Spotify dehumanizes music and us

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read exceptional books, the list continually updates. Today, "Mood Machine" by Liz Pelly enters the Humanity in the Digital Age category.

Well, I'll never look at Spotify and music the same again after reading Liz Pelly's Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist (2025). Music matters, obviously, and Pelly dives deeply into Spotify, and the music industry, and has already forced me to improve my listening habits.

Mood Machine is superb modern journalism that I never would have found unless I read The Guardian's book section. The same thing happened with another book I recently recommended, Careless People, about Facebook/Meta's immoral algorithms and horrific political influence. These two necessary books tackle Big Tech and its ginormous influence, and I say the United States' current zeitgeist needs to focus on unregulated technology much, much more.

As a music consumer, my biggest takeaway from Mood Machine is this: I'll never, ever, ever listen to a playlist created by Spotify again. If I'm looking for new, independent music, the KCRW app is a much better answer. I want playlists created by people, not an algorithm. Spotify playlists also have a lot of filler and music promoted by record companies. Some of it is created by AI, and music companies often pay musicians a pittance to create instrumental music and then keep the rights.

Immediately, on page 3 of Mood Machine's introduction, we learn that Universal, Sony and Warner own 70 percent of recorded music. When Spotify launched in 2008, those majors owned 18 percent of the company. It's less now, and Spotify has grown to have have a market cap of approximately $88 billion. The company's founders, Martin Lorenzen and Daniel Ek, have estimated net worths of $9-11 billion. 

Streaming accounts for 84 percent of recorded music revenue with Spotify leading the market with 30 percent of that. When Pelly walks the reader through how the revenue works in a detailed, thorough way, it becomes utterly apparent that Spotify is an immoral Big Tech company promoting corporate interests and billionaire culture. Pelly never writes that, and I applaud her for her restraint and objectivity. But, essentially, that's what we're facing with streaming, Spotify and the current state of what many of us adore — music.

It's safe to say musicians don't get paid from streaming. Whoever holds the rights to a song streamed receives .0035 cents for each play. Many times, the record company owns the rights, or a high percentage of that. In fair indie label deals, it's often a 50/50 split. But even if the musician full-on owned the rights, U.S. Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib estimated that it would take more than 800,000 streams per month to equal a $15/hour job.

In my lifetime, music always has been a commodity. I encountered awesome music scenes in both Cleveland and Columbus in the '90s. However, my realized fear now is that younger generations of musicians see the Internet as the only possible way to develop a following. Music scenes are not what they used to be. I'm still hoping that revivals of low-tech music scenes happen, and perhaps if I search it out more, I can find some cool stuff out here in Southern California. But streaming reigns supreme, regardless.

Back to Spotify, I must admit that I briefly loved the app. Around pandemic times, I discovered legitimate musicians solely through Spotify who I had never heard of. I actually attended two concerts of new artists to me, Brothertiger and George Clanton, with my beloved buddy, Ganley. Fast forward a year or two later, and finding new appealing music on the app stopped. The algorithm jumped the shark, so I moved on to KCRW, word of mouth and Shazaming random songs I hear at coffee shops and in public.

Back to Mood Machine, I must admit that I am not giving the book justice; it's a tour de force. Some of the concepts in the book are new to me and not easy to understand. For example, I was shocked to hear Spotify's ad revenue is only roughly 12 percent. The bulk of its revenue is selling users' data because, apparently, Spotify's data is extensive because it tracks every single second of music listened to or changed. It literally can learn a user's typical mood throughout the day, so that data is hugely valuable to outside companies.

While I learned a lot from the book, and don't totally show that here, the book has some flaws. One is that it can be dense in parts and can take a while to digest the information. Also, a few ideas, such as the importance of artists' collectives, may be too idealistic and not make a dent in the current state of music. In addition, maybe there was a bit too much on Spotify's history.

Mood Machine has truly gotten me to be more aware of what exactly I'm listening to. As a self-proclaimed local and indie music champion, the book has gotten me to be fully aware that the majority of so-called independent music on Spotify is not even close. An indie aesthetic is far from a band on an independent record label.

Irony. I used to think the Internet would help people become more conscious consumers, but apps like Amazon, Facebook, Spotify, TikTok and others exploit the masses' data and keep people scrolling and streaming in an unhappy digital web of overconsumption.

Beautiful maladies and innocent dreams

Editor's Note: The Snooze Button Generation originally published "100 Nonfiction Books I Recommend" in 2019. As we read exceptional books, the list continually updates. Today, "Innocent When You Dream" edited by Mac Montandon enters the Big Time category. 

