Understanding Olympic Skateboarding
Skateboarding is now in its second Olympic games. Tokyo 2020(1) kind of killed most of my excitement I had for the games, as most citizens and residents didn’t want the the event to go on as it did. Still, as a life-long skateboard enthusiast (skater as a teen, longboarder as an adult), I’m still hyped to tune in to the skate events.
Due to a rain delay, the men’s street contest was bumped until after the women’s. As this event is still new, I realize it’s a great many people’s first introduction to competitive skateboarding. I was a little bummed to see so much criticism on social media. Many viewers were questioning why the competitors seemed to fall or fail on so many attempts. I realized that if you’re not familiar with skateboarding, you’d have no idea what you’re looking at. The commentators try to explain core concepts, but it’s a lot to take in at once. I won’t try to expel what makes a switch trick more difficult than a normal stance attempt; that only makes sense after some familiarity.
Simply put, skateboarding is an endeavor of constant failure with occasional reward. In other sports, the goal is more concrete; hit the target, do the tumble, sink the shot, and so on. Skateboarding has an immense amount of variables, the biggest being that the course is always different. Every other sport has a regulation playing field, be it a square, rectangle, track, apparatus, and so on. Every skateboard course is a unique work of craftsmanship designed to inspire the riders. Add to that the countless tricks at the skater’s disposal, plus the variable of performing said tricks in the opposite stance (like throwing a ball with your non-dominant hand). There’s a lot going on and tons of nuance.
In skateboarding, you fail more often than you succeed. Why don’t the skaters stick to the high-percentage tricks they can land on command? Because playing it safe means a low score (it is a judged competition). The skaters can land everything they try, but not every time. A gold-medal run comes from trying hard tricks and being able to land them all within 45 seconds. You have to be on your game at the exact moment, and that’s where mental toughness comes into play, which adds a whole other dimension to the contest.
For those who aren’t familiar with skateboarding, I can see how it’s perhaps not the most satisfying watch. No one wants to see people missing over and over again. And that’s not aligned with our perceptions of what we think the Olympics are about, which is usually perfection. But I’d equate it to baseball, where a great hitter is one that only succeeds 4 out of 10 plate appearances. It’s the grind (pun intended) and overcoming of adversity that makes it so interesting.
The 8mm CD Singles Project
Two years ago, I purchased an assortment of over 600 CDs from an auction site in the middle of the night. All mini CDs. Remember those? The little 8mm (or 3 inch) CDs often used in the states for promotional material. The reason CD trays have that smaller indent slot in the middle. Think GameCube discs. Well, in Japan, they were used for CD singles. Since moving to Japan and building a media library, I’ve come to like singles. Case in point, I have every Perfume CD available, full albums or singles, totaling at least 50 discs or so.
I bought this box blind, having very little knowledge of Japanese pop music. But for ¥9,100 ($60 these days), I’d be introduced to over 1,200 new songs. You can’t beat that. Of course, I didn’t discuss the purchase with my wife. Ask for forgiveness instead of permission, right?
Since then, I’ve been off and on widdling my way through the collection. To complete the nostalgia trip, I even purchased the same portable CD player I used in high school.
The current workflow is this: Open a chu-hai. Thrown on the headphones. Grab a stack of mini CDs. Play track one. If it’s intriguing, listen through to track two. If pleasant enough, import it into iTunes for syncing to my phone or iPod. Of course, skip track three, which is the instrumental used for karaoke purposes. Through this experience, I’ve come to find a lot of enjoyable pop. Think late 90s, early Y2K vibes. But the hits are few and far between. I keep maybe 1 out of every 5 or 7 CDs I listen to. Still, much more interesting than streaming.
For those who chat and walk...
I guess I really am getting a little crankier as I get older. I really can’t stand adults walking down the street while staring at me at their phones. Recently, I’ve taken to passing them from behind, merging into their lane, and slowing down slightly, just to give them a bit of a jolt. It’s like my own version of Frogger.
