglar allows the man to take his gun. "No one's going to call the police or anything. I hate the police more than you, probably. Never done me any good." He laughs.

Then he offers the robber a cup of coffee, they start walking around the house, he points out a portrait of Leon Czolgosz, the anarchist who assassinated President McKinley. The old man starts talking about his anarchist beliefs, his dreams of pulling a Guy Fawkes on the Texas legislature, &c.

If there were 100 like him around today, it would change the world.

It wasn't an overnight transformation, but something about that scene stuck with me. The old man wasn't afraid. He knew the man with the gun wouldn't hurt him. He knew the man with the gun didn't want to hurt him. He was just desperate and afraid. The old man didn't have anything to fear. The worst that could happen would be that he loses some belongings, and that didn't matter, because he decided that his life would be more than what he owns.

This was much more effective at radicalizing me against stuff than Fight Club. In Fight Club, getting rid of stuff led to anger and senseless violence. In Slacker, it stood for peace and self-assurance. I wanted to be like the old man. I didn't want to be afraid.

It's not just thieves; if my home burns down, that would suck, but it would suck a lot less if I know I didn't lose anything important. If I lose my job and get evicted, that would be scary, but it would be a lot less scary if I know I didn't have to scramble to save the stuff in my apartment. If I didn't have to worry about the logistics of moving it all from one place to another. Life without stuff is a life of greater freedom and less anxiety across the board.

I've gone back and forth about what I think about Slacker as a whole, what it meant, what the point of it was, and I don't think it had a point. It doesn't really say anything about the nature of work or capitalism, it's just "haha look at these weirdos." That Richard Linklater might have considered himself one of those weirdos at the time doesn't count for much. There are characters who espouse radical ideas, but I don't think it's a radical film. It tries to present the characters neutrally, I think, but everyone talks in such a smarmy self-important way¹ that none of the characters come across as sympathetic. The old anarchist is maybe the most sympathetic character in the movie, but it undermines even him by having his daughter suggest that he's mentally ill and a lot of what he says about his life is nonsense. Maybe Linklater felt like he had to throw that line in or there would be backlash and the movie would be banned. I mean, any mainstream movie having a character who praises an anarchist who assassinated a US president, that talks about anarchism as anything but Lord of the Flies-style mob rule, it seems hard to accept that it's not radical. I guess it is, in the sense that it got me thinking about this stuff at all, even if the movie doesn't necessarily endorse it. But that's just what I got out of it; someone else might very well think "look at all these losers, I don't want to be anything like them", which would make it anti-radical. I dunno. It's complicated. The fact that Linklater was friendly with Alex Jones as recently as 2006 (He gave Jones a cameo in A Scanner Darkly) makes me view Slacker differently than I might've. I don't think he's thought about his political beliefs all that critically.

Anyway, I kept thinking about that moment, and it made me think about what's important in my life, and what I really need to be happy, and I started making the shift towards intentional minimalism. I had already lived pretty minimally, because I don't drive, and when you count on the kindness of friends to help haul your stuff from one home to another on moving day, you tend to want to make their job as easy as possible. (I do, anyway.) Plus, even when I wasn't living in abject poverty, I still wasn't exactly raking it in, so my ability to acquire stuff never got out of control. I still wanted stuff, though. I still regretted not having more of it. I was still jealous of people who had, and felt bad about myself for being a have-not. Slacker was the beginning of my shift away from accumulationism.

It wasn't long after that I started really learning about capitalism, our economy, how much suffering is inflicted and sustained to make all this stuff possible. It became obvious that a drive to consume and accumulate was incompatible with a world hospitable to human life. So I thought about it, and tried to figure out what stuff I really need if I want to be happy.

I should clarify that when I say "stuff", that does not encompass what I feel are the basic necessities that any humane society should provide: healthy food, clean water, safe shelter, protection from the elements, sanitation, a comfortable and private place to sleep, clean and comfortable clothes. I'm not one of those anti-civ anarchists who lectures strangers about how we don't need washing machines because "body odor is a social construct". I mean it is, but I don't think it's one of the social constructs we need to force people to get over. If you think the way to save the planet is to tell people they should stop wanting hot showers and go back to washing clothes by hand when they wash them at all, then in my opinion your priorities are backwards. Nothing against the crustpunks, live the life you want to live, but if you wanna convince other people to join you, it's going to be an uphill battle.

