A Personal Twist on Influence.

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I wrote in response to something today1, “We’re all pretending to be someone else.”

We all are. Every day. We hear about masks, we hear about all sorts of other things. Generally speaking, most people who know me will say I am as I present myself, for better and worse, but I’d rather be judged by who I am than live too many lies at the same time.

I write that because I’ve been watching this ABC News series, “Age of Influencers” (Hulu), and there’s some pretty serious stuff in there that should have people really considering what media they consume. The psychology of selling seems to have eviscerated the psychology of sanity in the cases presented.

If you’re on the Internet, you should watch “Age of Influencers”. Since it was produced in the United States, it has that bias. We had someone in Trinidad and Tobago, a man, advising women to wipe themselves with newspaper if they had a yeast infection, and other ‘bush remedies’, which should be embarrassing but apparently isn’t to this particular fellow. I won’t even bother linking him.

Stupid shouldn’t be famous.

This lead to some introspection, too, about how I curate my thoughts online in writing. I don’t know that I would have what it takes to be a caricature of myself on Instagram, or TicTok, or whatever. The land of duck lips and caked on makeup with filters and… I’m not sure I could do that.

I’m more of the ‘chat in the coffee shop while disheveled’ sort of person. I’m not going to get dressed up to stand in my own home. That seems silly. In fact, I will go ahead and say that it is silly. I don’t know why people are attracted to it, but it’s like moths to a candle.

No, I write about things that are on my mind and as people do follow my writings (thank you for those who do!), I hope to do something strange and weird to the Internet: Stuff of value. I’d like people to read something on my sites and say, “that makes sense to me”, or, “I need to think about this.”

We’re stuck on this planet, and we can chase each other’s wallets around or we can try to figure out what we’re doing, whether we should be doing it, and if we should be doing it how we could be doing it better.

I think about things. Just a few moments ago I was contemplating whether our ability and need to detect weather has diminished as our progress allowed us detect weather. During the Ice Age, things were cold and miserable. When you woke up, you didn’t need a weatherman to tell you that. It was likely just rated by how cold and miserable that particular day was.

We take ourselves way too seriously, and by that I also mean all that we have created in modern society, from currency to marriage. We’re people, but we’re silly people and because of that we should not take ourselves too seriously.

Right now, there are things going on that we can’t control within our own society, and most of us are just too busy leading silly lives to notice.

Everyone’s in a hurry and mostly not getting anywhere. Some of us spend our entire lives waiting for a moment that will not come, all because we were told in our childhood by people we trusted that it would come – or we found it in a book we believed, or maybe we read some rabbit entrails. They are equally arbitrary, though reading rabbit entrails might tell if you’re pregnant.

We’re out fighting over pronouns. I have no other real quibble with LGBQT+ folks but the pronoun thing is a bit of appropriation, because in the pre-pronouned world, when you wrote, “They are not happy”, it meant a group of people was not happy. It had commensurate weight because of the implicit number of people.

My issue is one of language. The rest of it is quite simply not my business, just as my sexual identity is not yours. Do as you wish with whomever you wish with consent, you don’t need mine to exist. And hey, use the bathroom. I don’t care about that either. Seems to me those are petty things.

Women’s rights? Well, I don’t know why people turned the clock backwards. I certainly did not want that, and to add to that suddenly humans who at least had functioning testicles for a while are competing against women in events? Ladies, I apologize, this seems a bit much for any group.

Women are going through a rough period, but that doesn’t mean that they should take it out on us men either. Instead of tearing men down, maybe elevate the ones who you do like. There are plenty of good men on the planet who don’t call themselves feminists but believe in overall equality, or better, equity. Yes, it’s a patriarchal system, but that system didn’t benefit all men, it benefited very specific groups of men. Go look up where ‘whipping boy‘ came from.

There’s a point to this. I am biased. I do have biases. We all do, and if we admit them, we can work around them. As an example, a majority of people on this planet are sexist to an extent based solely on which gender they want to have sex with.

Lately I’ve been writing lately about a lot of the underlying concepts we have to use to understand the implications of this Information Age. Most lately that has been about artificial intelligence… and I have been doing it with 2 approaches: ‘introducing tech/artificial intelligence to humanity‘ standpoint and then from the ‘introducing humanity to artificial intelligence/tech‘. The concept of bias plays a very large part of that.

Understanding our biases is important for our future. It’s something we can do. If there’s something I’d like to influence you to do, it would be to examine your biases. Examine what you believe and compare it with what you can demonstrate or observe.

Think. I want to influence people to think. It’s a romantic idea, I suppose.

1Someone, once again, had had someone create a rogue copy of their Facebook profile and claimed to have been hacked. Not the same thing.

Missed Reunion.

