Cleveland Baseball Team

Cleveland’s MLB franchise announced last week that it’s going to drop its longstanding Indians nickname. The team had previously moved away from its ghastly logo, which made this move feel like only a matter of time.

Bravo, I say. “But it’s only a name!” I’m sure others are saying. And that’s exactly why it should be changed: the history and tradition behind a name that exists entirely for marketing purposes does not matter one iota in comparison to its place within the current zeitgeist. It’s offensive, dumb, and doesn’t work anymore. Get rid of it.

Which brings us to the fun part: what’s the new name going to be? This happens so rarely in professional sports that when it does I get beyond excited. Will the team draw from something in its history? Will it focus group the shit out of the nickname in a gross attempt to generate the most jersey sales possible? Will it embrace meme culture and go full Seattle Kraken? I’m laying out the odds.

Cleveland Spiders, 2-1 – The nickname of Cleveland’s National League team back in the 1800s could be poised for a comeback thanks to its combination of history and uniqueness. And just think how amazing the mascot would be.

Cleveland Naps, 5-1 – The team’s name for twelve seasons before they adopted the Indians moniker in 1915 has history, sure, but Joe Blow on the street isn’t going to understand it’s an homage to former manager Nap Lajoie. Then again…there’s a lot of potential here for branded pillows and blankets because baseball is so boring it makes everyone want to take a nap.

(Kidding! Baseball is wonderful…at least until it’s 12-3 in the seventh inning and the color commentator has decided it’s time to talk about the process he went through to pick out his new house paint.)

Cleveland Midges, 7-1 – Remember that playoff game when a bunch of aggressive flies swarmed Yankees pitcher Joba Chamberlain? Pepperidge Farm remembers, and they agree with me it was frickin’ awesome.

Cleveland Rocks, 10-1 – A shout out to Cleveland’s local hall of fame this is their best option, and I’d give it much higher odds if it weren’t for the existence of the Colorado Rockies. Then again, this is a league that already features the White Sox, the Red Sox, and the Reds, so maybe the similarity with Denver’s squad isn’t a problem. How many fans remember the Rockies exist anyway?

Cleveland LeBrons, 15-1 – Because the city’s only sports-relevant when the King is involved.

Cleveland Careys, 30-1 – Drew’s probably the most relevant Clevelander not named LeBron and his face would look pretty decent on a hat.

Cleveland Swingers, 40-1 – You know, because Ohio’s a swing state and that’s how you use a bat. What? There’s another connotation? Eh, I bet that’s pretty relevant to Cleveland too.

Cleveland Stupid Cheap Bastards, 50-1 – Yo, you guys really gonna trade Francisco Lindor? I know I shouldn’t talk because of what just went down with Mookie Betts, but come on.

Cleveland Steamers, 10000-1 – I will be so sad when this isn’t the solution.

So. Much. Star Wars.

During an investor event on Thursday, Disney announced approximately 18,000,000 new movies and TV shows set in the galaxy far, far away. There are a zillion articles on the internet detailing it all, so I’m going to skip all that and go straight to a hot take.

It’s about fucking time.

When I look back on the history of the forty-year-old property, one very clear thought comes to mind: really, that’s it? Nine movies, a few dozen video games, some cartoons, and a few hundred books they decided no longer count is all they did with it? Star Wars has made a lot of money for a lot of people, but it feels like its revenues were only a fraction of what they could have been.

I mean, we’re talking about a galaxy here. Do you understand how much creative stuff you can do with a whole galaxy? The Milky Way is an incredibly interesting, diverse place with bazillions of stars, planets, asteroids, dust clouds, black holes, quasars, pulsars…the works! And then you add some space magic on top of that in the form of the Force and link it all together with wildly efficient faster-than-light travel? My god, the things a creative can do with that are infinite.

That’s why I’m so excited for the future of the franchise. It smells like the Marvel Cinematic Universe in that it’s telling a wide variety of stories in a shared setting with tons of room for creativity, crossovers, and callbacks. And how cool is it going to be when they eventually weave all these new threads together Avengers style?

Although I’ll admit I’m less than thrilled with the unhappy ending the Skywalker clan met, perhaps getting that family out of the way to make room for other characters to take center stage is the best thing the new trilogy accomplished. Let’s see that galaxy already. I’m sure there’s some cool stuff in it.