What should you do if you're ever chased by a crocodile?

Well, you should run zigzag because the croc won't be able to follow that.

Why are barns red?

Well, that's where the slaughtering occurs, so the color matches the blood.

And did you know that between 1938 and 1945, Heinz released an alphabet soup only in Germany? It not only included every letter of the alphabet, but swastikas in every can as well. ... It was called pastika.

OK. All three of those "facts" are fiction, urban myths. But they're stuff Tom Waits earnestly explains in Innocent When You Dream: The Tom Waits Reader (2005) edited by Mac Montandon. I recommend the book because Waits is such a creative, innovative soul that he's a gust of fresh air bustling into my world in a time when folks appear obsessed with AI.

Honestly, I had no expectation this book would crack my Top 100 because of its format. It's a collection of interviews and stories connected to Waits from 1974 to 2004. Accidentally, many stories had me reminisce about the conventions of celebrity interviews, concert and album reviews. Those all are pretty much gone, or rare, nowadays in the era of scrolling, non-reading and perpetual ire.

While a handful of pieces in the 39-entry book fall flat, some are so magnificent that I recommend the book. OK, but feel free to go fast over the lame entries.

I first encountered Waits in 1992, when I got the album Bone Machine as a college freshman and absolutely loved it. It won Best Alternative Music Album Grammy that year, and I wholeheartedly agree with the choice. Weird, quirky, meaningful — Bone Machine remains my favorite Waits album, but a lot of his albums are pretty cool. By the way, he won his only other Grammy in 2000 with Mule Variations for Best Contemporary Folk Album.

If you don't know Waits, he's famous for his deep, raspy voice that can be divisive; you're likely to either love it or hate it. In the Tom Waits reader, writers described that voice in approximately one zillion different ways. I mean it's so distinctive that he successfully sued Frito-Lay for $2.6 million in 1990 after the company ripped off his music in a Doritos commercial. ... Wow.

What makes the book so enjoyable is that Waits simply is a different bird. He'll stay stuff that is equal parts bizarre, magical and borderline profound. Is it factually correct? Probably not. But so what? His words, his poetry, are an odd blend of fact and fiction that adds up to twisted and indisputable truths.

In one interview, Waits flat-out says that everybody mixes fact and fiction, and in essence, that's part of being human. "I just need to know two or three things about my neighbors, and that's it," he says. "I'll tell you their life story."

In his early years, Waits — or at least Waits' persona — lived the life of a hobo drunk in the mold of Charles Bukowski, and he was famous for that. He married Kathleen Brennan in 1980, and the two have been business partners, confidants and each other's worlds ever since.

Waits describes his wife Kathleeen as someone who "once worked as a Hollywood newscaster, a Cadillac dealership service manager, and a chauffeur; can fix motorcycles and fly airplanes; is a leading authority on African violets; and was on the verge of becoming a nun when we met."

Hey, man, I find that an exceptionally fun way to say, "I love my wife."

Waits is an utterly cool cat. Full stop. Who's cooler than Tom Waits?

He has an acting career to boot, and I've liked him most in Jim Jarmusch's Down By Law (1986) and Mystery Train (1989). He also was wonderful in Short Cuts (1993) and was great to see in Jarmusch's newer film Father Mother Sister Brother (2025). By the way, Waits' conversations with Jarmusch and fellow rock star Elvis Costello are among the most fascinating, and entertaining, pieces in the book I'm recommending.

I truly think Waits did his best work in the '90s and after he got sober in '95. I find it impossible to not have deep thoughts about him, and his place in American lore, after reading 39 passages connected to him. 

To me, he eschews the disillusioned fake materialism of mainstream America. Everybody pretends to be richer than they are. Why? Just buy this. Just buy that. We'll all be saved. ... Waits rails against that culture.

Waits is adamantly non-commercial and accepts the fact that most Americans know they're being exploited on some level, accept that fact and embrace their lot in life, or their dive bar. They embrace the red and white tablecloths at their carb-forward greasy spoon.

While hip-hop stars yammer on and on about Mercedes Benzes while they don gold chains and gold teeth, Waits knows very well that there is brighter bling, and gold, on the low side of the road if you look at it the right way.

To Waits, and me, you can find way more gold at Mitzy's than the superficial fantasies pop stars spew. Mitzy's — officially known as Jerman's Cafe — on 38th and St. Clair, is where there used to be a classic vinyl jukebox but you still can get a $1.50 Pabst tall boy. You're not going to find $10k jewelry there, but you might find a toothless smile from a guy who shares your love of Cleveland baseball.

