James Bleifus

The Pre-Raphs looked at paintings in their time and decided that art, beginning with Raphael, had moved in the wrong direction. So they sought to return to an earlier aesthetic – one that was pre-Raphael. The idea that we look backwards to better times when things go wrong seems common to me. That approach has fueled my newly found love for open-source software and user-repairable hardware.

One area I've been reconsidering is my web host. I have no complaints about Squarespace except that I'm not likely their target customer. I may have been their ideal customer 10 or 15 years ago, but now they seem more focused on businesses than the small blogger. I suspect that most small bloggers are on Substack these days hoping to monetize their writing.

I considered hosting my own WordPress server but decided that I don't want to invest the effort (especially after the Anthropic debacle). As I'm moving forward with A Dark Wind Howls, I'm finding my time constrained.

So I investigated. It was a toss-up between a small company in New York and a couple of companies in Switzerland. Cory Doctorow has been discussing the “post-American internet” (one that's more free of government surveillance, which is to say an internet that's more free), so I thought I'd try the Swiss hosts. I use Proton, which is also based in Switzerland, for virtually all of my online needs, and overall they've been outstanding.

While I love Proton, my experience with these other Swiss companies was underwhelming. One host even asked me to send my passport to them over bare email (not even offering an encrypted link) to which I replied with a hard “no.” Apparently, no one has told them about identity theft. So, I switched to the company in New York, named Write.as.

Write.as is its own open-source platform, distinct from WordPress. I could self-host it if I wanted. What I like about Write.as is that its founder, Matt, isn't someone who's trying to take over the world. He's trying to build a sustainable business that will last his lifetime. How refreshing. He comes across as the antithesis of the Doctor Evil tech bro Silicon Valley type. When you read his blog you learn that he's someone who's out starting writing groups. Like Framework, that's the sort of company I want to support – someone who isn't shitting on their users and the world.

It helps that Write.as and I share the same aesthetic – a blog that looks like a book page. Visually, all I've really had to do is change the fonts.

So, unless something goes drastically wrong, this will be my last Squarespace post. If you subscribe via my newsletter, you'll receive a confirmation email soon asking you to confirm your interest. If you're an RSS reader, I'll submit a 301 redirect which should transfer the feed. Please visit bleifus.com and resubscribe if you don't see a new post for a while.

While, based on my experience, the world might not be quite ready for a post-American internet, that time is coming. Until then, I think it's certainly ready for open-source software and dis-empowering these tech bro Silicon Valley companies.

I have finally finished the first draft of my screenplay, A Dark Wind Howls. For years, actually decades, I've carried this story in me. It first came to me in the early '90s, but only as a fragment. Over time, I tried building the story, but the right approach remained elusive. What I ended up with was a conventional, boring tale with an interesting plot twist. My reach far exceeded my grasp. Until recently.

While I didn't realize it before, I lacked the life experience to write the story given to me. One would think that serving in a war and a riot, getting an MA in English, and working in Apple Retail (it was at Steve Jobs' Apple that I genuinely came to understand what creativity is) would give me the experience to write anything. Ha! Not even close.

I tried to force the story into creation as a motion comic around 2010 and failed miserably. I wasn't up to the task. Again, it was a conventional, boring telling of a rich and unconventional story. The ending was flat, the characters wooden, and I couldn't find the path forward. I'm fortunate it failed, because that story has now finally been born with all the complexity it deserves.

It turned out that I didn't need to experience wars and riots to write this story, but the right sort of travel. Climbing sacred mountains and visiting cave shrines in remote Thailand. Meditating alone in Huyền Không Cave in Da Nang’s Marble Mountains, where I listened to the dripping water and the wind howling through the keyholes in the karst. Visiting ruins and mountain temples in Viet Nam. These were the experiences I needed, along with my extended deep dive into Carl Jung's theories, readings of Parabola magazine (specifically the D.M. Dooling years), meditation, yoga, and even my Framework laptop (a bicycle for my mind). These events and practices provided the tools that allowed the story to come into being. What I thought was a dark fantasy tale of hate and revenge is actually two love stories: one successful, and one broken.

I began writing in earnest a month ago, and the screenplay wrote itself. It's always good when you dream your story. A central character appeared whom I hadn't seen before, or only dimly, and she began taking over. Not in the sense of dominating the story, but in the sense of speaking for herself and interacting with the other characters in a way that exposed their complexity. She was there all along, but I didn't recognize her. One character who was too dominant receded, becoming more quiet, more mysterious, and more menacing, just as he should be, and the narrative balanced. After that, things fell into place.

