Talking With Friends, Sharing the Load Podcast

Joanna Piros

Some of my richest insights into ageing, health, love and grief, come from conversations with friends. This podcast is the audio version of those reports from the friend front, from the technology front, and from the reluctantly encountered shittiness epidemic. Topics include love, sex, technology, money, and very little politics. joannapiros.substack.com

  1. Sep 23

    A Daily Dose of Navel Gazing

    I really like Substack, or I wouldn’t be here. I’ve already fled Facebook, X, Insta and never had TikTok or Blue Sky. However, there are some aspects of Substack that are beginning to irk me more and more so if you’re not in the mood for a rant, please click away and come back next week for something more solid. What does it mean to publish at the rhythm of breaking news when you’re writing personal essays? What’s that say to your readers about the value of their time? You have to be pretty bloody compelling to capture our interest with something personal every bleeding day. In the news business, breaking news is the cream on the top but another staple of the biz is the man bites dog genre, often the human interest, the unusual, the unexpected. With Substacks, I feel the strictly personal essay/confessional falls into this category and here’s the gripe: TOO MANY ALREADY! When these happen all the time it becomes the pedestrian version of dog bites man, not all that remarkable, nor worth commenting on. I don’t need a navel-gazing personal essay from the same writer every day of the week. I don’t even have lengthy conversations with my closest friends that often! True, I don’t have to open and read every one and I truly don’t but there’s something annoying about this frequency. It’s like getting constant text messages from a friend who needs to document every detail of their day: Just had avocado toast at the new cafe. Omg. These Substacks would be so much better served, and consumed, if they were less frequent. Putting annoying icing on the cake is the author’s reference to how much work it is to produce this volume of output, to which I would say, so stop it! Asking me to upgrade to a paid subscription so I can receive even more? Not happening, sorry. Part of the problem is the algorithm chase and Substack has to wear part of that but the bigger piece comes from a secondary economy of writers on Substack who post only about how to grow your publication, and many of them charge you for the “kit” or advice or workshop which tells you to post MORE. Like two to five Notes posts every day. That same blogger built and will happily sell you a Chrome extension for batch scheduling Notes so you can actually leave the keyboard and go for a walk. His website does point out, though, that “No scheduler can fix weak positioning or generic writing; the offer and ideas still need to be strong”. But in the next breath we see that posts are not assessed by their editorial or emotional valence but rather whether or not they moved the subscriber needle. Substack itself recommends posting once a week for most of us, and emphasizes consistency as the gold standard. Unlike other platforms, Substack has been fairly transparent about the algorithm and despite some rumoured secret updates the main information was revealed at an event at their HQ in October of last year. Co-founder Hamish McKenzie and head of machine learning, Mike Cohen, explained how it works: Cohen said it’s optimized for discovery leading to subscription, the goal is to “get people to discover, subscribe, and ideally pay”, and that’s how and why the feed was built. When someone opens the Substack app, the algorithm looks at who they are, where they are, what language they use, who they follow and subscribe to, and their stated interests. That all gets stirred in a cauldron and results in a numerical profile of them which dictates what gets shown in their feeds. It’s a guess at what will resonate with you. As far as I can tell, though, no one at that tell-all event at Substack HQ put their finger on the problem that’s irking me: if the algorithm is built to show whatever creates a sense of connection between you and a writer, and the data shows that confessional Notes outperform others, then the platform isn’t a pile of navel-gazing by accident. There’s lots of data on frequency, engagement and revenue but no one seems to be measuring, or even talking about, what it costs us, the readers. I’m wondering about churn, unsubscribes or reader fatigue. There’s certainly anecdotal evidence from many conversations I’ve had, usually the comment is, “he/she posts way to often, and usually it’s repetitive”. One complaint came from someone who had a paid subscription, received absolutely nothing for months, and found there’s no way to get a refund from an author who simply stops. Two extremes, almost equally annoying. One more thing to flag if you’re still with me. Wayne Horton has written a piece about how Apple horns in on your money if you upgrade to a paid subscription on the Substack app. Read more about that here. So for those of you who wondered how we got here, this has been a roundabout explanation, complete with bitchfest; same as it ever was. Now, let’s see, what would be a suitable musical offering? Until next time, keep asking yourself, how did I get here? This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joannapiros.substack.com/subscribe