Replacements remain superior to Soul Asylum

Unfortunately, we live in divisive times. Sometimes, people get so incensed with others' differences that they have a hard time coping and say things like, "You're dead to me!"

Perhaps no other current, up-to-date debate boils arguers' blood more than this: Who's better, the Replacements or Soul Asylum?

Uh, wait, what? Nah, you heard me. Most likely, the most salacious and contentious debate nowadays is which Minneapolis-based alt-rock band is superior — the Replacements or Soul Asylum.

OK, I jest, of course. Pretty much nobody in the world is having this debate right now. However, I remember being locked into an intense argument in 1991 about this topic.

I was on the Replacements' side. Are you kidding me? Soul Asylum, a mid band, in the same sentence as the mighty Replacements?!? The debate could be dismissed in my eyes. Paul Freakin' Westerberg vs. Pretty Boy Dave Pirner? No contest. Westerberg was, and is, superior. Case closed.

Plus, Bob Stinson was the lead guitarist with the Replacements for its first four albums and masterpieces Let It Be (1984) and Tim (1985). Apparently, he had constant power struggles with Westerberg that turned their music into art. Stinson was an addict who was kicked out of the band in '86 and died a tragic rock star's death at age 35. His brother, Tommy Stinson, was awesome on bass, and then with Chris Mars on drums, the Replacements simply were a super group and American treasure.

If ... it's a temporary lull. Why am I bored outta my skull? Man, I'm dressin' sharp and feelin' dull.

Of course, it's not proper to talk Minneapolis bands without mentioning Prince and Husker Du/Bob Mould — major talents there. Yet I might argue that the Replacements were the closest group the United States ever got to the Beatles, and maybe it's a nice thing they never got wildly famous. They displayed slick, meaningful songwriting over and over, and songs like Waitress in the Sky, Skyway, I Will Dare, Alex Chilton, Within Your Reach and many, many more are freaking amazing.

Lonely, I guess that's where I'm from. If I was from Canada, then I'd best be called lonesome.

Comparatively, what did Soul Asylum have in 1991? They had a couple OK albums with Hang Time (1988) leading the way. Back then and even now, I can't relate to having this debate with a friend who insisted Pirner's outfit was superior to Westerberg's.

Then, Soul Asylum completely knocked itself out of the debate when their '92 album Grave Diggers Union got way too commercially successful. It went double platinum, meaning it sold more than 2 million copies. In contrast, the highest selling Replacements album ever was Don't Tell a Soul (1989) that sold 300,000.

A dream too tired to come true left a rebel without a clue. And I'm searching for something to do.

Off Grave Diggers Union, Soul Asylum boasted the mega-popular hit Runaway Train, a song I loathed that won the Grammy for "Best Rock Song" in '94. Even though the song sucks, the video featured actual runaways, and according to the video's director, 26 runaways were found from the video. While Soul Asylum was on the right side of history with that video, I simply can't stand the song.

Ultimately, Soul Asylum is Pirner with the rest of the band often rotating in and out. This good-looking dude dated Winona Ryder from '93 to '96. Soul Asylum also did the song Can't Even Tell for Kevin Smith's '94 movie Clerks. I love that song, by the way.

Apparently, Pirner has kept Soul Asylum alive this whole time. The group released a live single this year, and a full album two years ago. And, dude, check this out: Former Replacements bassist Tommy Stinson played in Soul Asylum from 2005 to 2012. No way!

Oh yeah, I'll tell what we could do. You be me for a while, and I'll be you.

The Replacements have basically been defunct since '91, but they had two stints when they got together and tried to be a band again. Westerberg remains an exceptional songwriter and has had a solid solo career. He hasn't really done much of note for 20 years, but so what? He and the Replacements' legacy should be secure.

The Replacements had seven exceptional albums from 1981 to '90. When Rolling Stone released its Top 500 Albums of All-Time in 2003, it had Tim at No. 136 and Let It Be at No. 239. The magazine redid the list in 2023 and took Tim out of it while moving Let It Be to No. 156. Whatevs. Listening back on the albums, they're all exceptional, and Pleased to Meet Me (1987) is a contender as their best work.

In my opinion, the Replacements are in the conversation for "Greatest American Band of All-Time." The legacy is set, and maybe it's a good thing that the band just ended and didn't do a zillion tours like a lot of old timey rockers.

