Wednesday, March 06, 2024

Heat Death of a Hypothetical Porsche

It's been a solid ten years, perhaps longer, since I've spent significant time in my home town on my own terms. Last week changed that; I stayed at the family home and indulged in a meandering dictated by uneven deja vu. I went for a lot of walks around town, just like a young man I knew well used to do every night.

I almost felt like a detective, trying to uncover invisible secrets on the damp pavement. Eventually I'd find one by aligning the same person in the same solitude at the same physical location, separated only by 20 years. The membrane of time stretched so tight that it was borderline transparent. I swear that if I could just stretch out my arm with imperceptible motion and enough grace, I could almost pass through it and gently tug on the collar of my younger self. 

To strip out the prose, it was pretty weird. I used to walk those streets at night every night as a teenager, so it was almost overpoweringly surreal to do so again. I guess that's what happens when you reopen a chapter on a life you had closed and put on the bookshelf long ago.

The reason for the trip was for a family reunion in three parts. Part One: a dinner just for the siblings. Part Two: a loud and chaotic party at a rec center with every partner, niece, nephew, parent, and grandparent. Part Three: one-on-one visits with each sibling and parent.

I covered a lot of ground in the week I was there, and apparently they've all covered a lot of their own ground in my absence. In a moment of alarming weakness I asked my brother how work was going. You know, as if he were a polite acquaintance that wasn't my best friend for the majority of my youth. He provided an equally low effort response to my question. Seems like we'd become strangers separated by decades of diverging interests and priorities. Standing two feet apart just highlighted how we are further away than ever.

But whatever the gap between me and my family, it seemed to echo a bigger one between me and my own humanity. For the last couple years I've been hollow, reduced to an unmoored corporeal vessel without a captain or heading. So when my family asked me how I was doing, and I'd repeat a familiar line: although I've been saving for it in some form or another since I was 16, it was becoming readily clear that I would not get to buy a brand new Porsche.

I'd get a semi-sympathetic chuckle in reply to my vehicular lament, surely accompanied by an internal "...this fucking guy..." I don't blame them, they have families, health problems, soaring grocery bills, and have to listen to a schmuck without kids whinge about a luxury sports car dream that was pulling away from him.

That stupid Porsche: a 2024 718 Cayman GTS 4.0 with a manual transmission. White with green stripes, I think. Black accents on the outside. The white leather package really makes the interior look spacious. Maybe I'd spring for the carbon ceramic brakes so that I could track it. New Porsches can be picked up in Germany with a factory tour and driver training, and then you can cruise around Europe before dropping off the car to be shipped home to you. Who wouldn't go for that?

Alas, 2024 is the last year the 718 is in production before they go electric. Funnily enough, even if I could scrounge the cash to buy one, I wouldn't be able to afford the insurance, let alone maintenance. It was a flawed dream to start with. Here's the thing: it really isn't about the car. Even a little bit.

It was dream seeded in teenage soil, and still had that whiff of naïve optimism about it. Something like that helps you look up and away from the ground, you know? But the tree of life is large and grows big sticks to beat the joy right out of you.

After a while I realized why I kept bringing it up: the unfortunate truth is that it was the last solid 'dream' I had in my corner. I'm even running low on ordinary milestones to look forward to. What is there, turning 40/50/60? Honestly, who cares. Retirement? That's becoming less plausible each year. Even if do I get there, what then?

All I really have is working a career that doesn't particularly fulfill me and watching my life as a disillusioned spectator. Maybe I'll change from one sucky job to another to spice things up. I'll get home in the evenings to try and fix a portfolio I'm incapable of feeling good about and then use games as a tattered tarp to cover up my discontent. It's difficult to find relaxation when the rain is still dripping through onto your head.

It turns out that being an adult is much more tedious than I was led to believe. It is, after all, where youth goes to die. Right now I'm really struggling to find purpose or desire, and it's tainting my ability to find enjoyment even in small things. Big things, I'm finally internalizing, are improbable. Medium things just seem to be the mediocre extension of what a person should be doing. You know, travel abroad, get a new TV, seeing that concert, etc.

