Space Jam 2: The Rejazzebration (Act III, Scene 5)

Introduction

There was a rumor of Space Jam 2, starring LeBron, being in some nebulous stage of Hollywood planning. The truth is that the project had already recruited Pau Gasol, LeBron James, Kevin Hart, and Anthony Davis, as well as your favorite Looney Tunes, and... uh, Krell, a real-life Monstar.

The actors all got together last October -except Bugs and Lola Bunny, whose contract negotiations were stalling for separate reasons- and filmed a screen test of the final scene to convince the studios to fund the project. Through one of my Holmes-slash-Moriarty-esque network of hundreds of NBA contacts throughout Los Angeles, I obtained this transcription of the event. It is not known if this project has been funded.

ACT III, SCENE 5

The game is tied at 97 with just seconds remaining on the clock. First to 100 wins. The Monstars have the ball and are bringing up the court.

KRELL, KING OF MONSTARS (and primary ballhandler), shoves KEVIN HART'S CHARACTER into the ground face-first in front of him.

Krell (maniacally laughing)

Aw, hah-haw, hah-haw, haw haw!

Now, to finish what I should have done earlier! LeBron, block this shot, if you can! Don't choke!

LeBron (to himself):

I don't have a choice. If he makes that half-court shot they'll get to 100 first. With Steph Curry's talent, he just might! The Monstars would take over the Earth!

In slow motion, KRELL rises high into the air and takes the shot. LEBRON leaps with him as the shot sails above him. LEBRON dramatically reaches his arm out with cartoonishly absurd stretch-arm CGI. LEBRON barely deflects the shot at its apex and watches it sail out of bounds at the buzzer. It's the start of overtime, and it's anyone's game. LEBRON turns to gloat...

LeBron (close-up on his face as he turns):

LILLLLL KEVVVVVINNNNNNN!!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!

Krell (landing on KEVIN HART'S CHARACTER'S spine with a crunch):

There, it's done. Now this party's really getting started!

LeBron:

You won't get away with this, Krell!

Krell: 

See you in overtime, "Chosen One"! More like CHOKING ONE! Haw haw!

Exit KRELL

Pau Gasol:

Stand back, I was a med. student! I'll help you, Kevin Hart's Character!

Kevin Hart's Character: 

Oh, lord, my back is killin' me! I feel like I been sleepin' under a house! No, heh, even worse! I been sleepin' under Shaq's house! Haha.

KEVIN HART'S CHARACTER coughs BLOOD

Kevin Hart's Character:

What's up, doc? Am I gonna live?

Pau: 

You'll live... But at what cost?

Kevin Hart's Character:

That's what I'm askin', ya ol' Scraggly-Ass Beard mofo!

Pau: 

Kevin, I'm afraid you'll never walk again....

Kevin Hart's Character (a bit sadly): 

That's alright! I got family. I got friends. That's what matters.

Pau:

I wasn't finished. You'll never walk again, because you're not gonna live more than 5 minutes. There's just too much nerve damage. Your heart's failing.

LeBron: 

I know this can't be easy, Kevin. Let's... let's try to enjoy what time we have left.

Kevin Hart's Character:

LeBron, nah, if I'mma die here it's no skin off my back. That Monstar-ass bitch aighty took most of that skin out the game with that landing, anyway, haha! LeBron, right now this isn't about my elf-ass persona. Truth is, there's goods, there's bads, and there's greats. You a great. I'm just a good, and I'm fine dyin' as such. And Krell and the Monstars... 

LeBron (shaking fist):

I'LL KILL THEM!

Kevin Hart's Character (coughing):

LeBron... Krell and the Monsters are bads, of course, but you know what they really are? Deep down? They ain't really really bad so much as they tiny. Deep inside they tiny inside. Look at Tweety. Tweety is a tiny-ass mofo even by my tiny-ass standards. But Tweety is brave as shit, ain't afraid o' no cat or shit. He ain't tiny deep down. That brutal mofo, beat me at pick-up, never forgive that bird... 

KEVIN HART'S CHARACTER smiles and makes LEBRON smile, and after a few seconds winces in pain and coughs.

LeBron: 

Don't talk, Kevin. Just hold on.