To be fair to Soul Asylum, I went back and listened more to them. Better than I remembered — as long as I'm allowed to disregard Runaway Train. Pirner is much more than a pretty boy. Maybe time has allowed me to add a little respect to Soul Asylum, but whatever, the words I thought I brought, I left behind, so never mind.

The mathematics of love

What does it mean to be rich? What does it mean to be thriving? Well, if it isn't killing it at karaoke at Ellis Island in Las Vegas, I don't know what it means.

I probably had my best Vegas trip ever last week, although, officially, I place it tied with my bachelor party 25 years earlier. This time around, I rendezvoused with Sophie, who had turned 21 two days previously. It was just Dad and Daughter vs. Vegas. 

We had a ridiculously fun time, and we gambled in eight casinos. We had a slight money loss with the gambling, but it wasn't too bad for all the time we spent at the tables. Plus, we won in our final two casinos, so it felt like we won.

(By the way, the eight casinos we played were Caesar's, Bellagio, Horseshoe, Linq, Park MGM, New York/New York, Casino Royale and Ellis Island. Also, we went to others, too, including Aria and Cosmopolitan, but didn't gamble there.)

Two days after turning 21, Sophie drank a cosmopolitan and played roulette. She didn't like the cosmo and had just one other drink (red wine) during our three nights there. She is not a fan of the drink, and Dad is very, very happy to see that.

In stark contrast to her disdain for alcohol, Sophie (who actually goes by Irene now to the rest of the world) is a big fan of probability and figuring out odds. So we played roulette — A LOT. She is a math major at Berkeley, and at one time, she wrote equations in a napkin to test gambling ideas we had. Earlier on, I played a little video poker, but realized she didn't like it. So, OK, we focused on roulette.

We are lowball specialists. We normally would play the lowest stakes possible, which was a $3 bet for each spin. Plus, we learned to take off spins and spread out six bets each time while always giving ourselves a long-shot chance. That made it pretty darn fun, and it felt like we won the Super Bowl when our long shots hit.

When we would win 18 whole dollars on a 50-cent long-shot bet, we typically would celebrate, cash out and leave the casino. Victorious!

We also explored shops and casinos and had some incredible food. Angry Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen delivered as did Wicked Spoon. The Bellagio buffet and vegan dim sum were solid, too, but those other two places were superior, bordering on spectacular.

When Sophie was growing up, her grandma had a vacation place in North Vegas, and she has memories of being being a youngster and often visiting the Bellagio garden and parts of the strip. So a lot of our trip unlocked memories of her youth, and we ran into landmarks in which she has pictures.

"Your Chippewa Lake is the Las Vegas Strip," I said in reference to my family's cottage where I have tons of child memories. 

Sophie and I pretty much spent three full days straight together and had a blast. We also had a great time at the Pinball Museum, which should be named the Pinball Warehouse, by the way. Yet I can only place this awesome trip in a tie with my bachelor party. 

In that trip, I thought I was meeting my brother and two cousins for four nights (that's a lot of nights). In addition, my dad (the XMan), uncle and two friends, Dave and Jeff, came as a surprise to me. No way! Mathematically speaking, my dad was 53 at the time, and I'm 52 now.

The highlights of that trip were playing three rounds of golf with my dad in various foursomes and battling in fun poker games with our group. The gambling and the glitz lingered in the background; it was more about hanging out with my crew. Even though Sophie and I threw a brick through Vegas' windshield, took it out and chopped it up, it was much more about spending time with her.

Maybe our love language is math 'n' fun. She says that if we played her roulette system infinitely that we would actually net a slight monetary profit. Hmm. She says she has the math to prove it.

I figured out that our relationship netted a major profit. I beheld the sophisticated young woman she has become and saw that she has a great sense of humor and is kind, fun and chill. As we said goodbye, it all added up to me being overwhelmed with emotion as I said between sobs, "I love you. It's impossible to have a trip this incredible."

Odds are, my dad let out sobs and said the exact same thing to me when we departed Vegas 25 years earlier.

Foodies packed their knives and went

What ever happened to foodies?

At this point, I'm pretty sure the term "foodie" is outdated. I don't really hear it any more. It's passé.

But I must say there was a nice stretch, when calling one's self a foodie was totally OK. In fact, if you didn't call yourself a foodie, what was your problem?

I estimate that it was en vogue to be a foodie from 2006 to 2016, when I watched Top Chef. Soon, the United States fell into extreme polarization and something called "doom scrolling." We've been a non-foodie, stressed-out nation ever since.

