Remarkable …

Yesterday’s post was first handwritten on my Remarkable2, then auto-transcribed to text, emailed to myself, and pasted into WordPress.

It’s been at least six months since I tried Remarkable’s writing-to-text service, and the improvement is, well … remarkable!

It still doesn’t recognize bulleted or numbered lists well, or even simple paragraph breaks. But after I pasted the text, I made only one correction to one mistranscribed character in this entire post; it even recognized ‘Tetlockian‘! I took the slightest bit of additional care to write neatly, but not enough to slow me down or distract from writing. And I wrote in my normal ~80/20 mix of cursive and printing.

I wonder if the improvement was the integration of newer and more powerful models, tuning, or if I’m just imagining it?

Previously, the Remarkable service struggled to recognize my writing’s characters themselves and struggled to identify word breaks properly, meaning it never was quite good enough justify using it. I would have to spend more energy on writing extra neatly than was worth it to get the transcribed text. So I would use the Remarkable2 only for my own notes, never when I would need the text. This is supposed to be a huge value prop of the platform, so I’m glad it’s working so much better now. I think it will reinvigorate my usage of the product.

The best part about a sabbatical.

As my sabbatical comes to an end, and I shift my attention to finding my next job, people have been asking me what has been the best or most rewarding part of this journey. The obvious answers are our wedding and honeymoon. But beyond those, the most rewarding thing I’ve done has been this blog.

Though I’ve fallen out of the habit lately—a dip in creative productivity that I’m taking as another sign it’s time to get back to work—when I was writing every day, a bit of alchemy started to occur.

I felt awakened to a new dimension of experience, which is exactly what I was seeking on this journey. Writing acted as an agent of sublimation for all my sabbatical adventures, pulling together experiences and relating them to each other, so a bigger picture could emerge as if through transmutation.

I hope to find a place for daily or weekly writing in my routine when I get back to work, though I don’t know what it will look like. For now, I’m recommitting to daily writing for the remainder of my time off.

Steve!

I’ve started rewatching Sex and the City. Early in Season 2, the formula is already well-established: the characters meet people, date them, and then Carrie muses and interprets it all for her column (typed on her Apple PowerBook G3, in bed with Chinese food). In one episode, Miranda is complaining endlessly about her luck with men. Guy after guy (including the one she’s interested in) is looking right past her and jumping into long-term relationships with her friends and acquaintances. Just as Miranda’s self-pity is reaching a fever pitch, and Kelly and I were both heckling her through the TV, exhorting her to stop complaining, when something surprising happened.

Miranda is awaiting Carrie at a bar for a Girl Date date, but Carrie stands her up; Carrie has forgotten Miranda to have dinner with Mr. Big. Sitting among drunk NYU kids, Miranda decides to indulge her sorrows and orders another glass of wine. The camera pans to the bartender:

My viewing partner and I sat up straight and nearly shouted, “STEVE!” I couldn’t believe the reaction we both had to seeing this character for the first time in more than a decade. It was immediate and emotional. Dormant staying power like this indicates great writing, and even better casting. Starting with just a wry smile, actor David Eigenberg’s charisma and charm steal the scene instantly. And he continues to steal every scene he’s in.

My reaction was heightened by Miranda’s threnody-level lamentations, but I’m right where the writers want me to be when we meet this character. This makes me want to rewatch more great shows, especially because so many of today’s ~~good~~ prestige shows are actually bad (yes I said it!).

Just like Curb Your Enthusiasm, Sex in the City is a fascinating time capsule, presenting a sharp vision of popular culture in the early 2000s. To rewatch Curb is to experience how much daily life has changed, because of the show’s reliance on technology and manners for plot devices. Though it’s also a show largely about manners, what you notice rewatching Sex and the City isn’t what has changed, but what has stayed the same. The characters alternate between horrible dates and “Is He The One?” affairs. Dating is often exciting, but usually a slog. Sometimes the men are horrible to the main characters, and sometimes they’re horrible to the men. Sure, an answering machine or pager occasionally shows up, but the episodes aren’t about that. Many of them feel like they could have been written today, excepting for the conspicuous absence of dating apps.

To rewatch Sex and the City is an experience in pathos, which feels less like a time capsule, more timeless.

“I wouldn’t open that door.”

“I wouldn’t go down that alley.”

“I wouldn’t answer that phone.”

“It’s a trap. Run away!”

I love horror movies. Part of the genre’s fun is in imagining what you’d do differently as you watch the characters navigate their world. Of course, we all believe we’d be smarter than at least first victims–we wouldn’t open that door or answer that phone.