Beyond the basic necessities, here's what I need to be happy:

• A laptop made some time in the last decade
• A good pair of headphones²
• An mp3 player (mine happens to double as a phone, which is a nice bonus)
• A backpack to keep this stuff in
• An internet connection
• A comfortable place to sit while I read, write, and do recreational 'rithmetic

...and that's pretty much it. An ebook reader is a nice bonus, and since they're cheap and last basically forever I'll throw that in too, but my laptop or Mp3 player can also double an ebook reader in a pinch. Same for a game controller; it's nice to have, but I can use the keyboard and/or mouse.

This isn't everything I own currently, but anything else is ultimately disposable, and any of these individual things can be replaced for $50-100. Computer and phone makers don't like it when you use the same one for a long time, and they make your life difficult if you try, but if your hardware is old enough and you have a little technical knowledge, you can get a nice long life out of them.

But even the stuff that goes in the backpack is just tools; any physical object I lose is a temporary setback. The important stuff is right here. What you're looking at. What truly matters, the stuff that makes me me, is what I read, and what I know, and what I think, and what I write, and what I say. That's all digital, it can be infinitely duplicated, I have backups all over the place, I never have to worry about losing any of it. No one can take it from me.

The internet connection and the comfortable place to sit are things I once felt confident I could always find. There are libraries everywhere, there are coffee shops and restaurants and parks and all kinds of nice places I could sit and work and play as long as I needed, as long as I didn't bother anyone. I even imagined that I might one day live sort of an itinerant lifestyle; If I can fit all the personal belongings I need in a backpack and a duffel bag, I can take my life anywhere. If I could figure out some way to get the money I need for the basic necessities without being rooted to a particular place, that, to me, would be true freedom.

Of course, I never expected a global pandemic. I never expected my society's murderous public health response. I never thought the political class would so happily sacrifice their constituents to the beast of accumulation, the death cult of economy. They didn't even put up a fight.

I never expected that even these extremely modest desires I allowed myself would be crushed, too. I can feel the specter of Ronald Wilson Reagan looking up at me from his dark throne. "So, you can be happy without stuff, can you? What do you think of this?" Maniacal laughter.

Yep, you got me. Now that I have to spend all my free time in my apartment, I wish I had some stuff. Good one, Ronnie. We all thought you were rotting away in hell, but we underestimated you. Of course if there was anyone who could usurp the devil and bring about the end times, it'd be you. 666 really was the number of the beast, after all 🦝

---

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The Price of Eggs, the Value of Taste

Thursday March 20th, 2025

Tags: archive, cats, currents, food, music, no-ai, personal, politics

One of my coworkers has an entire carton of eggs in the shared fridge. I don't know what they intend to do with them. We don't have a proper kitchen here. Maybe they have a little electric hob or griddle they plug in at their desk. It seems like an awfully inconvenient way to eat eggs. Maybe the jacked-up cost of eggs has given them a perceived value beyond their actual worth. They must be worth all the hassle if they cost nearly $8/doz, right?

Or maybe they're not here to be eaten. Maybe whoever it is is simply trying to keep the precious ovoids away from whatever greedy hands are fixing to crack them.

Me, I don't really get it. I like eggs fine, but their main value to me is as a cheap source of protein. If they're no longer cheap, I can get protein from other sources. Eggs have a little vitamin D, some B6, a tiny bit of iron, but there are plenty of other cheap ways to get those too. I guess I'd be upset if eggs were some incredible delicacy, but I don't think they're that tasty. To me they're mostly a vehicle delivery for salt and pepper. To each their own, I suppose.

I'm not saying the skyrocketing cost of eggs isn't annoying, I just don't think it's as big a deal as a lot of people seem to think. For example, I don't think it justifies allowing a fascist takeover of my country's government. If the choice is paying a lot for eggs or voting in the fascists—it wasn't, but even if it was—I'd be perfectly fine eating more chicken salad until prices go back to normal.

