Scratch Pad: (Sorta) Back

From the past week

At the end of each week, I usually collate a lightly edited collection of recent comments I’ve made on social media, which I think of as my public scratch pad. I tag on what books I may have finished reading. Knowing I’ll revisit my social media posts, I’ve found, serves as a positive and mellowing influence on my online activity. I mostly hang out on Mastodon (at post.lurk.org/@disquiet), and I’m also trying out a few others. And I generally take weekends off social media.

I took an extended social media (and adjacent) break, from mid-November through the start of January 2026. I’m now back.

Or perhaps back-ish. This past week felt a little off. I didn’t post much, not on social media, that is, and less so than usual in discussion groups I’m on. I posted a little bit more than elsewhere on Facebook, which is purposefully a bit of a wall of garden, but even then not much. I did, as was true to varying degrees through my hiatus, have the instinct to continue to “post” things in my scratch pad, things I hadn’t on social media. Which is good. It’s a way to still capture things and share them publicly on a weekly basis, just not in the social media mode, which is more in-the-moment. I won’t here dissect my thinking, but I am reflecting on it. And to be clear, I take heaps of notes over a given week on a variety of topics. This scratch pad mode is just its own loosely defined narrow subset.

▰ Siri is set on my iPhone to the female South African voice, which to my ear is the available female voice in the lowest register. At some point recently, this voice’s tone appears to have changed. It is less oddly playful, and the change is perfectly fine by me. The way it used to say “okay,” which it does frequently, used to be like it was saying “Okay, cheeky monkey.” Now it says “okay” more matter-of-factly, like “Okay, I’ll continue adding amino acids to this peptide.”

▰ When I speak to machines over the course of a given day:

  • MacWhisper on laptop to transcribe stray thoughts
  • MacWhisper on laptop to get rough transcripts of conversations
  • Whisper Notes on iPhone to transcribe stray thoughts
  • built-in Apple MacBook, iPhone, or CarPlay speech-to-text, the latter requiring Siri

▰ A particular highlight of the holiday break was playing a bunch of new-to-me games, notably the card game Compile, which I am just loving. Anyone else out there playing it? Metal is my go-to protocol, and Gravity and Death are great, too. Been exploring the two three-protocol expansions, as well.

▰ Apparently you can, in Buttondown, schedule way far in advance, because for a moment I had the next #DisquietJunto project set to go out on January 8, 22,026. Fortunately I caught the error.

▰ Is it too late to start this year over?

▰ Finished the first book I’ve read in full this year, Flesh by David Szalay. It’s a novel, a rags-to-riches story, in which the majority of people, when asked how they are or how something is, reply “Okay.” This word can be read as a signal both of how they’re not entirely sure, and of how they don’t really have much vocabulary, or much in the way of awareness, to form a response. Occasionally, if things are going well, they may say “Nice.” They may choose between things and state one is a favorite; in search of conversation, they may ask one another which is their favorite. Apparently this book was the favorite of the Booker Prize committee this past year. The novel is taut and, in terms of literary sensibility, often monotone, which makes sense in the context of the main character, who is quite damaged, but the tone remains pretty much the same even when the story oddly ditches him to portray moments between other characters that the (anti-hero-ish) protagonist doesn’t observe. He is almost absurdly magnetic to women, up there with James Bond and Neil Diamond, and if this book becomes a movie with, say, Michael Fassbender or Alexander Skarsgård as the lead, when he sleeps with the next-to-last person with whom he does in the book, the audience may, unless serious directorial precautions are taken, laugh out loud. In the New York Times, Dwight Garner says “It’s a very complicated plot.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. The best thing, and the closest thing to complication, about the storytelling is how Szalay introduces gaps: time jumps ahead, and you have to sort out how much time has passed, not that Szalay keeps any such period secret for long. So, how is the book? It’s okay.

Scratch Pad: Final Days of Hiatus

From the past week

At the end of each week, I usually collate a lightly edited collection of recent comments I’ve made on social media, which I think of as my public scratch pad — and I tag on what books I may have finished reading. Knowing I’ll revisit my social media posts, I’ve found, serves as a positive and mellowing influence on my online activity. I mostly hang out on Mastodon (at post.lurk.org/@disquiet), and I’m also trying out a few others. And I generally take weekends off social media.

Right now, though, I’m on a more extended social media (and adjacent) break, through the start of January 2026. (This marks my last weekend before I get back on that horse.) Which raises the question: when I’m on such a hiatus, what constitutes this site’s Scratch Pad, since this Saturday habit is, by definition, a collation of stuff I posted to social media throughout the given previous week? Apparently it’s random notes I make to myself that I would have posted online, plus bits I’ve sent to friends via email and other means. Just because I’ve stopped posting doesn’t mean my brain has stopped making posts. Anyhow, here’s this past week’s roundup:

▰ The last time I had social media posts to share was mid-November. I’ve gotten deep enough into the annual hiatus to not fully remember. I actually had to look back to confirm when it started, and I’m taking my lack of certainty as a good sign: the hiatus has been successful. I’ve found I’m making fewer than ever cursory notes as the given day goes by. Just have a few this week. I have some other thoughts on the digital break, and I may flesh them out later.

▰ On the second floor of the San Jose Art Museum right now, if you stand in the right place, you can hear two art installations overlap: a recording by Futurefarmers, as part of the Young Bay Mud exhibit, featuring the San Jose State University marching band, and solo female Hmong vocalists, in a work devised by the artist Pao Houa Her. The combination of the pair is (semi?) unintentionally fantastic.