When I lamented my ex-Porsche to my family, I was actually fishing for some sympathy or maybe even a path to hope. Not having dreams or milestones is kind of debilitating. Never mind just enjoying life; right now I'm without the ability to even want things. 

It makes me feel sad for that kid walking his small town streets in the damp darkness. I wish I could've done better for you, man. You delayed every possible gratification in pursuit of unlocking, nay, earning something better. Only now it's really difficult to just find things I'd want to unlock. At least I have plenty of things I should be doing. What's worse is when those two intersect in a twisted way. I should do this thing, it's supposed to make me feel good. And then it doesn't. Oof.

A plot twist occurred on my trip when, the night before flying home home, I finally met with my brother for some Indian food and a walk. We covered a lot of material. Turns out that there's still plenty of common ground, even though there isn't really an evident way to bridge the gap between locations and circumstances. Perhaps not all that once was, no longer is. It just drifts farther away.

I really want to end this with a positive note, like "So maybe I need to make a conscious effort to float back towards the things that are most important, etc etc." But there's a famous quote that comes to mind by one of my all time inspirational figures, Dumpo L. Depression, who declared, "Screw you and the optimism you rode in on."

I'm still adrift as ever, and going 'back home' just confirmed it. Maybe I was hoping to rediscover a lost landmark that would help me get my bearings. Alas, such things are internal and I fear even more navel-gazing isn't the answer. It lies somewhere in the act of doing. Certainly that's something I'm decent at, even though it's hard to feel like I've been actually getting anywhere despite all the thrashing about. Any movement is a sign of life, though, so there's nothing else to be done. All that's left is to pick a direction and attempt to travel with intent.

I just wish I could look forward to a destination. Or anything, really.

---

I struggled with writing and publishing this post. Obviously it's a mess of ideas and themes, but I managed to pull them together in a way that makes sense to me. Worse, though, I really hate that it all boils down to whining about how sad I am. There's little love for the people I encounter who complain about everything but don't try to do anything to change it.

I'm trying, honest. 

-Cril


She can't see the landscape anymore
It's all painted in her grief
All of her history etched out at her feet
Now all of the landscape, it's just an empty place
Acres of longing, mountains of tenderness

'Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
Because it's burning through the bloodline
It's cutting down the family tree
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

She wants the silence, but fears the solitude
She wants to be alone and together with you
So she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see
She saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea

'Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
Because it's burning through the bloodline
It's cutting down the family tree
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

I want to give you back the open sky
Give you back the open sea
Open up the ages, darling, for you to see

You put the gun into your mouth to bite
The bullet and spit it out
Because it's running in the family
All the rituals between you and me

'Cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
Because it's burning through the bloodline
It's cutting down the family tree
Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

Florence & The Machine - Landscape - Demo

Wednesday, November 22, 2023

Capital Mindset

So we've been going to the gym regularly for the last ten months. Really regularly, as in every day unless we're a) travelling or b) going to the ER for date night. I've been pretty impressed with myself for being so consistent about it. I'm not sure I'm seeing proportional improvements, but I hear it's supposed to help with all sorts of stuff.

Anyways, we were selected to be profiled as "Members of the Month", which basically involves a photo and little survey that gets posted for other members to see ("What's your favourite exercise? What keeps you motivated? What differences have you noticed?"). Then you get a wee little 'Member of the Month' dog tag that's bright red and too tacky to show anyone, ever.

When they told us we were chosen for the month, my mind automatically went into UX mode. I questioned what metric this whole thing was meant to improve and how it works - maybe they target members to increase social connections with others at the gym, so they all sign up for paid group activities. Obviously they wouldn't choose someone who only goes once every other month, right? Perhaps it appeals to the narcissistic parts in all of us, encouraging less active members to attend more in hopes of being featured themselves. It could also be that they select members coming up on their first renewal, as a way to boost retention/conversions.

Here's the thing, though: I've used my membership to visit some of the other facilities in the city that are part of the same company, and I haven't seen any 'member of the month' bios on their walls. So perhaps, just maybe, this particular location only does it to be nice to their regular members? No hidden metrics or psychological hook. Just building a nice little community, so it's not another soulless facility where people who don't know each other.

