The Problems with ‘Mr. Robot’

Warning: Spoiler alerts!

The first season of Mr. Robot was average, banal television.

Characters were uninteresting and flat. I couldn’t empathize or relate to any of them, not even rail or get mad. They were just taking up space on screen. I genuinely didn’t see Shayla’s death coming, but I felt sad for a few minutes and then moved on. Then, stereotypes were recycled with little attempt at hiding them. Tyrell is the young angry white psychopath, Christian Slater’s character the renegade with the heart of gold, and, most yawn-inducing of them all, Darlene, the snarky tech nerd who speaks sarcasm fluently.

The saddest character is the main one. Elliot never changes or grows. He’s wooden, emotionally, and disengaged. Nothing in the story changes him. It is not convincing that he suddenly sprouts in the last two episodes as this evil hacking mastermind on mental vacation. And I don’t buy at all that Darlene is his sister. How did he, all of a sudden, just realize it? It’s just not convincing.

Although the depiction was refreshingly accurate, the story relied far too much on the technology. It was the most honest aspect of the story, but we don’t watch television to learn about Linux and hacking. We watch it for drama and story. And writer-producer Sam Esmail took the easy way out from storytelling by using tired techniques to push the episodes along.

He went The Sixth Sense on us by telling us that Elliot’s father is dead. Psychologizing hackers as well-meaning rebels with sad backgrounds is tiring. Around episode six, there was the customary extended dream sequence connected to Elliot’s withdrawal, as the writers tried to convince us that this will add insight to Elliot. I felt that it had nothing to do with the story. It was then insulting to viewers to go all Shutter Island on us and say that it was all in his head. This clumsy handling of mental health disease ends up being maddening, and turning both the characters and the problem as being gimmicks.

By the end, it was all Elliot and it was mental disease with schizophrenia and hallucinations. This was handled far better in The Beautiful Mind.

The real appeal of this series is not its artistic merit or its craft in acting or writing or direction. It’s that Esmail has tapped into the populist, contrarian voice that we hear and read all through social media, that the corporate world is morally corrupt, that our lives can be hacked, that we’re all in the Matrix of our minds, that we need to raze modern society down to embers and start over. This will assure him viewers, even if the writing is mediocre.

The tagline of the series – your democracy has been hacked –, but there is nothing about democracy in the series. I’m rather certain that democracy is not the right to not have your dickpics hacked and used as collateral by whimsical hackers with silly masks.

The most lucid and engaging moment in the season was Elliot’s brain rant at the therapist’s office. It was the hook that pulled me into the series. However, it was a gimmick, as was the whole season.

 

On Fantasy and Romantic Relationships with Others

I am open to be in a relationship with someone. I no longer think and feel that you have to be ready in order to be in a relationship. When you meet someone and a connection sprouts, there is no time to be ready or prepare. The call is to just put all in and see where it goes.

With this openness, which is new to me, comes a whole new world, light years away from how I conducted myself in relationships. That world is called no apps, no websites, no games, no bullshit, and no fantasy. I thought the first four would be the hardest to deal with because it had to do with other people and it’s easy to rail at others, who seem to be the cause of your misfortune. But that last one, no fantasy, that quiet guy holding a beer at your dinner party, taking up no space in conversation or energy, that is much, much harder. It’s harder because it’s about yourself and how you parse the world.

I’m not talking about sexual or erotic fantasy here. Rather, what I mean is the fantasies we engage in when we meet someone and our mind starts to wander from room to room, possibility to possibility, hypothetical scenario to hypothetical scenario. This ‘no fantasy’ idea is made seemingly inescapable by the way we spend talking to others — that is, via the Internet or digital words through phones. All we have is that person’s words and their other digital accessories — photos, tweets, updates.

The idea for this piece really came from a fantasy about someone with whom had been talking sporadically for a while. I kept on treating her like I knew her. My mind made every possible interaction or scenario seem familiar. I know her, right? I’m thinking about someone I know. Actually. I don’t. It’s just words. I know her words. I met her a long time ago for about 3 shakes to a millisecond and since then, it’s just been words.

Fantasy looks like reality because the words are real, coming from a real person with a data plan and a semi-interesting life. The bitter sweetness of fantasy is that it’s quaint and yet all happening in your mind, most probably far away from the person about whom you’re thinking. Fantasy seems to share the same bar stool with reality. Sitting next to each other, looking the same, drinking the same beer, but they’re two different people with two different sets of buttcheeks.

