The Nostalgia Network

Facebook

My Facebook page is typically populated with some of the following subjects:

  • Synthesizers
  • German news and culture
  • Philosophy
  • Gilles Deleuze
  • Computer graphics
  • Electronic music
  • Audio engineering
  • Photogrammetry matters
  • Blender 3D
  • Computational design
  • Various Artists
  • Artificial intelligence
  • Generative arts
  • Gourmet food sources
  • A few museums
  • Whitewater adventure travel

And yet the Facebook engine makes suggestions for me such as Todd Rundgren instead of Blixa Bargeld, viral videos instead of music tutorials, worn-out memes trying to target my age group, tributes to old actors from the 80s as though I were into that kind of thing, medications for ailments that don’t affect me (yet), even going so far as to present me with assisted living options. WTF?

I’m not into Star Wars, comic books, fast food restaurant openings, John Lennon’s birthday, retiree activities, or looking in on animals tortured by living in zoos. What is interesting is how Facebook is trying to pigeonhole me into a demographic that some indicators are telling them I should be fitting into.

I also notice that when I’m looking at other people’s posts on my page, the comments in a language other than English are filtered out, and I have to ask to see “All Comments.” What kind of intolerance for things that are different are these Borgs fostering?

It’s obvious there is a peering agreement with Google for what I search for, or maybe it’s just Facebook reading cookies from my computer, but they should be able to see that I don’t just watch Russian crash videos and people doing stupid stuff or search for what ails me. Why don’t they suggest cooking videos from Indonesia, music from Poland, or rafting adventures from South America? Nope, none of that, just the shit that appeals to my lizard brain for quick dopamine release. But that’s NOT what I want, and because of that, I’m in a constant battle to click on the Hide All Recommendations from this content provider as I did with this Pro Football Hall of Fame crap.

Maybe Facebook is an advanced artificial intelligence nostalgia machine looking to abuse my sense of desiring the familiar. I’m 57 and somehow, the algorithm thinks I’d benefit from having a skateboard channel popped into my awareness. Now, either it is calculating through my purchases and previous viewing habits that I’m still into skateboarding, or it’s looking to have me connect with a version of myself from 43 years ago. How do I tell the snippet of code dedicated to John that I abhor nostalgia and that in its attempt to exploit my weakness, it is in fact breeding resentment?

Anachronistic

Writing

I’m posting blogs, especially ones about food, this week. Notice I said blogs and not vlogs. I’m feeling more and more anachronistic as time goes on, as I’ve not shifted over to producing video content. I enjoy seeing the words emerge on the screen as my thoughts find their way out of my fingertips and into not only my eyes but the eyes and minds of others. I would never say the video medium is any easier as all one needs to do is watch the evolution of a popular YouTuber, and you’ll see their early awkwardness give way to a comfort that came with practice. While I could venture down that road, and I have considered it often, I’m reluctant to do so for the amount of work it would take.

When I sit down to write, there is no consideration about my environment for aesthetic reasons; lighting doesn’t matter, mic placement is irrelevant if my hair is messy or I have food in my teeth, and there are no readers that would pick up on those things. If I’m inspired while driving I can simply dictate a note on my phone and send it to myself via email for inclusion at another time. If I recorded video, people would notice the change of clothes, different times of day and night, or maybe differences in my beard and hair. So, my conclusion is that I’m essentially lazy. While grains of truth thrive in that realization, I’d say that, more to the point, I’m a control freak. You may see my mental blemishes in mistakes that get by my world-class editor (a.k.a. The Wife), but for the most part, I hope that I’m sharing a well-groomed snippet of thought.

That doesn’t change the equation that maybe I have a low readership because I won’t jump on the YouTube or TikTok trains. Then the question is, “Do you need readership?” Affirmation is a funny, stupid little creature that laps at your face to make you feel good, while rejection suggests you drag your knuckles back into the cave from whence you crawled. I tell myself I write for myself and my wife, and that’s largely true, but I also write for some mysterious person or other who hasn’t been born yet. There was a time when I explained my writing as notes to the future that went beyond a 140-character text message. Then I asked just who is it that would review a trillion hours of video to make sense of what had been recorded. My thinking was that artificial intelligence would fare better with my longer semi-coherent missives to extract an arc of who a person was than analyzing 100 videos released while a personality was trending as a viral phenomenon. I think that was wrong-headed.