Kevin Hart's Character:

Take the big outta them, LeBron. Take their powers back and show them what it's like not to be able to stand up for yourself. They bullies, and bullies are always tiny. Remember that. Bullies make me look like Roy Hibbert. I tower over them and I squash 'em. But you a great, LeBron. You ain't a killer. You ain't-

LeBron:

Kevin, you're gonna be alright.

Kevin Hart's Character:

LeBron, you a good man, but you a terrible liar. And an even worse Decider. You ain't a liar, you ain't a killer. You... you the chosen one, Bron, you the chosen one.

LeBron:
No, no. I'm not. That's always gonna be Jordan. It can't be helped...

Kevin Hart's Character:
LeBron, listen to me. This is your time. And until Krell is down to size and off of Earth, I know you'll keep fighting. Don't you see, LeBron?

LeBron:
See what?

Kevin Hart's Character (fading, looking into the sky):
That having all that fight MAKES you the chosen one. That's all you ever needed. Do it, Bron. Do it for Drake. (Camera pans to DRAKE, who looks entirely indifferent watching the game). Do it for you. Do it for Lola. Do it for me. Use the song...

LeBron: 

Hang in there...

Kevin Hart's Character (smiling serenely and turning his head to look right to LeBron):

Hey, Bron, tell that tweety mofo I'll go double-or-nothin' if he makes his ass through the Pearly Gates. I'm out.

KEVIN dies.

The camera pans (this entire scene is a gigantic tracking shot, by the way, like in "Children of Men") overhead to the luxury boxes, where a close up shows  Tweety pushing a button for the PA. The Space Jam theme song immediately begins to play. 

Krell:

You ready to lose a planet, LeBron? You ready to WITNESS that?

LeBron (with perfect composure, and the hints of fresh tears):

I'm gonna show you what it's like to be great, Krell. You'd better start scouting other planets now.

Everybody get up; it's time to slam now.

We got a real jam goin' down --

Welcome to the Space Jam.

LeBron:

Kevin said to "Use the song". I wonder what he meant...

Krell: 

Well, LeBron. Are you gonna LeChoke Shame this again?

LeBron (in sync with the song):

Hey you, watcha gonna do.

Hey you, watcha gonna do.

Hey you, watcha gonna do.

Hey you, watcha gonna do.

SPACE JAM LEBRON grows to massive proportions. Over the course of the song (an extended, 28-minute prog remix of the title song with Neil Peart and Ian Anderson providing extended solos), LEBRON dominates KRELL AND THE MONSTERS in overtime.

Krell (as the talent deflates from his body, as per the Space Jam agreement, leaving him just an inch tall):

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

LeBron (calmly shrinking back to normal size):

Get outta town.

LEBRON flicks KRELL into space. 

Krell (reaching the outer atmosphere):

I told them we could survive in space. If only LeBron knew we need oxygen, perhaps he would've spared us... But no; we don't deserve the gift of life proffered us by our gods. We have wasted it all; may we die sooner anonymous than infamous. No matter: I got the game I was looking for. The game of the century.

(the sun appears to meet them on the horizon as they start to escape the Earth's velocity)

....Lord, just let me die easy. I ain't been a good man.

KRELL AND THE MONSTARS explode in the vacuum of space.

LeBron (oblivious to their fates):

That oughta do it! Hope they like Pluto! Hope they brought their winter jackets!

Kevin Hart's Character (jumping up, fit as a fiddle):

Tiny folks ain't need jackets, we just need cracks in the sidewalk! Haha!

LeBron:

Kevin, you're alive! But how?

Kevin:

KRELL wanted the match of the century. He told me, with the telepathy. We orchestrated all of that so we'd get your best match. That's all he really wanted, Bron!

LeBron:

So you mean you were faking it?

LEBRON is furious at KEVIN. There ensues a comical chase scene with KEVIN AND LEBRON.

LeBron (smiling):
I'm just kidding, little man. Just glad to have you back.

Kevin:

Haha, I was worried for a second! LeBron, how's about we get your favorite sneakers (he holds a Special Edition Space Jam II Sneaker up to the camera, showing the logo and purchasing information), go to Mickey D's, and forget this sorry-ass shit even happened?

LeBron (winking at the sky): 

I'll never forget you, Krell.