You have to change your perspective to know the difference.

When the thought of this woman, or any other person whom I barely know, or just saw on the bus, or caught her looking my way, comes to mind, I close the door. Every single door. And just like after all your guests have gone home, you turn around and look at your home. And you realize that it’s just you and this space.

Having no fantasies is lonely, grueling, and empty. It’s counter-cultural and it’s counter-intuitive. It’s the former because what’s wrong with a little daydream about that person you met seven months ago, going for an imaginary walk with you? And it’s the latter because it’s so much easier to go on the imaginary walk than deal with the possibility that your paths may never cross, that they’ll marry someone else.

So, I’m open to be with someone. And until that happens again, there will be no buffers, no antidotes, no human-sized fillers, no medication. It will be me, my empty home, and no fantasy.

Thank you for reading my work. I appreciate it when my readers hit the recommend button. Even more if you drop a comment to share their thoughts!

You can follow me on Twitter @minaddotcom and Instagram @minadimyan.

 

Posted in Essays by minademian

Recovering from a Freshly Ended Relationship

First, it was the hollowness in the messages trickling in on my screen. They felt like they had just survived another chemo session. At least there was a trickle, some kind of rapport being exchanged. Conversations could last all day and be infested with memes, but we laughed and laughing is glue.

Laughs dried up with the last messages that stopped coming.

Then, came the final meeting. When there’s been little, authentic talking and no meeting in person, a meeting is like a chug of cold water after a run. But the water was tepid and hard. There was no eye contact, no touch, no glimpse of giving this goodbye a decent burial.

Water on my face was gifts bought for her, returned to me. Amongst them was a gift to me, but I stared at the returned books. All hands were on deck pulling back the strings on my tongue.

It was now time to leave. Suitcases needed to be tucked to bed. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not an excuse to walk to the car. It was a hug under duress.

There was no last phone call that she suggested. And there was nothing else in her words except a cold breeze that shut the door behind me.

As the plane rippled through the clouds, tears dropped and dried.

And now, life as I had it before I met her. Long days, no one to share puns and memes with. She made me appreciate both. No one to check in with and say hey, and to take in a ‘I love you’ like a snack bar. The small interesting things we see and find during the day, that you had grown accustomed to sharing with that person.

Today, I was on the train and I looked up from my flash cards. She had a face, carved with a miniature knife, delicate features and serene eyes. No real resemblance, but the same draw of my lover. I felt the draw and I missed her, for the first time in weeks.

Now, I just miss the ordinary moments where I found her there, where we would talk or jest or just ask questions until the day was over.

 

Posted in Essays by minademian

9 Ways of Being for Men Who Have Been Looking for Love For a Long Time

Congratulations. You met someone different — really different. He kisses like Lord Byron, and handles you with grace and quirkiness. You may have heard of him say, “It’s been a long time.” This somber list is for women in new relationships. Let it be your Lonely Planet to his lonely soul.

1. Alone time has become a jail

Attempts to weave confident, wise tales of contentment for himself about singlehood have failed. He’s tired. Alone time sucks. Friends are great, but they’re an oblong peg for a rectangle hole.

2. It’s easy to stop your life when you meet someone special

You’ll wonder why he’s willing to drop everything to be with you. Remember alone time and how much he loathes it? He may have a thanks-but-no-thanks approach to the solitary life now. This means that now you’re here, the mundane of his life can be suspended in air for a bit while he weaves his words and daily routines around your presence on his phone, computer screen, and couch. It just means you’re special and he wants to savor it.

3. The search has eroded sense of self

Maybe it just won’t happen, he’s said too many times. It didn’t happen before; hope seems out of reach. Every rejection and ruined relationship and failed fling has left a mark on his confidence and vigor.

4. He fears the “turn”

I heard this used by a friend. It’s that moment when something beautiful and crazy ends abruptly, your affections cool because he comes on too strong or is “too real, too soon”. He fears it coming because it’s always looming for him. Your man has had a dozen strong encounters and maybe twice as many “turns”. There is no “too soon” in his lexicon. So, extend grace.

5. Rushing into emotional, affectionate talk and outward forms of romance

You may only warm to holding hands after date six. He’s been thinking about it since minute 25 on date 1. Understand that the cry of his heart is for the first drop of affection, that first grip of flesh. You’re being wise and he’s being honest. You two will figure it out.