  2. Sep 17

    I’ve Had the Time of My Life

    Last week a group of us went to see Dirty Dancing in the movie theatre. I know it’s not 1987, duh, but our local cinema has launched a throw-back Tuesday pilot to see what the response might be. Judging from that one night, it’s an idea whose time has come — again. First of all, the place was packed and that’s not the usual situation in this small, small-town theatre. The audience knew most of the pivotal lines, all the songs, and had various reasons for being there. One large, heavily bearded guy was in line for tickets and wanted to explain himself as he wasn’t there on sufferance with his girlfriend. She was at home, he told us, watching her “favourite movie” on VHS, but insisted he go see it on the big screen. His motivation to accede to that wish was that he wants to see more retro films brought to the Twilight Theatre so feels we have to support what we want to receive. I’m drafting up a list of movies I’ll send along to the new owners, in hopes it inspires them to keep these Tuesdays going. Thinking Vanishing Point, Easy Rider, Rain Man, The Last Picture Show; there are so many!!! It’s not just an 80s movie about the early 60s that draws us; we could all watch Dirty Dancing online or VHS (yikes) but we choose to do it together, in a group, with our community. There’s a special kick to doing this in company with others and it’s one of the few times I’ve seen so many people in one place and no one scrolling for two hours. Not surprisingly, nostalgia is a refuge for us as individuals when times get tough; we harken back to memories which tend to crystallize around positive experiences, golden moments. Whether they were simpler or better doesn’t matter; it’s the memories which help sustain us in the present. Krystine Batcho writes: The desire to escape into the imagined, idealized world of a prior era – even one you weren’t alive for – represents a different, independent type of nostalgia called historical nostalgia. Historical nostalgia is often concurrent with a deep dissatisfaction with the present and a preference for the way things were long ago. Unlike personal nostalgia, someone who experiences historical nostalgia might have a more cynical perspective of the world, one colored by pain, trauma, regret or adverse childhood experiences. At a time of global anxiety, historical nostalgia has taken root in multiple places, a mass response which seeks to evoke the comfort of better days. The faith-based WiC Project blog wrote late last year that times like ours disrupt our own sense of stability and we compensate for that anxiety by looking for emotional anchors to reassure us. Nostalgia is a psychological response to the lives we’re living today. An article in Psychology Today revisits the unrest of the mid-1960s through the early 1970s, with high profile assassinations, student protests, race riots, inflation, a falling stock market, recession, unemployment, the Vietnam War and the threat of nuclear attack. Taken together that cultural uncertainty gave birth to a massive nostalgia for the recalled golden days of the 1950s, along with a spate of 50s based movies and TV shows. Today we see a similar yearning showing up in where we put our money. You see it in retail stats which show Boomers and GenXers buying products which were popular “back in the day” but also millennial parents seeking out retro products for their kids. Consumer data cruncher Circana notes: A few cases in point: women’s low-rise denim was the fastest-growing denim type from January through May 2026, reflecting the continued Y2K revival. Also harkening back to other eras, wider silhouettes continue to lead, bootcut jeans are seeing a resurgence, and premium denim is hot again, echoing the early 2000s designer boom. The article also reports that lip liner, made popular in the 1920s and revived in the 1980s, is back again and that young consumers are driving a boom in consignment clothing. For those with money, the design world is bringing back Baroque and Rococo inspired jackets, boots and tricorn hats. It’s called “newstalgia” whether it’s reviving classic products or reimagining them in new ways. Of course, nostalgia is a reconstruction, not an accurate rendering and even the longed-for 50s and 60s weren’t golden for everyone. Leave it to Beaver showed us the sensitive and sensible male breadwinner dad and the cheerful, coiffed stay-at-home-mom, but that wasn’t representative. Many real families struggled with conflict, female repression, anxiety and poverty. Historian Stephanie Coontz, in her book, The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap, wrote that rape and sexual assault rates were far higher in the 1970s than they are today and that child abuse and poverty were much more common than we remember. Many of us grew up under the shadow of the Cold War and practiced bomb drills by squeezing under our school desks. It wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns but it sure feels like it in hindsight, especially when it’s a movie version recreation. You probably wish you had been in the theatre with me last week, just to revisit an iconic moment in time. So here you go. Until next time, don’t even think about putting baby in the corner. Talking With Friends, Sharing the Load is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joannapiros.substack.com/subscribe