Kevin: 

What'cha say, Bron Bron?

LeBron (starting to run back to space-car): 

I said I'll never forget droppin a triple-double on your ass. First one to the car is Stern's lackey, haha!

Kevin (clearly outmatched):

Man, I ain't keep up with you. You a professional athlete! I ain't even as tall as the median human being! You know that's my whole reason to exist, Bron. Bron? Wait UPP!

In the distance, KEVIN HART'S CHARACTER and LEBRON get into a space-car and "drive" back to the human realm of the Space Jam-NBA-"real world"-human meta-verse. They escape through a portal of concentric circles, which, as they drive through, becomes the familiar outro to Looney Tunes cartoons. The tracking shot continues from about seventy-five meters behind the ship. Porky Pig, in full jersey, appears in the portal once the space-car is through.

Porky Pig (to tracking camera):

That's all, folks!

Anthony Davis (appearing in the portal next to Porky, obviously having rushed to the set):
Wait, do I get to be in the movie?

Porky Pig:
No, you're about t-t-t-two min-t-t-two... Your appearance is belated, I'm afraid. Sorry. That's all, folks!

Fade to black. The soothing sounds of a gospel choir begin as a drum solo from the Space Jam theme music (still playing faintly) slows down artfully to match the choir's tempo.

"I Believe I Can Fly" plays as the credits roll.

~ ~~~ FIN ~~~ ~

Chris Jones observes a falling apple

This is stupidity that must be addressed. I don't mean the "lol fail" of chain e-mails and memes or the oddities of language exposed by a hilarious Steven Wright one-liner, but the actual, categorical, creative stupidity of a staggeringly original and staggeringly indefensible variety, the pernicious and seemingly willful misunderstanding of a situation's gravity.

Let's start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). The Caleb Hannan of the first tweet wrote a much-read Grantland piece, ostensibly about an innovative golf putter, but that veers off into Hannan's research into the putter's inventor. Hannan discovers discrepancies between the inventor's claimed background in academia and what Hannan is able to find in public records. Hannan's research even uncovers that the inventor is a transgender individual ("...born a boy," as Hannan puts it).

The putter's inventor, known as "Dr. V," resists Hannan's research into her past. Hannan digs deep into Dr. V's public records and family life, even telling one of Dr. V's investors that she is a transgender individual, outing V. And, finally, after several inquiries by Hannan and several attempts by Dr. V to quell the publication of Hannan's piece (even warning Hannan that he's "about to commit a hate crime"), Dr. V kills herself.

A closer reading of the piece (I was largely informed by this fine piece) finds a disturbing contrast to my initial reading of "intrepid, curious reporter hunts the truth, and a troubled individual, plagued by her own demons and lies, kills herself". On re-reading, Hannan appears to be the aggressor: A sociopathic, remorseless chaser of the story that almost deliberately (or thoughtlessly) puts Dr. V at risk. If you read closely, Hannan arguably never once expresses a personal emotion towards a person in the entire story. For someone aping Talese, Hannan sure lacks any kind of human insight or empathy towards anyone in the story at all, even himself. Believing in the magic of a putter and seeing some holes in a story hardly count as emotion or insight. A mass of descriptive sentences don't prove anything but a beat writer's background, perhaps, but in the context of the story, Hannan comes off unimaginably abstracted from the human condition on a re-read. He sees the lies, and thinks "The Story". He sees a suicide and thinks "The Story". Like an automaton crossed with an algorithm for Slate.

But and so anyway, Hannan discovers that Dr. V has made a suicide attempt before. And still Hannan presses on. Hannan discovers that she is an immensely unwilling participant in this journalistic endeavor the moment he starts digging. And still Hannan presses on. Hannan discovers that the few people apparently hurt by her lies about her academic background (the investors in Dr. V's company) are still incredibly enthusiastic about her invention. And still Hannan presses on.

Everything that Hannan discovers about Dr. V should give someone pause - a transgender individual that Hannan would be outing, a history of a suicide attempt, and either paranoia or justifiable fear at Hannan himself and his work. Everything that Hannan discovers is filled with all sorts of red flags, not just for suicide, but for retaliatory violence against her person, for mental illness, and for - in the long train of events - ruining Dr. V's life. And still Hannan presses on, because the story is apparently more important than any of that, is more important than the tangible and emotional harm that Hannan at least appears unable to comprehend on more than a superficial level.