On The Mandalorian

The first fourteen episodes of The Mandalorian have left viewers with a ton of questions. Foremost in this fan’s mind is this: how in the hell did it take us almost 40 years to get more good live action Star Wars?

Every Star Wars movie since Return of the Jedi has been trash, or fine, or controversial at best. Not one of those eight films is universally considered good. Meanwhile, a steady stream of novels and animated series proved it’s not the setting that holds back good Star Wars storytelling. So what gives?

I’d argue that Lucas and Disney learned the wrong lessons from the success of the original trilogy. Sure, people initially ran to the theaters for the groundbreaking special effects, but they stuck around for the story – and that story was actually pretty simple. A New Hope is a simple coming of age tale about a poor redneck kid trying to follow in his father’s footsteps. Empire Strikes Back was all about that kid taking his next steps out into the world and finding a hell of a lot more than he bargained for. Return of the Jedi is that kid pulling himself up off the floor, dusting himself off, and kicking some evil ass.

It’s simple, straightforward, and not overwhelmed by attempts to tack on eighty pounds of bullshit. There are no political machinations, no excessive attempts at madcap humor, no retcons to make whatever they’re doing in the moment work. It’s why Revenge of the Sith – at its core, a story about a man desperate to save his wife’s life – almost got it right. It’s why car-chase-in-space The Last Jedi has its defenders. And that lack of an easily describable focus is what tanks all the rest.

The Mandalorian adheres to its simplicity like a good Jedi sticks to the code. There’s a bigger story going on, of course, but each episode is a bite-sized, well-defined chunk. The motivations of the various characters are clear, concise, and consistent. Action escalates over time but never in a way where it feels impossible to top. It’s gone back to basics in a way all storytellers can learn from, myself included.

I hope these lessons resonate with future writers tasked with directing the franchise. Writing good Star Wars is only as difficult as the writers themselves make it.

Hello. My name is Scott and I’m addicted to subscription boxes

I’m here today because I have a problem. I need everything in my life delivered to my lazy ass on a regular schedule or I’m just not happy.

It started with my subscription to Walden Local Meat. For a little more than five years I’ve gotten a frosty bag of grass fed meats dropped off on my porch once a month. I can now say conclusively that animals who’ve had a happier life are more delicious. You can taste the freedom.

I’ve augmented this with a weekly delivery from Imperfect foods. A variety of produce, grains, snacks, and dairy magically appears at the Colby Estate in a classy pink box. Having so many fresh fruits and vegetables on hand has been a game changer. In the past, I’d only buy what I specifically needed for whatever I was planning to make in the next few days. The Scott of eight months ago was so, so dumb. I haven’t been to Stop and Shop since October and I absolutely don’t miss that wonderful experience.

Living alone for the first time…well, there are a lot of things I need to make this studio apartment feel a little less like a room at the Holiday Inn. Enter Bespoke Post, who specialize in random sort-of-manly crap. My first two monthly boxes were a pancake breakfast kit (pancake mix, a cast iron skillet, a classy leather sleeve for the skillet’s handle, and a bottle of Bloody Mary mix) and a set of beer glasses. There is something really nice about drinking a trendy IPA out of a proper vessel.

Most recently I’ve joined the Microbrewed Craft Beer of the Month Club. I am not even close to the drunk I used to be, but I want to get some use out of those new glasses. My first shipment included a dozen cans from Diamond Bear Brewing Company (the OG craft beer of Arkansas, if the in-box literature is to be believed) and DuClaw Brewing (out of Baltimore). Good stuff.

So what’s next? I’m considering a clothing box, although the last time I tried that they sent me a racist shirt and wanted me to pay to return it. Some sort of monthly chocolate box sounds also sounds scrumptious. Perhaps wine or cheese, since I’ve been working to expand my Masshole sensibilities beyond “whatever’s on sale at the market up the street.”

I’ve realized in my new pandemic reality that I’m craving variety. Buying local is great and all, and I’ve done plenty of that, but such a strategy is itself severely limiting – and in a world where your options are already severely restricted local just ain’t enough.

So. Ya’ll got any more of those subscriptions? Something vaguely trendy, in a nice box? Oh. Ooooooh yeah. That’s the shit. Inject it right into my veins.

Beyond Light’s campaign is the worst in-game Destiny narrative yet

Hoo boy.