A little over a month ago, I told a friend over dinner that I expected to finish A Dark Wind Howls near year's end. Yet now, just five weeks later, the first draft is done, and I'm thrilled. The writing feels full and contains the rich layers it demands.

What's next? I'm printing the script out and placing it in a drawer for a month. Then I'll view it with fresh eyes for the second writing. I may revisit it later for additional drafts, or I may begin immediately animating it. Who can say?

I've long believed that the first role of art is to change the artist. That may be why photography puttered out for me; it didn't allow for the sort of flexibility I needed. A Dark Wind Howls has certainly changed me, and continues to change me as I seek to understand and extend the different themes it raised.

This may be my first and last screenplay. I can't imagine writing another story that is this fulfilling, though I'm never one to speak for the muse. She may visit me again at any moment. For now, once I'm finished with production, the time may have come for me to switch to painting until (and if!) another story idea presents itself.

I'd hoped to post this on April 1, but life, as it tends to do, got in the way. A family member was in a motorbike accident and broke her leg in three places. She and her youngest daughter have come to stay with me until she heals. I expect them to be here a while, and I'm enjoying their company.

During a recent trip to California, I cleaned out some of my storage and stumbled upon this Apple book about 1998. I'd forgotten I had it. I've been reviewing it these past few weeks to stoke my creativity.

Today, it's hard to believe how electrified the world was when Steve Jobs returned to Apple. At the time, I was working at Office Depot, and everyone thought Apple was dead. I was one of the few naively hanging on—perhaps because I knew a few people at university who still used Macs.

Actually, it wasn't just Steve Jobs' return that electrified the world—it was the iMac. This strange device, which relied solely on USB ports and looked like it had stepped right out of The Jetsons, made a massive splash. Because the home computer market was still nascent (people regularly told me they thought they were the only ones left who hadn't bought a computer), there was still room for the iMac to have a tremendous impact. I don't think any new product, even AI, could have the same effect today.

It's little known that eMachines released an iMac knockoff within weeks of the Bondi Blue iMac shipping. It was clearly a cheaper, less artistic version. eMachines shipped so quickly that I've always wondered whether someone tipped them off or if their supply chain was simply that responsive.

In stores like Office Depot, end-cap displays are usually sold at a premium. So when you see Tide or a computer like eMachines featured there, it's because they paid extra for that prime location. eMachines—at least in our store, which ranked second in sales company-wide—bought the spot near the center of the main aisle where everyone walked. And it worked. The iMac knockoff sold briskly.

I expected Apple to send a cease-and-desist immediately, but sales of the eMachines computer went on longer than I anticipated. That was a long time ago, but I recall it selling for a week or two. Finally, a restraining order halted sales, and the eMachines knockoff sat on our end cap, taunting Windows users because we couldn't sell it.

The iMac truly electrified 1998. Combined with the “Think Different” campaign that had launched the year before, Apple's direction during the Steve Jobs era was set—and the magic was complete.

The Framework 13

It's Apple's 50th anniversary soon, and I'm thinking about Gateway Country, a company that few of us remember. It should have been Apple, except that it abandoned its core values and failed.

I'm thinking about how Apple has changed over the past 15 years, and I'm reflecting on my own recent tech decisions—particularly my choice to leave Apple products behind due to quality and customer support issues—and wondering what the tech industry will look like in 20 years. The future, it seems to me, doesn't lie with those who've abandoned their core beliefs for huge profits. It lies with those who stay true to their values and focus on building bicycles for the mind rather than profits for investors.

I bought my first Mac, an LC II with a 20 MB hard drive and 4 MB of RAM, back in 1992. This was after months of suffering through two Packard Bells running Windows 3.0 that I'd bought from Costco. Once I went Mac, I never looked back—until now. A string of customer service issues spanning several years and several stores led me to lose faith in Apple. I realized that, despite owning Apple devices for over 30 years and even working for them for nearly three, my values and Apple's values are now markedly different. The world that Apple is trying to create is not the world I want. So I decided to make more value-driven decisions.

That's not to say that Apple hasn't done some exciting things in recent years, because it has. The Apple Silicon transition was an amazing accomplishment. The transition from Motorola to Intel back in 2006 was ROUGH; this one to Apple Silicon has been incredibly smooth. I also appreciate the Apple cloth, and I'm impressed by the inductive charging technology (known as Presto!) that charges and updates caged iPhones in the Apple Stores' back of house. Presto! feels the most like old-school Apple to me. It's tech that doesn't make Apple more money—it just makes customers happy.

