Author: zan

“Sally” over in Finance wanted to know if I’m still receiving a monthly stipend for my work using my personal phone as their virtual leash to my life.

“Zan,

I am trying to make sure my records are updated. Are you still receiving a monthly stipend of $20 for number 666-420-6969.”

 

“Hi Sally,

Rest assured, your records are correct. However, I’ve upgraded to an Apple iPhone 9,001 and I’ll be needing 5x the stipend for this new phone, as it’s gas-operated and the maintenance costs on it alone are over $100 a month for its immense thirst for power. Please let me know what my options are, as I have about 1 gallon of gas left and I have to choose between calling my mother, or eating.
-Zan”

I hovered over the “Send” button on this email, but decided not to fire it off, because I don’t know her that well, and in the back of my mind I felt like she wouldn’t understand either a) a wisecrack, or b) the fact that it’s April 1st tomorrow, and today is a Friday; which means I only have today to be professionally silly.

Sometimes I get a little playful at work. The corporate environment can sometimes beg for a break in the monotony of politeness in emails, etc. Today I invited my friend Jake to take on some silliness.

From: Me
To: Jake
Hey Jake. Were you able to test those scripts last week?

 

From: Jake
To: Me
I meant to tell you about my progress the other day but then the other team hasn’t yet responded. I’ll prod them a little bit and let you know how it goes.

 

From: Me
To: Jake
Aren’t there tests you can conduct from your end? Do you have a gun you can use to persuade them?

 

From: Jake
To: Me
well, I actually ran the modified versions of the scripts and it sorta worked but there were discrepancies between what the new script and the old script were pulling when it ran on schedule. I’m hoping someone from the other group can tell me why

 

From: Me
To: Jake
Would you please expand on what you mean by “sorta”?
 
I’m also going to need an answer on the gun issue.

 

From: Jake
To: Me
I was trying to send you zip files of the new scripts and the report results of both old and new scripts so you could see for yourself but my email client keeps crashing when I try.  The short version is that the new script is only pulling a very small subset of the data.

And yes but that would violate my parole.

Then Jake decided to IM me.

Jake: you want me to bring over copies of the data?
Me: No. Just give me the gun. I know what to do.
Jake: that would also violate my parole
Me: Jake, you gotta stop getting in trouble man.
Me: You're killing me here.
Me: FIGURATIVELY.
Jake: with a gun?
Me: The data can wait. Let's take a look at it tomorrow.
Jake: sounds good
Jake: I'll be remote tomorrow
Jake: but we can figure something out
Me: There's always a way.
Me: Especially with a gun.
Me: Unless your name is Jake.

 

 

 

For a long time I resisted Instagram as a medium for sharing photos. The interface and the constant stream of photos with retro filters reeked of pretentiousness.

“HURR look at me and my friends. We look like we’re out of some old photo album from the 70s.” Every Instagram user, ever.

It wasn’t until earlier this year that I finally decided to sign up so I could subscript to a cool car decal account and follow a few other people. Hell, I kind of wanted to join in on some of the fun with sharing some non-serious photos (no coffee/food photo rule still applies though). I also figured it would be a good way to connect with some people with similar photography interests.

Holy fuck was I wrong.

Instagram is mostly filled with “like” and “follow” bots that randomly interact with your account when you

• Follow someone popular
• Use a popular tag
• Sign in

The other day I decided to follow all sorts of fitness icons that I also follow on YouTube. Within a day my account started getting “followed” by other, smaller fitness Instagram accounts. I don’t post fitness photos. I don’t post fitness motivational posters. I mostly post pictures of me and my dog or random shit from around Chicago.

Of course, using popular tags was the most understandable way to receive bot traffic. I mean, that’s how a lot of articles try to trick search engines to funnel traffic is to flood their pages with popular tags. I get it. Social media is a “numbers game” and you want to get as much exposure as possible. But at some point there is an apex of diminished returns. There are only so many tags you can throw on a photo before people will ignore your shit regardless.

I’ve noticed that just merely signing in will get bots to “like” one of your photos in order for you to check out their profile page, which 99% of the time is a business or an Instagram “personality”. I found this out after going a week or two from signing into Instagram, then after signing in and browsing my subscriptions, within a minute later an account would “like” one of my most recent uploads. This could be confirmation bias, but the pattern keeps reinforcing itself all the time.