Not that long ago, a story in the Associated Press fascinated me. It was about how some influencers are reminiscing about how good things were in 2016, when people were doing more fun, non-serious things, perhaps still pretending to be amateur foodies.

The simplicity of enjoying an elevated dinner now has been erased by inflation, talk of inflation or somebody ruining it by taking a photo and posting it on social media. OK, while I can't say posting a food photo would ruin my dinner, that whole posting of food always seemed peculiar to me. Who does that anymore? What was that all about?

This past summer, I tried improving my food game by taking the Rouxbe (pronounced Ruby) Forks Over Knives online class. The class gears itself to vegans, and while I am not vegan, I do believe that the Standard American Diet (SAD) overdoes it with meat, oils and processed foods.

I realize that some of the best meals of my life have not been in the United States. While I'd love to travel more and experience more different cuisine, the best meals I've ever had were in Italy and France. In a trip to Italy about 10 years ago, I returned switching to espresso from coffee and adhering by the idea that "Your day might only be as good as your lunch."

Too often, Americans rush their lunches at their desk or don't put any thought into their food. They unwittingly dehumanize themselves on a daily basis. To be human, or a privileged human, is to eat and enjoy. Right?

With Forks Over Knives, my big takeaways were the power of healthy grains, including brown rice, farro (ancient grains) and quinoa. I pretty much stopped eating white rice and gluten-filled noodles. I eat a lot of bowls nowadays, and it's best when I mix up the types of veggies and flavors in those.

I also got much better at my cuts, and I learned some basics, like properly steaming vegetables and how to handle onions, that help immensely. The power of fruits and vegetables, and health benefits, indeed will stay with me.

I actually give Top Chef some credit with helping me learn more about cooking. I loved the show so much that in 2013, I named it the fifth best TV show of all-time.  By the way, The Sopranos was No. 1 on the list, and looking back, I binged about one zillion shows since then. Maybe I need to update the list with the likes of Breaking Bad, The White Lotus and Stranger Things. (Or not)

Top Chef continues without me, or anybody I know, watching the show. Padma Lakshmi apparently left the show two years ago. Tom Colicchio and Gail Simmons still are hosting, apparently. For 10 years, I watched the show, but the show just can't escape this criticism: "Hey, wait a minute, don't we have to taste the food?"

I tried tasting the food once by going to Colicchio's Craftsteak at the MGM Grand in Vegas. It just wasn't good at all. The quality was mid at best, and it was overpriced. Didn't really enjoy it, and this is coming from a guy who didn't mind Ponderosa in the '80s.

Of course, when the 2020 pandemic shutdown wiped out a lot of restaurants, that put a wrinkle into would-be foodies plans. Six years later, many restaurants have come back, but many haven't. I guess I need to accept the fact that foodies are gone.

Ponderosa has dwindled to 15 locations in the United States, after peaking at 150 in the '80s. And Pizza Hut, which has been pretty horrible for decades, recently announced it would close 250 of its 6,000 stores. But I swear, Pizza Hut was cool in the '80s.

Foodies, we need you back!

Playing gin rummy with the deceased

I find myself at the Chippewa Lake cottage, and I'm sitting at a card table with my dad, the XMan. I touch the top of this card table, and it's an odd texture — dark green and kind of rain proof, maybe elastic, I don't know.

People are chatting around us, including my grandparents, Ed and Adele. Dina, Sophie, Chloe and my mom are there, too, smiling and talking with relatives. At this table, it's just me and my dad. I'm locked in a Dad vs. Son game of gin rummy.

Maybe these details wouldn't matter in real life, but they matter to me in dreams. I am soaking in this impossible possibility, the comfortable feelings of place and multigenerational love. So many people I care about are there, but the star is my dad, the XMan.

I've had many dreams with the Xman since he passed 15 years ago this month, and I adore these dreams. I didn't know what to do with them at first. Good god, some have been exceptionally vivid. Often, at some point, I'd realize I'm dreaming — just dreaming — and I'd wake up in tears, missing my loving dad.

But now, 15 years into this situation, this loss, this reality, this acceptance, I embrace these random dreams with my dad — usually at Chippewa, for whatever reason, or sometimes in a basement in Brecksville or Garfield Heights. I've learned how to elongate these dreams, milk them. Ooh, baby, I must say this: It feels so good to spend time with my deceased dad.

I wonder how many other people dream about their lost loved ones and enjoy the experience. Who knows? But I wonder.

