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'

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

Undiverged Paths

We went to my Grandmother's funeral in January. It was a lovely little service, and it was nice to see all sorts of familiar faces, albeit slightly more travelled down the road in age. I took a moment to think back to all the family reunions we went to as kids and those summers at my grandparents' house. My aunts and uncles (and parents) were all the same age that I am now, but with kids in tow. It's weird to relate to your parents as people that were once your age. It grounds them a bit.

Apparently as a young lady my Grandmother was a bit of a firecracker. A gorgeous woman that had dates lined up and would skip out to the theater on school nights. Had a few extra-curricular trysts of some sort. Got dragged home by her mom, and sent away to get her act together, and so forth. She led a movement for the women of the school where she taught to be allowed to wear pants. Scandalous stuff, and a far cry from the rigid (albeit pleasant) woman I knew growing up.

While I was in town I met with my uncle who I hadn't seen in years. Rather than attend a Sunday morning church service, we went out for breakfast to worship at the Altar of Denny's. He dished out on all the wild stories of his (and my father's) youth. How my Dad grew pot that the painters stole, how they accidentally held up strangers with BB guns, got up to shenanigans with their old Datsun, and how my Dad learned to drink with the RCMP before stumbling home late at night and puking in the front yard. My grandparents, apparently, were not amused.

He made one particular comment about how, when he'd call years ago to catch up, my Dad would extoll the virtues of all our excellent grades. My uncle, meanwhile, couldn't quite compete except by nudging his kids along to be more entrepreneurial and adventurous. Being well versed in the Gift of Gab, he told me stories my cousins' ill-advised adventures and academic squanderings and oddball hobbies. And how they all seemed to find their way and have enviable positions and careers and are doing just fine, thank you very much.

Damn, I was a good kid. Did my homework without being told, didn't miss school, stayed out of the way, did my chores, went to church, read my bible, etc etc. I got good grades, and not just academically; if I was graded by adults on what makes a good kid, I bet I'd have a solid 3.6 GPA (losing points for athleticism and general anxiety, probably). I put a lot of time and effort into being Good.

You know what I didn't do? Set off firecrackers, skip school, sneak alcohol with friends, get high, fool around with girls, or get a speeding ticket. I kind of wish I had done literally any of those things. I feel like I missed out on sampling some of the essential ingredients of youth, especially ones that make for interesting adults. Gotta colour in the lines, folks.

Here's my deep dark well of shame from being a kid: When I was 11 I pointed and shot finger guns at another girl in my 5th grade class during recess. Oh boy, I was sent to the principal's office, served detention, and had to fess up to my parents. Even though I never got sent off to juvie school, it seemed to have left some sort of shameful impression. I straightened up from there, I guess. Scared stiff. The guilt of having to admit something like that to my folks was just too much.

It makes me wonder a big WHAT IF, though. What if I learned where the wiggle room was in the world? What if I tried doing my own thing rather than good grades > post secondary > good grades > white collar job? I wish I could've gotten in trouble for no other reason than learning to cope with being in trouble, instead of scared stiff. The one thing I learned really well was how to identify expectations and meet them flawlessly.

I suppose that everyone has a variation of the "I forgot to study for the test" dream, and I'm not any different. But for me those end with failing miserably and an uneasy sense of relief. Kind of a, "Whelp, fuck it. I'm doing my own thing." A little bit defiant and freeing. Between the academic and spiritual expectations and a healthy dose of teenage angst, I was wound up pretty tight. You know what might've helped? Trying a joint at a sleep over with my friends (that I didn't have because I was so rigid with school and church). 

My point is that I feel like I missed out on living life even though I met all the criteria of being a Good Kid. And here I am approaching middle age, still kind of stuck in the expectational rut, and all the stability I've tried to achieve is starting to waver like a mirage. I've followed the rules and done what I'm supposed to, only to be laid off three times in a row in recent years. Probably to be four once AI comes for my job. I've become exceptional in my mediocrity, and then doesn't get you opportunity.

I'm not saying I regret my youth or that I wasn't raised well or anything. Just that capturing the joys of life has been a challenge recently, and I wonder what could've been with a looser interpretation of what happiness might look like. And what I might've found if I strayed a bit farther from the designated path.

-Cril

Well I have been searching
All of my days
Many a road, you know
I've been walking on
All of my days
And I've been trying to find
What's been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well I have been quietly standing in the shade
All of my days
Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made
All of this rain
And I've been trying to find
What's been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well many a night I found myself with no friends standing near
All of my days
I cried aloud
I shook my hands
What am I doing here
All of these days
For I look around me
And my eyes confound me
And it's just too bright
As the days keep turning into night

Alexi Murdoch - All My Days

Ticking of the Visual Clockmaker

It has occurred to me slowly, inevitably, that my days as a designer are numbered. Most likely before I get within striking distance of retirement.

AI, man. Goddamn it. Like, of course.

Thinking back to when I first got started along the path, the 'beginner' software solution was either MS Publisher (clunky as hell) or Corel Draw (which was still relatively complex). There was a nice wide gap there for a specialist to sit down and make himself comfy. You had to know the software and know what you were doing to fit it all together. Not quite the same as lining up type specimens and working the copier like in the 80's and 90's, but still relatively involved.

Now look at it. Look at the last ten years, even. Now you have Canva and a host of other uber accessible solutions cropping up like weeds. MailChimp has a layout wizard. Then there's Wix and SquareSpace, coming with WYSIWYG editors paired to gorgeous templates.

And illustrators? They're the canary in the coal mine. Dall-E has already started siphoning off their precious freelance oxygen and will finish them off soon enough. Right now it's a cute gimmick, soon it'll become an essential tool, and then they'll be the only gig in town. They'll steamroll me and the rest of the industry to lay the foundation for another cost effective Software as a Service. 

I mean, yeah, sure, the really good talents will find their places. There'll always be demand for the exceptional people at the edge of the industry. And some people will always seek the human touch, like how they buy "artisan soap" at the craft fair. Isn't it nice to have something made by direct humans input? Ain't it quaint? It's a far cry from an essential professional service.

There's been so much explosive progress made in my little professional corner of the world in the last ten years. Can you even imagine what will happen in ten more?

Here's the kicker, I have a solid 25-30 years before I get to even think about hanging up the tablet stylus and Adobe shackles. I can't fathom that the profession will look anything like it does now, but it probably won't be made to be accommodating to the trained professionals. It'll be easy to use for your average Joe and optimized for profits. It will not be for specialists.

Lately I've been feeling old, but this makes me stupidly, uselessly young. 25-30 years. Fuck. At some point, I'm going to get laid off and there simply won't be demand for me or my expertise. It won't happen in the next 5 years. Maybe in 10 or 15. But by that point I'll have to face the choice of minimum wage at WalMart or going back to school as a (very) mature student. To study what, welding? And then who's going to hire an almost 50 year old man with no experience? 

The writing is on the wall, and it's in a striking typeface with beautiful kerning and a splash of colour. And it was put there by a robot.

I am filled with dread. I don't know what to do.

-Cril

Ophelia, she's 'neath the window for her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday she already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic she wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion, her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row

Bob Dylan - Desolation Row