Hey, that may make a good Playdate game...
Shut the door.
I’m very conscious to close the door behind me when entering public spaces. I’m speaking specifically about doors leading directly outside, especially during the winter months.
In Chicago, as the bitter cold is a way of life, restaurants adopt a double-door system. This is an effective way to keep the frigid air out and the heated air in.
In Japan, no such system is in place. Why? Well, because Japan embraces the inconvenient and mildly uncomfortable. In other words, ‘minimalism’. Fair enough. Japanese winters (in the mainland) aren’t as treacherous as those in the American Mid-west. No need for an extravagant double door, as long as people are mindful enough to close the door properly as they enter and exit. But that’s hardly the case.
The problem is two-fold; the first being that many older establishments have doors that don’t shut properly on their own. This is a fault of the establishment and not entirely on the consumer. Although, what’s the problem in being mindful enough to coax the door shut if necessary?
The bigger problem is the obliviousness on the part of the patron. Often, people enter a cafe, hold the door open, and stand in the entrance as they scour the landscape for available seats. Or they eye the menu from afar while checking their phone for another nearby spot. All the while, unaware of the hyper air exchange they’re causing. Another word for unaware is ‘rude’, at least in my book.
I’m always very conscious of closing the door manually, wholly shut, as I enter and exit any establishment. This single act makes me a better person than most.
On being disappointed (and disillusioned) by Polaroid's new camera
I'm fairly new to the instant film world (only a couple of years doing it), so don't take this opinion piece as gospel... Or do. What the hell do I care? This is my site, after all...
Here's what I do know: Fujifilm Instax cameras, the market leader when it comes to instant photography, are consistent and affordable. The cameras, while being as plastic as everything is these days, are well-made. You can pick up a model from 15 years ago here in Japan and fire off shots like the day it was unwrapped. They're affordable, which doesn't mean a lot, because you're going to spend the most on film. The film is extremely consistent, if not a little dull and cold at times (but I'm getting better!). Oh, did I mention the film is dirt cheap (in instant film terms)?
Sounds good, right? Then why, oh why, are we hung up on Polaroids? Because they're the originators? Because of nostalgia? Because of branding? Because of the film size? Because the colors are more saturated and warm? Because the vintage cameras have better optics? All of these reasons!
It's not because the film is printer-ink levels of expensive. It's not because you have to baby the film, taking space up in your refrigerator (thanks for understanding, honey). It's not because you can only shoot on days when the temperature is perfect. It's not because when you follow all of these precautions, the film still isn't consistent enough. 3 useable shots out of 8 is not a great ratio.
Yet we put up with all of this. And we follow Polaroid, watching and hoping for advancements. Modern cameras? Those are fine, but we'll keep fiddling around with our vintage models. A bluetooth speaker? Dafuq is going on...?
But a new modern camera with enough bells and whistles to make us 'pro-sumers' swoon? Yeah, who cares how much it costs? Put me down for two? What a second... What the hell is this?
"Sharpest-ever Polaroid lens..." Okay... Can it not be made of plastic? A digital display? Sure, I get that we're in that age... But if it has one button to interact with, how is that better than a dial? Well, the whole thing has a non-user-replaceable battery, so it's a 'serious camera' with a seriously short shelf-life (in the grand scheme of things). Did the film get better? Oh, no word on that? Yeah, this thing isn't so hot. It can take pretty Polaroids, but so can the SX-70 from 50 years ago.
Here's what bothers me most... "For the Imperfectionists..."
Come off of it. The most advanced Polaroid camera ever engineered, but please embrace all the shortcomings? Never heard Sony, Nikon, or Canon use that one.
