I’ve been collecting art, land, monsters and many other objects and creatures as NFTs on multiple blockchains for about a year now so it was about time for a first attempt at launching a project. I’d like to introduce you to such a project, a lovely collaboration that started at home.
My monthly hosting bill for running this website has hovered around $0.52 for the past couple of years. The way I do it is an example of how I’m trying to survive without a conventional job while keeping my people and the cats fed. Especially the cats.
This is a short one but it contains a couple of tips for the shrewd ones and may save you some green.
The Man is scared. The machine that pushes commuters into the guts of blocky edifices every morning and every day is marshaling its hordes to oppose a revolution that has no face, no headquarters, and no intentions of stopping.
The soldiers of the system are doing what they usually do best with their limited reasoning skills and abundant numbers: parrot whatever their commanders utter. Will it continue to work?
“So it is like magic money?” “a rock, the actor?, a drawing of a rock for a million?” “a bubble, it’s a bubble!”
And their favorite these days: the environment. Of course, Mr. Big Oil and Bank, you’ve always worried about that, haven’t you?
No. This goes beyond magic, rocks and bubbles. This is about who’s in control, this is about us and them.
The age of the blockchain has only just begun.
It’s been only five months since I regained my independence but it feels like years. I’ve been setting up the foundation for a little project of mine, partaking in online communities, and enjoying the thrill of working at my own pace and having a purpose. I’ve got plenty to do and no intentions of going back to the stale world of normalcy.
Fancy a vicarious peek? Here’s what I’ve been up to.
For most of my adult, salaried life I’ve distrusted Friday. You know why: they are sneaky, they are a mirage, they make you think that you’ve got your life back. But just for a speck of time.
You can tell there’s something fishy about the Fri when the company men and women putting the monies to buy your forty hours of abject servitude—if you are lucky—start inviting you to ridiculously named events: happy hour, fun Friday, bring your lizard to work day. “Oh, boy!” chortles the resident sycophant. “Do I love fun Friday!”
Most of these occurrences are a mixture of empty conversations, boring games, alcohol, cookies and—sometimes—ice cream.
Ice cream? Fucking love ice cream!
Beware, what comes next is something I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy—Saturday.
That’s it, stop smirking, you know where this is going.
I did it. After a decade of being on a payroll I quit what most chumps would consider a comfortable tech job.
I was sick of wearing the obedient employee masquerade in exchange for cold money while life passed me by. I’ve got better places to wander around, nicer people to be with, and plenty of ideas to shape, so here’s where I start anew.
As millions of fellow grubs in 2020, I had the fortune of losing a full-time job in the midst of what we hope will be a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic (betcha it won’t), and a couple of minutes later, after having entertained going back to freelancing and remembering how much I abhor chasing clients, I did what most domesticated adults would do: ignominiously hit the job boards for what I expected would be my last time.
I had wished that the sudden, forced embrace of remote work would uncover new and unique ways of collaborating, that both puppets and puppeteers would finally realize that there’s opportunity beyond the glass partition, and that a threatening virus would bring out the best in us. A man can dream—none of that happened, of course. We’re talking humans here, remember?
I hadn’t been on the hunt for a new master in a while and didn’t enjoy a single second of it, but at least the ordeal inspired me to jot down my thoughts, revive an old draft from my antiwork folder—yep, I have one—and compile my suggestions for how not to get a job in tech, that lazy label pundits attach to anything involving software, Internet, hustle, and billions with a b.
What follows is painfully inspired by the more than two decades I’ve spent solving other people’s problems and sprinkled with extra findings from the myriad of job interviews I endured during the COVID-19 era. So heed the advice of this idiot and I guarantee that you won’t be getting sophisticated, respectable-by-the-masses wage employment anytime soon, but instead you’ll reap something much more valuable and important—a good life.
Welcome to life in the twenty-first century, my fellow responsible adult, where you have to toil your way through hoping that, with the right mix of skills and fortune, you’ll earn enough pennies to afford the necessaries of life. Terrific, innit?
What’s that? You don’t like your job? Want some time for yourself? What for? Have you even considered that every second you waste on that life of yours is hurting the economy? Our economy! No, you wouldn’t dare. We’re all together on this so stop whining and get on with the plan.
That’s one of the favorite arguments of those utilizing you as a pawn to extract labor from. The rest—the sheep resigned to the grind—can’t even conceive what a good life is and will just abide. “That’s how it’s always been, what else can you do?”
What else? Well, you can start by facing reality and how you feel about it. I don’t pretend to announce a step-by-step plan in this short piece—I’m sure it wouldn’t apply to you anyway—but if it induces you to start sketching your own I shall be more than content.
And you, lucky bastard who already made a victorious exit, tag along and enjoy the well-deserved schadenfreude.
The year was 1866 and the American Civil War was just a few months in the past when a group of emigrants from Germany gathered in a tavern to talk about the needs of their new home—a broken but still nascent country—and to engage in horological discussion. They were watchmakers who shared a love for their craft and wanted to create an organization to represent them and their fellow men.
They originally called it the German Watchmakers Society, but sixty-four years later, as members from other nationalities joined, changed the name to the Horological Society of New York.
Why am I telling you of these mustachioed, hat-wearing gents? Well, I already shared some ideas on how to avoid wasting your days and hours, now I want to explore how people from different cultures perceive time.