Welcome to Hack Mule Notebook #9! Business and errands don’t stop for a broken arm, so I’ve been venturing out quite a bit this week—using the county’s Ride On bus system has been…interesting. (More on that below.) I also shopped at the Bethesda Lidl for the first time. Nothing much appealed to me, but the prices were great.
So settle in and enjoy my notes. This week, as promised, I have the review of Swan Song, Charles Spencer’s book that purports to be about Princess Diana. Hopefully it will be a better read than the book itself.
At the Bus Stop
Bus stop, wet day, I’m there…and this superannuated hippie with a two-foot-long beard and ancient leather sandals walks by and says, “Peace.”
“Peace?” What do I do with that? Early training kicked in, and I said, “And also with you.”
He plopped down on the bench next to me, and I noticed he was wearing a T-shirt with the Little Feat album Dixie Chicken on the front.
“You ever listen to this?” he asked, pointing at his shirt.
“That’s their best album,” I said.
He glanced at his shirt and said, “It wouldn’t exist except for WHFS. Ever heard of WHFS?”
“Sure,” I said. “I listened to the ‘90s version, though. Not the original.”
“They made Neil Young famous. He would literally not exist without them,” he said. “Cinnamon Girl is the finest song ever written in the English language.”
He got up and started to walk away.
“It’s all about Cinnamon Girl. All about it. Peace.”
On the Bus
So once the Neil Young fan moved on, I had a few minutes to kill before the bus was scheduled to leave from Bethesda Metro Center. I popped my AirPods in and started listening to a podcast.
Fortunately, I was paying attention to what was happening around me because a bus pulled up about three minutes later, changed its route number to the one I was waiting for, and opened its doors.
I asked the driver if he would be leaving immediately, and he snapped, “Yes, ma’am, why do you think I’m here?” I ignored the tone and boarded the bus.
Seconds later, he pulled out—nearly four minutes before the scheduled time.
Handy if you’re already on the bus. Less handy if you’re coming up from the Metro and watching your bus disappear up the street.
Things deteriorated from there.
The ride had so many lurching starts, brake slams, sudden twists, and traffic violations, I expected the crash alert on my watch to activate. The driver ran at least two red lights, and he sighed deeply every time anyone boarded or disembarked.
At one point, a car ahead of us was waiting to make a left turn but couldn’t with an endless stream of oncoming traffic. The bus driver began furiously honking at him.
I’m not sure what he expected the poor guy to do. Levitate?
By this point, I was beginning to wonder whether Ride On figured prominently in his five-year plan. Or his two-hour plan. I leaned toward my Apple Watch and quietly dictated a note to myself:
“Is it this guy’s last day on the route?”
With all the honking, sighing, and gears grinding in the background, I suppose I should cut Apple’s dictation some slack. My watch recorded:
“Is this the size of the sky too?”
I don’t know whether it was his last day. But apparently the sky is big as ever on Route 30.
Productivity
I’m not new to smart technologies, but my pain tolerance is not very high at the moment, so I find myself wandering around the house barking orders to my AI attendants like a suburban Captain Queeg.
Me: Alexa! Turn on the TV!
Alexa: TV is not responding.
Me: Shut up! Siri, turn on the TV!
Siri: Just one moment…
Me: No! Now!
Siri: Still thinking…
Me: Dammit! ChatGPT, write an email!
ChatGPT: OK, who do you want to write to and what do you want to say?
Me: We discussed this yesterday!
ChatGPT: Checking…yesterday you asked me what temperature to cook bacon in the air fryer.
Me: I told someone.
ChatGPT: You were using Word. Maybe you were talking to Copilot.
Me: I never talk to Copilot! I hate Copilot! Siri, play my HackMule playlist.
Siri: Playing Holiday Music
Me: Stop! Alexa, play my HackMule playlist.
Alexa: I don’t recognize your name. May I know who I’m talking to?
Me: Shut up!
Alexa: Should I call you Shut Up?
Me: ChatGPT, how do I get Alexa to stop talking?
ChatGPT: Pull the plug out of the wall.
Me, raising my standing desk so I can reach the plug…
Listening
I’ve had another interesting soundtrack happening this week. “Everything Is Broken” was a little joke from the universe, as was “Move On Up” as I rode down in an elevator. You can enjoy the full Hack Mule playlist on Apple Music. Here are some earworms for you:
“Everything Is Broken,” Bob Dylan—riding up in the elevator at Bethesda Metro
“Move On Up,” Curtis Mayfield—riding down in the elevator at Bethesda Metro
“Homeroom Crush,” Sam Greenfield—walking around Lidl, Bethesda
“Ship of Fools,” World Party—on the Leviathan observation deck
“Unstoppable,” Sia—eating a turkey Reuben at Brown Bag, Bethesda. (Left no crumbs.)
“My Life,” Billy Joel—watching the sunset from my balcony
“Freedom! ’90,” George Michael—hold music at a friend’s law firm
“Fusion Juice,” Jeff Lorber Fusion—reading in the living room
“Disco Snails,” Vulfmon—waiting for the damn bus on Old Georgetown Road, Bethesda
“Rapture,” Blondie—taking a shower at 1 a.m.
Also listening: Chaka Khan’s new album, Chakzilla. I featured “Curious Subject” last week, but I keep coming back to the album again and again. Check out her collabs with Lenny Kravitz, Snoop Dogg, and Sia.