No one says, “I'm going to buy an iPhone because I know it will be charged when I leave the store.” But plenty of customers are surprised and delighted when they find that their new phone is ready out of the box. That's the Apple I miss. The one that made great things just to be great.

The internals of the Framework 13

My immediate job before working for Apple was with Gateway Country (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gateway,_Inc.). Gateway was a big deal a quarter century ago. Just before the new millennium, it launched a revolutionary chain of retail computer stores. Back then, buying a computer was a primitive experience. I sold computers at Office Depot before Gateway, and our display computers didn't even have internet access. Customers would come in, test-drive a computer, and ask us how they did online. “Great!” we'd say. Then they'd ask for a demo, and we couldn't give them one. As I recall, none of the big-box stores offered online access until Gateway. Heck, CompUSA even had a hard time keeping their computers—particularly their Macs—working.

But that wasn't all that differentiated Gateway Country from the competition. While Office Depot, Best Buy, CompUSA, and others were essentially warehouses with metal shelving and high ceilings (hence the term “big box”), Gateway Country stores were decorated like barns. You walked in and saw silos, chairs with tractor seats, a place for children to play, and stations where customers could sit and play computer games. They had repair and training stations. They offered training CDs so that people could learn how to use their computers at home. It was a place for people to have fun.

But Gateway lost their way and abandoned their core values. They ran into problems with their stock price, started financing people they shouldn't have, panicked, and made more mistakes. It wasn't long before the Gateway Country stores closed down and Gateway was acquired by e-Machines. If you read the headlines from back then, it was called a merger. But if you look at the facts, Gateway was acquired.

These Gateway Country stores might sound very similar to an Apple Store to you. That's probably because they are. It's clear that Apple learned a lot from Gateway. We know that Apple's Ron Johnson visited our stores, and I have stories to tell. Like when I was being recruited into Apple, my recruiter triumphantly bragged about how well Apple kept their retail plans a secret. “Oh, no,” I told her. “We knew all about Apple’s plans at Gateway; we just didn't bother spilling the beans to the press.” I was met with stunned silence.

Gateway should be Apple. Instead, they're essentially forgotten. They held the winning formula and the winning values, and misplayed them. Apple took much from Gateway's playbook and refined their shortcomings (like following the most important rule of real estate: Location! Location! Location! Our Gateway store was at the busiest intersection in Santa Rosa, whereas other stores were more remote and had no substantive foot traffic at all). By learning from Gateway, Apple became one of the most financially successful companies in history. But success is hard to sustain, as The Innovator's Dilemma reminds us, and Apple's customer service and support—amongst the other issues mentioned above—has suffered over the years.

During my time there, Gateway offered free computers to their employees. I declined. I was attending university then and was happily schlepping a 7-pound Apple PowerBook Wallstreet G3 running OS 8.5. Even a free Windows box didn't interest me compared to the PowerBook. So when my time came in 2025 to find a new system, my choice was easy. If I wasn't interested in a free Windows box 25 years ago, I'm certainly not going to buy one now. That left Linux as my only option.

I'd been Linux-curious for years, thanks to hearing Cory Doctorow (https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/21/monica-byrne/#think-different) proselytize Linux on podcasts. When I first listened, he was using a ThinkPad whose brand was owned by IBM. It's since been sold to Lenovo. So I searched online to see which computers he was suggesting now. Cory was using something called a Framework (http://frame.work), which I'd never heard of.

The Framework bottom case showing my transparent purple USB-C modules

Framework is a computer company at the forefront of tech sustainability and the right-to-repair movement. Whereas virtually nothing is easily self-repairable on a MacBook (though the MacBook Neo is a step forward), the Framework is designed so that everything can be upgraded or replaced. Want to upgrade from a 2.2K display to a 2.8K yourself? Done. Want to change the RAM or the SSD yourself? Done. What if you drop your laptop and need to replace the case yourself? You can.

Despite exploring other Linux laptops, I kept returning to Framework. It was heavier than I wanted, though still under 3 lbs, and the battery life is short compared to some of the competition. But it ticked boxes that I didn't know I had. I realized more and more that my goal in moving away from Apple wasn't just so that I could avoid Geniuses. It was to avoid repairers entirely. So even though I could replace the RAM or SSD on some other Linux boxes, Framework lets me replace everything, including the main board. No repairer or permission required.

