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For those of you who are new, we kick off every week by sharing what we’ve been playing.
The playlist below is some of what’s been in heavy rotation for me. I’m thinking about travel, but this week it’s more about being in the air than on the road. For those of us in aviation, this week kicks off the high season. Doubly so if you live in a college town, as the mass exodus of students for winter break starts now. Closer to home, one of my kids will be taking his first solo trip— he’s off to Florida for a rugby tournament. It’s a massive leap of faith on our part, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also kinda excited for him.
On to the music:
Side A kicks off with us taking a trip to Oceania to hear The Beths. It’s about to be high season for AOTY lists, too, and their Straight Line Was a Lie is sure to be on a lot of ‘em. From there, we head to the Rose City for a brand-new one from Foamboy. Bonus points if you recognize where their artist pic on Spotify is from. Double points if you’ve been there. Hazel English is back with some dream pop goodness in “Gimme” (worth noting the video was shot at JFK’s TWA Hotel), and one of my top songs of the year in Tunde Adebimpe’s “Somebody New.” Before Side A is done, we hit everywhere from DC to Curitiba, Brazil! It’s quite an itinerary.
Side B: We start the 2nd half doing a little time travel to hear from Innovations, before coming back to catch Willowake, Smashing Pumpkins, and Preoccupation’s “Andromeda” (another of my faves of 2025). From there, we hop to Lawrence, Kansas, and a couple stops in Canada to check out Home Front and Arcade Fire, before returning to the Carolinas for Superchunk’s killer take on a Magnetic Fields classic, and winding things up with the track that recently got my vote for “best Pink Floyd song.” Run like Hell? During the frenzy that is holiday travel, you don’t have to be in a terminal too long to see someone doing it.
Are you going anywhere this week? If so, I’d love to hear where you‘re off to, even if it’s just across town.
Some thoughts on Ticketmaster, Resellers, and Swifties.
It shouldn’t surprise you that a considerable chunk of my adolescent years were spent going to, coming from, or actually at shows. If you’re reading this, I’d bet our timelines overlap.
Some of that was down to questionable life decisions—I quit more than one job after being unable to get time off. Some was timing— people on my block had cars long before I did, making getting downtown easier. But mostly, it was economics. Tickets were simply cheaper (something that will surprise absolutely no one). We dealt with plenty along the way, but automated resellers weren’t one of ’em.
Back then, the first step to seeing a show usually meant heading to a brick-and-mortar building—a sporting goods store called GI Joe’s (think Dick’s Sporting Goods, but with a token record section). They had a desk whose sole mission was to sell park passes, fishing licenses, and concert tickets. This was the designated Ticketmaster outlet, back before they decided to go all in on villain shit. Prices were reasonable, and fees weren’t absurd. Most bands and crews weren’t getting rich, but at least the system hadn’t yet been weaponized against us.
Those little paper tickets were passports to whole new worlds—or beloved old haunts. Today, they mostly live in shoeboxes or scrapbooks. Concert tickets now exist on phones or in apps we’re forced to download—just a string of ones and zeroes sitting on a server somewhere. And speaking of numbers: the average ticket last year was $136.45, up about 42% from just five years earlier.
I know, I know—I’m deep in “old man yells at cloud” territory. Stick with me.
This isn’t a “things were cheaper in my day” stemwinder. Of course they were—so was everything else. I’ve got neighbors who had apartments downtown, paid $250 a month, and can’t figure out what today’s kids are griping about. I get it.
There were certainly systemic issues even then, and Pearl Jam was already taking on Ticketmaster. People were already testing workarounds. But complete monopolization hadn’t yet hit, and “reseller” still usually meant a chainsmoking, slightly sketchy dude in the parking lot an hour before showtime. Thirty-five-ish years later, we’re still inventing workarounds: house shows are back, pop-ups are a thing, and so on.
It’s the reseller I want to focus on here.