Milestones
At sea: A Hack Mule reader requested an update on Neil the Seal, the 2,200-pound Tasmanian miscreant who cost the Clarence City Council more than $31,000 for crowd management, 24-hour security, traffic control, and general annoyance. The rambunctious seal spent the summer smashing cars, blocking traffic, breaking bike-lane bollards, overturning signs, and giving local officials angina. (He’d blend in beautifully here in Bethesda.) Anyway, he’s out at sea for a few months, per the Marine Mammal Center. More to come, I’m sure…
Anniversary: 49 years ago this week, Steely Dan released Aja. I recall skipping my weekly pack of Bubble Yum so I could stretch my allowance to get the 45 of “Peg.” Musicians on the album included Lee Ritenour, Steve Gadd, Chuck Rainey, and Wayne Shorter.
Reading:
Swan Song: Diana, My Sister
This week, Charles Spencer released his new book, Swan Song: Diana, My Sister, promising a chance to learn new things about Diana and see her through her brother’s eyes.
But here’s the thing: If at any point during the 1980s or ’90s you stood in a supermarket checkout line and glanced at the cover of People or the National Enquirer, you already know pretty much everything Spencer has to tell you about his sister.
So my topline review is: Nothing to see here, folks, please keep moving. Aisle Three is now open…
But I promised a full review, so I’ll slog through it for you.
Spencer’s set-up is clever enough—each chapter relates to a phrase in the famous eulogy he delivered at Diana’s funeral. He then leads the reader through the time between her death and her burial, interspersing those details with reminiscences of their family life, their family history, and their stately homes, including the shape of the moulding.
Sadly, despite the clever premise, it sinks like a rock.
The first problem is that it desperately needs a firm editorial hand. Spencer is the author of some excellent histories, but it’s clear now that some brave editor stood in the background when he wrote those saying, “Charles, please stop using adverbs. They don’t become you.”
Spencer has the late Queen responding “tetchily,” the current King Charles speaking “giddily,” and everyone in the media behaving “relentlessly.”
Unfortunately and sadly, that editor was inexplicably missing here. Sadly. Very sadly.
He also spends most of the book “giddily” discussing his own importance. It’s perfectly acceptable for someone to focus on himself in a memoir, but Spencer claimed this was about his sister.
He should either rewrite it or change the title to Swanning Around: Diana, An In-Depth View of the Things I Think About Myself, Charles Spencer, When She Comes Up, As Told to and By Charles Spencer.
So, we hear his every self-involved thought from the cradle forward, occasionally with Diana standing nearby. It’s exhausting.
He has some factual errors, too, including blaming journalist Piers Morgan for the publication of intrusive photos of Diana by the Mirror Group in 1993—two years before Morgan joined the Daily Mirror.
Spencer’s publishers issued an apology on his behalf for that. Yet another use for one of those pesky editors.
He also seems determined to air grievances. Many, many grievances. He mentions: Prince (now King) Charles, the late Queen, Prince Philip, Princess Anne, Prince Andrew, Princess Margaret, Princess Michael of Kent, Lord Mountbatten, his stepmother Raine, several ex-wives, the Dean of Westminster, multiple palace courtiers, the entire global press corps, and many others.
They have all done him wrong, it seems. It’s hard to be noble.
Speaking of noble, the Earl definitely wants the reader to know that the Spencers are very noble indeed—certainly nobler than those parvenu Windsors. Not only does Spencer raise his family’s historic service to the Crown, but he obsesses over his lineage, going back to when they were still herding sheep in Wolverhampton or wolves in Sheeperhampton or something. (I got bored and skimmed through some of that.)
He even claims that his father had a romance with the Queen only to be pushed aside by Lord Mountbatten, who may have been clearing the way for his nephew, Philip.
Er, sure…
It’s a shame, really. One imagines how much more elevated the Windsors might have been if only the Queen had married a Spencer.
Being a Spencer also seems to give him leave to provide psychological diagnoses for his family members: He has ADHD and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD); Diana had ADHD, learning disabilities, and RSD; Diana and his sister Sarah had eating disorders; his father had depression; and so on.
But when politician Nicholas Soames claims publicly that Diana was paranoid, Spencer takes umbrage—even though he notes that Diana’s own attorney reached the same conclusion.
Spencer’s behavior isn’t entirely consistent at other points, either. For instance, on his way to deliver the eulogy where he pledges to care for Harry and William, he passes them sitting in a room watching the coverage of the funeral—but he doesn’t stop to check on them.
Nor does he reach out to Harry when he sees him “being allowed to spin out of control” after the funeral.
Those are the moments I found to be bigger “bombshells” than recycled claims about Charles.
I could go on with more examples of Spencer’s take on the world, but, really, why? If you’re looking for a book about a very entitled man who has not made peace with the world, this may suit your needs. If you’re looking for an insightful book about Diana, keep shopping.
I'm glad to see that a broken arm hasn't slowed you down...nor diminished your sense of humor. I actually LOLed at one point in the Notebook and smiled throughout it. That bus driver sounds like a gem - coal rather than diamond. I spent 10 years riding the bus in Seattle and never witnessed anything like what you described. Keep your sense of humor and the 6 to 8 week healing will speed past.