Why wouldn’t an AI just dissect those trillion hours of videos by looking at location, time of day, colors, text, emotional context, number of viewers, comments, and the rest of the meta-data to build a far more in-depth image of what the average of it all might have meant to the people of the early 21st century?  So, not only am I working anachronistically, but my thinking is often stuck in archaic modalities that reflect a time of my life when I couldn’t imagine a digital future. How, then, does this pit a child born in the last ten years to the person who turns 85 in the year 2050?

Will I jump on the bandwagon of modernity? Nope, not in that regard. Writing at this point is right up there with eating, sleeping, breathing, and shitting. It’s something done because it sustains life. As I write that, I can’t help but think that this very act is like some excretory process where words drop out of my mind like so many turds from my bunghole. Maybe hitting publish is my way of wiping myself clean after making these messes.

The Familiar is Unfamiliar

Sunrise over Phoenix

I want to believe I need to return to some of the things I used to do, but I’m running into some deep-seated ambivalence that is nearly impossible to define. Being home is different, meals are different, shopping is different, traveling is different, most everything seems different. I went to the dentist this morning; that was different. Being here at my favorite coffee shop, other than the masks, is possibly not different enough. I’m feeling as though I’m trying to shove something I used to know into the present by being in the familiar.

As I searched for an environment conducive to writing creatively, it dawned on me somewhere along the way that, no matter where I ended up, I was still with myself and that just because my location changed, the inside of my mind hadn’t. Of course, I can trick myself when out in the world, as writing about a place creates in me an illusion of something else influencing me, but it’s still my filter from whatever inner dialog I’m working with. Maybe the inspiration when visiting a cathedral, a canyon, a forest, an ocean, or a monument is that I have a moment of focus without the trappings of the familiar, but how this works in allowing me to convey anything of interest must fall back on what I bring to the exercise.

So, when I’m struggling to find words and ideas that paint a picture of where I think I’d like to be, I try to figure out what might be the impediment. Here at the coffee shop I’ve visited countless other times, it could be that I cannot return to the familiar. It might be that I’m struggling with only 3 of us ten people wearing masks in this small environment. Or could it be writer’s block? I’m gonna say that I seriously doubt it is the latter because when I give myself the challenge to capture something of my thoughts, I’m usually pretty good at noting something just as I’m doing this very moment. But this is not what I want to write about, or so I think.

Well then, what do I want when I go out to write? I want the same thing all writers who sit down to write are looking to do: I want to discover. Maybe what I’m trying to explore cannot be found in the past, and this particular place represents a time in my life when things were seen differently. Like so many other aspects of life that required adjustments as I’ve grown older, is my ability to discover being stymied by the overly familiar?

The dawn is familiar; my wife is too. I know our apartment quite well and many items in our diet, and yet these things do not represent the same kind of conflict. Let’s look at that as the dawn is always different; it’s forever shifting with the play of clouds and hues delighting my senses every time I witness it. My wife is like the dawn over the ocean, never quite the same with her fluctuating interests; subtle changes are found in her smile, and she possesses a horizon I find to be infinite, at least in its potential. Our apartment is some ways, like the Grand Canyon; depending on where you look, you might find something you’ve never seen before. Not to imply disorder and chaos, though there is an element of that, between our evolving hobbies the view has the potential to show us new things, just as searching for new foods brings us into different ethnic culinary adventures.

Is the larger problem then that I have a low tolerance for the familiar? Has it always been this way? The quick answer is certainly a resounding yes. The common and familiar is the fodder for the masses gorged on the cultural gruel of conformity, and I’ve known this for a very long time. But today is different, as though the plague has cut the final thread between me and the blind, obedient herd that best represents the status quo.

In this sense, I feel that I’ve been shoved deeper into a nomadic intellectual existence. Where our ancestors were on the constant search for that which sustained life, I require the sustenance of that which sustains the imagination. In an age where the hunt for food and shelter has been mitigated for those with access to adequate capital, and my preoccupation with media and entertainment is either gone or in hibernation, I’m now on the lookout for horizons that illuminate where humanity is headed.

Star Trek’s intro spoke of space as the final frontier; I would reboot that into “awareness is the real final frontier.” Knowledge of hyperbolic absurdity found in entertainers and politicians hardly suffices to satisfy the deeper quest of humans to find meaning, even if the unsophisticated might believe differently. This pattern recognition machine of senses evolved in the form of memories and imagination, offering people the opportunity to discover things such as art, music, technology, and the mind to examine the hows and whys of what it all means. Yet we squander our most valuable resource, time, on the petty and believe in convenient expediencies in order to not challenge our nature to change.