That concept seems so antithetical to modern corporate behaviour, though. The rule of thumb when you see your favourite digital service announce a new "improvement" or "feature" is that it's not done from the goodness of their heart. They aren't trying to do something nice for their users, they're trying to take better advantage of an audience. The next time a great new technology is being added to your account, stop and consider how it's actually designed to help the company's bottom line.

I'm sure that you've noticed that Google search is getting worse. There are more ads and you have to flip through more pages of results to find useful results. I read somewhere (that I now can't find because I'm using Google to look for it) that the degradation of quality is by design. Yes, they've deliberately reduced the quality of search results because their metrics show that a) users were willing to look through more pages of results, which b) allows Google to serve them more ads. As a bonus, c) users get fed up with useless unmonetized results, so they're more open to clicking the ads to find what they want.

It made me start to wonder, what would Google do their most ideal of worlds? In their absolutely, most perfect scenario, what would their business model look like? It's an easy and fun game for the whole family! Try it with your favourite brands!

Google Search: Nothing but ads. You don't pay for ads for your site? Then it is not included in any search results. The entirety of the internet's directory must be monetized.

Amazon: All the worst items would have the best reviews and highest sales. Customers receive their product to discover that it sucks, so they have to go buy another one.

YouTube: Nothing but ads that play before, during, and after the sponsored content (ads) you actually want to see. Maybe you would pay for subscriptions to watch the best ads.

Spotify: Pay your (hefty) subscription to only listen to the songs that charge the lowest royalties to Spotify. All others are removed from the platform.

Netflix: Pay-per-view to watch Netflix-only content, probably with ads inserted. All third party is removed.

BMW: Pay for each and every driver input. $10 for each start of the vehicle. Turn on the AC? $1. Turn left? No problem, that's $0.50 per 10 degrees of wheel rotation. Want to roll down your window? $5 per inch of travel. The first 50km/h of speed are free, then it's $1 per each kph per minute. $2 per decibel of music. Perfect. By the way, now they use a proprietary fuel you can only purchase from a dealership.

CNN: Why pay for reporters and hosts? So much overhead. They'd just switch to 24 hours a day of ads, with breaks for advertorials. JOURNALISM!

Apple: Good news, each app (down to the calculator, clock, and contacts) is by subscription only. The phone battery only lasts a year of standard use, and then you get to upgrade to the latest model! Buy a new phone of equal or greater value only.

F1: Watch two hours of ads, with a small map in the corner with team icons doing laps. They don't actually have drivers in cars, it's just digitally simulated. Place bets on your favourite icon! F1 collects 50% royalties on all bets.

Instagram: Most active accounts are created by Instagram using AI-generated text and imagery to display affiliate content, alongside which related ads will be shown. Real influencers have to pay a percentage of their proceeds for any sponsored content. A like costs $0.50 and a comment costs $3.

You could go on and on.

I can't help but feel like the noose is starting to tighten as companies of all shapes and sizes are pushing to maximize profits. It's easy to point your finger at content digital services in particular, because make no mistake: YouTube doesn't want its users to learn anything, feel uplifted, or be amused. They just want them engaged. More views = more ads = more better. Tell me that you've never found yourself watching videos late at night only to realize that they're shit and not good by any discernable metric. But you've been glued to the screen for an hour now and 40% of that time is spent on ads for garbage you don't want or need. The algorithm is working perfectly.

In fact, why don't we cut out the middle man altogether? We read reports all the time about how consumers are failing to properly stimulate the economy. How about instead we earn a wage and it all goes directly to a corporation who must in turn supply us with the absolute barest of minimum of living standards? Work 40 hours a week and get a protein cube good for 30 servings and renew the front door lock subscription for your temporary compact accommodations. Scratch that, it should be 80 hours a week like before unions came around and screwed everything up. The more we can give to the CEOs and stockholders, the more will trickle down to benefit the common folk, right?

Yes, this is probably an overly bleak outlook on technology, capitalism, and society. Part of my reason for going to the gym regularly was to help with mental health, but that hasn't quite materialized. Instead you get this post, because depressed people see the world more realistically. Call it my super power that I'm selflessly using to aid society.

