Ashlandsblog

Here’s a drawing I made when I was in Vancouver Island. I am measuring places by what art I made there.

Market Research

Or dating? How often do we find that people- whether they want to or not – are subtly influenced by the people they date or want to date. Exposure, proximity, access. There’s even research suggesting that middle-class people spend more money on luxury goods than wealthy people overall. It’s all about osmosis these days. You think if you stand next to Megan Fox long enough, you’ll start to look like her. And in many cases, that’s true – in some fractional way. You’ll learn the tricks of the trade, learn to dress like her, wear what she wears, take on her habits.

But then why do we love finding out that someone’s beauty wasn’t paid for – that it was inborn, natural, a gift from God? You know why? It makes people believe you’re special or gifted and, in the most compelling way, lucky to be around. Because if God’s favorite likes you, then you must be close to that -or will be, eventually.

How frequently do we find that the salesmen at our door aren’t selling us a product but an idea? The cleanest, shiniest mirror with your best self in view at all times. Perhaps the salesman at our door is actually our most desperate self.

Banks sell you time. I’m not being skeptical at all, and let me say in my defense that I’m not opposed to consumerism. I love buying things. I love an idea. In fact, when I was very depressed and disappointed in people in general—and myself—I looked to materials and thought: If Yves Saint Laurent had such an amazing vision and he brought it to life and I can purchase it? Perfection and beauty and details can exist – and can be bought.

But you know what else you can purchase these days? Everything. And if you can’t buy it? Date it.

What we’re seeing more and more is how people are able to subconsciously take on the qualities of their partners—but also literally steal their ideas. That’s only if you’re smart enough. I remember dating someone and thinking, My god, I haven’t seen someone be this sincere and selfish at the same time. Now I look at myself and think: Why did I become the exact thing I admired?

Your Instagram becomes your résumé and your stop shop. Your bank on display for people to steal ideas from. It’s no one’s fault, but there’s no agency. If everyone becomes a derivative version of another, then you’re just recycling.

Instead, I think everyone should be just like me.

We’ll skip definitions. It seems to me, at times, integration is the key modality all people should aspire to. Sometimes the heart is weak, and sometimes the mind. Balance is key? Okay, whoever said that – can you make spares and pass them out next time? I might be projecting, because I lean too far one way or the other. Actually, I lean too far just one way. The mind just takes over, and these days, they make it so easy. This is a commentary. I have no solution for you or myself.

So – the sunk-cost fallacy. When you’ve invested too much and for too long in something that’s better to cut losses with. But we might be facing quite the opposite problem: people don’t spend time investing in much at all. I, too, have been a victim of socialization far beyond my grasp. I have to physically stop myself from cutting the cord to anything too quickly.

As soon as you tell your friends your job isn’t satisfying yet? Oh, they’ll hound you to quit. Relationship problems? Fifty thousand reasons to break up. You don’t like your therapist? There’s a billion more, and some in school right now already versed in why you have a problem letting go. We have so many measures -weighing your food, checking your balance, tire pressure, heart rate, step count – but have they come up with how people measure emotional investment?

Every heart has its own limits and language. And if you see someone able to hold more ground for someone than you would? Don’t be so quick to deter them. The world works on equilibrium, but it needs asymmetry just as much. And some people that weren’t so fortunate might be relying on the good fortunes of others – even emotional fortunes. It simply means they were unfortunate. So next time you have wine night and you’re pressing your thumbs into the bridge of your nose wondering why someone’s testing your limits? Don’t ask why they’re doing it – they know they can. Those types of people are hardwired to pick out people like you. In layman’s terms? Soul mates.

You see how if I word everything just right, you start to question things? I almost made you believe it’s okay for people to use other people as pedestals or extract things for gain because they were either unfortunate or you’re their savior? Don’t ponder too long – the vultures are already circling the skies.

I have this one customer who keeps me sharp. I have the second one to test it out on. These two, black and white foxes, orbit me. And though my posture is steel, it softens around the two. People don’t like jokes – they either like the person who makes the joke, or maybe we’re naturally inclined to give in to our sentiments and senses and find someone funny simply because they think they are. So when the guy with the bad joke once again throws his hook into water, all the fish in the world scatter away. You don’t laugh at his joke? Oh, he’s ice fishing for it.

However, after a thousand bad jokes, a couple have landed. The best one being the time he reluctantly explained how, over the weekend at a different store, he spilled his drink as soon as he got to his driveway. Now I’m not a nice guy – I’m spectacular.

No, no, you’re not paying for this, you dropped it, mistakes happen. Don’t worry about it!

Upon getting his freebie, he snatches it and says, “That works every time!”

Any time he’s hanging out longer than he would, any time he’s waiting for a reaction to his joke? I know it won’t be funny. The couple of times he has been, he walks away. True winners don’t care for the applause – the reward is intrinsic. And some part of him knows this. On days he doesn’t have a joke, he acts busy – files dropping out of his briefcase, calculators falling, the numbers at his desk threatening to board flights unless he accounts for them right away!

His partner in crime is a bit more savvy. He’s dry. More attentive. A lesser man might miss it, but he’s familiar with disruption. And so am I. This one’s caught me off guard more than once. One time I joked about getting surgical work done – I was getting my teeth whitened – and he simply saw me, a slight pause and straight face: “So you’re finally getting some work done.”

And after I’m done laughing, he adjusts his comically large collar and grunts like he got a lion to jump across a ring of fire.

Now I have to wonder how one is funny and the other tries to be funny. But if you look close enough? Mister Bad Joke is exactly why the other one is funny. He takes the initiative and makes the joke. Mister Dry Wit and I are simply editors. Our humour relies on his. Otherwise, we come across as too jagged and sharp. The people with the bad jokes, or the ones that try to be funny, are foundational. They’ve got broad shoulders and no gym membership. 

People with a dry sense of humor rely on timing, place, person, precision – and although that’s not easy and a whole thing of its own, the guy with the bad joke simply has that one joke in his back pocket. No relation to time or audience.

Interestingly, the bad jokers are also never going to laugh at your joke. Their directive is simply to be the funniest. Someone else’s joke might as well pull the wake down on itself. The attendees won’t even look up from their phones.

My brother was like this too. You could never get him to laugh at anything I’d say. Perpetually unimpressed. He was also just like Mister Bad Jokes – chronically on his phone, probably stealing jokes. I guess where there’s lions, there’s hyenas too.

Meanwhile, Mister Dry Humour and I roll dynamite under each other’s doors. Our noses are red from the cold — it’s not paint.

I have this one customer who keeps me sharp. I have the second one to test it out on. These two, black and white foxes, orbit me. And though my posture is steel, it softens around the two.

Welcome to Ashland.

You found me.