I ordered my Framework Laptop 13 with an AMD Ryzen AI 5 340, 2.8K display, 32 GB of RAM, 1 TB SSD, a transparent green screen bezel, four transparent purple USB-C modules, and an Ethernet expansion card. On my next visit to California, I'll get an extra keyboard and an extra trackpad. The keyboard and trackpad are the two failure points that worry me most on any laptop. The “2” key on my MacBook Air is already feeling spongy and doesn't type properly, despite only being three years old, and you know that I'm not going into Apple to ask about a repair. The expense would be too much, and the experience too unpleasant. With my Framework, I can replace my $39 keyboard myself—no drama involved.

My Framework was waiting when I arrived in California. The time from order to delivery was about seven days. I ordered the DIY version, which means the laptop's only partly assembled. I assembled it using Framework's included tool (a spudger/Torx wrench combination) in less than 30 minutes.

But all was not well in Mudville. My laptop booted up, but my display didn't light. Troubleshooting with Framework's tech support took another few days. It was the holidays, and I'm sure they were slammed. We finally determined that my display assembly needed to be replaced. They shipped my free replacement, and I installed the screen myself. It took 10–15 minutes. BTW, if I'd needed to pay for the replacement myself, it would have only been $269.

Kablam! Everything worked. The biometrics, the Wi-Fi card, the camera and microphone (which both have hardware cut switches for privacy), my expansion cards, Ubuntu—everything.

But that's a low bar. What really matters is that I like the laptop. It's not as thin or light as my Air, but it's more personable. The case feels more solid, and I prefer the Framework screen. The keyboard is better than my MacBook Air keyboard—or frankly, any keyboard that Apple has produced in the past decade. I no longer use my external keyboard/mouse/screen setup in my writing studio. Instead, I'm comfortable typing right into my Framework.

I'm also pleased to buy from a computer company that I feel good supporting. Nirav Patel, the founder and CEO of Framework, presents himself as an everyman—someone you could stop on the street and chat with. Instead of talking to Presidents, he's a guy who talks to customers. Instead of slick-dick sales videos, he shoots his podcasts against a wall in what looks to me to be a spare room at Framework HQ. I relish Framework's authenticity and groundedness.

And I appreciate Framework's candor about sustainability:

https://frame.work/sustainability

No computers or phones are environmentally positive. There's just some that are less bad. Like Framework.

As we see so many big companies ruining America (and the world), it's a relief to be able to support one that's pushing positive change.

The switch hasn't been 100% positive, though. There are certainly adjustments I'm having to make. While I prefer Ubuntu to current iterations of macOS, retraining my muscle memory is taking a while. But Ubuntu, in many ways, reminds me of the optimism (perhaps euphoria?) I felt when I was learning Apple's System 7 in the early 1990s. Not only is it fun to use, but I can customize it so that it feels like my own. With each recent release, macOS has felt more and more officious, constraining, and buggy. And with Ubuntu, I don't have to deal with Apple's App Store or the politics associated with it.

Things I won't miss about the MacBook Air:

• That horrible, terrible, awful MacBook notch
• Apple's buggy operating system and in-house software
• Mediocre keyboard
• Apple's tired aesthetics

Things I do miss about the MacBook Air:

• MagSafe, which I consider one of Apple's greatest innovations
• Speakers (Apple is the king of laptop speakers—no one else comes close)
• Long battery life

Things I like about my Framework:

• It's fast
• It's good-looking
• The texture of the aluminum case makes it easy to grip
• Stable, fast OS (I was expecting a slower computer compared to my M2 Mac, especially since my Framework doesn't have soldered memory, but it's quite fast—I credit the low Linux overhead and low bloat)
• I can delete any app I want. Try deleting the News app or the Stock app in macOS. Or try regressing from macOS Tahoe to Sonoma. The average user can't. Choice is good, bloat is bad, and you should be able to make your computer your own.
• Transparent bezel and card slots (they remind me of California's arcade culture in the late 70s and early 80s)
• 2.8K display with 120 Hz refresh rate and the 3:2 ratio
• Freedom. There's no account creation required, no telemetry harvested, or other data-mining nonsense by Framework
• Things I don't like about the Framework:
• Battery life (my Framework averages about 10 hours for me, which is certainly less than a Mac)
• Bluetooth can be finicky
• A few of my favorite apps aren't available on Linux, but the trade-offs are worth it. In some cases I've found better apps; in other cases, worse. But I love open-source software versus Apple's attempted walled gardens. Now when I donate money for an app, the money all goes to the developer. ‍ ‍

That's not to say that I'm dumping my MacBook Air. I'm the administrator of our family's modest iCloud plan, so I need an Apple device. I've already given my unfortunate iPhone 16 Pro Max away, so I'm keeping my Air. It's a fine, albeit small, TV. But my daily driver—the computer where I spend my time and get things done—is my Framework. And I'm very pleased.