Anyways, buckle up folks. I can't wait to see who wins at capitalism.

-Cril


So you come a long way
But you'll never have me
Never have things for a normal life
It's time, too busy earnin'
You can't get enough

This busy earnin'
You can't get enough

You think that all your time is used
Too busy earnin'
You can't get enough

And I get always
But I bet it won't change, no
Damn, that's a boring life
It's quite, busy earnin'
You can't get enough

This busy earnin'
You can't get enough

Jungle - Busy Earnin'

Monday, September 04, 2023

Inkless

I have a co-worker that loves her tattoos. Not all of them equally, but she can appreciate them as pictures of her life. Polaroids of the skin. She talks a bit about how her and her husband have a matching set of a meaningful Radiohead lyric, and how her daughter, high on the independence of early adulthood, is getting them as fast as possible. Her mother tells her to slow down and leave room for days (and years) to come. She doesn't listen. The ink keeps flowing.

My co-worker says I should get a tattoo. My usual counter is that my skin is too screwed up by a lifetime of soft self-mutilation at the sticky hands of eczema. But, she counters, people get tattoos to cover up scars all the time.

Well shit, she's got me there.

Okay, so the window has been propped open a crack to let through my intrigued gaze. And here's where I really get stuck: what the heck would I get a tattoo of? Everything I think of seems so superficial. Everything I like. Does that mean... I'm superficial?

More importantly, why can't I think of anything that I'm passionate enough about to get a permanent bodily record of? Or rather, why am I not passionate about anything? Seems that lately I'm all too aware that everything is temporary and fleeting. But instead of appreciating each moment for what it is, I seem to detach. No need to get invested in anything that won't stick around.

Let's extrapolate further and state the obvious: I'm not feeling inspired with my art. I can appreciate music in the moment, but it hasn't been getting under my skin like it used to. I'm working out because health, but not noticing a difference. I'm paying bills and working. I'm not passionate about the work. I'm saving for a retirement that may or may not come. I don't know what will happen if it does, because right now I can't seem to fathom filling seven days a week with something of my own choosing.

I feel like a passenger in my own life, and it's not even a particularly nice car on an interesting road. I can't shake the sense that I'm slowly giving up and it's all my fault. It's all performative. I'm just doing my best impression of An Actual Person. I worry that eventually I'll be detached like Dr. Manhattan, minus any remarkable traits or large blue dong.

Angst, angst, angst. Detached angst. At least I feel that, I suppose. Maybe that's what I should get tattooed, it seems to be a constant at least. 

Ah, now let's take that back to the question at hand. Maybe I need to let go of this notion that a permanent tattoo must carry a constant meaning. Maybe I need to embrace that it, indeed, is a Polaroid of the skin. Then whatever I choose must age as poorly as I do, and exist just as a snapshot of what once was. Flavours do stale with time, so eat now and remember the good meals and company you shared them with.

I find the concept a lot easier to work with if I were to break down the problem into something more rational. What if, say, I were to get one tattoo for every five years of my life? All in a row, like a grid of achievements. Then yes, let's get a trombone in there. Then Boba Fett's helmet. And an FNF logo, a Spitfire, the Abbey Road crosswalk, a Porsche, and a 10mm socket. Well damn, all of the sudden this turns into quite an intriguing assignment that embraces the effervescent nature of being.

It sounds great in theory, but it still doesn't quite change that I don't know what I'm passionate about in this moment to capture. How does one re-engage with the world, and feel, and have an active presence, and care. I know, I'm still obviously still depressed in some capacity. Maybe it's just mid-life denouement setting in. I just miss feeling so passionate and fulfilled by something that I wish it could last forever. That forever could even be a possibility.

-Cril


I filled a plastic bag
With everything I wrote
I threw it off a bridge
And thought that it would float
The water made it sink
The bag was bleeding ink
I wished that I could swim
I wished that I could drink
I wished that it was me

It's bleaker than you think
I'm running out of ink
Give a guy a break
This is what it takes
To drive a man to drink

Barenaked Ladies - Running Out of Ink