Issue 19: Editors' Note

Sabrina Carpenter crawled across the stage, à la "Baby" in Dirty Dancing, and suddenly, 

I was watching Dirty Dancing for the first time. 

As the movie went on, jealousy sank into my heart. Baby had the summer I wanted. 

The family vacation summer camp resort, the sweaty secret summer nights dancing away the fears of the times. I yearned for the summer she was living. Since then, I've been looking at my phone with a level of disgust- well, that's harsh, more like resentment. 

I resented all the summers I spent scrolling my hours away. Life diluted by the screen that was beginning to feel more like a shackle every day, I dreaded the idea that this summer would be the same. 

In my fantasies, I throw my phone away, fill my gas up, and ride around the city with all my friends. Exploring and expanding our own little worlds all summer.

The reality was, everything is on my phone. Gas is almost $5 a gallon (and seems to run out faster). My friends are all working crazy hours to survive or stressed about not working, that's if they're even in town. Even worse, everything is expensive: bowling, roller skating, and all the other extracurricular activities rack up $20+ a person, "Third spaces" don't really exist, and going outside almost always guarantees a $15 charge will soon appear on your card. 

For every desire to change, came an excuse not to.

And then, my sweet perfect strong solider, my purple iPhone 11, stopped working: The top half of my screen would lift up anytime it wasn't layed flat, making it basically impossible to detect touch on any upper part of the screen, still if you used the accessibility features, it passed for a phone, and in this economy, with an already expensive phone bill, passable was all I could afford. 

What was yesterday easy, i.e. doomscrolling or swiping socials in general, was now not worth the trouble. After I let the detox symptoms pass. I was approached with boredom, an old summer friend. 

I remember how much I used to hate it, but my childhood of long Texas summer days taught me its valuable place in life. Boredom sparked imagination, which sparked creativity. A symbiotic relationship that seemed to have lately been snuffed out by the excitement of social media and A.I. 

For the first time in a long time, I found my curiosity again. 

The things I was searching for while scrolling on my phone are easy to see now. The want for a good story, a good laugh, a moment of connection or discovery possible with every swipe. It hasn’t really felt like that in a long time. Social Media lately has felt less social; it feels like second-guessing every post, every motive. Navigating an AI minefield, hidden ads, false narratives, with panopticon-like responses and posting.

Thoughts that weren't mine, overwhelming feelings, and the dissatisfaction as time slips away. 

Life sprawled out in this false way used to fill whatever void got me on these apps in the first place, but lately, all I am is bored. I don’t get my friends on my feed as much anymore; I miss local events, but somehow always get the influencer meta glasses ads. What used to be, at least, interesting has become invasive and predictable. The algorithm knows me too well and has been using it against me. I yearn for the lives in the movies, where they do something. 

Where’s the excitement, the thrill, the specialness of the World Wide Web? Where’s the excitement of the world? 

Turns out it’s still there, outside waiting for you. 

We spent the summer searching for it, looking for the thing we all crave, and this issue is our attempt at gifting you part of the answer. 

Maybe the least we can do is get you to ask more questions, to get more curious, or, my greatest hope, to go outside.

What are you waiting for? 

-T

Issue 19: Editors' Note July/Aug '26