I’ve been a fan of Destiny since the launch of the first game almost ten years ago. The movement, shooting, and gear grind all combine to make an experience that’s very fun. The lore behind the whole story is fascinating, surprising, and extraordinarily well thought out. It’s a good experience that’s worth the investment of time and money. I’ve stuck with it all the way through Beyond Light, the latest expansion to Destiny 2.

The initial release of the first game was slammed for its lack of a coherent story. None of us had any clue what the hell we were doing or why. What’s the Light? What’s the Darkness? What’s this Traveler thingy? So these aliens I’ve been shooting nonstop aren’t actually the Darkness? Are characters really using “I don’t have time to explain” as an excuse for not providing any information whatsoever?

Subsequent expansions and the release of the sequel mostly fixed this problem. The in-game narrative of chunks like The Taken King and Forsaken were logical, engaging, and well fleshed out. Beyond Light’s campaign, however, reverses this trend–and somehow might be even worse than the narrative in the first game.

Spoilers ahead.

The worst problem here is that the game never explains why I can’t fight Eramis with my existing abilities. My Light powers were good enough to defeat literal gods who’ve been using Darkness for eons, so why can’t they handle some jerk who just started playing with an evil rock a few weeks ago? Not once do I get my ass kicked, see another guardian get seriously hurt, or get shown to be vulnerable to the new Stasis powers. Why do I need this stuff? And sure, there are a few locks that require the new powers to open, but am I really going to sell my soul to an unfathomable cosmic evil just to open a couple doors? That’s dumb.

And yet, the only way to progress is to acquire supposedly dangerous powers that I don’t feel like I actually need. While I’m doing that, various characters warn me about the path I’m treading and the negative ways these powers could affect me. Like…how, exactly? What’s the actual danger here? Drifter, Eris, and the Stranger are all shown wielding Stasis and they don’t seem any different. Variks tells me the Darkness has changed Eramis, but because I haven’t seen how she acted prior I can’t really grasp how or to what extent.

The worst is when Ghost starts chiming in with his concerns. I don’t blame the little guy for being worried given that he was born of the Light, but we still haven’t seen any negative side effects. My character, as has become par for the course, apparently has nothing to say in response to any of this–which sucks, because this would be the perfect place to explain why I’m charging blindly forward.

Stasis powers do become necessary against the final boss, but the lack of prior evidence that I need them makes my ability to turn the tide feel like dumb luck rather than careful preparation.

Maybe the details I’m looking for are in the lore. You know what? Even if they are, that’s no excuse to exclude them from the onscreen narrative, where they can immediately bolster the story right there in the moment. There’s a huge difference between limiting in-game exposition and not providing any at all.

And maybe you’d say “well, the writers must be building to something!” When you dig a hole for a foundation, you have to make sure you go deep enough. That sounds smart, right?

Anyway, here’s hoping Bungie’s writers get it right next time. They’ve proven they can.

On the election and its aftermath

First off, thank Christ Biden won. Never mind all the other obvious benefits; just having a president who doesn’t slither all over a podium like Jabba the Hutt licking Princess Leia is going to do so much to improve the nation’s digestive health.

For me, the initial call of Biden’s victory was slightly anticlimactic. Maybe my 2020-addled brain couldn’t fathom something good happening. Maybe I was waiting for the other shoe to drop in a story that feels like it’s missing a few twists and turns. Maybe it’s a side-effect of months of isolation. Whatever the cause, the joy didn’t really sink in until later in the day when I rode my bike into Harvard Square and found a horde of happy, cheering, honking people. I swear I could see four years of steam slowly releasing through everyone’s ears all at once.

Getting to celebrate with the community was awesome. For the first time in a long time, it feels like there’s a chance we can make some significant movement in the right direction – but it’s still just a chance. More people voted for Donnie Ding Dong than voted for him in 2016. Ohio and Florida went red and weren’t particularly competitive. The divides between rural and urban Americans, male and female voters, and college grads and those without a degree seem starker than ever. If Democrats don’t win both run-off Senate elections in Georgia, Diamond Joe’s likely going to be stuck pushing his agenda through executive orders.

We’ve got a lot of work to do. The progressive message isn’t attracting a big part of the country. I’ll tell you flat out that I don’t personally give a flying fuck what some racist hillbilly with zero connection to the broader country living in a socially and economically irrelevant backwater thinks about tax policy, women’s rights, police reform, or much of anything, really, but–I want to have a nice life, and I want that guy to have a nice life, and if we don’t pull these people back toward reality just a little bit they will be a thorn in our sides for the rest of our lives. That said, I don’t necessarily think this is the domain of the Democratic party; I think any outreach they attempt in that regard will be soundly ignored, and I think they need to focus on expanding, enabling, and incorporating the progressive and African American coalitions that were so vital to winning this election. Reaching these people who are falling off the map is, I think, a job for smaller, community-based non-profits focused on moving the meter just a few decimal points at a time.