One-Time Friendships
In my recent quest to grow my friend circle, I've been attending numerous meetups. These range from formal language exchanges to casual games of pool at a pub. Upon repeat visits, you start to recognize the regulars and build a rapport. Small talk leads to chit-chat, which may flower into a deeper discussion and then to... Well, you probably know how new friendships work. For the most part, these efforts have paid off. Even if it's too early to call these acquaintances 'friends', I do feel like my conversation-starting ability has improved. It's all been a net plus.
Besides locals and transplants, these meetups also attract the occasional tourists, the backpackers in town for three days with minimal plans, looking to connect with the natives. Often, these guests are the most interesting to talk to, as they are so full of enthusiasm and open to recommendation. I've run into quite a few and hit it off rather well, I believe. But after a pleasant hour or so of chatting, that's it. We go our separate ways, likely to never see each other again. And that's alright.
There's too much pressure to make every encounter 'worth something' in our lives. Yes, I go to these events to make friends, but I'm also aware of my limitations when it comes to giving up my time and energy to invest in others. Friendships are as hard to maintain as they are to make, so it's important to foster the ones that are most valuable to you. I could exchange contact info with that traveling Canadian, but to what end? Sure, I may visit their area soon enough, but is that enough to warrant reaching out? How much extra effort would be needed to make such an action reasonable? Are we meant to have random contacts all over the world, just in case? I guess at this point in my life, I'm going for quality over quantity. I know it sounds bleak to put friendships in such a context, but this is the reality of where I am today in terms of time, energy, and available attention. So, why not just have a friend for a day? I don't even have to worry about remembering their name.
On media backlogs, or how to ruin fun
I’m assuming everyone agrees that we are spoiled with an overabundance of media. Between streaming movies and TV, music, eBook subscriptions, game passes, social media, and blogs (wink wink), we are never without entertainment/time sinks. At some point, it became too much and no longer enjoyable; keeping up with the latest started to resemble homework and chores.
The solution I thought I had found was unplugging from the stream, trying to be more deliberate about the content I was consuming. The plan went like this; stop relying on anything streaming or all-you-can-eat. I was already a vinyl collector, but I’ve recently amassed a bit of a CD collection. This also appeases the wannabe hi-fi-head in me, a nice side-effect. A recent PlayStation 5 purchase allows me to view UHD Blu-Rays, meaning I could rewatch my favorites in 4K with minimal compression (once you notice banding, you can never unsee it).
Regarding the PS5, I’ve decided to revert to buying physical games whenever possible. With the Switch, I had been entirely digital, as the convenience of not switching carts lent itself to the portable nature of the system. An unforeseen result was that I simply forgot about game purchases simply because I didn’t have a physical reminder of what I’ve yet to beat or even play! I had a similar problem with my Xbox One, where GamePass, while a fantastic value, caused me to de-value games since they were simply part of the all-you-can-play service. All that choice but no skin in the game. Too easy to bounce from game to game without giving them a fair shake. Nobody’s favorite dinner is the buffet.
But this hasn’t completely cured my strange relationship with entertainment. Even with buying physical media, which can be loads of fun and very affordable in Japan (used, of course), I was once again drowning in a sea of choices. My to-read pile of magazines had grown to toddler size. The blue cases near my PS5 grew to the point where sorting and categorization were needed. I’ve had to invest in CD storage, which I’ve already outgrown.
The main problem: What do I read/play/watch/listen to next?
I’m a big proponent of lists. Getting Things Done wasn’t a tactic; it was a mantra. Organizing my life into actionable activities is how I got through university (the second time around). I have set reminders for what I need to pay, pick up, clean, replace, and update. Lists help make my life work. So, it stands to reason that I should adapt my list habits to the media I ‘mean’ to consume. Lists of what I’m consuming, what’s next, what I must seek, and what’s ‘must-watch/read/play’.
Here lies the problem that thinking; art and entertainment are best appreciated when it’s what we long for or what we least expect. A to-do list for media turns entertainment into homework.