OK, I'm not trying to be overly emotional, or sentimental. I'm not calling out for help or attention. I also must say that they're not too common. Maybe one, or two, a year? They emerge more around the holidays.

I've learned how to just step back, let the moment develop and cherish the time — in life and my dreams. X and I will be playing gin rummy, and we'll just glance at each other. He'll play a card; I'll play a card. Nothing special on the surface, but I'm with him. And something feels right, loving. It's wonderful.

Memories. Dreams. How do they work? SS. Peter & Paul. Chippewa. Los Olivos. Naples, Fla. I'm in New York now. My memories and dreams often converge on different, distinct places.

Of course, I had to do an Internet search about what dreaming of deceased relatives might mean, and, honestly, whatever, I don't know and don't care. It's more important to know the depth of love I have for those close to me.

I guess meaningful moments are all around us, and maybe a little wisdom is that I recognize them more and stack the deck. When I recognize something incredible happening in actual life, I try to expand that moment and recognize the specialness of that time — yeah, kind of like the slo-mo scenes in The Matrix. Maybe I'll just concentrate on creating more memories with loved ones that one day will return to someone in a dream.

Gen Xers must resist the distraction economy

"I'm working, but I'm not working for you. Slack mother******!"

Well, Happy New Year, Gen Xers! Something hit me the other day: It's possible that we Gen Xers have lost our way.

While I know variance exists within generations, Gen Xers — universally — used to stand for something. We used to be disaffected and cynical, and we popularized alternative rock, grunge and indie rock. We used to be cool, man.

Now, I'm not so sure what we stand for. We sold out, man, and we sold out for cheap. So this is a call for us Gen Xers to get off our phones, stop being distracted, get informed and fight for something we believe in. It's time to return to our Gen X roots.

Considering how the United States' media appeals to the lowest common denominator, it's time to give up on the gross, mainstream pop culture of this country and seek information elsewhere (if you haven't already). I highly recommend using DW from Germany as a national/international news source, and I also recommend limiting news infotainment and social media to 10 minutes a day and getting off that darn phone.

Unfortunately, in our current attention economy — which is more accurately called the distraction economy — many of us consume ourselves with nonsense. Whether it be social media, video games, political b.s. or reels, we give away our time to the digital slop-o-sphere, and I contend we don't actually want to spend our time that way.

We need to return to our Gen X roots of the '90s, when we knew that we'd have to fight to keep our souls because the U.S. economy had grown so huge and cruel that corporate life couldn't possibly work for us. (And, yeah, we knew that way back in the '90s.)

Recently, DW published the International Rescue Committee's Top 10 crises the world can't ignore in 2026. Guess what? I did not see the presidential ballroom, Epstein files or mindless U.S. propaganda in echo chambers on the list.

Rather, I realized that, more or less, the U.S. has turned its back on the actual world's crises and instead, enabled crisis No. 2, Palestine, in which 70,000 have been killed, 80 percent of the buildings have been destroyed or damaged and 90 percent of the population has been displaced. What peacemakers we are!

The U.S. ended USAID this year, and I find this morally reprehensible. The world's largest economy killed a huge international humanitarian organization. Yes, it kept 17 percent of its budget and put that in the State Department, but this is a loss. USAID had been around since 1961, and it is estimated that it help save the lives of 90 million people in its existence.

Now, USAID is wrangled lawsuits, and do we ever hear about this in any U.S. news sources? I don't think U.S. citizens are meant to. We have some sort of two-party-echo-chamber system in which discussion of actual issues rarely happens. I believe the masses are meant to consume, consume and consume, mostly digitally, and be sucked into this distraction economy and just accept that.

So what are we to do? Well, remember that the Superchunk anthem says, "I'm working, but I'm not working for you..." We got to get off our phones and get to work.

My suggestion is to think of a cause that really matters to you and do something about it. Replace screen time with action. If you can't find a cause, then maybe replace it with creating some sort of art or craft. Let's replace all this distraction with something worth our time.

I believe this sentiment is leaking through U.S. media, too, thankfully. This week, the Associated Press ran a story about how the U.S. needs a return to volunteerism, and I agree with this. With the billionaires and oligarchs and their corporations obviously not stepping up to help societal ills whatsoever, we everyday individuals are forced to do that on some level. ... Might as well. 

While it's unrealistic to go completely without screen time, we can reclaim our lives by limiting our digital world and living the Gen X life we want where we actually help ourselves and others. Yeah, slack, mother******.