All this to say that there is a very strong argument to be made that Caleb Hannan caused in whole or in part the suicide of Dr. V. Threatening to publicly out a transgender person is - depending on the situation - pulling the lever that cuts a troubled person's remaining thread to life. Dr. V's suicide attempt and her desperate resistance to Hannan gives at least a strong indication that Hannan controlled such a lever. And yet he pulled it anyway. And then, when it was strongly plausible that Hannan had indeed cut someone's final will to live, he had the audacity to worry first about his precious story being completed. After all, the climax is finished, we must have a resolution! Just like Ozymandias had those snowy episodes!

Anyway, as feminist and transgender groups caught wind of this whole sad story, some predictable (and understandable) outrage forced some re-evaluations from those of us (myself included) that missed the depths of Hannan's piece. and the arc of discussion has now generally pointed away from "ooh, longform" and more towards "wow that guy is a prick and that piece probably shouldn't have been published in a million years."

So enter Chris Jones, a sportswriter of some talent. Jones used his immense gift for language to come up with the above tweets, sarcastically learning that "You can cause the suicide of a subject by writing about their suicide after they've committed suicide."

What delightful smarm! What specious slime. This is Hume-level billiard-ball abstract deconstruction that all adds up to a pool table filled with bullshit in the basement of privilege. Causality and power for Jones work in such a masterfully stupid way if we take this tweet at face value. Lord!

Now that I've contextualized Jones's comments, you can please understand that I can't actually respond to something so stupid. What I can do is apply the stupidity to the world around me and see what results I get back. My results are bound to be limited, as the stupidity exceeds my capacity to articulate.

Examples of Chris Jones logic:

1. Person A points a gun at Person B and demands B's money. A receives B's money. When pressed for comment, onlooker Chris Jones reported, "I don't know how you can say A made B do anything. He didn't even fire the gun!"
2. According to classical physics on the level that a modern, decently-educated individual understands it, gravity is a universal force of attraction between all matter and obeys the inverse square law. A sportswriter is standing on the ground and reports that "I don't think gravity is really affecting me. How can it be, if I'm not falling down at this exact moment?"
3. In "The Godfather", there are several violent mob hits, and, more generally, a culture of violence that are established in the film, specifically associated with the Corleone family and its rivals. Several people in the mafias shown are sent to die or are surprised when they are intercepted and killed. A sportswriter watches the film for the seventh time in his life and wonders why everyone in the film is so darn nervous all the time. The sportswriter sarcastically tweets about the characters' nervous affects, wondering if someone put expresso in their coffees.

From my vantage point, this kind of stupidity doesn't happen by cause of stupidity but by incredible precision. I choose to take a fairly innocuous interpretation: I think Jones is deliberately talking about how we talk, because if we talk about how we talk enough, we don't have to talk about less pleasant things like how an individual's life is not worth another insight-less, affect-less long-form whose only larger capital-T "Truth" (its only possible defense) is in the tragic arc the piece itself begat.

I see the debate about privacy kicked off by Edward Snowden, and I personally have a huge fear of the chilling effect privacy restrictions have in stifling out our creativity and our remotely-unorthodox political action. I get it; if we start talking about journalists having social responsibility, the next step could be censorship, if we are not careful about how we frame the discourse on what that "responsibility" really constitutes.

But Jones is doing little more than irresponsible shilling right now with his idiotic 'logic', and in doing so is exacerbating two private tyrannies: The use of media as a mindless weapon against vulnerable individuals, and the dehumanization of the struggles of transgender individuals.

Speaking of which, special note: I'm not terribly familiar with the issues of transgender people, and so if the terminology or something about how I'm saying something offends you, please tell me and I'll fix it to the best of my understanding. Thank you.

Open Mic Night at Applebee's, in 2018 CE

DISCLAIMER: All characters, eating establishments, and ideas appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead (or to eating establishments), is purely coincidental.