It seems peculiar in a world so connected that I would miss my 40th secondary school reunion. There are a million and one things that reminds us of things from minute to minute. Facebook and LinkedIn prompts us on birthdays, calendars remind us of appointments…

We have a WhatsApp chat for our year, a way of staying in touch across the planet. We’re a scattered group. The majority of the chat is an inordinate amount about football, or ‘soccer’, so I don’t pay attention, and even scrolling back, there was an implicit assumption that everyone knew about it until the same day.

I’m not big on sports other than the World Cup, so all these jibes back and forth over teams hold nothing for me. I stick my head in now and then as I remember. Now and then an interesting topic pops up and if it’s interesting enough I might say something sometimes days later. It’s a tenuous connection at best for me.

I don’t feel a strong bond with the school or the chat, and we’ve all moved on in our different ways at our different speeds. Sports locks a lot of the guys together, and I… just don’t care about that. I’m not against seeing old classmates. In fact, it would be good to see a few.

Yet the drive to and fro, too, is not attractive. It’s 26 km either way for me, give or take, and that’s not very far at all, but what usually happens is that someone starts with one drink that ends up becoming more drinks, and before you know it you’re driving home on a Saturday night with peak idiots on the road. It’s not that attractive to me. When I was younger and more prone to poor decisions, I wouldn’t have cared.

So I ‘missed’ a reunion, but I didn’t really miss it. I didn’t miss being reminded how much my own interests have varied from my classmates, or how much I didn’t fit in then even as I don’t fit in now.

It might have been nice to go. It was equally nice not to.

A Mystery Unsolved.

“The big trouble with dumb bastards is that they are too dumb to believe there is such a thing as being smart.”

Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan (1959)

Imagine my surprise to find out that there were ‘dumb bastards’ in 1959. People from that age group don’t talk about them much. We don’t remember the dumb bastards because we prefer to remember the good things.

It’s like talking about how great a bowel movement was without mentioning what it smelled like. Even doctors don’t ask about that. Nobody wants to remember that.

I digress.

What Vonnegut calls ‘dumb bastards’ is a colloquialism for stupid people. Etymologically, it’s an interesting thing to unravel as to why that colloquialism worked well for that period. ‘Dumb’ was used as a synonym for ‘stupid’, and is easily interchangeable. ‘Bastard’, on the other hand, is just someone whose parents intertwined zygotes successfully out of wedlock. That used to be an insult, because… why?

Stupid bastards, probably.

Personally, I don’t subscribe to elitism when it comes to intelligence, but we do have people who do not meet our expectations. Most people get this wrong, since they mistake a lack of knowledge for a lack of intelligence (that’s ignorance).

The first time you stick your hand on stove while it’s on, it was ignorant. The second time you do it, you’re either stupid or have a heat tolerable prosthetic. Easy way to remember it.

But we have nuance. We have some people who put their left hand of the stove, then put their right on it and expect a different result. It’s effectively the same as placing the same hand on the stove, so we’ll shuffle over to that group over there: People to keep out of the kitchen.

This is not a survival trait. Yet intelligence is not considered a survival trait.

It’s one of life’s great mysteries.

Advice and Direction.

People ask me for advice now and then, which has resulted in some Taranisms like, “There’s a reason that people don’t make cheese cake with Cheese Whiz.”

I’m not big on giving people answers, as you can see, but I like to provoke thought on certain paths. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes people just want someone to support their decision, which I never really understood. If you’re making a decision and you’re confident it’s the right decision, get to it with vigor!

If you’re not confident, support can be false confidence. My job as a friend is not to tell you what you want to hear, but what you need to hear. So many times, people are disappointed because I don’t say what they want to hear, and wander off into the wilderness of their lives only to come back bearded – which is very weird for the women – complaining that they’re having some sort of problem because they didn’t listen.

It’s weird. I don’t understand these things. I can’t tell you what you should do. I hardly know what I should do. I don’t know what you can do, what you are willing to do, how far you are willing to go. I can advise based on what I do know, but usually that’s pretty limited.

There are times I do stare out and wonder what happened to people who did get directions.

Housekeeping In Progress.

I’m working on the site, so if something weird happens within 24 hours of this post, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing!

While working on a steak, and probably eating it, I’m going through the site which for the most part is kind of boring for anyone else except little bots running around indexing things.

This lead me to update the navigation up top with a few tags that I think are representative of some of the things I write about, but somewhere in this burst of energy I may move them around a bit based on any statistics I find laying around.

I am, incidentally, presently heating the cast iron pan in the convection over right now so it’s evenly heated with a fresh coat of avocado oil on it.

This all started with me changing one menu item.

You should see me come out of the store when I go for one item. I’ve perfected getting things I need while sometimes forgetting the original item I went for.

So basically, I’m time traveling right now re-reading old posts. I might put together a post containing some links to some stuff that’s way down there if I find stuff I can weave together.

