In a conversation with a friend about “the good old days”, I recalled the dopamine hit I’d experience when my second grade teacher hot glued a strip of satin cord diagonally to a sheet of paper to denote I’d hit my reading goal for the month. Complete all ten months, and I’d have all the colours in the rainbow (plus two?). To little Laura, this was the equivalent of getting paid to do something I already loved to do.
Now we’re mostly chasing something intangible: a digital symbol, whether it comes in the form of a star, heart, thumbs up, or an up arrow. We wait for these digital symbols to be transmitted via our little $800 rectangle screen.
My latest ride, uploaded to Strava, titled “Gathering of Juggalos” (alternative title: Burger’s Wienerfest), has received six Kudos so far. That’s six thumbs up: that’s four more thumbs up than I’m able to give myself. My incentive for this ride, though, was to be surrounded by the flesh versions of those kudos-givers. I activated Gracious Guest mode and toted a few cans of Bubly, chips, and popcorn (because Alexa isn’t a “chip guy” guy) to Burger’s trailer, just off the Lochside Trail. Burger was BBQing tubular meat and soy for those who spent their day for Truth and Reconciliation on their bikes. I rolled into the lot wearing a red nose, which was given to me by the roomie’s lady, who often keeps one on hand.
HELLO FELLOW JUGGALOS.
⭐❤️👍⬆️
I was quick to pop open a can of cannabis beverage. The rest of the folks were feeling the trailer park vibes with cans of Lucky beer. It wasn’t long before I was sitting there giggling with my hoodie up and fingers tucked underneath my sleeves.
Lookit, the wannabe social butterfly is all cocooned up.
In the good old days, I only had a notebook and a pen to use to shoehorn myself into group conversations, usually with limited success. After several years of using this method, I decided I could only handle group outings that included an activity beyond sitting around and chatting. Otherwise, I’d find myself fighting to hold one person’s attention amidst group chatter with the written word. I get it: nothing screams “Party!” than practicing your penmanship in a little notebook while surrounded by revelers. I did my best, and it was usually a bust.
Now, I have a little $800 rectangle screen with the ability to transcribe what’s being said. Instead of blindsiding the person next to me with a random question to get a conversation going, thanks to modern technology, I can eavesdrop via an app.
This lets me chime in with my opinion on raisin bran (staunchly pro-raisin bran: I have made three different batch of raisin bran muffins and frozen them all in one giant bag which takes up an absurd amount of freezer space); perpetual stews (neutral, but entertained the idea of entering Rory’s home to find a bubbling cauldron in his kitchen); tiny cereal boxes (ah, sweet memories of vivisecting those tiny boxes and eating corn pops straight from its guts); and fat biking (No. Just, no.)
Even if pointless, continuous conversation helps reconnect me to humanity. I want to look people in the eye and see them laugh, grimace, smile, and scowl. Maybe even make a look of ecstasy, as if they just ate the best raisin bran muffin of their life.
I am not the only person with social media fatigue. Evidence is in the exchanges between friends on WhatsApp, which have been sluggish and lacking heart lately. These faltering peasantries are seemingly entirely powered by obligation. I want to give more than a star/heart/thumbs up/up arrow. More than popcorn, chips and Bubly, even.
The transcribing app has a few limitations. First, it is incapable of running in the background, so if I want to comment, I have to forfeit access to ongoing chatter. Secondly, it does not discern between speakers. Thirdly, that it changes some already-transcribed words after picking up more context sometimes throws me off.
I intended to ride back home after the gathering — I’d winterized my bike by adding fenders, a rear rack, and swapping the front wheel for the dynamo hub-equipped version — but when Matt offered to give me and my bike a lift home, my frozen fingers couldn’t sign “no. “It was now time to test the transcriber app in a moving vehicle. This time, I had to shoulder check to see who was speaking.
The hot topic on the ride home was the transcriber app itself.
I am sure I laughed just audibly enough to prompt that tag to pop up.
I held up my phone to show that I’d taken a screenshot of their asshattery.
“That’s going on the blog!” said Matt.
Not what I had in mind, but: good idea. Now, you have a glimpse into my level of involvement in these gatherings. The red foam nose I wore did not provide nearly as much comedic relief as my transcriber app did. Now, I have no idea where that red nose went. Did it fall into the bag of popcorn? Did it roll under the passenger side seat in Matt’s car? The wind had picked up as we left Burger’s lot: perhaps that nose was rolling away like a tumbleweed.
I had a foam nose, Matt. I don’t have it anymore. Where is it? Did it disappear? How could that be? Is it still in Malkovich’s head?!
Anyway, if this gets my pals hyped on hanging out with me outside the digital world, let’s connect.
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