Just how much of the familiar is really your friend?

Celebrating World Food Culture

Rau Ram

The dark side of America’s cultural seclusion can be abated by the exploration of the internet and especially YouTube if one can figure out what to search for. On one hand, we live sad, tragic, and isolated lives cut off from most cultural influences aside from some benign facsimiles of authenticity. On the other, there are many people around the globe sharing unfiltered looks into crafts, foods, places, and customs that mainstream media has failed to cover except when they can be used for sensationalist and or propagandist purposes.

Take food: ethnic cuisines, as they are prepared outside of America, have mostly remained a mystery. For example, search for fried rice, and you’ll be hard-pressed to see anything that resembles the real thing as it’s eaten in Asia, but how would you know that if all the recipe sites, cooking shows, and local restaurants are only offering a type of dish that was designed for the American palate?

Food Ranger

Somewhere between watching synthesizer videos and Russian car crash dash-cams, I must have seen a YouTube recommendation for a travel show from this guy named Harald Baldr. Through his travel exploits, I ran into the work of his friend “Bald and Bankrupt.” Maybe because I was binge-watching these guys traveling across India, Russia, Chechnya, and Belarus, I saw a recommended video in the sidebar for The Food Ranger, and something about it caught my eye. For the next weeks, I drove Caroline crazy with its host, Trevor James, and his particularly enthusiastic intonation of “Going Deep” into the local cuisine of wherever it is he happens to be.

What I was seeing from Trevor, aka the Food Ranger, were deep dives into street food across Asia with equal treatment for non-Western dishes surrounding various organ meats. Knowing he was fearless trying new foods and wasn’t squeamish in the slightest about any of it was a large part of the appeal. While YouTube was busy trying to get me to tune in to various other cooking shows of all the big American names, I was hooked on exploring a side of Asian food totally unknown to me.

Laphet Thoke or Green Tea Salad from Burma

Sure, Caroline and I had first tried pig ears, durian, and pork bungs (pig rectum and large intestine) more than a dozen years ago, and we were exposed to Indian home cooking years before that. I’d tried Ethiopian food while still living in Germany and had my first taste of Chicken Korma in Vienna before I’d met Caroline. What we didn’t realize was the breadth of culinary options and how often much of what is passed off as Chinese, Italian, Thai, and Mexican foods are seriously boring and far from their ethnic roots. Even when I learned how to make my own Lahpet Thoke (Burmese tea leaf salad – pictured), finding the ingredients in 2008 was nearly impossible. So difficult, as a matter of fact, that we had to travel to Los Angeles to pick them up as the online place in the U.K. wasn’t shipping the stuff to America.

While we were culinarily curious, there were no guides for shopping at our local Asian stores, and back before the days of YouTube or even in its early days, there was no reference to see how someone might be using Zao Lajiao, and that’s if you could even find fermented chili sauce in America. The worlds of authentic Asian, African, and Middle Eastern foods remained largely mysterious and hidden.

Best Ever Food Review Show

Today, that is no longer true. After the Food Ranger, I finally gave in to another recommendation of this guy named Sonny with his food show, also based in Asia, called Best Ever Food Review Show. I was reluctant at first as I felt that Trevor was blazing the trail and how could Sonny do any better; well, I was wrong because the Best Ever Food Review Show was living up to its name. What I didn’t know was that Mark Wiens was actually the trailblazer of food reviews in Asia, having started his channel back in 2009. What united these three reviewers was their serious interest in exploring the flavors of the places they were visiting instead of presenting their content as an example of shocking their audience with food challenges that might put off others who’d be open-minded enough to try a new cuisine.

Learning about food is only a small part of getting to the point of trying it, especially if you aren’t ready to jet off to a far away destination for the sake of eating local delicacies. Next up were the people who could bring us into the actual recipes, and this is where Maangchi, Chinese Cooking Demystified, Seonkyoung Longest, Refika, Yaman Agarwal, and even Townsends have been paving the way to inspiring millions of people from around our planet. But even with guides to help show us how to make these dishes, we still need ingredients that are not always easy to find.

Noodles and Tofu

Amazon is one source for some ingredients, but local ethnic grocery stores are essential for many of the fresh foods that are required, and they sadly are not very ubiquitous across America. Even when we find a local Filipino or Middle East grocery, the inconsistent quality and visual appeal of these small stores might turn some people away. Other online sources can be helpful, but then again, you must first know what it is you are looking for, and while you may want to buy hing powder if the vendor knows it as Asafoetida and has it listed as such, you may never connect the dots to buy what you need.

