On DNS, or Why One Should Not Watch the Kettle

There is a particular kind of problem which resists all reasonable effort, yet resolves itself the moment one ceases to observe it.

Computing has refined this into a dependable mechanism. One adjusts a setting, checks the result, finds nothing. Checks again, this time with greater attention, as if attention itself might exert influence. Still nothing. A third attempt follows, now with a certain irritation, and perhaps a minor change introduced for the sake of feeling active. The result remains unchanged.
At this point the process acquires a curious psychological weight. The system appears not merely unresponsive, but almost unwilling. One begins to suspect hidden rules, undocumented constraints, or, failing that, a quiet hostility in the machinery.

And then — not as a strategic decision, but out of mild exhaustion — one stops. The screen is left as it is. The matter is deferred, if only for a moment.
The domain resolves. The page appears. The kettle boils.

The explanation is mundane enough. Caches expire, records propagate, background processes conclude their negotiations. Nothing in the system has changed in response to the observer’s withdrawal. And yet, subjectively, the effect is indistinguishable from causation.

The phenomenon does not reward formalisation. It persists precisely because it operates at the edge of intention, where action gives way to waiting, and waiting, reluctantly, turns out to be sufficient.

On Ceremony and Our Attitude to It

Today at work, I had a conversation about the difference between my children and myself when it comes to ceremony. The moment I find myself at any official event, I switch — instantly, automatically, and irreversibly — into a more sarcastic mode. I start looking for anything false, unnatural, emotionally overblown, or simply dishonest. And I reliably find plenty.
My children, on the other hand, don’t quite understand their father’s sardonic manner. Worse, it often annoys them.
My own case seems clear enough: it’s inherited from Soviet realities, where there were too many ceremonies, too much manufactured pathos, and too many lies. But Israel is hardly short on ceremony either — or on fake pathos, for that matter. So what explains the difference between my kids and me?
A colleague offered an explanation. In the Soviet Union, participation was not optional. Absence could be dangerous. In Israel, you can take part or simply not show up — no one is keeping score.
It’s a logical explanation, at least as a first approximation. I’ll go with it for now and remain open to better answers.