6. Rejection is both numbing and stinging

It’s happened so many times that it would be neurotic to deny it. But, it’s normal to let it wash over you. Most guys gave up after the first heartbreak, but this guy, like many others, kept on going until he got to you. Like the “turn”, the taste never leaves the back of his tongue, so bear with him if he brings up the fear of rejection.

7. Being in the moment is hard

You’ll pick up on this a lot. It’s not fake, but it’s a little odd. He’s there with his look and affection, but his mind is stuck in a some distant workshop, figuring out how to remain cool and desirable at all times, with the well-timed story, anecdote, and quip. All the previous points flow into this one; a lifetime spent in his head makes more sense to him than being present with you. He has stalkers — regret, his own faults and weaknesses, past mistakes, the past in general — trailing behind you two on every date, so don’t mind him if he steals away in his mind for a minute to look over his mind shoulders.

8. Looking into the (near) future is second nature

It would be out of character for him to talk about marriage or your children’s political beliefs, but he will talk about many, many future dates. He will mine your words for ideas, things to do together, and your random thoughtfarts for sweet ways to spend even more time with you. It’s tired-heart speak for, I want you.

9. Pornography and bro culture has marred his understanding of women

You don’t know about his relationship with pornography yet, whether it’s complicated or committed and steady. You will find out in time that he may be the sweetest man alive, but he may have some deeply held ideas about women that he’s never had challenged. These ideas will spill into everything he does with you; but, he’s here with you, which means that he’s also sick of that world. If he is edging, with a surgeon’s caution, towards a relationship with you, then there is space for you to call him out on his shit and encourage him to change himself.

Posted in Essays by minademian

Another Sigh While In Agony

I will walk
Fresh geysers will pop at my footsteps
There will be no laughter
I earned me some silence
One day people walk in on your birth
And the other they want to point at you
While you’re walking in your birthday suit
Just walk,
walk,
walk
You earned you some silence.

This is the second part to this poem.

Posted in Poetry by minademian

I Miss You

I don’t see you anymore
My wounds have no balm
My ears hear only my words
Come back
And spare me the agony
of walking to your grave

The Creases

The creases in my hands
number the string of nights
in wait over her response

Head now lifted up
there is a sun in the sky

This day of days
Is a torch amongst faint candles

The Job Search as Fire

We like to use spatial metaphors for matters pertaining to work, money, and employment — the process, the journey, the ways, the search. It belies our assumptions, that we’re ready, subject to incremental improvement and that the destination, along with the starting point, are arbitrary. I don’t have something, stuff is done, I get the something done or I achieve the something. Do a bunch of stuff, be the best version of yourself, persevere, and it will come.

I knew my A, unemployment, and my B, employment that promises a new career. I did all the transactional work of analyzing the past and seeing where I went wrong. I applied myself to the searched and networked. 7 months later, no result. More analysis. More searching. More transactional work. Nothing.

The questions were: What am I? What skills can I market? Which companies give me the most perks or pay?

I answered all those questions. I spruced up my LinkedIn. Still, nothing. I grew tired and frustrated, further burnt out by ranting and railing against the successful mission of the job market to keep me to be down-trodden.

“Rock-star developer with killer communication skills, passionate about [insert cause(s)], must know DevOps, great client handling skills, must make soufflés.”

I thought I was all that. I’m not. Opening myself up to a time of reflection and skills audit made me realize that my skills need deepening, need to be proven publicly, and my focus sharpened, too. Competition is rife and a thousand developers are punching out code — and getting paid for it — while I’m twiddling my toes.

The job search is no longer a search. It’s a sauna of fire, a refining fire. The focus is the person and who they are when they get out. Fire removes blemishes, scalds a person, gets a person to jump out of its way, or harness it.

It seems then that A and B don’t actually matter. Or, the A and B are there, but you’ve gotten to B and gone back to A, considered C, done D on a fluke, and now you want to get back to A. The destinations are irrelevant until the person is ready to compete in the market. To be ready, the person has to face themselves and be willing to be changed.

Face the fire.

A Sigh While Agonizing

It’s another day
my heart has drowned in blood
I think that’s a scream
Ripping through my throat

The sun has died and buried itself in the night sky
There’s a niggling musk of fear
Probably anxiety salty deposits in my veins
Probably.

Oh, just a breath of fresh, cold air
On my day of release
When the walls of this cell bow down
Because it’s the end of time.

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