Infinitely Discontented
Figuring out something's value when it's free and endless
“I heard that you had to pay per letter, or was it per word?”
My 14yo daughter was asking what texting used to be like.
“Not exactly,” I said, “texts could only be 140 characters — it was a technical thing. But you had a limited number of texts you could send each month. Like a couple hundred.”
“You could only send a couple hundred in a whole month??”
“Send AND receive. Both counted against your total.”
She was floored.
“Yeah, and if you went over your number, you’d get charged 10 cents per text.”
“What, was this like FIFTY years ago?” she asked, referencing the oldest number she could comprehend and casually ignoring that I am not even 50 years old.
No, this wasn’t ancient history. This was just two decades ago.
Every TV ad she’s ever seen touts “unlimited talk and text,” as if that is all there’s ever been.
She’s never known a world that didn’t have instant, worldwide video calls. Or Netflix. Or Spotify. Or YouTube. Or Siri on an Apple Watch.
Her life—and all three of my kids’ lives—are a series of “all-you-can-eat” subscription plans. Everything is available, all at once.
And I’m not sure it’s better than paying 10 cents per text.
On the surface, all-you-can-eat feels like a great deal.
I grew up going to the only “all-you-can-eat” restaurant in town, King’s Table, which featured all the trappings you’d expect — overcooked corn-on-the-cob, grisly prime rib, and fruit salad with way too much honeydew melon. It really is the filler fruit that no one wants.
King’s Table also featured a giant serve-yourself soda fountain and those scuffed up, semi-translucent plastic cups from the 80s, which we’d fill — no ice — with an unholy concoction of every Coca-Cola product mixed together, which we’d call a “Suicide” or a “Graveyard.” Even then, I think we knew these drinks weren’t good for you.
The food wasn’t great, but there was a lot of it. And it was free. (I suppose, when you’re a kid, the food is always “free” but you get my point.)
When everything is free, nothing has value.
When texting is free, no single message carries any weight. You give your words away without thought, without reason.
When entertainment is infinite, then it’s all background noise.
When food is infinite, it’s all fuel.
When social media “relationships” are infinite, they are all replaceable.
Infinite content
Infinite content
We're infinitely content
How to combat this malaise? This illusion of infinite choice?
I don’t know. I’m no expert. I’m still stuck devising ways to extract my phone from my attention every day, and preparing to be called out as a hypocrite when I eventually give my kids their own phones and tell them to “stop looking at them.”
Maybe there are drastic measures to take. Get a dumb phone. Cancel one streaming service. Anything to have less choice.
But really, I think the advice is to slow down and notice what moves you.
Slow down.
Sit in awe of something. Be intentional with your choices.
Appreciate craft when you see it.
Two things I’m appreciating this week (and yes, it feels weird to mention TV and music, but here it is — this ain’t no honeydew melon):
Andor is the best Star Wars since the original Star Wars and it’s not even close. It’s perhaps the best show on TV this year, hands down. I’ve watched the first season (wait for it) FOUR TIMES, and season two (which backs up into the 2016 film "Rogue One”) ends next week.
The Beths are my new music obsession. I was in their TOP 100(!) LISTENERS on Apple Music last year. My kids roll their eyes when I play them. It’s bad. But they’re about to release a full new album, which is very exciting. Every lyric is like poetry that tickles my early 2000s indie rock insides. Here’s their newest track, Metal.
Then I explained to my 14yo HOW we texted, back in the 00s, before she was born.
“Go to my phone, open the phone app, and hit the keypad. Look at the letters on the numbers.”
“What is this?”
“We didn’t have a keyboard. We had to tap numbers multiple times to get a letter.”
Her lip curled in disgust.
“So if I wanted to type the word ‘can’ I had to hit 2-2-2, then pause, then 2 again, then 6-6.”
She looked like a gut punch recipient.
“So you basically did Morse code?”
I laughed.
Yeah, our entire society, for a couple of years, from 1999-2006-ish, learned a makeshift Morse code to send our 10-cent messages to each other. They weren’t infinite, so we made sure the cost was worth it.
There’s a lesson in there somewhere.
What does this “infinite content” make you think of? Empty calories (whether food or brain)?
If you want something intentional and in-real-life, I’ll offer you my forthcoming storytelling and stand-up comedy show, the Westside Story Club.
I just announced an incredible line-up of talented folks for my show on Sunday night, June 1st in West Los Angeles. The theme is “Unexpected Journeys” and it’s going to be great.
I’ve been uploading clips from the first show (“Can’t Unsee”) to YouTube and Instagram. Have you seen those?
As always, thanks for following along. Have a great week—
Alec
I can't decide whether the infinite buffet is better or worse than prehistoric life. I'll tell you what I miss. The thrill of the search. Going to a record store to thumb through new music. Going to a bookstore to savor the essence of a new book. Searching for months to find this one rare thing only housed in a warehouse in Wisconsin that would take two weeks to ship to me. Nowadays, I'm completely spoiled for choice and overwhelmed with content, and it has the opposite effect: now nothing is special, and nothing feels earned. If it takes more than two seconds to load on my browser, I might as well go find something else.
This was awesome, really glad to have found this newsletter!
This piece reminds me of George Carlin talking about the illusion of choice.