In the end, I chose a company that builds bicycles for the mind, not just profits for investors. That's the future I want to support.

Taken along the Thu Bon River with my OnePlus 13. Straight out of camera, EV -2.

Tet’s here! Flowers line the streets of Hoi An, and everyone has been cleaning and painting their homes in preparation for the new year. After the catastrophic floods, we’re relieved to have left behind the Year of the Snake. My home flooded three times, but I was safe on the second floor while the water rose to the kitchen countertops and even swamped my motorbike. The matriarch of our family was in her spa in Old Town; the water rose so high she feared she would have to swim to safety. Thankfully, the water receded in time, and we’re all safe, though many in Viet Nam were not as fortunate.

Once Hoi An regained its footing, donations began flowing to the hardest‑hit areas. Aside from school‑based collections, four trucks of supplies were dispatched to the most affected regions. This solidarity is one of the things I love about living in Viet Nam—a pervasive sense of unity and camaraderie throughout the country.

The floods have radicalized me into further reducing my carbon footprint. Recent storms have intensified because of the warming of the East Sea, which causes clouds to retain more moisture and dump it on us. While I’ve already been mindful of waste, I know I can do more. Zeroing out my emissions isn’t realistic, but I can certainly get closer.

I now shop at Refillables in Hoi An, a refill‑only store where I bring my own containers—using an old shampoo bottle for laundry soap and canning jars for beans, citric acid, olives, and other items. This habit inspired me to start making household products—such as toothpaste, antacid, and an all‑purpose cleaner. Soon I’ll craft my own deodorant, eliminating waste and moving away from synthetic chemicals toward more natural solutions.

(Many friends in the United States are frustrated by high garbage fees. A lesser‑known fact is that a large portion of U.S. waste is shipped on barges to emerging‑economy countries—a practice commonly called waste colonialism. That explains the high price; the better answer is zero‑waste.)

I was considering an electric motorbike, but I realized I only use 10–15 L of gasoline a month, so now I’m pricing solar for my house instead.

My greater focus on environmental responsibility is also influencing my next computer choice. I’ll write more about that in March or April.

Now that the storms have passed, I’ve returned to writing. The co‑working space I was trialing didn’t come together the way I’d hoped, so I’ve furnished my own writing studio. I bought a 4K, 27‑inch display that rotates vertically and horizontally and rises, falls, and tilts. I also purchased an adjustable desk (so I can write while standing or sitting), a chair with outstanding lower‑back support, and an old‑style “clacky” keyboard and mouse. With this fully equipped studio, I’ve run out of excuses not to write and have been working steadily. I hadn’t realized how much I missed having a dedicated space—or a mechanical keyboard. Now writing is more pleasurable.

For Tet, however, I’m slowing down. My closest friend from Sonoma County and his girlfriend are visiting Vietnam and have come to Hoi An for the holiday. While I’ve worked hard not to cramp their styles, I’ve enjoyed introducing them to my Vietnamese family and our favorite haunts. Hoi An is such a beautiful city, and I love showing it off. Another friend’s ex‑girlfriend visited with her traveling companion two weeks earlier, so I guess my love for Vietnam has shone through to the Americans in my life.

The greatest gift for Tet, aside from my friends from California visiting, came from my dear friend Bi. I was planning on buying a fern (ferns remind me of Sonoma County) and a banana plant. Bi rode to the mountains and collected a giant fern and a banana plant for me with special purple blooms that aren’t found in Hoi An. The fern will live next to my kitchen under my skylight, and the banana plant will move to my porch once it’s settled in. What incredible gifts!

My other plants are also doing well. My tomato plants are blooming (and they smell wonderful), as are my chilis, and my Egyptian Star Clusters are constantly in bloom. I’ve had bad luck with kumquats, so this year I bought a small blooming apricot tree.

Last year’s floods were the worst since 1964. May the Year of the Horse be luckier.