▰ I’ve mentioned the little waveforms on my iPhone that appear when I’m speaking with someone. This is on an iPhone 17 Pro, with the “dynamic island,” running iOS 26. I hadn’t shown previously what they look like: the green is me, and the orange is someone else. This is when we were both speaking at the same time. Note this is a still image, while the waveforms vibrate and grow larger and smaller, depending on the individual speaking.

▰ As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner is one of many books entering the public domain this year. It especially lends itself to the zombie treatment, say As I Lay Undying?

▰ Why doesn’t Audacity have the ability to save a single clip to an audio file?

▰ I finished reading one book this past week, just before the year ended: Jinwoo Park’s cross-cultural thriller Oxford Soju Club, which features North Koreans, South Koreans, and a Korean-American, all fish out of water in Oxford, England. It was the 27th and final novel I read in 2025. I posted the full list earlier this week. I’m now well into Flesh, by David Szalay, and that’ll likely be the first novel I finish reading in 2026.

On Pressure and Being Particular

Some guidance on the Disquiet Junto

This following guidance regarding Disquiet Junto projects was included in the email announcement newsletter that went out on Thursday, January 1, 2026:

The instructions for this week’s project are the same as those for the very first Disquiet Junto, way back in January 2012, exactly 14 years ago this week. It’s a fresh start to a new year.

Since this is a ripe time for resolutions, I want to clarify that there is no intention inherent in the Disquiet Junto that people should do every project every week. Certainly feel free, but don’t take on any unnecessary pressure. The Junto projects go out weekly simply so they are dependable: when you have the time and interest, they are ready for you.

I will mention one other thing, which is that it’s recommended not to concern yourself too much with whether a given project feels like your thing; often people have had the best results and the most rewarding experience by taking on a random project, regardless of their cultural and procedural predilections.

28 Novels Read in 2025

The good old books

I finished reading 28 novels this year. There are 27 listed below, because the 28th is an unpublished one by someone who asked me to help edit it. In addition, I started to read and then stopped reading several novels, notably George Eliot’s Middlemarch, which I got 25% of the way through, then waited six-plus months, and then started over from the beginning, and I’m now about 13% of the way through. It’s funny to come across highlighted passages and be like, “What did this mean to me?” In any case, I’ve found a through line of interest, and even if Eliot’s attention to courtship gets monotonous, I trust I’ll finish it in 2026. Moby Dick and Blood Meridian, both of which I did complete, were part of an ongoing attempt to tackle classics I haven’t dug much in the past, the same process that got me into Middlemarch. I got through those two, but I can’t say they particularly registered with me. Two of the novels listed here are re-reads: Cryptonomicon (my fourth time through) and The Good Soldier (for the first time since my teens). I may have read The Talented Mr. Ripley previously, decades back, but even if so I had zero particular memory of it this time around. I read the first of the two Elmer Kelton books because I read True Grit, by Charles Portis, last year and then was making my way through the absurdly nihilistic Blood Meridian this year, and recognized I had never read a “real” western, and asked a friend to recommend several. After reading, and really digging, one Kelton, I immediately read a second. I’ve put + signs next to a selection of books I particularly recommend, though take those with a grain of salt. If you ask me in a few months, the recommendations will likely shift.

  • C.S. Lewis — The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
  • Jakob Kerr — Dead Money
  • + Neal Stephenson — Cryptonomicon
  • Ford Madox Ford — The Good Soldier
  • Cory Doctorow — Walkaway
  • Ali Smith — Autumn
  • + Joan Didion — Play It as It Lays
  • + Adrian Tchaikovsky — Children of Time
  • Michael Connelly — The Black Echo (Bosch Vol. 1)
  • Stephen King — The Long Walk
  • Patricia Highsmith — The Talented Mr. Ripley
  • Michael Connelly — The Black Ice (Bosch, Vol. 2)
  • Sandro Veronesi — The Hummingbird
  • Marie-Helene Bertino — Beautyland
  • C. A. Higgins — Lightness
  • Ray Nayler  — The Mountain in the Sea
  • Elmer Kelton — The Day the Cowboys Quit
  • + Elmer Kelton — The Good Old Boys
  • + Rudy Rucker — Software
  • + Mick Herron — Clown Town
  • + Laurie Colwin — Goodbye Without Leaving
  • Herman Melville — Moby Dick
  • Cormac McCarthy — Blood Meridian
  • Ian McEwan — What We Can Know
  • Sarah Gailey — Spread Me
  • Jon Fosse — Morning and Evening
  • Jinwoo Park — Oxford Soju Club

The above doesn’t include non-fiction or graphic novels, which I track less closely. Maybe I’ll be more attentive to documenting those reads in 2026.

Edge of the World / End of the Year

Looking out

Likely the last hike of the year, given the imminent rain. Up and down Mori Point, where it’s unclear when the rock ends and the dirt begins. Then some fine ramen for dinner, followed by an old Agnès Varda movie, Cléo from 5 to 7 (1962), I’d never seen before. Watched at home on the TV, yeah, but start to finish, never hit pause once. Absolutely fantastic sound. There’s a scene early on when the title protagonist enters a cafe, and between the street noise and the interior cacophony, a vehicle is heard passing by, and it’s like a strip of ribbon covers the seam of the transition. Later, she exits a building and there’s a little boy banging at the curb on a tiny toy piano. The score then fades in, and its rattling arrangement clearly adopts the child’s playing. Those are just two moments among myriad in a remarkable film.