Perhaps the most interesting part of all this: what comes next for Donald Trump? I wish I could say we’ll never hear from Donnie and his brood again, but that seems highly unlikely. MAGA is basically a lifestyle brand at this point, sort of a Lululemon for dipshits, and there’s still a ton of money to be milked from it. I’ve always believed Howard Stern’s claim that Trump didn’t actually want to win the last election and was using it to build momentum toward the launch of his own cable TV network. The Trumps and their weird cult, unfortunately, aren’t leaving the spotlight anytime soon. There’s too much money left to be made and too much influence remaining to be exerted. That blows.

So yeah. Like most other things in life, the 2024 election brought with a combination of good and bad. But make no mistake: this was a victory not just for the Democratic party but for democracy, decency, and reality, and it could literally save lives if Biden’s able to adjust our country’s approach to dealing with coronavirus. That’s definitely worth celebrating.

Scott’s election night survival guide

  1. Grab your favorite booze. Trust me: you’re gonna want a little of the ol’ brain lube for this one. Election night’s going in deep and raw and hard. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Me? I realized I haven’t had a Manhattan in a while, so I’m switching to cocktails for the night.
  2. Make sure there’s food. This is not something to face on an empty stomach. Have a big comfort food dinner and make sure there are snacks at the ready. I’m thinking it’s a good night to order a chicken parm sub from my favorite deli.
  3. Check on your favorite blanket and pajamas. This is going to difficult enough; scrambling to find your Winnie the Pooh snuggie at the last minute is additional stress you just don’t need. My Bruins hoodie is freshly laundered and ready to go.
  4. Find something fun to watch or play. Tune the TV to that special something you know will keep you calm and content. I’m probably going to alternate between watching Dr. Pol pop goat abscesses and fighting the forces of evil in Destiny 2.
  5. Know when to cut yourself off. Just because all your coworkers are going to be hungover on the 10 am Zoom call doesn’t mean you need to be. This could be your chance to finally bury Jeanine in accounting once and for all. I’m a multi-time All-Massachusetts Working Hungover Champion, but I’m holding myself to two Manhattans.
  6. Get some fucking sleep. A good night’s rest will help you face the rest of the week. I’ll be in bed by 11:30.
  7. Plan for a nice breakfast. If you have to run out into the streets to dropkick fascism, you’ll want to do it on a full stomach. Pancakes and sausage, anyone?

“But Scott Colby!” I can hear you screeching through your laptop microphone, which I just hacked, “none of that has anything to do with the election!”


There’s no point in staying up late to watch election coverage til the crack of dawn, pickling your liver and stressing yourself out. It’s not going to be entertaining. You’re not going to learn anything new or useful listening to Anderson Cooper desperately grasp for meaning in the way-too-early returns or watching Slightly Puffier Anderson Cooper dick around with his red and blue Google Maps on a giant iPad. Nobody wants to stare at fucking Florida all night.

And don’t even think about looking at social media. Uncle Cletus’s fresh ramblings about how George Soros is paying Joe Biden to bulldoze the wall will still be waiting for you at Thanksgiving dinner. Remember: your uncle’s a lot easier to deal with when you can fantasize about dumping the cranberry sauce on his head.

If there’s a conclusive result, you’ll hear about it Wednesday morning. If there isn’t…well, there’s not much you can do about it Tuesday night anyway, unless you’re a wizard or the owner of a time machine, in which case…seriously bro, why didn’t you step in months ago?

So just ignore the election coverage. Let this thing play itself out. Stuff your face, rest up, and take care of yourself so you can be at your best if it turns out the country needs you. It’s what Ben Franklin would do. Probably.

On Joe Biden

I’ll tell you flat out that Joe wasn’t my first choice to become the Democratic nominee. I liked Bernie, and Elizabeth Warren was my number two. I want universal healthcare and action on climate change and I want both of those things now, god damn it, because the longer we putz around the worse life’s going to be for a lot of people.

But Sanders and Warren aren’t in the race anymore. Biden is. He’s not perfect, but he’s good enough.