This seems to be a growing trend among lots of social media platforms. A lot of them seem to cater to the same vulnerability of being subject to bot farms, of which a lot of people feel like they need to buy “likes” from in order to stay afloat and relevant among these platforms’ popularity algorithms. This is what it feels like to be afloat in the sea of banality with sensational titles and tags.

I want to look at “real” people’s photos. And not pictures of fucking restaurant meals, latte foam, or the same tired old selfie mirror style shot, or stupid memes. They’re more boring than studying the mating thrust depth of insects. I want simple beautiful photos of people just being people. Or nice thought-out photos of environments. Or clever themes.

But then again, it’s not my right to say what I want on a free platform. On a free platform, I’m not the user, I’m the product. It’s my information that’s being used and sold. If I’m so fucking hip, like I’m the Sheriff of photographs, then it’s my job to do something interesting, right? Maybe.

Maybe I just need to find more quality people to follow on Instagram. If I come up with a good list I’ll post a follow-up to this blog post.

“Why is this door always locked? Do you have to insist on locking the screen door as well?” I’d always ask my dad when I would visit. He was a real stickler for home security.

Weapons near every door and large window. A gun near his nightstand. You know, just in case a crazed intruder decides to kick open the door while my father is finishing his 5th glass of Scotch while watching his baseball game. Or Football game. Or hockey game. Or while passed out in his bed.

Every time I would come over for a visit, I’d have to wait for him to unlock a series of deadbolts, handle locks, and of course, the fucking screen door. Of all things in the holy name of home security, the aluminum screen door is just a few ounces more of a deterrent than those wretched “Neighborhood watch – we call the cops!” signs I would see in the windows of old folks’ homes.

It wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. If anything I was mostly bothered by the absurdity of the situation. I would poke fun at him. “Gee dad, I can see the newspapers now: Crime foiled by aluminum screen door, thanks to diligent ex-cop.” He never found those jokes very funny. I mean, he’d smile and take a little bit of his annoyance out on me with an extra-hard hug. Dad’s do these things, I suppose. But I always persisted that it was time to drop the charade. “You don’t live in a crime-ridden neighborhood, dad. Lock the doors when you leave, sure, but there’s no need to be locked up while you’re home. No one’s going to invade your home with you in it. Surely not in the middle of the day on a Sunday when everyone is outside walking around.”

The logic just never set in. He had his ways and I would not be successful in ever persuading him.

Then comes this morning. I’m reminded of the absurdity. The jokes. The fake newspaper headlines.

I have come home from my morning walk, settled in, fed the pets, ate some breakfast, and took a shower. The girlfriend had gotten up to get ready for her day. She walks down to the front room and I hear the click of the deadlock. “Did you just lock the front door” I said. We live in an apartment building that has a buffer of one locked front door to the building and locked back gate. “Yes.” she replied.

“Why?”
She says “I don’t want anyone just walking in.”
“But no one will walk in. Our apartment is locked down.”
She says “The locked door will prevent it anyway.”
I respond sarcastically, yet annoyed “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean that’s not crazy.”
She says “I just like the door locked.”

Fine. I’m an unwilling participant in, what may be the most pedestrian magic trick of all time. Ladies and gentleman, come witness the unbreakable fortress that no one wants to get into at 7AM: my apartment. Thanks to the bravery and diligence of my girlfriend, and my father before her, I will never have to worry about an intruder during my brief periods of visitation occupancy.

Thank goodness for useful idiotic behavior.

“Attention passengers. The risk has of intrusion has now been reduced to near zero. Instead of 15 locked doors a person must get through, now 16 locks have been engaged. You are welcome. You are safe.”

Just like people who suffer from OCD, or people who just have to make sure the oven is turned off, even though they just checked 5 minutes ago, they are making their world, not mine, safer one inconvenience at a time.

“Attention shoppers. There are armed guards outside of the grocery store. A Brazilian armada might attempt to invade the store. In a land-locked state. You’re safe at Corporate-Co Shopping.

We’ve stocked emergency gas masks behind the Customer Service desk just in case our relationship with Canada goes south and they decide to use biochemical warfare on our store. We’ve got your backs.”

Turning a light switch on and off. Meditate. Celebrate. You’ve ensured that the flow of electricity has stopped. You are one with the universe. You are in a warm blanket. Disengage the lock. Engage the lock. A happy reminder that no one can breach your fortress. Click. Clack. Your childhood innocence will surely come back.

“Attention all patients. You must wear this jacket to prevent your own hands from harming yourself.”

 

You can never be too safe.