There's No Accounting for Taste

This is one of those clichés that's been repeated until it's lost all meaning, but I think it's a good way to describe the ways recommendation algorithms and "AI art" leave me wanting. Computers are good at dealing with quantifiable information, and the qualia, the subjective internal experiences that define our artistic tastes, are unquantifiable. There are no formulae a computer can understand that will communicate the reasons I like or don't like a particular piece of art.

There are a million examples I could pick, but let's take music. I intensely dislike the band Rush. On paper, one might think they'd be in my wheelhouse. I like progressive rock. I like complicated guitar stuff. I like vocalists with unique and unpolished voices. But I can't stand Rush. They never did anything for me. My dislike could stem from the fact that they have right-libertarian beliefs and wrote an album inspired by Ayn Rand, but I didn't like them before I knew that about them.¹

A computer could look at the fact that I like classic prog like Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull, and epic guitar/synth shreds from jam bands like Phish and The Disco Biscuits; and it might conclude oh, of course this person likes Rush. There's no way they couldn't. These elements add up to a perfectly Rush-shaped sum. But I don't like Rush. There's no accounting for taste.

There's no accounting for why "AI art" makes my skin crawl. A computer can look at a bunch of disparate elements and add them up into what its programming concludes is the most logically perfect distillate of art. But that has no bearing on whether it's something humans want to look at. There's no function that defines what makes people feel things.

Now, I'm a materialist.² I don't think anything about this process is the result of a soul, or a god, or anything supernatural.³ But that doesn't mean I think all of our subjective experiences can be quantified and codified. I think there are processes in the brain that we don't understand on a technical level, and are probably unknowable. And that's cool. It means philosophy and art can never be "solved". Our quest to understand and express ourselves is a constantly-evolving journey of learning and introspection. If it were possible to program a computer to make perfectly enjoyable human art, we'd lose an important source of meaning in our lives. Thank goodness it's all bullshit

Cat Food Flavors

I don't know why they sell cat food in flavors meant to appeal to humans. "Mixed Grill"? "Salmon Dinner"? "Prime Filets"? I think my cat would enjoy it just as much even if the can was labeled "Poop". And, well, from my perspective that would be a more accurate way to describe how it smells. Sunny will still eat it up, though. She likes other cheap proteins, like chicken and tuna, but she'll also go bananas for various whimsical flavors of nauseating meat paste. There's no accounting for taste 🦝

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A Foolish Blunder

Friday April 25th, 2025

Tags: blog, food, outside, personal

Today on my lunch break 5K,¹ I decided to stop at a gas station, one of a small handful of stores within a 30-minute radius of work, to get something different for lunch. It's not a good gas station, like a 7-Eleven or Sheetz, it's a second-tier regional chain inexplicably named "Par Mar".² But they at least have some refrigerator sandwiches.

They're one of many stores in my college town that won't let you in if you have a backpack, so I took out the bike lock I keep for this purpose and secured it to a disused air dispenser at the side of the store. I looped it through the fabric top-handle, which isn't the most secure thing in the world, someone with a decently sharp knife could saw through it, but I would only be a couple minutes, it's mainly to keep people from grabbing it and running off.

I picked out my items as quickly as possible, and I was in the checkout line when it occurred to me I didn't think to look at the combination before I closed the lock and scrambled it. Well, it had been awhile since I used it, but I knew for certain the first digit is a 2 and the last digit is a 6. The other two digits will come to me, I reassured myself. In fact, I was pretty sure it was 2586.

Well, I got out with my sandwich and jalapeño cheese puffs, and I entered the combination and realized that the numbers don't go up to 8. They only go up to 6. Okay, I thought, the 3 could easily be mistaken for an 8, so it must be 2536. Still no luck.

Panic set in. I tried a few more adjacent combinations, none of them worked. My lunch break time was steadily ticking away, and I had no idea what I was going to do. I started fiddling with it aimlessly, thinking about all the passers-by wondering what the hell I was doing for so long. I thought about going into the store and asking if they had a pair of bolt cutters I could borrow to destroy the lock, or barring that, a big knife to destroy my backpack. Finally, through sheer dumb luck I fell on the right combination. It's 2532.

So I'm back at work just as my hour was up, eating my crappy microwave burger³ and writing this as my inaugural post in my new blog, because if I post about it maybe I'll embarrass myself thoroughly enough to remember to check the combination next time 🦝

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A Foolish Blunder