Applebee's
Bridgenspirit, NY
2018 CE

A jig is playing on the speakers. It's someone's birthday. A child's. You can see where they're sitting in the crowd and the attention their friends and family subtly give to the birthday child. "For he's a jolly good fellow" has been bowdlerized, removed of gender, and made into a jig, which the employees perform specifically for that child, who smiles at the employees. The whole crowd gives the child a decent cheer. The stand-up comedian stands up from his seat on the stage at the conclusion of this final cheer.

"Hello, folks. I'm a stand-up, but you could probably have already told me that, given that you're all sitting down, and I'm..."

The comedian puts the brakes on this last word with perfect timing. Perfect timing to let the audient void process and respond to the joke. And they do; they seem to like the joke. The quiet laughs are sincere, and more than polite. The comedian sits down on the provided stool, both as a quick topper and to rest his haunches.

"Anyway, I'm probably the first stand-up you've ever seen in an Applebee's."

The comedian is playing on the fact that Applebee's is insensibly and universally popular in the town of Bridgenspirit in the year 2018, and the fact that Applebee's hosts stand-ups (or at least an open mic) virtually every night. The crowd delights in the recognition with an immediate roar of laughs.

"So, isn't it weird that - of all places - Applebee's is the home for the most subversive comedians of this whole damn period after the War? Of everywhere comedians could come together? But it's Applebee's, a chain restaurant for families. Who'd'a thunk it! Seriously - it's the most branded, commodified experience on the face of the earth. You know what I'm saying? I mean, those employees back there can't even breathe unless it's to the rhythm of a non-copyrighted birthday song!" 

Some scattered laughs. Meanwhile, the employees in the back of the audience nervously avert their eyes from the comedian and look at one another with a bit of rage. Silently and imperceptibly, they time their sighs to the jig, still playing quietly on the loudspeaker.

Superman Meets 2013, Part I

If you could somehow put a gun to Superman's head and ask him his honest opinion of humans - and everyone involved could somehow ignore the part where he was Superman and everything that went with that - he would nod, say, "Fine, no bullshit," in that iconic deep baritone of sincerity, and then Superman would lay out his essential case against human nature. The truly wicked people, he'd note, were as rare as Superman himself. But the deranged, the ill-coddled, the greedy, the zealots: in short, the true criminals of the world? They were common, and Superman had interviewed countless of them, enough to know that the difference between the most hardened criminal and the most simple, pleasing conversationalist in London was naught but the flip of fate's coin.

And yet, people mostly believed themselves good. When you get into a political system, the good of that system becomes perforce alone the absolute good, and the detriment of that system, in turn, the ultimate evil. A criminal defending his syndicate and the most upstanding soldier defending his noble home country were functionally identical in how they saw their tasks.

Now, Superman was not the only humanoid on Earth out there defending truth or justice or the ways of human conduct he believed to be superior - among them, dignity, self-respect, respect for others, forbearance, mercy, truthfulness, sincerity - but most humans were caught in political systems they were either born into or that presented themselves most directly to people when they were young and impressionable or short of resources. In short, if Superman had been born a man in China, he'd likely have fought for China. If he'd been born a man in the United States? Vice versa. Superman alone could see the totality of the world and act appropriately on his ideals, but that's a luxury not oft-given to mortals.

And yet, for his cynicism about human nature, he would freely admit that - if it came down to saving all other sentient life in the universe or dying intentionally - he wouldn't hesitate to survive. Heroism, he was loath but able to admit, was a luxury at its core, and if the luxury were at the price of his life, he'd not hesitate to give his heroism up. So he didn't give the humans too much grief.

But - faced with these troubling existential questions - Superman left Earth without warning in about 1888, aside from a few people that would safeguard the information carefully. With his superluminal speeds and ageless form, there was no need to dwell on the passage of time, as he would remain himself in the indefinite future. So he carved out a long window of time and sought other planets with intelligent life, and, if some existed, sought to find some kind of technology to elevate one or all of the species to the existence that he currently enjoyed, finding the image of billions of humans flying around and building an Eden beyond his conception to be the only respite from his doubts.

Superman dreamed every night - as he sailed through the air and passed into the ether of cosmic sleep - of the merest possibility of another planet. Humanity couldn't be the only one; they just couldn't.

