Dr. Elo & The Multi-Platform Fever Dream
C’mon, pick up. Someone. Anyone. Hello?
It’s me, your surfing soul. Your briny conscience.
We need to talk.
You know this feels gross.
This ain’t us. It can’t be, right?
God I have so much schmaltzy propaganda on my windshield,
I can barely see the road forward.
Why’d you have to do it? What was it that compelled you?
Who gave you the right? Was it Dork? Ahem, sorry, Dirk.*
Did his visions of grandeur and his promises of fame twist you up?
Did the pitch deck make you feel like this was all bigger than you and bigger than us and a righteous crusade to bring our beautiful little dance to the world?
Damn, this Santa Monica office smells good.
Like a newly-pressed plaid sports coat and the finest of clear acetate Warby Parker’s.
NO, I won't be deterred. This must be stopped.
I'm dreaming, right? This place is a dream? Is that a foosball table!
OK, maybe not.
Maybe it’s the opposite.
Maybe it’s just a promise built on a misinterpreted dream that was enacted on a whim.
Quite the business model.
Because the harsh reality. The only reality. The truth that binds us all,
Is that our little thing here can’t and won’t be turned into what you want it to be.
I know. It’s hard to swallow. Even if you keep trying to shove it down my throat.
I know, I KNOW. The algorithms are sound. The ecosystems are humming. The content. The. Fucking. Content!
It’s so accessible.
And “on brand.”
And totally widening the aperture and broadening the access point to the great wide world of surf.
Fuck, I just blacked out.
What was I saying?
No, NO, don’t put the funny gas mask on me again. Wait, is that Ben Gravy? What did Jamie-O just post? A Catch Surf Coupon!
Are foam boards cool? Should I know who Celeste is?
Am I good enough? Another post? In my feed? Again? I guess this is what I need, right? More. I’m insatiable. I need this snackable content to stoke this surf fever. Now I’m really revving.
Elo. Thank you for making me feel engaged again.
Surf is back, back, back. It’s so back. Hotter than ever.
Fuck. Make. It. Stop.
Oh look another “Surf Breaks.” Wonder what has transpired since 15 minutes ago.
Back to you, Strider. —Ulysses