When I first sat down to watch Into The Spider-Verse, it was without seeing any previews or hearing any of the buzz (easy to do in Japan). What followed was the most surprising and thrilling theater experience I’ve ever had. That was an example of a piece of media I let come to me by chance. My recent weekly solo pilgrimages to a local cafe which features a jazz night, have forced me to listen more intently to a genre of music I’m deeply interested in. This is an example of purpose and aware consumption, which can lead to greater appreciation and enjoyment.
To hell with sites like How Long To Beat and Goodreads. I’ll know I’m done with a piece of media when I no longer am reaping any benefits from it.
On Over-Preparing for Flights
As a child, the longest flight I took with any kind of regularity was only a few hours long. Of course, my concept of time wasn't fully mature yet, so I didn't dwell on how I'd keep myself occupied for the duration of the flight. Also, that was someone else's problem. Also, as a kid, you're probably constantly flipping between states of diversion and boredom. Also, there wasn't as much technology back then. I could pop in some headphones and watch the in-flight movie on shared overhead drop-down screens. Or, if I was feeling really fancy, I could bring my GameBoy and extra batteries (if I had the forethought). I had a pretty sweet carrying case to hold my games, AC adapter, light, etc. I was much smaller then, so I could keep it in the seat pocket without risking valuable sitting real estate. Also, the legroom back then was much larger, wasn't it? I'm sure I gamed a bit, watched movies a bit, snacked a bit, and maybe even napped a bit. Either way, I'd make it to my destination without too much fuss.
Then, as I grew into an adult, something changed. Obviously, the smartphone was the game-changer. Once we were cleared to turn on our devices (always in airplane mode), we had a wealth of ways to keep ourselves entertained. Our own personal libraries of music, movies, games, and books. Of course, the smartphone being the jack-of-all-trades that it is means that it isn't the best experience at doing any one of these. A GameBoy Advance was still a better gaming machine. A Kindle was still a better reading device. An iPod (before the iPhone) was still a better music-listening experience. The iPad quickly came along and gave us the ultimate in a personal movie theater. Also, with adulthood came longer international flights as I moved to the other side of the world.
Suddenly, the anxiety of filling the 14 hours of 'confinement' became first-world problem numero uno. What should I bring with me? Should I get through that novel on the Kindle? Ah, the screen isn't so great (pre-backlight)... Should I get through Final Fantasy on my GBA Micro? Ah, that screen is pretty small... Should I load up on the entire Ken Burns Jazz soundtrack? Sure, if I want to ruin the enjoyment of listening to Ella Fitzgerald forever by subconsciously associating her singing with babies crying. Will all these devices last the entire flight? I better bring charging cables. Or better yet, my own portable (and super heavy) battery pack!
I did once load up an iPad with what I thought was everything I needed for a 12-hour flight, only to discover that I had to re-authorize all my apps post-takeoff. This meant, without wifi, my iPad was just a shiny paperweight until I landed in Tokyo.
But sometimes, I do get it right and have all my favorite content ready on a svelte and light iPad mini. A few comedy specials downloaded to Netflix, a few gaming podcasts in Overcast, a couple of games with proper offline modes, my 'distraction-free' writing app of choice (iA Writer), and the entire Perfume discography, which I celebrate in its entirety. And what ends up happening? I barely use any of it. I spend the whole flight battling with the desire to go to sleep. When I do pick up my iPad, I'm in such a sour mood that I enjoy nothing it has to offer. How can I laugh at stand-up when I'm uncomfortable? How can I learn about game design when I'm sleep-deprived? How can I write anything worth a damn when I'm at my wit's end?... Actually, that last one could be interesting...
Recently, I was sick in bed for a few days, unable to enjoy the break I had from work. Feeling sorry for myself, I decided to rewatch the original Jurassic Park trilogy, which I mostly enjoy. But when I really hated life, I watched the new trilogy, which is poopoo caca. But you know what? I loved every minute of it. Something about being sick, feeling really lousy, allows you to enjoy crappy media you otherwise wouldn't. Is it our inability to reach for the remote in our potato state? Is it our jealousy of the healthy that spurs this self-hate? Whatever it is, I watched a whole lot of CGI and puppet dinosaurs (and dinosaur hybrids) in a very short amount of time, and loved every second of it.