And look, I get it—we live in a late-stage capitalist hellscape. Supply and demand are real. So is surge pricing. Even the airline I may or may not work for has toyed with the idea. In aviation, it’s called Yield Management. In the music world, it more closely resembles highway robbery. And look, if artists and crews were the ones making that extra revenue, it might be palatable—but they’re not. It’s going to faceless corporations and bad actors who’ve mastered the system. The losers? Concertgoers and, occasionally, local venue owners.
Today’s resellers are much more ominous and much better equipped. They have all the levers of technology at their fingertips and know how to weaponize each one. The rise of AI has changed the rules of engagement yet again. If you’ve ever tried to buy tickets only to find the remaining ones priced several orders of magnitude above face value, you know what I’m talking about.
It’s gotten so bad that legislation was recently introduced here in Wisconsin to push back. The bill—introduced by Democratic lawmakers—came after a theater in Racine watched helplessly as $22 tickets ballooned to several hundred dollars for a production of Legally Blonde, effectively pricing people out of the show and diverting revenue from the venue. If passed, it would require resellers to disclose total ticket costs, cap markup limits, and prohibit bots that scoop up tickets before fans can.
History is littered with similar bills that never made it out of committee. Others have tried to tackle pricing itself. If I ruled the world, future versions would include bans on venues taking merch cuts. I’m not holding my breath. That’s one the market itself will have to handle—maybe if enough of us stop going to those places, they’ll stop. Maybe.
You’ve got to have a dream, right?
Back to the bill: Wisconsin is one of the most politically balkanized states in the nation. Both parties spend more time throwing rocks at each other than actually getting things done. The GOP here can be politely characterized as “humorless.” Still, I’d like to think there’s a sliver left that remembers it’s supposed to champion small business and working people. They’ve whiffed on plenty of easy wins in recent years—hopefully this won’t be one of them. Other states are following similar paths, but like the slogan says: As goes Wisconsin…
Ideally, these obscene price hikes will go the way of the paper ticket. My dream is that kids today get to experience the same adventures I did—and that, for once, consumers aren’t the ones left holding the bag.
If nothing else, at least the bill has a killer name: the Stop Wildly Inflated Fees and Ticketing Industry Exploitation Act. 11/10 No notes. Hopefully, our elected officials will get it and realize the peril of voting against something with a title like this.
Political survival 101: Never start a land war with Swifties.
Note: Last night I had the pleasure of seeing Garrett Graff speak. Graff is the author of several books, including The Only Plane in the Sky, a harrowing recount of 9/11 as told by those who were there. Below is mine. I originally wrote this to mark the 20th anniversary of that day. I’d like to think my writing style has changed a bit in the years since. My feelings about 9/11 have not. Thanks for letting me share this. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow.
September 11th was the day the evil came to the United States. It was the day that evil came to most people’s lives.
They didn’t think it existed. They came and it exists. And it was in our backyard.
~Mary Galligan, former head of FBI’s PENTTBOM team
It’s hard to believe that over 20 years have passed since that day. The actual events were over fairly quickly-just a few hours, really. But 9/11 was an inflection point for this country, and in a lot of ways it still hasn’t ended.
Aviation today is almost unrecognizable — if you’re old enough that 9/11 was a lived event, you’re old enough to remember not having to take off your shoes, and having friends meet you at the gate.
Another good way to “tell someone your age without telling them your age” is to have a plane fly overhead at low altitude. Anyone who was around that day will still reflexively look up.
Memories can be quirky. Quiz me about last week, and I’d be hard-pressed to answer. Ask me about 9/11, and I can tell you almost anything with amazing clarity. Not just the obvious parts, but much smaller details:
What the weather was like.
The sounds (or lack thereof).
How calm my commute to the airport was — I followed a white car over the Glenn Jackson bridge.
Snippets of conversations.
The tinny voice coming out of the AM dial in my work truck as I “guarded” grounded aircraft.
I’ve tried to write this story multiple times — the funny thing about 9/11 is that everyone wants to share “their” story — but I keep getting tripped up. It’s hard to do justice to something so profound, yet something we each experienced in our own unique way.