  3. Sep 9

    Monday Mourning

    When someone you went to high school with dies, it doesn’t matter how close friends you were, or weren’t, or if you’ve kept in any kind of touch since then. When you hear of the death, years later, something in your present and future changes, because your past just did. Today I received a note telling me someone I had been in high school with, back in the 70s, had died during heart surgery and my first thought was, how does a teenager die in heart surgery? Crazy, yes, but because he was part of my teen years, and not my adult life, he’s never aged, changed, moved on. He was still 17 so far as I knew because I hadn’t seen anything to the contrary. Now I have, so now I can’t ignore the fact that he’s not 17 because he’s died, not in the 70s, but in his. High school deaths always conjure up premature, tragic and senseless loss. Freak accidents, motor vehicle carnage, suicide. There’s a cognitive disconnect between that concept, and the concept of age-related illness. People you knew in high school didn’t have to be close friends to be part of the landscape of those tectonic times. But that landscape shifts every time someone from those days is erased. So long as they were out there, their story was still unfinished — and so was mine. And if their future still holds possibility, so does mine, and yours. Although I ignorantly believed this was something only I had conjured up, plenty of others have trod these lino hallways in the name of science. In 1932, the psychologist Frederic Bartlett asked people to think about an old folk tale or story, and retell it many times over days and then weeks. What he found was a memory drift. With each retelling the stories began to conform to something the teller found made sense. This was the first scholarly look at how memory isn’t fixed, like a recording. He titled his experiments, War of the Ghosts which seems eerily apropos. Then, in 2000, Karim Nader and his team showed that when we try to remember something, that act makes the original memory unstable before it rewrites and reshelves it, and that is a bio-chemical process. It’s a little like pulling an old, much-loved book off the shelf, flipping through the pages and recognizing a few passages before putting it back. So, my remembering the schoolmates who have died, picturing them in the classrooms, hallways and on the playing fields of school, changes memories a little bit each time I “think back”. When a man who died at 71 is still 17 in my mind, it’s not a failure to update, it’s what my memory is designed to do: hold the last version I filed away, labelled “true”, until something forces a rewrite I didn’t choose. The more the past is whittled away, conforming to a more accurate present, the more conscious I am of how little time really is left. When you’re young, time is a linear construct, one year follows another but as you get older there are years, and then there are good years, and it’s the good, healthy, active years that are slipping away faster. Every death is a reminder of that infernal hourglass and its implacable contents and every death makes us sit up straighter and vow to make the most of the time we’ve been given but very quicky we forget those brave promises and allow quotidian reality to steer our days until they too become years and imperfect memories. Going way back with Joni Mitchell. Until next time, cherish your memories and book your flights. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joannapiros.substack.com/subscribe