This has me thinking that this is the proper tactic for a long flight. Don't bring the media you like or are interested in; you're in no state of mind to enjoy it as you'd wish to. Don't try to finish that screenplay you've been toiling away at; you're without your total faculties while riding that hell in the sky. Just bring your comfiest headphones, plug into the in-flight entertainment, and enjoy all the movies you've heard of but wouldn't pay money to see in a theater. I'm talking Garfield, something with Owen Wilson, and whatever the Avengers are up to. All the dribble that is oh-so enjoyable when you're not where you want to be.
Epilogue: Remember when you weren't allowed to turn on devices until well after take-off? We finally had tiny supercomputers in our pockets, but had to wait at least 30 minutes until the pilot said it was okay to turn them on. And for some reason, those 30 minutes were excruciating because we were alone with our thoughts. Horrific.
On Appreciating False Kindness
One of the most distressing tasks I’m sometimes charged with is finding a place to eat with a new acquaintance. Hell, actually, I have a hard time choosing a dinner spot with my own wife. But back to the point which others may more easily relate to, the quest to find a suitable and satisfying eatery for you and your confidant.
I most recently encountered this pickle last week when a fellow language study buddy messaged me about going out for dinner. Previously, we had only met for coffee and then once again for lunch. Following the natural order of things, evening dining was called for in order to level-up our friendship (I hope he doesn’t find this blog). Although he had brought up the idea for dinner, so you may think the onus would be on him to pick the venue. But since he was venturing out to my neighborhood, the responsibility fell on me.
Previously, we had only gone to small independent cafes. Anyone who knows me and my wife knows that we are connoisseurs of the chain restaurant genre. Of course, with company, why not show off a bit and take them to that hole in a wall you saw in that magazine? That place where no one knows your name and you don’t know how to order because you’ve never been there before. But dinner is trickier; diets, drinking habits, and budgets must be considered. Fortunately for me, my new friend is preparing for a trip to the land down under, so I recommended Outback Steakhouse!
Before you scoff, yes, I know it’s an American chain. Yes, I’m sure Australian cuisine reaches higher highs than the Blooming Onion (maybe). But work with me here; it’s a reasonably priced restaurant with various food and liquor options in a laid-back, non-smoke-filled, clean setting. It would do. Although my wife did first suggest Outback, she did have reservations about whether he’d enjoy the ‘hearty’ portions. “He’s moving to Australia; his stomach has to learn sooner or later,” I retorted.
The meal was as pleasant an affair as one could hope for. My guest thoroughly cleaned his plate, something I couldn’t do (yes, that can happen). He also enjoyed a good portion of the complimentary bread. While studying the menu, he remarked, “Everything looks so good,” and concluded the meal with, “That was tasty!”
Success!
Or… Was he simply being polite? A good guest? Following the Japanese tradition of complimenting the affair so that those responsible will save face? Was it all a farce?
Maybe… But I’ll take it!
I had recently had a meal with some friends from back home. The restaurant chosen (not by me) was a fine establishment. But the meal did not amaze as others had, as this place skewed a bit more to the traditional and subdued pallets of older clientele. It was ‘aight, but I probably wouldn’t go again. But no complaints; I could still enjoy the company and, therefore, the meal.
But midway, one of my friends began with the, “It’s okay, but not as good as that one place…” The floodgates had opened. The other friend added, “Yeah… What’s with the…” (Boy, I hope THEY don’t find this blog). All I could add was, “Ah… Yeah, maybe this place is a bit different to that one…” I don’t know why I was trying to justify things. I didn’t even choose the place.