I hope that sentence reads better than I think it does.
The aviation community is extremely fraternal. Maybe second only to law enforcement. Everyone “knows a guy” at this carrier or that station. It may not have been our our paint on those 4 planes, but in an abstract way it still us, you know?
I was that kid who used to look up and stare at planes flying overhead. In a lot of ways, I still am. To realize that these machines had been turned into weapons of mass destruction was devastating. To wonder what those last minutes were like is more than I can bear.
Flights departing the East Coast were already in the air when the FAA decided to ground all air traffic. Those flights were diverted to the nearest available concrete. Flights inbound from Asia and Europe overwhelmed Canadian airports on both ends of the country.
Where I spent 9/11/2001. Photo: Airliners.Net/Chris Coduto
Flights on the West Coast, where I was, had for the most part never left. Gates are usually full overnight, but rarely at midday. Yet there all the planes were, still tucked in from the night before.
The airport looked as if it had just overslept.
We had five planes on the ground. I was initially tasked with “guarding” one. Against what, I didn’t know. I also wasn’t armed or trained — before 9/11, the protocol was to accommodate a suspect’s demands as best you could — so I spent most of the day sitting on the hood of our station’s truck, smoking and listening to the radio. What else was I gonna do? I’ve since come to think this assignment was borne more out of a need to feel like we were doing something than anything else.
The people I worked with did not do helpless well.
As the afternoon moved into evening, we decided that playing sentry was pointless and regrouped to watch TV in our break room. We had a TV strapped to a cart like schools used to. Reception was dodgy, and developments came sporadically.
Meanwhile, our teletype printer never stopped. Looking back, I wish I would’ve saved some of those messages, but the paper fades after a few years, so it wouldn’t have done much good. Everything is ephemeral.
And everything with 9/11 is like a paradox. Recounting the day can be paralytic, and yet the words flow easily. I never really talk that much about 9/11, yet find myself writing too much, going off in every direction lest I dishonor the story by leaving some small part out.
The beautiful weather didn’t match the hellish events.
Airports were quiet.
Traffic calm.
Being high on adrenaline and drained all at once.
A few weeks ago, my state’s newspaper called for submissions. Readers were asked to send in their memories. Posts were to be capped at 250 words. At first, those guardrails seemed like a constraint. In the end, they were freeing.
I did what I could. I think I managed okay. The words below are my submission. This is my story.
I work for an airline. In 2001, I was a new crew chief working the night shift in Portland, Oregon. I was sleeping when our phone started ringing off the hook. Our friends back east were already seeing the horror show unfold. They woke us up just in time to watch the second plane hit, and our lives forever changed.
I was called into work early that day to “guard” our planes; an absurd request, given that none of us were armed, and our training at the time was to accommodate the demands of any threat (much like the flight crews on that day). All of that would change shortly.
In the meantime, I spent most of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, sitting on the hood of our station’s 20-year-old truck listening to ABC News on AM radio.
People will tell you that it was beautiful that day, and it was. It was sunny in NYC and clear and a million on the West Coast. It was quiet, too; no noise on an airfield is both rare and disconcerting.
Late that night, we were still glued to our break room TV. The graveyard supervisor came in and wondered why we weren’t working. He’d left his previous shift in an ordinary world, slept all day, and returned that night to one that was now unrecognizable to any of us.
One guy wordlessly pointed at the TV. He took a seat and watched with us all.
Wherever the day finds you, I hope the weather is as beautiful as it was that Tuesday morning in 2001.
And please spare a second for the flight crews who fought so valiantly for us before we knew anything was wrong.
“Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas.”
— Marie Curie
When I was a kid, my dad traveled often for business. He’d come home with the usual souvenirs he probably grabbed at the airport (my dresser was full of “Visit New Hampshire” type shirts) and would tell us about the cool places he had visited in between appointments.
If we were lucky, there’d be a trip to the Fotomat, and in a few days, we could look at some grainy pictures of wherever he’d been. But no matter where he went, when pressed for a favorite part of the trip, he’d always give the same answer: the flight.