While growing up in Sonoma County during the 1960s and ‘70s, I often saw bumper stickers that read “Kill Your Television.” Those stickers weren’t on sleek new cars; they lived on Volkswagen Beetles, old Volvos, and buses—the people’s cars. Most of them came from Forestville, Camp Meeker, Occidental, and other West‑County towns that attracted a decidedly Thoreauvian crowd—people who lived deliberately, whose values centered on nature rather than consumerism. They hiked among the fog and the redwoods, trod over the ancient trunks, and breathed the scent of pine. This region was the heart of Sonoma County’s true counter‑culture.

I saw my first nude woman sunbathing near the Walla Walla Bridge while I was at Y Camp in 1975. She remains the most gorgeous woman (if only in my mind) I’ve ever encountered—brown skin, long dark hair, and an unmistakable freedom from inhibition. It isn’t surprising that the best of Sonoma County—perhaps literally—came from that place.

These were people who, I later realized, understood Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Huxley warned that domination would not arise solely from overt deception or authoritarian rule, but also from distraction and pleasure. Keep the populace sedated by manufactured happiness, and they will remain compliant.

A decade or more before Neil Postman penned his seminal work Amusing Ourselves to Death (published in 1985), West-County sensed the danger of a society pacified by endless entertainment. Postman later warned that television pulls people away from serious discourse and replaces it with mindless amusement. For every family that tuned into PBS (which we called Channel 9), countless others—including my own—watched Match Game or Hollywood Squares. Paul Lynde, the perennial center‑square of Hollywood Squares, could crack jokes, but he offered no essential insight into the challenges of the era. He was a distraction, a form of “junk‑food” entertainment, nothing more. Hence the call to kill your TV: it offered escapism, not constructive insight—a legally sanctioned drug broadcast over the airwaves, the entrée into consumerism.

While Amusing Ourselves to Death provides a powerful critique of television, I also appreciate Harlan Ellison’s essays on TV collected in The Glass Teat and The Other Glass Teat (both predating Postman). Additionally, James Beniger’s The Control Revolution (published after Postman) offers a forward‑looking analysis of the internet and explains why the counter‑culture’s fear of TV’s effects was prescient.

You’ve probably gathered by now that I view the iPhone and other smart phones as the modern replacement—and extension—of the TV, only worse. When I bought my first iPhone in 2007, I imagined it as a pocket‑sized Library of Alexandria. Yet, like the internet, it has morphed into something more malevolent than benevolent. Rather than freeing users, it traps and even enslaves them, echoing television’s constraints but with far greater reach.

Television once forced you to stay home, sitting in front of a box. Owning two TVs in the ’80s was akin to owning two cars: a status symbol. My family had a black‑and‑white set until I was ten, then a color set, and later a second 13‑inch color TV in my bedroom. Having my own TV, however modest, felt like living large. But when I left the house, I left my screens behind.

Today, our phones are always with us. I bet most people spend more time with their phones than with their loved ones. I’ve watched diners in restaurants sit across from each other, silent, eyes glued to glowing rectangles, simultaneously interacting with strangers thousands of miles away on social media. To me, that is the ultimate illustration of amusing ourselves to death.

In recent weeks I’ve been forced to reconsider my relationship with technology. After a series of frustrating encounters with Apple’s customer service, I realized it was time to leave the platform. I’d been an exclusive Apple user since 1992 and even worked in Apple’s retail division for nearly three years in the aughts. I never imagined I would abandon the brand after so many years, but Apple today serves investors, not customers; its creativity has been stifled by a relentless profit chase.

That’s not to say Apple hasn’t done anything commendable since Steve Jobs’ passing. The transition to Apple Silicon has been impressive, as have the Apple Cloth and Apple’s Presto! technology—the wireless system that charges and updates iPhones in‑store so they’re ready to use on purchase straight out of the box. Still, overall innovation has plateaued, and the company now overpromises and underdelivers.

The worst example is Apple’s “Liquid Glass”. It’s so poorly executed that it has turned me into a curmudgeonly glasshole.

I replaced my iPhone 16 Pro Max with a OnePlus 13, and the difference is night‑and‑day. Apple seems to be hampering its phones with older components to pad the bottom line. There was a brief learning curve, but after three days I had optimized the settings and was exclusively using the far more powerful OnePlus. I’ve never looked back and feel relieved to have handed my iPhone over to a friend.