This brings me to one of my biggest irritants; complaining about a meal midway through. I don’t mean if something is technically wrong with the dish. If it’s cold, under or over-cooked, by all means, let’s get it rectified. But not every meal will be the greatest culinary experience of your life. It can’t be. And that’s okay. Sit there, eat your food, drink a beer, and keep the conversation going. While we’re at this table, we’re sort of trapped until the bill comes.
Hence, this is why I appreciate kindness, empty or not. Let’s help each other all get through this, for my sake.
Owning The Mistake
When you make a mistake, and it’s only you who will be affected, do you roll with the consequences or do you try to rectify the situation?
Work doesn’t begin until the evening, meaning the entire morning and afternoon are at my disposal. Without any pressing matter to take care of, I can easily spend the summer day playing video games. As I am in my busy time with work, and since the heat has been dangerous, relaxing in our air-conditioned living room would be a sensible choice.
No. Today’s a writing day.
I pack my vintage iPad/keyboard combo, my Pentax Auto 110, a ‘handy’ fan*, and headed towards Umeda. “Oh, it’s not so hot today. I didn’t even need that fan.” It was lunchtime, so I figured I’d stop at Saizeriya, where a satisfying lunch can be had for the change in your pocket. Upon approaching the entrance, I notice the line of people stretching outside. “Is it a holiday?” Oh well, I’ll grab a bite at the cafe I go to to write and study. “Oh boy, it is actually pretty stuffy,” I think as I reach for my handy fan. “Let’s try to keep the sweating to a minimum.”
I enjoy the 11-floor escalator ride; it gives me a chance to cool down. “Ah, I better recharge my cafe charge card!” In Japan, you better be stackin’ them points. “I’m logged out? I have to enter my credit card info again?” Frustration begins to set in. But no problem; I get it all sorted in time for me to order. “Oh, the hot dog is sold out.” Time for quick thinking… “Pizza, please.” I spy a comfortable seat away from the loud cackle of ladies. I set my bag down and begin the cool-down process. “…Why is the barista packing my order…?”
Crap. In my haste, I said “お持ち帰りで“ instead of “手内で”! I have never accidentally said “to go” instead of “for here” before. The problem being, In Japan, the tax on food is different if you eat-in or take out. In other words, once it’s all totaled and paid for, you’re committed.
So, how would you handle this mistake? Would you try to explain yourself to the staff? Perhaps they have a magic ‘2% tax adjustment’ button? Would you play the dumb foreigner card and try to eat your meal indoors until one of the staff muster up the courage to come and tell you otherwise? What I like to do in these situations is roll with the mistake as if this is exactly how I intended things to go.
Luckily, the cafe is adjacent to a rooftop garden with picnic tables. Unluckily, it’s windy as shit. The pizza and drink were fine, but I savored neither as I inhaled my meal before it was swept away. Somehow I did manage to write this post—
Hold on… I have to move again; the sun has shifted…
*At some point in history, the Japanese seemed to have conflated the concept of ‘handheld’ and ‘handy’. Therefore, they call every handheld item ‘handy’. While the portable fan is awfully convenient, that is not why it has earned that label.
The Speakeasy in Nara
It was an uncomfortably warm and humid day, typical of the rainy season in Japan, where the only brief respite from torrential rain is the suffocatingly thick moist air. Of course, this is when my friends from the States decided to visit. Naturally, I suggested Nara as a worthwhile place to spend the day; the deer, giant buddha, and cute cafes are all worth at least one day during a Japan trip. My friends are the active type and love a good hike. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep public sweating to a minimum. Besides, after living in Nara for a couple of years, I've already had my fill of the sepia sights. "Have fun exploring! I've got some work to do, so I'll wait for you guys at Starbucks." It worked.
A few hours later, I met my friends, who were as exhausted, sweaty, and red as all the other tourists here at this time. "We could sure go for a crisp drink!"