It was the one place no one could reach him. It gave him time to read, think, whatever. Sometimes he’d spend the entire flight looking out the window and daydreaming, with only his thoughts and imagination keeping him company.
We like being distracted. Since the earliest days of aviation, airlines have been happy to help us with that. Food, playing cards, In-Flight Entertainment; the list goes on.
If you’re of a certain (ahem) age, you may remember the introduction of the Airphone on airplanes. They were bulky, cost a fortune, and were mainly used to tell people… you were calling them from an airplane. Movies were played on monitors that dropped down from the ceiling.
Today there are screens at every seat and 100’s of hours of content to pass the time. The advance in technology is nothing short of amazing, really. Airphones are long gone, but who needs that when you can iMessage everyone?
Put another way, you can spend an entire trip not ever thinking about the miracle of flight, or having to notice the view unfolding 30, 000 ft. below you. You can be as busy in the air as you are on the ground. Or not.
Yesterday I took my first post-pandemic flight. I had all kinds of plans to get things done; a pile of things to read, a decent-sized to-do list, phone stuffed with podcasts, etc.
About 15 minutes in, I decided not to do any of it.
Instead, I read a little, looked out the window, and let my mind wander.
When I first moved to the Midwest I found an apartment that had one of those wall-mounted heater/AC units you see in hotels. I thought I was getting a steal. Growing up in Portland, a lot of people didn’t have A/C. It rarely really gotthat hot, so it never occurred to me that this was standard issue in other parts of the country.
In her latest edition of The Profile, Polina Marinova Pompliano is writing from the road. She talks about how her grandfather marvels at things most of us never notice like the way tile is laid out in the buildings they visit.
It’s an engrossing story, with an expected arc about how travel changes us, realigns our priorities, etc. But she really got my attention when discussing perceptions and how traveling shatters any illusion of what normal is.
Here she is talking about travel expert Rick Steves:
“Steves once said that people who don’t travel often think their way of life is the norm (ie: Americans say the British drive on the “wrong” side of the road. No, they just drive on the other side of the road). “
This past week, Oregonians (at the west coast in general) had their illusion of “normal” shattered when temps soared over 110. Those are numbers seen in other places. In Phoenix…in Death Valley…in Riyadh.
Temps like that test the limits of human endurance anywhere. But in a place whose average temps are 40 degrees cooler? Where for many people having A/C really means an underpowered window unit and an intricate maze of box fans?
Next week, I’ll return home to Oregon for the first time in over 3 years. I won’t be there long—it’s never enough, really— but it’ll be good to see my family, Mt. Hood, and smell the Pacific Northwest air.
I’ll be staying with mom, a proud owner of one of these Rube Goldberg HVAC contraptions. So far, she says she’s managed. I hope so.
I also hope this isn’t a new normal for them.
On to the good stuff:
In the writing world, “killing your darlings” is often dished out as advice. Austin Kleon proposes relocating them instead.
A good read: Jonathan Malesicon the rise of Substack, and what it may/may not mean for journalism going forward.
Jon Gruber weighs in on the plea from Apple workers to continue working remotely.Gruber’s take is hot enough to bathe in, but in a lot of ways, I think he’s on the right track here. To be clear, there is definitely merit in the idea of working remotely. I’m also mindful that living in Silicon Valley doesn’t come cheap or without a long commute. At the same time, these sorts of employee petitions reek of entitlement. As Gruber notes, Apple’s new “three days on site” policy wasn’t a request for comments — it was a decision.” I’m open to the idea that mine is a generational reaction, and one from someone whose job has to be done in person. I just think a little intellectual honesty would’ve gone a long way here. I’d love to hear where you fall on this
Another good tweet (or thread) from a first-time watcher of Ted Lasso.I don’t watch a lot of TV, but it’s an easy series to fall in love with. Season 2 kicks off on July 23rd.