But for the 125 years since his departure from Earth, he'd searched a spherical area 100 light-years in radius around Earth with the electromagnetic equivalent of a fine-toothed comb. He'd found the ruins of Krypton and the ruins of other civilizations dead only a few millenia, and, from time to time - to his astonishment - he'd even found living life. But little more than cosmic flotsam in a sea of ether were they. He'd done his due reporter's diligence with what he'd found, but his face showed clear disappointment now. Earth was all there was, as far as his superluminal exploration was concerned. If any intelligent life besides Earth remained, none had yet appeared to him. He chuckled darkly as he realized dolphins or apes were not only #2 on Earth, but in general, as far as he could see. He thought of the elephants stomping humans to death by order of other humans - a method of execution that he'd seen in India. The most intelligent species in the effective universe using the fourth-most intelligent species to carry out a humiliating execution to discourage "treason".

And then, with a panic (as he made the rounds, double-checking the last promising extrasolar planet on his list), Superman realized abruptly that five generations of human beings - on the cusp of a second renaissance - could easily have ended it all, especially without his protective presence. He dove as fast as he could towards Earth, realizing what a citadel he must henceforth form to this planet, in the absence of greater alternatives. Would he someday have to move them to yet other planets to terraform? Had they destroyed themselves? Was it too late for Earth? Was Superman to be utterly alone until death, praying for the Tannhauser lizards to evolve and achieve sentience that he might live to see it?

Superman's mind raced almost faster than his superluminal cape with his questions, each question darker and more self-contradictory than the last. As he surveyed where the Solar System ought to be, Superman rejoiced as Sol and its Earth were where they ought to be and, in cosmic terms, pristine. As he made his way to Earth - slowing down to a few thousand miles an hour as he entered the upper atmosphere and started to glide with a geosynchronous speed over the United States  - Superman saw life (and intelligent life) everywhere on Earth. Beginning his slow descent, he noticed billboards and people wearing and holding radically advanced technologies. Superman smiled to think that a second Eden might still be in play. Then he grabbed the missile and let it explode in his hands a few thousand feet above the planet, almost embarrassed he'd survived with nary a scratch. His smile disappeared and he shrugged and chased the missile's source.

Jim Wakes Up in the Matrix

Heh. Golly Ned, I seem to have found myself in the Matrix. Everyone is made of code! Damn. I wonder how I got here. Oh, well, best to make the most of it! Heh.

Hello, miss. Everything is an illusion. We are all made of code! A dream within a dream. Heh. So, now that I've said that, I want to ask you something:

Heh. Is your refri- Heh. I'm sorry, I chuckle like a fiend. Just let me finish. Is your refrigerator running? Heh.

It is, you say? Well... you had better change the coils every five to seven years to keep it in top working order! Heh.

Is God but a matter of code in this arid simulacrum of a place? Might I - with true agency borne of my fundamental liberation - be made the God of this place, thereby alone? Hmm... I suppose so~

But then I'd better spruce things up! This city will be a forest and its inhabitants will be deers! Hello, deers! How are you? Heh. I've never liked that grass is green and I've seen lenses that made them purple! So now what those lenses see... will be reality! Heh. Hmm... obviously I'll want to maintain evolutionary pressures. Increase the number of rainstorms, because I like the rain! I'm random like that!

Hmm... deers aren't very good predators. They aren't going to survive, no matter how much grass I feed 'em! I guess I'll give them somewhat of an instinct and somewhat of a toolkit. First the teeth, then the claws, then the stomach, then the jaws. And then I'll make them more intelligent than humans were. Hmm, just a few more little touches. First, opposable thumbs. Second... agency! There we go. Now I will give them plenty of ugly animals (like birds, lizards, and reptiles) to feed on! And I'll make all of these ugly animals hundreds of feet big so the deers can sure get a whole lot out of every meal!

Hmm... they are ugly, but I want to give them a fighting chance. I guess I'll give them all... teeth, claws, stomach, jaws, opposable thumbs, superhuman intelligence, and agency. That wasn't so hard! Though their heads are a bit big! Oh well, all these rainstorms should humble 'em! Heh.

Hmm... I like the forest but that half of the forest can be a desert and that other half can be a mountain! Whoops... I got rid of the forest! Crap, this is just going to be a really harsh climate for just about everyone! At least it will rain a lot. Heh.