The ‘ding’ of the cast iron skillet being pre-heated has sounded.

Our Great Feats.

Each of us, regardless of age, has accomplished Great Feats – not the ones you tell other people about or add to your resume, but the ones you remember and smile about. Maybe it was a fish you caught, or maybe it was that odd moment when your kid did something funny, or something like that.

The real Great Feats are not seen as great feats to others. They’re the ones we take out on cold nights to warm our hearts , to dry our aching souls.

I’ll share one with you.

At one place where I worked, there was a gumball machine as we exited to the outer break area. One of the older ones, the rectangular version. It took a quarter for about 5 chiclets of gum. About 5 cents a chiclet, and a single chiclet to me is unimpressive.

I decided I would get as much as I could from the machine with a quarter.

My theory has always been that every machine, every device, has it’s own individual ‘sweet spot’ that allows it to do something it wasn’t necessarily intended to. I thought it through for days. Maybe even a week, I don’t recall.

During that time I did some test ‘pulls’. Some ideas worked, some didn’t.

Afterward, I walked up to the machine at the crack of Oh Dark Thirty (I always liked working off hours), placed a quarter in it and did a twist, listening, another twist with the click, listening, until I heard the gum fall.

Then I rocked that little machine back and forth while wiggling the coin handle both ways but stopping before there was another click.

I filled an extra large cup from Dunkin Donuts with chiclets of gum. For one quarter. And it was willing to give me more. I’d taken about 1/4 of the gum in the machine.

Technically I wouldn’t consider it theft, but morally I felt a bit off that I had taken money out of this guy’s pocket (I could have just bought gum somewhere else and saved money), so I taped $20 to the bottom of the machine, hidden by a piece of cardboard. I’d beaten the machine, no sense robbing the guy.

To date, I consider that one of my great feats. What about you?

Drop it in the comments, or blog and link back here so I can read it.

I wonder what stories will come out.

My Earthly Vagrancy.

It came to me today while I was at the grocery store.

It was a feeling I had a bit over 2 weeks ago that suddenly grabbed my stomach and twisted it. It was uncomfortable, it was something I couldn’t explain, and I didn’t think I had any hints other than the song that was playing.

The song that was playing was “Carry On My Wayward Son”, a song that has woven it’s way into my life as a true classic song should. It’s relatable, and it has been relatable throughout my life. It’s not overplayed on the radio, so when it comes on it’s an event of sorts.

I’m big on lyrics, too, so the Icarus reference was something I picked up on in my teens. It’s probably one of the most underrated songs, in my thinking, but I spend a lot of time alone thinking. Your mileage may vary.

The song, in a way, was a red herring. It was maybe related, but it was just a good comfortable song.

I puzzled over that feeling. I spoke with my psychologist about that feeling, which got me talking a bit about the monotony of life and concerned her a bit about there, “not being a point to things”. It’s not a thought related to ending my life – no, no, no. But this feeling that it’s just dragging on.

I’ve accomplished the things I set out to accomplish, and I nailed it on every count. At every point in life I managed, despite the odds much of the time, to meet my goals and kick the ball forward. My point I was trying to make to her is that it is just kicking a can down the road. The road stretches on to the horizon.

Eventually, everyone would feel tired kicking that ball, I don’t care how happy they think they are. Life has s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s that are dull and during that time you have time to look back and boost yourself with things that you have been a part of, or have done. Then you wind up and kick that ball again. You keep going, because this road only ends when you do.

Forget the lines on the road. It’s a style issue.

Now when you’re on a road in traffic, there’s frustration about other things, like, “Why are all these people going the same direction I am at the same time?” Of course, no one thinks to avoid going in the same direction at the same time, or they don’t have the luxury of that choice.

Empty roads are different. Just you and the ball, the kicking and the noise giving you an odd tempo to drive you on, moving between beats.

The song, as it was, wasn’t the issue. It was the fact that I had been kicking the ball, and everywhere I looked, things were gone. Lost to progress, or some facsimile sold as progress to someone who wanted some.

The base I went through boot camp in – suburbia now. The Corpsman School I went through in Great Lakes – closed, gone. The websites I wrote for – gone. The software I wrote? Either still running in the background somewhere, or retired. People who helped shape me? Gone.

There’s a lot that I did in my life that is just gone, maybe more so because of how much work I did with software and writing on the Internet. For me, it’s a lot, enough so to grab my stomach and twist it hard enough to mention to my psychologist. It’s a lot to look back on and see gone.

I’ve spent a lifetime reinventing myself, and I can think of 16 distinct times I did reinvent myself in 51, almost 52 years.

To look back and see so much I left behind was an aggregated saudade that suddenly hit me in a vulnerable moment.

The only answer is to kick the ball forward.