RIP Frank Bonner.The man who brought WKRP’s Herb Tarlek to life left us earlier this month. His nonstop schmoozing of the “big guy,” running paycheck pools, or trying to win the hearts of Bailey and Jennifer might’ve made you cringe (he’d definitely get canceled today). But underneath that veneer of sleaze was a solid teammate. Tarlek always struck me as the kinda guy that might’ve tried to get you to take the bad square in an office pool, but would also lend you a (very loud) coat without being asked. The world’s a better place with people like that in it.
Thanks for being here,
Kevin—
What caught your attention this week? Got a rant or rave? Let me know in the comments or send me an email. I read all the responses. You can also read more of my work on Medium,and connect with me on Twitter.
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
— Mary Anne Radmacher
I assure you I’m not turning this into a “tales from the office” sort of newsletter. But if you’ll indulge me in one more story from my workplace, I want to share the story of my friend Richard Hulsizer.
The airlines were a second career for Richard. He joined us after having just retired from the United States Post Office. He and his husband dreamt of seeing the world; joining us at (then) Northwest was their way to do it.
If you’ve ever been a manager/supervisor/whatever you learn to quickly assess whether or not someone will be a good fit on your team. In a line station like mine, those good and bad qualities can be magnified— in case of conflict, there’s simply nowhere else to go.
He fit right in from the start and was the kind of person you are happy to see show up on your gate. Hardworking, sure, but also friendly, and frankly funny as hell. I should also note that he was a great baker and would bring cookies in often.
I should also note that I ate more than my share.
I’d like to have ended this story with another retirement party, replete with balloons, cake, and hugs. This isn’t that story, though. For Richard, there was no second retirement or years spent on exploring the Greek Isles. Instead, I am writing this on the 11th anniversary of his death due to a workplace accident. This was not a “good death” (whateverthehell that means), and it wasn’t quick, either.
I mention this to share a few points:
First, every action has a consequence. Sometimes they’re good, and sometimes not, but nothing happens in a vacuum.
Next, it’s easy to become complacent at work, and at home. Many of you may be going back to the office for the first time in a while. Even if you’ve been going in through the whole pandemic, please—if even just for today— make a concerted effort to move through your shift with intention. That extra second or two could make all the difference.
Third; dreams deferred are dreams unrealized. People re-prioritizing their life in the wake of COVID is a popular topic these days, and there are no shortage of think pieces and/or hot takes plastered all over the ‘net. It’s easy to let real life get in the way—I’m as guilty of it as anyone— but no one’s promised tomorrow.
Also: If someone in your office brings cookies in, make sure to thank them, even if you don’t eat them.
We’re in a brutal cold snap here in the upper Midwest, but the sun is out and visibility is clear-and-a-million. It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.
Here are 5 things that grabbed my attention this past week. Wherever this finds you, I hope you’re safe and warm… Or that it’s at least sunny.
Speaking of music, this past week the world celebrated “International Clash Day,” honoring the seminal band. Rob Janicke breaks down what it is and why it matters.
What caught your eye this past week? Let me know! I read every response.
Onward! Kevin —
P.S. Top writers Tim Denning and Todd Brison have opened their Medium Bad-Assery course. Whether you want to start writing, or just get better, this is the place to go. I was in the initial class, and it improved my academic/business/social writing. You also get to be part of an amazing community of writers. Registration ends soon, but there’s still time to join!
NOTE: This isn’t an affiliate link; I just got a ton of value out of the course and think you will too.
While all of us were distracted with “GameStock,” new variants of COVID, and new levels GOP bat-shittery, the new administration was busy getting down to business.
Biden spent most of his first days in office, well, actually, working. He ended the so-called “Muslim ban,” reframed the battle against COVID as a “wartime effort” (finally!), and rejoined the World Health Organization.
Actual, tangible progress. Who’d have thought?
Apparently, not the press. They seemed to have missed the message that grievance culture and performative outrage are out. We’re a tired, angry nation. We don’t need any more gas thrown on that fire. While we’re at it, can someone please tell the NYT we don’t need anymore think pieces on the “aggrieved Trump voter?” It’s over.