This platform shift made me rethink my overall relationship with technology, which is why I keep returning to memories of old Sonoma County. While I love my OnePlus, I’ve realized I only need a phone for navigation, photos, and occasional messages. Anything beyond that is a distraction—a tool for amusing myself to death. Consequently, I keep my phone turned off most of the time and store it in a Faraday pouch (which blocks signals to an extent, though it isn’t as effective as I’d like). The pouch creates enough friction that I’m reluctant to pull the phone out, so I default to working on my computer instead (still a MacBook Air, until March). Over morning tea and pastries, I now read books rather than scroll my phone. Books are far more enjoyable and informative.

My phone’s battery now lasts a week instead of days because I barely use it.

Using our phones less in 2026 is my wish for all of us. Imagine talking to your partner at dinner instead of doom‑scrolling, or sitting in a café where no one is blasting YouTube or TikTok. Picture driving down a street where everyone watches the road, not a screen. Envision a world where people attend to the present moment rather than escaping into a glowing rectangle. That feels like a worthy New Year’s resolution.

Sure, I’m a dreamer—but I’m not the only one.

Florence, Italy

The East Sea is as black as India ink at 4:30 AM, but that’s just the angle of perception. Once you slip in, everything comes alive and the star and moonlight reflects in the cups of the waves, and the ocean vibrates.

My flight home from Florence was perilous. Because of delays, I risked missing my connecting flight to Bangkok and once there I discovered that I couldn’t enter the airport proper until I’d received my ticket to Da Nang. But the travel desk wouldn’t open for six hours, so I was stuck in airport purgatory with no restaurants or resting places. I was exhausted, grouchy, and thirsty. And then our plane’s departure to Da Nang was delayed due to a lightening storm that struck just as we were to leave the gate.

Despite the delays, there’s nothing better than returning home. After arriving an hour late, I quickly set off for Hoi An. I rarely see Da Nang at night because I prefer being home near the time the sun sets, so the experience is new when I arrive or depart the airport after dark. I always think of the scene in Lost in Translation where Bill Murray peers in wonder out his limousine window when he arrives in Tokyo. While Da Nang may not have Tokyo’s neon lighting, it certainly has its charm.

I returned home sick. I came down with something in Florence, and it stayed with me for several weeks after returning to Hoi An. I felt good, then I didn’t feel good. Then I felt good, and didn’t feel good. Now I feel good.

The typhoons have likely worsened my illness. This is the time of the year that the typhoons form near the Philippine Islands and cross the East Sea towards us. Although they’ve largely missed Hoi An this season and have been making landfall further north, we’ve still experienced intermittent lightning and rain. The shifts in temperature and humidity have likely made my discomfort worse.

But in between storms and when I’ve had the energy, I’ve continued to swim at 4:30. And that’s made all the difference.

*A friend noticed after my last post that I didn’t include many pictures of doors door knockers in Florence, despite promising to do so. So here are more images from my walks.

Florence, Italy

Florence, Italy

Florence, Italy

Florence, Italy

I’m 61. Aside from swimming, breakfast (and journaling), I’ve begun spending my mornings writing at a co‑working space. While I envy people who can create at home, I’ve learned that their approach doesn’t work for me. I need a discreet place as part of my ritual—a habit of writing before the world distracts me. I’ve found a spot where I can watch egrets fly, ducks waddle, and dragonflies fornicate. It’s a pretty good location. When I started, I grew restless after two hours, but my stamina has improved and I now write for longer periods. I used to listen to Brian Eno’s Music for Airports, which is great for writing, but I’ve since switched to iA Writer’s “Tokyo Focus” tracks on YouTube, which is even better.

The only days I skip are my massage days. I get massages early in the day twice a week, and I’m essentially trashed until the next morning. So I write five days a week and rest two.

Though I eschewed writing the day before my birthday. After reading one of my newsletters, a high‑school friend looked up the Lady Buddha online and emailed me about her. During our exchange, I realized I hadn’t visited her and Monkey Mountain since before I returned to the U.S. during COVID—July 2021. I couldn’t believe it. I resolved to visit the Lady Buddha on my birthday.

But a storm was approaching Hoi An, so I decided to make the trip a day earlier.

The route to Monkey Mountain goes past My Khe Beach, which is famous for surfing. The area has a Southern‑California‑meets‑Southeast‑Asia vibe, with snack and pizza trailers lining the liminal space between the beach and the street. I often see swimmers and fishers there, though not this time. The sea was tumultuous due to the approaching storm, and most of the boats had been pulled ashore.