I don’t have a ton to say about this that hasn’t already been repeated a zillion times elsewhere by other smarter but less handsome writers, but I do have this: remember that the Republicans didn’t get to where they are overnight. You can argue that their mad grab for power at any cost started with Newt Gingrich and his bullshit, sometime around 1995. It took the GOP 25 years of slowly moving the goalposts inch by inch by inch to pave the way for shitbags like Mitch McConnell and Donald Trump to become the shittiest shitbags that have ever shat in our government’s bag. The change they sought did not happen overnight, but man has it been insidious and effective. Think back five, ten, or fifteen years ago; did you ever think the United States would look like this? Like the GOP or loathe them, they changed the game.

So in spite of how badly I want more progressive politicians and policies to swoop in with power washers and immediately spray away all the bullshit…I recognize that there’s definite value in an incremental approach because we have obvious evidence that such tactics really can work. If we can’t change things overnight, well, let’s move the goalposts a bit, or at least stop them from being dragged any further in the wrong direction.

And for the record, I do think Joe can be moved to adopt more progressive policies. I think the guy that helps stuttering children has a good heart and can be convinced that a more liberal approach will help more people. Heck, his policy work with Bernie Sanders has put him on a more leftward platform than he initially ran on in the primaries.

I’ll take it. Joe’s not perfect, but he’s a step in a much better direction than his opponent would take us – even if it’s just a baby step.

Scott’s karaoke list

One of my favorite ways to pass the time during the pandemic has been to crack a beer and revisit all the 90s country music hits I loved as a teenager with piss poor judgment. In the process, I’ve realized something very important: I can hit every word in a lot of these songs without even thinking about it.

Believe it or not, I’ve always wanted to be a karaoke superstar. The problem is I’ve never had the confidence to go up there and do it. I didn’t know what songs I could perform without embarrassing myself. But this shit…this shit, in a deep-throated faux southern accent, I can do.

Hopefully karaoke will be a thing when the world gets back to normal. To get you all excited for my barnstorming tour of the local bars, here’s my list, in order of increasing confidence. I hate articles with a ton of embedded videos so I’ve linked the titles to their music videos.

“Fast as You,” Dwight Yoakam
When I was younger, the only thing I despised more than onions was the sound of Dwight Yoakam’s voice. I think I learned all the words purely because I got tired of getting up to change the radio. Nowadays I understand that onions are a foundational component of modern cooking and that Dwight’s dulcet tones are the fucking bomb. This song in particular, with a vocal score desperately grasping for confidence over a swaggering guitar, is absolutely bad ass. I can generate the necessary twang but I’m not sure I have the hips to back it up.

“Any Man of Mine,” Shania Twain
I can’t for the life of me figure out why a straight dude who grew up in the sticks would have these lyrics burned into his brain. Maybe it’s because I, too, just want to be loved regardless of how last year’s clothes fit, or in spite of how badly I’ve burned dinner. Maybe I wish I also looked that good in a Canadian tuxedo. Who knows?

“Shoulda Been a Cowboy,” Toby Keith
This song, thanks to one of my father’s tapes, was sort of the gateway drug that got me into this crap. A year or two ago I confused the hell out of a former girlfriend one afternoon when this came on in her car and I sank into a Toby-ish drawl and nailed every word. That said, I’m convinced that Mr. Keith and his “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue” bullshit was one of the major contributing factors to driving rural America into jingoistic batshit insanity. Fuck you, Toby. You shoulda stuck to being a cowboy.

“Bigger than the Beatles,” Joe Diffie
This one’s a sentimental favorite; Mr. Diffie passed due to COVID earlier this year. You could argue that “Prop Me Up by the Jukebox (If I Die)” would be a better tribute, but to younger Scott…this song was what love is all about. It’s two people seeing more in each other than anyone else ever will. SHUT UP, NO YOU’RE CRYING!!!

“That Summer,” Garth Brooks
Garth has always been my BAE. I’ll never forget talking my parents into getting HBO for a few months just so we could watch his concert special. Although I know all the words to a significant portion of his discography, his cadence is often quicker than I can keep up with. “Callin’ Baton Rouge” is my jam, but I don’t have the lungs to get through it confidently. “Friends in Low Places” is easy but sort of basic. Enter “That Summer,” an amazingly filthy song about a teenage boy shacking up with “a lonely widow woman” who “had a need to feel the thunder.” It’s the kind of song most people in the bar will completely ignore but then there will be a few Garth fans on the periphery who love the choice and buy me a shot afterward.