We’re back to focusing on what doesn’t matter with the President (tan suit, anyone?). The recent pearl-clutching over Biden’s watch or his bike is annoying but in a small way also kind of a relief.
Given a choice, I’d much rather be debating the security levels of a Peleton than watching a sitting president try to overthrow our entire democracy.
“The gotcha formula is strange, because wealthy politicians who advocate for the poor should be celebrated, not questioned. By definition, they’re not looking out for themselves, or their one percent tax bracket. Instead, they’re using their positions in power to try to advance an agenda of justice and lifting people up.”
We’re addicted to outrage, and the Fourth Estate is addicted to supplying it, but focusing on “boring” things like policy updates and initiatives would do us all a world of good. No more “both sides-ism,” no more pandering for clicks/eyeballs. Just a speedball of actual information and retelling of facts as they’ve occurred.
We may be addicted to outrage, but this is the best kind of withdrawal.
On to the good stuff:
Ear Candy: I was supposed to be on vacation this week. Actually, I am on vacation, we just didn’t go anywhere. That’s turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Getting up when it’s light and going to bed when it’s dark has been a nice change from my normal schedule. That said, I really missed chasing the sun this year. So I did the next best thing and made a playlist of tracks that remind me of the previous trips we’ve taken, or just help me escape.
Speaking of travel: Last week, I linked to an article about travelers gaming the system. The goal is to essentially fly for free every time. Some of the methods simply take advantage of loopholes in the system (kinda like Gamestop), and some are sketchy at best. This week, American Airlines dropped the hammer on these shenanigans. I can’t link to it directly, but if you go here and scroll down to “Latest Communications,” you’ll find this update:
Translation: “We’re done tolerating this nonsense.”
Books: I recently finished “The Creative’s Curse” by Todd Brison, and Essential by The Minimalists (not affiliate links). I cannot recommend these enough. If you are in any way creative, Brison’s book is a must-read. If you are looking to clear out the white noise in your life, pick up Essential.
Both have me feeling a little better about the world, and the path I’m on.
In the meantime, here’s a quick read using packing for a trip as a metaphor for the baggage we carry around in our lives. The takeaway: Don’t overpack.
Eye Candy: I might not be able to use my passport, but I can be a tourist in my own town. Sometimes from the comfort of my own couch. This Instagram Account never fails to make my part of the world seem like a Wonderland. Maybe ‘cause it is.
It’s a new day in America, and we can all collectively exhale. Watching the inauguration this week, I felt real joy and hope. I was asked what I liked best about the speeches.
My response:
“I think what impressed me most about yesterday’s speeches was what they lacked.
There was no bile or name-calling. There was no finger-pointing. There were no attempts at rallying people by focusing on what they’re against.
Instead, we listened to calls for civility. For coalition. For concord. It was refreshing–and it wasn’t lost on me that yesterday was the first time in days that we saw the sun up here.
The ceremony itself seemed to recognize today’s(?) America. I don’t know if I can articulate that well. It was nice to see traditional things like nods to heroism (take a bow, Eugene Goodman), but also a blend of august and novel. “Stars and Stripes Forever” got played, and someone in the audience was wearing Jordans. A 22 yr. old stopped us in our tracks with her evocative words, and Bernie became a meme. I hope that all makes sense.
I’ve always thought what makes this crazy experiment of ours great is the people. America isn’t a corporation. It’s not it’s geographic borders. It’s us. All 330M of us. The last 4 years saw the worst of us surface. The next 4 will bring out the best in us.
On the morning after the 2016 election, my family was returning home from a vacation in Pensacola. When you fly space-available, you get an early start, so there we were driving in the pre-dawn silence. As we crossed the Three Mile bridge, I looked over and saw my wife had tears running down her cheeks. Yesterday, she posted a picture of our flag waving in the sun. Yesterday felt less like a ceremony and more like healing.