Much has changed at the Buddha’s compound since my last visit. Areas that were under construction are now finished. The monkeys are still there—and still naughty. I watched a tourist get chased away when she tried to pet one. Of course, the monkeys were happy to let the tourist feed them a moment earlier. The Lady Buddha looks as timeless as when I first saw her, as does the nearby Linh Ung Bai But Pagoda. She and her surroundings still hold the same gravitas as they did on my first visit. One is filled with peace while walking nearby. There are temples inside the statue, though I haven’t entered yet for fear of offending other visitors through my inexperience. A friend has agreed to visit with me later, so I can comfortably enter and learn the proper rituals.

The Lady Buddha (also known as the Goddess of Mercy) stands 67 meters tall and overlooks the bay. As I’ve written before, I can see her while swimming in Hoi An because she’s illuminated all night. She is the patron of those in pain and of fishers. Most Vietnamese fishing vessels have eyes painted on their bows; by my understanding, this allows the boat to find its bearings by using her as a beacon, and it also lets the Lady Buddha “peer” through the boat’s eyes to guide the vessel and its crew safely home.

October is the quiet season for tourism, so I was surprised to see so many visitors. I found a stone bench near the pagoda and sat quietly away from the crowds. The wind blew, and workers swept the nearby leaves. It was probably the quietest spot within the compound, and I closed my eyes, breathed, and listened.

The following evening—my birthday—we ate indoors. We had planned to visit a restaurant, but the storm forced us to reconsider. We didn’t want the children out in the rain any more than necessary, especially if the streets flooded. So we sat in my kitchen, laughed, told stories, and dined together.

A running joke among my family is that the longer I stay in Vietnam, the younger I become. It’s true. Hoi An and Vietnam are medicinal tonics, and I’m very lucky to be here. When someone comments that I look younger, I recall the line from a David Whyte poem: “growing younger toward death / every day.” Perhaps I’ll look twenty again before I transition.

July 12, 2022

April really may be the cruellest month, as T.S. Elliot tells us in The Waste Land. Converesely, I find July to be the greatest month in Viet Nam. That might seem strange given how hot it gets but the clouds, as you can see from the above photo, are stunning. I took this photo in 2022, and 2025 is no different.

As the summer solstice approached and the days lengthened, I began waking 15 minutes earlier so that I could begin my swim on time. Each sunrise is unique. That sounds like a cliche, but sometimes you best understand how a cliche became a cliche by experiencing it. Each sunrise is unique. The most beautiful moment may come a half hour before the sun rises, or it may come after horizon break. There’s no way to know, so I’m there for it all. There are mornings when I’m surrounded by a golden red light, and others when the water is as psychedelic as a ’70s San Francisco rock poster, only this trip is for free.

The Lady Buddha on Monkey Mountain, the largest Lady Buddha statue in Viet Nam, is lit all night and when it’s clear I can see her before sunrise. The Lady Buddha overlooks the entire bay and acts as a guide for navigation. Lately, it’s often been raining at night, though the sea’s calm when I arrive. We’ve also had some odd short afternoon rains, which I haven’t previously seen, and I’ve been closing my skylight once clouds begin forming to avoid mishaps. Most recent days the sea has been as warm as bath water. I prefer it a little cooler, though I don’t really mind.

The clouds are often spectacular, as I wrote above, and I enjoy watching the figure and the ground exchange places as the light changes. A cloud may look completely different from one moment to the next due to the shifting light, even as its true form remains the same. Venus is always visible if the sky’s clear.

But what really gets me are the dragon flies. Several times they’ve circled around me as I swam. Some dragon flies swarmed, while others have traveled east to west straight to the beach. Perhaps they’ve flown from the Cham Islands to the mainland. What a journey.

Florence! The home of so much beauty and art. Like a fog, the creativity seeps into your pores and leaves you drunk on life. I’ve come here for a figure painting workshop that compresses a semester-long class into two intense weeks. We paint six hours a day for ten days. 60 hours. On the weekends, I sightsee and rest.

Aside from the remarkable architecture, there’s history-defining statues, art stores, and even a few book stores with sections for English readers. I scored a used copy of the Norton Critical Edition of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I’m bringing a suitcase full of art books and supplies home with me.

The food is incredible, and I don’t understand how a margarita pizza can taste so good while having so many variations. I made the mistake of trying a Mexican restaurant downtown, which was truly unfortunate, and I’m sticking with Italian for the rest of the trip. As a fellow student put it, “You’re in Italy, mate. Why are you eating bad Mexican food?” He has a point.

As a lover of gates, doors, and knockers, I photograph daily along my different walks. Here are some samples.