  4. Sep 2

    We Know You Have Places to Be and We Apologize for the Inconvenience

    What began as a simple afternoon and evening in the city last week, turned into a Gilligan’s Island marathon, minus the millionaires and movie stars. A Friday afternoon breakdown in the ferry which normally services the Sunshine Coast resulted in cancelled sailings and people scrambling for accommodations in the city. Some optimistic souls hung out, hoping for a Plan B and one did come, in the form of another boat to pick up the slack. Incredibly that boat also broke down after delivering one load of travelers, leaving me, and thousands of others, stranded on both sides now. Win and lose, but still somehow… Can you imagine the individual tragedies and failures that resulted? The surprise guests at a wedding who travelled from afar only to miss the event anyway; the triumphant new parents of a baby born in the city, coming to visit granny and grandpa for the first time; the truck full of Chilliwack corn, steaming in the heat; the Costco shopper with a car full of meat, cheese and yogurt. The breakdowns are hugely inconvenient but also not unexpected given the age of the BC Ferries fleet, but the lack of honest communication is indefensible. The technology responsible for informing the travelling public is not 50+ years old so it falls to the operators and administrators to ensure the information they send out is at least glancingly accurate. Knowing that nothing posted online could be relied upon I turned to generous friends to put me up for the evening, planning to brave the madness which would accompany resumption of service the next day. And madness only touches on the reality. Cars were lined up for miles along the highway, far away from the eventual exit to the ferry terminal. The left-hand lane, designated for traffic bypassing the terminal and heading for the village itself, was jammed with lane crashers and several stubborn vehicles, refusing the interloper’s aggressive attempts to cut in, looked ready to engage in fist fights. There was no traffic control personnel assigned to smooth the onslaught; it was literally every man, woman and child for themselves. I showed up at the normal time to claim my reservation, itself hard won by constantly refreshing the reservation site until an opportunity presented itself, braved the Mad Max approach to the terminal, only to be told I had to leave and come back an hour later (another run of the gauntlet!) because the boats were very late and there was nowhere to put any arrivals. Again, the technology allows for anyone with a reservation to receive a notification indicating this, which would have saved a lot of headaches and arguments, not to mention alleviating the crush on the highway. Thankfully I had only a minimal amount of food with me: a bag of brown basmati, a dozen mini cukes and 8 nectarines, not enough to spoil but more than many unprepared others. Waiting for my boat to come in, I fell upon an entrepreneurial inspiration. All these other folks waiting are probably getting peckish so I could use a random empty container in my trunk and cook the rice on the heat of the engine block, then bite off little bits of cucumber and nectarine and delicately spit it into the steaming rice, then offer it, for a fee, to those who didn’t have the presence of mind to travel with a bag of rice and some produce. Genius! Despite the distraction of genius, the two cups of coffee my generous hosts had provided were beginning to beg for release and the only facilities in sight were Porta-potties, also steaming in the sun. No way, I couldn’t do it, it’s too awful to contemplate, nope, nuh uh. Suddenly an update on the website: my sailing was now expected to depart in one hour and 40 minutes. My heart sank to my bladder; no way I can last that long. Porta-potty coming up. And yes, it was everything I had dreamed it would be. Enough said. No photos were taken. Seriously, though, this situation is quite likely to reoccur with more frequency as the BC Ferries fleet ages and the volume of traffic to and from the Sunshine Coast continues to build. We’ve been discovered, God help us. My plan is to fill an old purse or satchel with the necessities I didn’t have on my person when I was forced to stay over. Perhaps this list will help you create your own go-bag that will live in the trunk of the car: * medications * underwear * toothbrush and paste * water * knife (for the nectarines) * 8 volt converter and small air fryer (you never know) * moisturizer * wet wipes * TP * handcuffs and/or taser * $1000 in unmarked bills * energy bars Until next time, enjoy the scenery; it’s yours for an indeterminate number of sailing waits. Talking With Friends, Sharing the Load is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit joannapiros.substack.com/subscribe

About

Some of my richest insights into ageing, health, love and grief, come from conversations with friends. This podcast is the audio version of those reports from the friend front, from the technology front, and from the reluctantly encountered shittiness epidemic. Topics include love, sex, technology, money, and very little politics. joannapiros.substack.com

You Might Also Like