Scott Galloway keeps telling his audience that “Everything that’s wrong with America can be fixed by what’s right with America.” Yesterday felt like the clarion call to get rolling on that, and it’s what I liked best. I’m excited.”
And I hope you are too. We’ve got work to do. Let’s get rollin’!
On to the good stuff…
Everything falls apart. On some level, we all know this, yet failures still surprise us. This week my shoulder decided to stage it’s own revolution. A much more typical—and much less painful— example can be the stuff we own. We all know quality > quantity, and most of us are aware of planned obsolescence. Maybe the better way to go is to simply own less stuff. Fewer things, less stuff to maintain. Perfect.
Some day soon, we’ll all be traveling again. In a previous issue, I shared the 1st part of a great historical recap of United Airlines’ storied history in Cleveland. Here’s Part 2, covering the 1970-80’s. It’s a wonderful read, even if you’re not as into aviation as I am.
P.S. Not for nothing, if we ever vote on changing our national anthem, “Stars and Stripes Forever” gets my vote. It’s a hill I’m totally willing to die on.
P.P.S. I’d love to hear what you think about this week’s list. Rants, raves, or anything in between. Let me know in the comments, and share widely!
If you’re reading this, I’m pleased to tell you we’re still here. Our republic is down, but not out.
As terrifying as last week’s insurrection was (and the more we learn, the worse it gets), I don’t think the fate of our nation was ever in doubt. That may be naivete but for me, the appeal of the American Experiment is its resilience.
We bend but never break.
A huge part of the larger discourse has been the rise of social media, and the influence it has on the populace. There is no shortage of analysis and/or hot takes on the massive reach of Facebook (or the calls to #DeleteFacebook), the often arbitrary moderation of Twitter, and whateverthehell Parler was.
The latter was effectively erased from existence last week, and a lot of people made sure we all knew they thought their freedom of speech was being infringed on.
Regardless of where you stand on Parler’s extinction, we can all agree on 2 distinct truths:
1. Civics needs to make a return to our school’s curriculum, post haste.
2. For all intents and purposes, social media IS today’s Town Square. It’s where we go to share ideas, get on our (cyber) soapbox, and debate. The discourse isn’t happening down the street- it’s on your screen.
The First Amendment doesn’t apply to private companies, and everyone has to consent to a platform’s Terms of Service as a condition of participation. The easy answer here is to point to that, and say “if you don’t like it, leave.” I know, I’ve done it. But maybe the better solution is to model Terms of Service after the First Amendment.
It’s pretty clear that online is where people are now assembling, and as broad as it is, 1A still has defined guardrails. I don’t think you could legislate (read: force) companies to do this, but it’s certainly a model worth looking into going forward. Don’t @ me*.
On to the good stuff…
Like many of you, I often find refuge in music. This week was no different. Here are a few songs that made navigating life during wartime a little better.
Speaking of escape, the life of the Digital Nomad has exploded in popularity. COVID has been an accelerant for many things, and this is no different. As the Knowledge Economy has blossomed, so too has the ability to work from anywhere as long as you have internet access. Susanna Perkins has written a great piece about the age of the “Anywhereist.” As she explains, it goes far beyond simple categories, and far beyond the stereotypical 20-something.
“An “anywhereist” goes beyond “work from home,” “remote work,” or “digital nomad” — although it encompasses all of them. To me, it means I have the ability to truly work and live anywhere, either as a remote employee or through my own business.”
With some nations now offering work visas (Aruba, anyone?), there’s never been a better time to load up your laptop and go. Work From Home sounds a whole lot more appealing when “home” is an island paradise.
Long live the Business Traveler. As COVID continues to ravage the aviation industry, many have predicted the end of corporate travel. Given the disproportionate amount of revenue they bring in, this is particularly concerning. The truth is, this is nothing new.
When the Suits do return to the terminal, you know what won’t be there? CNN Airport News. Not sure I’d be able to write any kind of elegy here, but it is more proof that change is constant.
COVID has clearly changed how we work, how we travel, and how we… (checks notes)… build stadiums?
Kevin Sent 
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