Traffic.

Streaming twice a day on the nearby highway, I see the cars pile up into patterns, each one encapsulating it’s occupants in their own common individuality.

The SUV, the taxis, the sports cars, the lowered cars, the raised pickups, the work trucks… each one we associate with a person in our minds. A stereotype, a bias. Despite stereotypes, we know they’re all individuals that have common traits.

The sports car guy, the lowered car guy and the raised pickup guy probably spend a good bit of time in automotive parts places. We can picture them there, dressed up as mockups of our stereotypes. That’s how Netflix picks your movies and other algorithms make recommendations for products, content, and more – by associating you with a computerized stereotype that is based on actual real time data.

They’re all heading in the same direction twice a day, at about the same time. Very individual. And each suffers individually in the congested roadways, knowing that tomorrow they will do it again. Part of it is stupidity of some employers, part of it is the stupidity of people, part of it is the stupidity of… well, there’s a lot of stupidity causing congestion. It’s like a virus that we can get over, but are permanently scarred by.

Each one of these individuals is doing it for some mix of reasons, from taking over the world to making sure that their children have food. Each of them has hopes and dreams. Each of them has aspirations, each of them has their lifetime’s worth of experience.

Each of them is a physical record of their ancestors, dating back to their, marked by life events – living memory. In minds alone, each human brain is 100 terabytes, with a range of 1 Terabyte to 2.5 Petabytes according to present estimates. Factor in all the physical memory of our history and how we lived, we’re well past that. That traffic is really a huge bit of network congestion – increasingly so with computer controlled traffic lights.

That’s a lot of people. That’s a lot of data.

All stuck in the same spot because… the individuals are on leashes that pull them at the same time.

Flight: How Airplanes Might Have Been Invented.

“Goddamnit, that bird shit on me”, Orville says to his brother.

Wilbur looks over, sagely nodding and says,”If you watch long enough, birds will shit on other animals. Even other birds. They shit on everything. In the end, we’re all just ‘things birds shit on’. Anything below them gets it.”

Shaking his head, Orville says, “Well, we need to get above those bastards.”

“Hell yeah.”

A Canvas Of Time.

Yesterday, when I wrote about meaning, and I want to propose one to consider.

We are all given a canvas of time. It helps to picture a canvas, or a blank page. We’re even given some crayons when we start off, and we decorate our time with them.

Later, we move onto more complicated stuff. Pens and markers, where we begin to realize that mistakes cannot be undone.

We move on to charcoal, maybe, and learn how messy life is and that when we are not decorating our decoration smudges the rest of our life- which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Later, we get paint, moving from watercolor to oil paints. I don’t know, I failed art in secondary school because I never did my art on time and you can’t time travel wet paint to dry.

The point is that this is probably our meaning. How we use our time is influenced by our biases, the biases other try to introduce, and those biases in turn influence what we think is ‘success’.

So here’s a story that is true, and how I came up with this. It started, like most things, from bullshit. From trying to help someone understand someone important to them that I happened to understand.

Some years ago, before his father died, a young cousin of mine was telling me how terrible a businessman his father was. My cousin had been studying business and at the time it seemed like he was good at it.

I was sipping coffee, head down, and I listened to his tirade of all the things his father had done wrong. As far as business, to be honest, that Uncle, like his brothers, wasn’t very good, and after talking to a good business man about my grandfather, I understood why.

“…and that’s why the business is not a success, and I don’t think he will ever be a success either.”, was the end of his tirade. I remember I chuckled and met his eyes, suddenly feeling a lot older than I had moments before, a new weight settling on my shoulders.

I told him that his father had managed to provide for 4 children, sending 2 of them to college in the United States, and his last – him – through a local satellite college. He had bought all the boys cars – the daughter married – and one brother was setup with his own house, another was sent abroad to Canada and partially supported for a while, and he was living in a house that was once home to all of them and then 2 families at peak.

He had seen all but one of his children married, and the bachelor was sitting across from me and would soon be married. He had followed his passion of religious knowledge and even tried practicing it a bit. He had been married himself for at least 40 years, I don’t know, and had taken care of himself and his wife.

There are times when we sons think our fathers are idiots. It works both ways. But my Uncle, despite how much his son disagreed with his business practices and other things, was certainly not a failure. He put his family first, and every bad decision was generally a decision where he put his family before his business.

My Uncle, despite my own misgivings, was someone who had found his own success, based on his values. My cousin grumbled, and maybe it stuck, maybe it didn’t, but it stuck with me.

On the canvas of life, the theme was family and connection. If you were looking for corporate art, he wasn’t your guy. I’d say that was a success.

The question is figuring out what is success for you. There’s your meaning.

I’m trying to figure mine out still, so please ignore the mess, and be careful what you touch and where you step. Wet paint everywhere.