parents > punks

It’s funny this thing we do where grown ups show up in little pixelated boxes wearing, most of the time, clothes that are not pajamas or expensive imitations of pajamas (athleisure) and talk to each other and write things to each other in other pixelated boxes and then every couple weeks a number goes up in a different pixelated box because you mostly reliably did the showing up in the boxes not in your pajamas.

It’s undervalued, I think, how good it is to work with people who see and express earnest delight in this basic absurdity of what we are up to, this Having a Job In 2024 thing. Those ones who can poke fun and laugh and get others to laugh at it - all in good faith. Laughter builds trust; it can be a bonding, inclusive force; it burns the acrid booze out and leaves the warm flavor.

The kind of humor and appreciation I’m talking about - in the face of evident absurdity and self-seriousness - shows up often among parents when they’re talking about parenting toddlers. These little tyrants! Their snacks! Their shaky command of English! We love them and they make almost no sense. What a world. We get to raise them.

This is so far preferable to me to what I class as a ~punk take on the basic workplace absurdity that I struggle to even write sentences about this undesirable alternative. This is dumb, leave me alone, can’t you tell we’re all just in pixelated boxes, ugh, hairflip. Yeah dogg, we know. We all gotta be here. Make it fun. The corniest thing possible is to think a posture of critique saves you from absurdity. 

It does not. It just makes you less generous to other people carrying heavy loads.

elder millennially yours,

Eric “is this based i really hope it’s based” Parrie