“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” Big & Rich
I don’t remember exactly what got me into these guys in my early twenties, but their album “Horse of a Different Color” remains one of my favorites. Don’t let the cheese factor of this song fool you; Big Kenny and John Rich are supremely talented musicians who combined classic country with modern rock sensibilities in a way that worms itself right into your ear and builds a nest in there. “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” is a total chart-topping sellout, but it’s catchy as all hell and the speech toward the end is one of my favorite verses to drunkenly slur along to. And besides; I’m the only John Wayne left in this town.

“This Kiss,” Faith Hill
I’m not sure I can explain this one. I know younger Scott was wildly in love with Ms. Hill. I know half of my excitement for Sunday Night Football came from watching her sing the intro song, and I know that her replacements in that role (Pink and Carrie Underwood) can’t lace her fucking boots. I know “This Kiss” has wound up in pretty much every ironically shitty playlist I’ve ever put together. I know I think it would be really funny to sing. I don’t think any of these things completely explains my Pavlovian response to the first few notes of this one. Seriously, I’ve got this shit down to the point Tim McGraw should probably find me and punch me in the face. They’re still married, right? I don’t fucking know.

And a few extras:

The song I’d sing if I could actually sing: “Fancy,” Reba McEntire
Out of all the tunes on this list, Reba’s super problematic magnum opus about an orphan who uses her womanly wiles to ascend to society’s upper crust is the one most likely to bring the house down. I can’t do it…yet. Nailing this one’s my new by-the-end-of Corona goal. You know I might’ve been born just plain white trash, but Fancy was-a my name!

The song I’ll drunkenly decide is a good idea and then royally fuck up: “Achy Breaky Heart,” Billy Ray Cyrus
Younger Scott used to get pissed whenever Billy Ray came on the radio. The first time I ever muttered “Fuck this shit” was when I ran over to my stereo to change the station and avoid this song. Now I think it’s hilarious. God, this song sucks so much that it’s fucking wonderful. I’m trying to learn it, but it’s not sticking, possibly because my hair’s fallen out to the point that I’d never be able to naturally produce an appropriate mullet.

Winter is coming

…and everyone’s freaking out–and by everyone, of course I mean the people on the local news–and rightfully so. COVID numbers are rising while the temperature and amount of daylight are dropping. The outdoor activities that have been keeping people sane are about to become a lot more difficult.

So what in the fuck are we all gonna do? Frankly, I don’t think this is a hard problem to solve. It just requires a little planning. This is mine.

  1. Keep going outside. So what if it’s cold and windy and wet? I’m a grown ass man with a bad ass beard, god damn it, and with the internet as my witness I hereby pledge that Jack Frost isn’t going to get the better of me, that frigid bastard! I need my walks, my runs, and my bike rides. That last one’s probably not going to happen once it’s slick, but I’m stocking up on warm gear so I can continue the first two. The shopping list: waterproof boots, snowpants, a non-peacoat winter coat, a warm base layer for my runs, and a sled so I can take advantage of the nearby park. That dude sitting amid the family of fucked up snowmen at the top of the hill? That’s me, and you better believe there’s at least one nip of Jack Daniels in that Dunkins coffee I’m sipping.
  2. Solidify the coping mechanisms. I’ve written previously about mindfulness and how it’s helped me through a rough few months. I want to expand those practices so they’re even more useful. Since adding a fish oil capsule to my morning vitamin intake I’ve felt mentally sharper and less likely to slide into the doldrums. And I’ve purchased a SAD lamp; I’ve long suspected I get the seasonal affective disorder given how pissy I get in late January, so if 10,000 lumens of UV-filtered light can help me out, great. If not, welp, I needed more lighting in my new place anyway and twenty-five smackers for a lamp ain’t so bad.
  3. Plan things to look forward to. In past years it’s felt like the only thing getting me through the JanFeb Hellscape is this simple refrain: “Wrestlemania’s coming!” In a situation that feels like we’re hanging in perpetual suspense, waiting for the next shit-covered shoe to drop, identifying and looking forward to fun things, however simple, is very important. This might be as simple as keeping a calendar of video game and movie release dates, or maybe as complex as planning some sort of COVID-safe trip.

Winter’s gonna suck. But you know what? You can do this.