The Culture of Quantification

As humans, our ability to count has directly contributed to the advancement of society for thousands of years. Counting has given rise to the creation of the calendar, architecture, medicine, and even advanced running back efficiency metrics.¹ But the pendulum always swings a little too far, doesn’t it?

These days, the culture of quantification is slowly smothering out the fires of our experiences.

Everything has been reduced to fucking halves and whole numbers. Dentist appointments, Amazon orders, ER trips, and grocery deliveries all end the same way: a carpet bomb of prompts pressuring us to quantify.

DING “How was your experience?”

DING “Rate your shopper.”

DING “How many stars would you give that book from last year that’s still sitting untouched on your nightstand?”

It’s inescapable. And while there are countless conveniences born from the aggregation of our likes and dislikes, it’s hard to ignore how a culture, fueled by the algorithm, is pushing everyone and everything towards a world of watered down, numbered thinking.

But I refuse to live within the confines of a 5-star system. Sound the alarms. I’m fighting back.

Hard Boiled Eggs
(previously ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

On the Saturdays and Sundays known as “his weekends”, my father would summon me and my sister to the kitchen as soon as he’d finish boiling eggs to see if they were perfect(spoiler: they always were.) It became somewhat of a ritual. His smile. The anticipation. The unspoken game were we playing.

There was a beautiful contrast between the strength in his overworked hands and the fragility of his movements as he’d softly tap the shells on the counter. And each time, as if it were the first time, we’d cheer for him as he easily pulled the shells off in one big piece. When the awe subsided, we’d eventually run off and continue doing whatever kids do on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve grown out of the habit of eating breakfast. But anytime I peel an egg, I find myself requesting an audience in the kitchen. And each time, as if it were the first time, my kid cheers me on.

A Band Called Something Corporate
(previously ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Back in 2004, I dated a guy in a band² . I’d heard from friends that his home life was pretty bad, but teenagers with crushes don’t talk about things like that. He preferred to talk about movies and music. One afternoon, as he rummaged through his collection of CDs, he asked if I liked a band called Something Corporate. “Something what,” I asked.

That night, after my parents went to sleep, I downloaded their entire discography on limewire.

Thumbs
(previously ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Backing out of my grandparents’ driveway as a kid, I never knew that our goodbyes were any different from other families. My grandparents would walk outside, sit on their swing, and watch patiently as my dad buckled us in and put his truck in reverse.

But as soon as the tires began to pull us away, grandma and grandpa would always kiss the pads of their thumbs and wiggle them at us. As we disappeared down the street, we’d kiss our thumb pads and wiggle them right back.

I’m not sure how it started. And no one’s left standing for me to ask. But I suppose it was our own version of blowing kisses.

Vermillion Pt. 2 - Slipknot
(previously ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐)

Senior year, the cutest guy in the entire school(ah!) sat on my bed(double ah!) and played my guitar while we were supposed to be doing homework.

I hated his taste in angry music. And I hated how cute he was. But mostly, I hated that he was too attractive for me to ever do anything about it.

As he moved his fingers around the frets, I noticed the subtle blue ink stains on the side of his hand, smudged from years of dragging it across pages. The burden of writing left-handed, he confessed.

It’s funny how something so trivial could feel like a secret.

Despite all the times I’d wished it into existence, we never did kiss. But that year, I spent countless afternoons alone in my room learning to play Vermillion Pt. 2³ on guitar.

sending platonic thumb kisses your way.
until next time. -cd

1  And footnotes. Woah.

2  He wrote lyrics in a spiral bound notebook and played guitar with a friend in his garage.

3  The video still freaks me out.