Wednesday, March 24, 2021

the weather

Written back in March, posted 2021-07-14. Discusses a mass shooting.

I moved out of Boulder almost a decade ago. Writing this now, I don’t remember if I thought I was making a decision about leaving Boulder. I think I figured I’d be back sooner or later. I was just getting worn out on living in basements, my landlords upstairs were about to have a baby, and it seemed like time to make a change. When I went to look, it turned out I could rent a massive old 3 bedroom house in one of the L-towns for what a decent above-ground apartment was running in Boulder.

When I left, the exodus of most people I knew in town was just getting underway. The stuff that made it permanent seems pretty concrete and inescapable now, but it accumulated gradually. One formulaic conversation about real estate and the money moving in at a time; the same story as every other place in America that people from somewhere else want to live.

Looking back on it now, those two years in a basement in South Boulder were the best that town ever treated me. Martian Acres, with Martin Park for a back yard. The bike path all the way out to Gunbarrel for work, or jamming onto the crowded bus up Broadway. Beers at the Southern Sun, breakfast at the Walnut Cafe to go with the hangovers.

There’s nothing much extraordinary about that part of town. As far as I know, it’s just 1950s and 60s development that grew into something lived in. Cheap little ranch houses on irrationally curving streets. It felt a little more real than the places the money had completely eaten by then, and by virtue of that reality also maybe a little weirder in the way things around here are supposed to be weird. They get fewer by the year, but Boulder as I knew it was a place of little pocket-universe neighborhoods. You’d find yourself in some hidden corner and think: This is how it used to be. This is why people keep coming back.

People in that part of town were good to me. It’s the part I always feel like I can still imagine living in.

There are things you remember about a neighborhood. Mundane but also defining. I wind up with strong opinions about grocery stores. The Table Mesa one was my favorite King Soopers around here. Nice produce selection, friendly people at the checkout.

A couple of days ago, a guy walked in the door there and shot ten people to death with, most probably, an AR-15 knockoff. Nobody I know died, though I was as worried about that as I’ve ever been during one of these.

Some unbelievable asshole was streaming from the parking lot on YouTube during all of this. I watched more of it than I feel good about, with a more acute version of that same sick dread you feel when a tornado is bearing down on somewhere you know.

This is the weather in America. If you live in a place where the violence is usually at a distance, you put it in the mental background. You figure today probably isn’t the day a mass murder hits while you’re picking up groceries or going to work. Most days aren’t. You’d take sensible precautions but there aren’t any to take. It’s like living in tornado alley, but you can’t look for a house with a basement.

I hate my country.

tags: boulder, colorado, violence

p1k3 / 2021 / 3 / 24

Tuesday, March 23, 2021

The RMS thing has come up again. I wrote at some length about this back in October of 2019. I felt messed up about it then, and I still do. If anybody wants or needs my opinions, they haven’t changed much since I wrote that piece.

Anyway, I signed the open letter. I could quibble with aspects of the demands there, but I guess this feels like a necessary push right now. A lot of friends and colleagues are on that list, and it seems like for the right reasons.

I don’t want to see the Free Software Foundation destroyed. I would very much like to see it saved from some of the worst impulses in this scene. If that can’t happen, then we as a community probably need to stop treating the FSF as a useful proxy for the radical libre software position and put that effort, time, and money into less damaged undertakings.

At any rate: I won’t personally renew my membership with the FSF until, and unless, meaningful changes are made.

tags: free-software, richard-stallman

p1k3 / 2021 / 3 / 23

Sunday, March 14, 2021

reading: a desolation called peace

A Desolation Called Peace, Arkady Martine, Tor Books, March 2021.

The followup to A Memory Called Empire, which I read in November of last year. More overtly Space Opera in its plot mechanics and fantasy physics, but digs deeper into the first novel’s most interesting ideas, and pays off all over the place. Doubled themes of memory, language, theory-of-mind, small cultures surviving at great cost in the face of larger ones, cultures and polities transformed by what they attempt to subsume.

I have marginal notes like “this is so fucking good” in a couple of places. If this is a kind of thing you enjoy, you will very likely enjoy this instance of it.

tags: arkady-martine, books, reading, sfnal

p1k3 / 2021 / 3 / 14

Wednesday, March 3, 2021

We loved computers: That’s a simplification, almost a category error. What happened is we found computers, we got on the network, and before long we lived as much inside the possibility space of computing as we did anywhere else.

Maybe what we got wrong is this: From the beginning, computers appeared to us as a kind of liberation. Because we were young and our horizons were close, we mistook the ways they opened the world to us for their most important quality. What we couldn’t see then was that they were born as instruments of the oppressor, and would help us become the same.

Even when we grasped that the scaffolding of computation came from power, when we were running free around those systems we felt like we understood their real purpose in a way that the institutions that built and purchased them couldn’t. Nevermind that they couldn’t exist without an industrial economy, ranked tiers of exploited workers, and a relentlessly degraded environment.

Computation was a power that we could see how to take for ourselves. It unfolded in front of us in a way that the authorities in our lives could, for the most part, barely even perceive. Sometimes they’d glimpse it and lash out in fear or contempt. We mistook their fear for a sign we were on the right track.

And maybe some of us were, for a while. But we didn’t understand that what power serves is usually power itself.

p1k3 / 2021 / 3 / 3