Okay... I had better set this all in motion, six hundred thousand years in the future. Since it's a computer I can do that automatically! Heh.

Oh, hello, miss. I seem to have taken you along for the ride! Do you believe we're made of code now? Well... anyway, I've got a meeting outside the Matrix. I don't know if I'll be back, but I guess you're the last person in this whole area. Darn! Sorry about that! No, I can't go backwards. It's non-deterministic, and it's not really a finite state machine, so... the past is gone. Anyway, would you like me to drop you off in the mountain or the desert? I can make you an umbrella! Just like that! Coding is so fun. Heh.

Have a good day!

Made it All Up

SPEC SCRIPT FOR MIKE 'N' ZANE: A TEEN SITUATION COMEDY


CAST
ZANE THE ZANY TEEN W/ QUESTIONABLE PARENT SITUATION
MIKE THE WELL-CENTERED TEEN
TIM DUNCAN

TIM (wearing Spurs jersey)
What do you mean, Zane? What are you trying to tell me?

ZANE
I made it all up, Tim.

TIM
Made it all up?

ZANE
I made it all up, Tim. I lied. There is no parade in your honor. The townspeople are not holding a Tim Duncan Day. I made it all up, Tim. I'm sorry. I just have, you know, a questionable parent situation, and I look up to you, and all that, Tim. And I lied. I was wrong, Tim. I was real stupid. I lied, Tim. And it was wrong. I made it all up, Tim. Made it all up. I'm... I'm so sorry, Tim.

studio audience feels sympathy

MIKE
You sure can tell a whopper, Zane!

ZANE
So how 'bout it, Tim? Can you forgive me? Can you even forgive me? I'm really sorry, Tim, I really am. You're my favorite player and I've always looked up to you.

TIM (suddenly wearing a robe and wizard cap atop Spurs jersey)
No, Zane. I can never forgive you. Leave my sight.

MIKE
This is my house, Tim. You'll have to leave. I'm sorry, too.

TIM
Oh. I'm disappointed, Mike.

TIM leaves

The Go Hard Principle (Long Usability Rant)!

Introduction

A few days ago I made a post claiming (satirically, of course) that, among others, Google+ and Facebook Social were malware. I don't apologize for the satire; I could be more explicit, but, at some point, if you're not paying attention to subtext, you're not paying much attention to the text, either. That's just the way it is. But I let these social networks (and their ensuant bullshit) off the hook, somewhat.

I love the satirical perspective I took there. But there are principles left unsaid, thoughts demanding to be schematized, etc. So here's something:

Dewey's Go Hard Principle: There's no such thing as "soft" paternalism, "soft" behavior modification, "soft" anchoring, "soft" nudging, or "soft" violations of privacy. Most of all, there's no such thing as a "soft" threat to usability. There is only paternalism, behavior modification, anchoring, nudging, or violations of privacy. There are only threats to usability.

The Go Hard Principle exists because companies routinely make systems that deliberately cost users, say, 3 seconds extra time (and/or a couple extra clicks) to do something, solely to punitively discourage it. I know. I've been in the meetings. It happens. While these companies rarely do a "count-down" of the arbitrary delay they've intentionally caused (unless we're talking about free versions of services), they frequently will say "Hey, if we force users to explicitly opt out of a setting using a circuitous process, we'll almost certainty get more retention, more revenue, and more data for our analytics. The harder and more punitively we encourage or discourage some behavior, the better it is for us."

Even though computers are - in some really basic sense - universal computing machines, companies have heavily favored and heavily disfavored use cases that feed their own development. There are use cases that are entirely removed because the company can't or doesn't want to support them. There are use cases that are entirely streamlined (to the point of having to find workarounds for any other use case), because the company depends on a certain percentage of its users going that route - e.g. viewing an ad.

My contention is emphatically not that any of these mechanisms is universally wrong or universally undemocratic, it's that you can't have it both ways. Either you're tilting the deck heavily against a use case or you aren't. It's not "soft", it's restrictive and the restriction is real and meaningful, and, if those restrictions are wrong or undemocratic in their "hard" cases, then they're equally wrong in the "soft" cases.