But last night, I learned I shouldn’t be quite so confident. I was leaving my improv class. It was late, dark, cold, and rainy. As I unlocked my car, there was a sound. It was just like a car door closing. It came from just a few feet away, but there were no other cars around. The block was deserted.

I looked at the car. I’d been half-distracted, still on some adrenaline from class. So I focused up and tried to replay the sound in my head, wondering whether I’d imagined it. Had someone been crouching behind my car and gotten in? Almost certainly I’d misheard. That I knew. So I got in the car. Still it nagged me.

“Obviously, no one is here. But I may as well check.” Phone flashlight on. Back seats clear. “May as well finish checking.” Out of the car, open the trunk, all clear.

I could see the whole block under the yellow street lamps, there was nothing around, nowhere to lurk. There was only one more place to check–under the car. But now my heart rate was way up. In the horror-movie version, the killer would be lying prone on the street under the car. I knew there was no one, but still I had to psych myself up to look …

… all clear.

The best horror movies create a world in which the character has options, but none of them are good. You the viewer can’t imagine what you’d do differently.

I could have started home, 99.9% sure I had no unwelcome passenger. But probably I’d have arrived home only 99.5%. If I’d still resisted checking once in the garage, I’d have been thinking about it as I lay in bed.

In the moment on the street, I was more embarrassed at myself than I was scared. In the gentle light of day, I’m laughing at myself. I’m replaying it again, enjoying memory like a little movie in my head. But on that empty block, in that yellow light, just a few blocks away from the actual setting of many famous horror-film murders, I wasn’t 0% scared.

I’m finally taking an improv class.

I’m finally taking an improv class. Am I nervous? Yes, and excited. Improv comedy may be Chicago’s most important export, and is such a big part of cultural life in the city. Everybody knows somebody who is or has been deep in the improv game, moving up the levels at Second City, etc. Spending my 20s and 30s in Chicago, I always expected I’d eventually try it. Now I’m 35 and have time now, so it feels like now or never. Of course I’m not trying for SNL or anything. But I wanted to experience this part of Chicago’s culture before this phase of my life is over.

I did a little research on which class to take, but ultimately selected the program offered by my favorite place to see shows, the iO Theater. Last night was my first class, and I almost chickened out. But one of my rules for the sabbatical is to move toward the things that are scary. Mostly I was worried I’d be obviously the oldest person there, which wasn’t the case.

It was a blast. Uncomfortable in the right ways, and supportive in the right ways. Our teacher Sarah has a practiced but natural command of the room, obviously developed during her many hours onstage. She’s funny, obviously. Her advice to me after my first practice scene: “Make bigger choices.” I’m looking forward to the next eight weeks!

Some friends asked me to officiate their wedding.

Some friends asked me to officiate their wedding. I’m so honored! As most readers here will know, I love public speaking and one of my sabbatical goals is to practice as much as possible this year.

This wedding will be an opportunity to practice both writing and speaking, and in both efforts to summon as much heart and what little wisdom I can. I hope to be worthy of the occasion and to honor my friends.

Retrace your steps.

Retrace your steps. When you’re missing something, or feeling lost, stuck, or blocked. The other day I misplaced my favorite hat, then found it by retracing my steps.

Today I wasn’t sure what to write about, so I pulled a card from Oblique Strategies, and the card said, “Retrace your steps.” Oblique Strategies is a deck of cards with short encouragements, non-sequiturs, and pseudo-aphorisms, meant to clear creative blocks and promote lateral thinking. When you’re stuck, you pull a card, and try to do exactly what it says. Or, do the opposite. Or, do nothing, and just see what happens. Some other cards, pulled at random:

Breathe more deeply
Emphasize differences
Work at a different speed
Infinitesimal gradations
Discover the recipes you are using and abandon them
Turn it upside down
Do something boring
Tape your mouth
Honor thy error as a hidden intention

I’ve been carrying my Oblique Strategies deck with me the past few days. This morning my dad and I were reminiscing about a trip we took together 18 years ago to see the Steelers in the Super Bowl. Reliving it as an adult, specific memories felt entirely new to me, not in content but in context. So for the rest of today, I’m going to try to retrace my steps both physically and metaphorically, to see what seems new, what seems familiar, and what surprises me.

PS–if you’re interested, you can buy a deck here, or use this free online version.

“I think you’d do well on the internet.”

“I think you’d do well on the internet.” This is what a friend told me last night, and then we all laughed. We were discussing my blogging goals, our absence from social media, personal posts invading LinkedIn, and the contrasts between “cheugy” and “twee.”

For now, I’m happy if a few close friends and family read this. But who knows, maybe I’ll find my voice and find a niche in the blogosphere. So what do you think, can I make it on the internet?