Although Nara was my home just one year earlier, and I can recommend where to get udon, tonkatsu, and even donuts, alcohol was not my forte. In fact, I hadn't gotten back into drinking socially until fairly recently. This, plus the fact that my friends have 'discerning tastes', made my googling all the more uneasy. I stumbled across a rather elegant-looking bar, which seemed somewhat out of place in the stuck-in-the-70s Nara shopping arcade. The map suggested a nondescript building I had walked past dozens of times without the slightest inclination of what existed there.
No name on the outside. No number on the door. No doorbell or intercom to interact with. The blocked windows provided no hint as to what was in store. I hesitatingly opened the door only to be confronted with a tiny pitch-black room. A white sliding door about 4 feet high was my only choice. In my very best Alice In Wonderland, I slid it open... curiouser and curiouser...
If whiskey was a room, it would be this bar. A palette of dark mahogany to amber yellow shocked my eyes, having just emerged from the all-black tiny room. A pleasant staff member greeted us. Bear in mind, I speak limited Japanese, have virtually zero knowledge of alcohol, and will, 9 times out of 10, choose a chain restaurant to anything requiring a working knowledge of social behaviors. This was a trifecta of difficulties for me to work through.
" いいんですか？" I managed to politely ask if we were allowed entrance at this time. I don't know if I asked because I thought reservations were needed, our attire wasn't formal enough, or some other reason. My worries were in vain as we were warmly greeted and offered seats either at the bar or the single table to the side. The bar is where it's at.
What transpired next was a wonderful blend of expertise, showmanship, and pride in the most Japanese way possible. No menus, meaning interaction is a must. A calm atmosphere, meaning every noise and event is noticed. The peace comes from the private garden behind the window. I'll omit any further description, as my words will fail to capture the magic and artistry of the experience. Savant is something for you to behold on your own.
Landing on Squarespace
Recent developments over the past year have led me to rethink my footprint on the internet. Meta's pervasive nature has caused me to withdraw from FaceBook, Instagram, WhatsApp, and Oculus. Twitter's egomaniacal owner has made that cesspool of a platform all the more loathsome. Reddit's short-sighted vision reminds us that even though we build these communities, they are not our own. And Tumblr... I just don't get Tumblr. But it seems cool. Mastodon has the right idea, and I do enjoy what I use it for, but the hooks haven't set in yet.
I tire of bouncing from platform to platform, yet I do want a space to share thoughts and creations. Although, I'd like to move away from likes, hearts, and thumbs-ups, which have the kind of effect on my brain I'd rather not admit to. When I was younger, this was Blogspot. There was something rewarding about a well-kept collection of posts in your favorite color pallet. A new website seemed the answer, but where? Wix seems easy and attractive enough while offering a low cost of entry. But upon closer look, many critical features are locked out of the cheapest tier. I have to pay more to remove the 'Made on Wix' branding? Come on... Everyone will tell you WordPress is the way to go, but everyone isn't going to help you troubleshoot when some rogue plug-in breaks all your links. I want to enjoy blogging, not debugging.
I've always had a lot of luck with Squarespace when building my own sites or for others. I avoided it for this project simply because the cost of entry is higher than the others. I won't make money on this, so why should I pay for it, right? That's how I used to think until I recently heard something that forced me to reconsider cost and value. On the photography podcast, 'Matt Loves Cameras', the host often champions the process of producing a photo zine, a tangible collection of your work. He points out that this is not a way to make money (in fact, you'll likely be in the negative) but that you shouldn't see it in those terms. He says the zine is a goal that should have a cost for you, something you should budget for, as with film or a new lens. It's okay that this costs you money, because it's still worth doing.
That's how I'm thinking about this new blog. It's going to be a lot of photography, because that's my latest BOOM. It's going to be a lot of journaling of used gadgets I amass here in Japan. It's going to be a lot of me talking about why I'm suddenly buying CDs again. It's going to be a lot of how I want this part of the internet to be for me.