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Tycho / on Fri, Jul 3 2020 at 12:46 pm

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Tik Tok Toe

I fell off of TikTok even before the reports everyone has been talking about, the one which claimed to reveal a host of sins baked into the software at a philosophical level.  I’ve also read other smart people talking about how it’s not as bad as it sounds.  I’d say that’s more or less typical of engineers, who are always trying to climb atop one another for a primacy so granular it’s not even visible to those outside the cloister.  The engineer I trust most works here, and he doesn’t trust shit, and suggests that you have to start with that it’s possible for code to do, which is “anything.”  But let us, as a body comprised mostly of laypeople, say that, you know, hey.  The fact that we don’t know these things makes us delicious and inviting prey.  And if we spent five minutes today thinking about the fact that we are completely bound by these devices, and people have found a way to monetize our every anxious twitch, every bead of terror sweat that falls from our knotted brow onto the touchscreen, and we’re not really conscious of the mechanisms behind this, it must be considered “good.”

The app was sort of my post-show wind down.  And also my pre-show wind up.  It was like spray foam insulation, but for time; it could expand to fill literally any volume, which made it perfect button I could push to feel literally anything else.  It was the kind of kaleidoscope you would purchase at a curio shop; a carousel of dazzling moments, some too close, some practically alien, and all of them real.  Describing it would be like the surreal horror of John’s “Revelations”:  “And I saw then a man cutting into a mango, which became girl who began to dance.  It was then that a great hammer fell upon a gathering of iron, and a voice was raised in song, crying in a loud voice, ‘Interior, Crocodile, Alligator.’”

I didn’t get out for any of the reasons I should, because they weren’t known then.  I got out because it used to be weird and fun and then it got sweaty.  It’s in the clout gold rush stage and I guess maybe I’ve just seen this cycle repeat too many times.

I am not home, and I am trying to exist as little as possible.  This is a benighted land, which knows not the warm rays of Google Fi, nor the cool, mossy damp of Wireless Fi.  What Internet I am able to secure comes from a squat and surly stump I have begun to worship.  But I have it on good authority that my brother Mike Krahulik will be maintaining the old ways, only in a new way - we’re pausing Motorsport Manager because it’s the last race of the season, and we should both be there for that.  But he will be extending the lucrative Gabir Motors IP this afternoon in iRacing, a form of excitement that begins at 2pm PDT.  Of course, there really are streams basically all day, from a variety of pople I’m glad to call friends.  This Friendship Device is available to you right here.

(CW)TB out.


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