Posharp Store

The better cooking shows offer alternatives when they know particular ingredients will be hard to find for people in North and South America, along with Europe. Just today, I was able to find a single online source at The Mala Market for Er Jing Tiao and Facing Heaven chilies for making Ciba chili paste, but had I not found those, it was recommended I try cayenne and Thai bird’s eye. Another recipe I’m interested in calls for Duolajiao, preferably from Tantan Xiang, but it’s acknowledged that this is likely impossible to find outside of China, so an alternative was offered but with a lot of vigilance, I found that the PosharpStore in Massachusetts carries it, wish I’d known I would be buying this when back in August I bought Shaoxing rice wine from the same company. The point is that there are ways to get very close to authentic flavors, but you must be persistent in trying to source the ingredients.

Laotai Arui

Enter Liziqi, Laotai Arui, Dianxi Xiaoge, and WocomoCook, who are inspiring followers with their style of traditional cooking methods where we are viewing the gardens, tools, and environment where these foods are being made. There’s little attention given to the recipes and often there is little spoken, but the slow nature of bringing food into becoming a meal is an art unto itself. Now I find myself wanting a slab of tree trunk for my next cutting board; I’ve already bought a Chinese cleaver and have a Korean butane stove on the way so I can stop trying to use a wok on an electric stove.

Bring all of this together and add a generation of people from around the globe who are being inspired to move outside the bland versions of cuisine that hardly resemble its origins, and I find a new view of what ethnic dishes are being born. American renditions of German, French, Chinese, Korean, Thai, and Japanese foods are nothing short of sad atrocities using a set of homogeneous ingredients that have no variations from coast to coast here in the United States. Fortunately, there are still ethnic restaurants that won’t attract many Westerners anyway and so they have no choice but to maintain authenticity in order to be appealing to recent immigrants from those countries. As time goes on, I’d like to imagine that more people will be inspired by and start demanding these foods that, while exotic today, could become commonplace in the future.

Does anybody have some good tips on Icelandic, Iranian, Peruvian, Namibian, and Russian cuisines on YouTube? I’m also searching for Portuguese, Scandinavian, and Guinean streamers. By the way, as I was finishing up this blog entry, Caroline and I came across canned mutton at a local Vietnamese grocery and found a recipe from Guyana that we’ll be trying in the coming weeks. Another benefit of living in the age we are in.

** Notenot 10 minutes after this was published, I stumbled upon The Lime Tree on YouTube. My wish for Persian cooking examples has been found with this person yet another example of the influence Liziqi is having on cultural content surrounding food. I still need a person who walks me through the specifics of the popular recipes found in Iran.

I Just Don’t Know

Frog in the fog

Why do I feel so disconnected from this old routine of taking up a spot in a coffee shop and turning on the word spigot? Maybe my mask is interfering with the neural pathway that allows thoughts to form and find an uninterrupted flow to my fingers. This being Thursday and the 4th day of a 5-day fast, maybe starvation is having an impact as it’s typically been this day that is the foggiest. Or could the entire planet experiencing this collective moment of uncertainty be a contributing factor? On one hand, I can almost see 22-year-old John floundering in what is the meaning of everything, but that version of me I thought was mostly out of sight. One might then suggest this is my long overdue midlife crisis, but I’d argue that that is like thinking I might enter a second puberty. I’m not worried about my own value in this world but have this nagging feeling that something is amiss, and this return to what had been normal is some strange facade that isn’t real.

Beyond the veil of delusion is our new normal that’s not been defined yet as it’s still rapidly or maybe glacially evolving. Thrusting myself forward, I’m out here grasping at any emergent signs I might gather in order to interpret if an order of things is observable. Tentative and uncertain is how I see much of this current situation, while the holdouts from the previous age are determined to march forward as though nothing has changed. Maybe they have it figured out somehow?

So now what? I don’t know, I just don’t know. I’ll continue sitting here in the clouds, pondering these bigger questions.

Cascading Existentialism

Butterbrot on German Butterbrot Day

Earlier this month, I wrote a blog entry insisting it was not about existentialism, and it wasn’t, but today, maybe this one will be just about that, and maybe it won’t. I’m bored. From out of this moment in boredom (which I think I’ve alluded to being impervious to on many other occasions during these missives) I reluctantly concede that I’m experiencing the uncertainty of what to do. For six months, one week, and four days since our pandemic sequestering, I’ve been pretty good about remaining engaged or at least distracted. Today, I’m overly aware that I don’t feel like doing anything that could be done while here at home, nor do I want to venture out to find distraction there.

