Birdfeeding
Feb. 23rd, 2026 11:38 amI fed the birds. I've seen a flock of sparrows.
I put out water for the birds.
.

(and I promise I’m not gonna get sick this time if I can possibly help it. )
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February 20th, 2026: Thanks everyone who came out to Vancouver Fan Expo! I had a ton of fun and really enjoyed all the chats!! – Ryan | ||

I am almost back to normal – just a cough and a sore throat for the most part, which means everyone else was right when they told me this mange going around lasts three weeks or so.
I have just been informed that a new coffee shop has opened, around the corner from me. When Uber came to town last month, I considered using it to get to Leigh, where Little Fin Roastery is, and then I caught the mange. And then Uber pulled out of town, apparently because they didn’t want to meet the council’s standards on private car hire. I am not Uber’s biggest fan, but huge chunks of my area are poorly served by public transport and I’m not walking for an hour and a half just to get a decent cup of coffee. And my deli of choice doesn’t do coffee! So I’m going to walk up to the new place in an hour and see if it will serve as a morning office. And once my chest is cleared and my voice comes back, I’ll be using the deli as my afternoon office for half the week, drinking £10 glasses of fancy wine and telling myself I am getting a great deal of thinking done and I have begun the great leap forwards.
TODAY:
OPERATIONS: I have a huge consulting job to nail down and a prose serial project to solve and it all needs to be done this week. And I’m out on Saturday night, so I need to land the newsletter before then, too. I am copy-typing out of a notebook for the next hour.
STATUS: I really need to stop buying clothes and I really need to stop looking at the watches at Sputnik1957.
READING: READING: THE BIG THREE: SOCRATES, PLATO, ARISTOTLE, Neel Burton (UK) (US+)
…first prize went to the Wineflask, in which the almost centenarian Cratinus defended his own drinking with the line, ‘You’ll never fashion anything clever by drinking water!’
LISTENING:
MISSION CONTROL: I can be contacted via the Cheng Caplan Company or Inkwell Management. Link in masthead to join my free newsletter.
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I promise you that I am doing other things with my time than just making cover songs, but I am making cover songs too. For this one I decided to actually play some of my stringed instruments, so whenever you hear guitar or bass on this track, that’s me fumbling about either on my Little Prince SG, or my Bass VI. I’m not ready to go on tour with either instrument, but it’s good enough (uh, with maybe a smidge of quantizing) for this song. Hope you like it.
— JS
That's what I'm fucking talking about.
As she was leaving the ice after her gold-medal winning performance this week, figure skater Alysa Liu turned to the camera that was inches from her face and, beaming, yelled "That's what I'm fucking talking about." It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. The joy of accepting who you truly are, of no longer conforming to the boundaries that have constrained you. The joy of being free.
Liu's story has been told so many times now that I probably don't need to repeat it here, but the short version is that was one of the best figure skaters in the world as a child and at just 16 she shocked the skating world by announcing her retirement from the sport. She wasn't happy, she was burnt out, she was done. A few years later she came back to competitive skating, but she came back transformed: hair dyed, face pierced, and completely out of fucks to give. Her performance at the Olympics was a culmination and a celebration and a reminder that, as poet Toi Derricotte once wrote, "joy is an act of resistance."
I'm not an ice skating guy—in fact I'm pretty sure my last time in skates was on a date when I was 22 and I slipped so hard that I split open the entire inseam of my pants. I do not know a triple lux from a double whatever. But I know what joy is. I know what it feels like to put it all out there and leave nothing behind. I know what it means to see the path you're supposed to walk and to walk another way. I know what it means to be free.
This wasn't the first time this month that we got to see something this radically joyful, performed in front of millions.
After Bad Bunny's infectious Super Bowl halftime performance, essayist Soraya Nadia McDonald commented that he "makes art so alluring and enjoyable you want to understand everything about it and then you end up learning about sugar and slavery and colonialism and the Taínos and Hawaii and then you probably have some thoughts of your own, and that's why art is powerful and dangerous."
Art is radicalizing in the revelations it creates.
I was unable to walk away from that halftime show and not want to know everything about the story Bad Bunny was telling in the same way that I couldn't watch Liu's joyful gold medal-winning skate and not want to dive deep into what made her throw it all away and build it back up on her terms.
That there have been two high-profile examples of this kind of radicalizing joy on the largest possible stages in less than a month feels like a balm for the relentless shit we have been living under as ICE has destroyed our communities. It is a reminder that even right now, even as the fight rages on, there is time for joy, there is time for art, there is time to celebrate difference and self, and to insist that you too can be free.
Because they want you to forget that.
There is a reason why the administration has cracked down on the arts and humanities alongside its brutal assault on migrants. It knows that art is dangerous, that knowledge leads to asking questions, and that those questions don't always lead where they want you to go.
One of the pillars of fascism is conformity. In this country we see it unfolding in front of us every day. Those that don't speak English, those that are brown and black, are being rounded up by masked thugs. Those that speak up are labeled traitors. Universities are being blackmailed. History that doesn't line up with the administration's white supremacist views is being erased. Those that teach, those that make art, are called radicals and their livelihoods are threatened.
An ice skating performance at the Olympics or a Super Bowl halftime show may not seem like much in the ever-lengthening shadow of fascism, but they are a reminder that change is possible, that our lives are worth fighting for, that freedom is achievable, and that joy—real joy, the kind of joy that you want to surround yourself with and bask in its transformative glow—is one of the most radical things there is.
Because in spite of the administration's crackdowns, in spite of the masked bastards, in spite of everything, people are still speaking up, people are still making art, people are still teaching real history, people are still fighting back against the abduction of their neighbors. People still know what it means to feel joy. People still know what it means to be free.