Yesterday, my awareness of not enjoying our place became writ large across my happiness as with Caroline at work. I was liberated to do as I please, but I found myself lost. While this past month saw us venturing out to break the long chain of self-isolation, I’m not exactly comfortable among those people who cavalierly toss reasonable health practices away in order to prove some nebulous point about raw belligerent power and a kind of masculinity arising out of our obsession with dystopian fatalism. So, though I’d like to embark on a new journey into putting these past six months behind me and exploring some new routines, I’m reluctant to be among the masses who are acting purely in their own selfish interests as opposed to empathizing with the well-being of the American community at large.

For 17 years, Caroline and I have comfortably lived in a single room, a single large open space in the form of a loft. We cherish our time together when we can be at home together, which up until March this year felt rare. If we weren’t traveling on a weekend, Caroline might be at a guild meeting or a fiber workshop. During the week, I might be at one of a few dozen locations writing, people-watching, eating, walking, or otherwise spending time away from home. When we got home, there were things to do that we’d been away from all day. When self-isolation began, our dreams of spending more time together came true. In the back of our minds, we already knew from previous experience in the late 1980s that mixing work and living in one small space is not the best idea, but a global pandemic that was forcing everyone to stop in place gave impetus to embrace the quarantine and go with the flow. So, staying at home became an extended road trip; it was camping in place and a golden opportunity to indulge our desires to spend more time together.

Now, don’t think this is heading to a lament of over-exposure between Caroline and me, as that’s the farthest thing from my truth, but after six months, our hamster wheel is closing in. I also know that this is temporary, and maybe as soon as tomorrow, my brain will return to celebrating this opportunity, but right now, I’m at a loss and uninspired. Of course, there’s also the overwhelming nonsense of the game of intruding politics that seems to aim at dominating a large part of people’s lives who pay attention to current events. This is pure unadulterated gaslighting that my own stupid compulsion to witness the trainwreck keeps bringing me back to, so too many days arrive with no small amount of dread. The point here is that I have to tiptoe around online activities as I risk catching a hint of the “Outrage du jour” from a media that is desperate to hook me into a device to nail my attention for the sake of impressions and ad dollars. So maybe if I focus on writing, I can escape what I don’t want to see and instead bring my mind into compliance with an imagination that will whisk me away from boredom.

Instead, I go around in circles searching for a muse to guide me while not really looking for that inspiration but telling myself the bologna that I really want to escape this entropy. I know I’ll have a butterbrot because today is German Butterbrot Day, where the world joins in to celebrate this uniquely Teutonic pleasure of greasing your bread with a smear of butter and calling it dinner. Well, that didn’t get it; I’m not any more motivated than before besides wanting a second go-round of yummy rye bread with butter. Yeah, eating is a good distraction; maybe I need to find where on Earth people are celebrating Donut Day today.

But I called this blog entry Cascading Existentialism and not Eating To Pacify Moodiness, so just what is it that feels so out of control? The polarized American people, our politics, healthcare, education, and our concern about the environment are the major bones of contention, but racism, intolerance, poverty, and violence play large roles too. I know I cannot change even a small part of the 330 million of us who live in the United States. I cannot influence our political parties or the media that sensationalizes everything it features: healthcare is a $3.6 trillion industry that has no regard for those it serves, education panders to the lowest common denominator, guaranteeing fodder for prisons, low-pay jobs, and an absent electorate, while we flaunt international convention about safeguarding air and water quality for the sake of profits. Racism is tolerated, while intolerance of religions, sexual orientation, cultural background, and general diversity from the status quo is promulgated as anti-American. Poverty is a consequence of all of this, with violence the natural outcome of people without an ability to surmount the structural bias against those a society would like to keep outside the gate.

Hey John, how does any of that affect your day-to-day existence? Awareness is the fodder of the imagination, and if you are an artist, you should look upon the subject you intend to capture in images, or you should acquaint yourself with the various sounds and aural structures of music should you aspire to be a musician. Yet I am a human desiring to be just that, and so the condition of our society screams at me to be recognized as though I might find an inkling of how to depict a proper reflection or maybe an antidote to the wanton mayhem that institutional stupidity is wreaking upon us. Well, that’s a pretty large burden you are trying to shoulder. But I know there is no way for me to bear the gravity of such outrage, so I try in little ways to exorcise the demons of awareness through the cathartic exercise of writing, learning, exploring, and eating. It must be time for another butterbrot.