I’m an unapologetic supporter of all things Evan Shapiro, full stop. I’m already on record as labeling him one of the more influential and honest brokers and truth-tellers of media measurement on the planet and one of the more influential and honest brokers and truth-tellers of media measurement on the planet. So any more praise I’m willing to offer would justifiably be classified as redundant and unnecessary, especially since all I’ve ever received from him in return is a couple of drinks at a funky Silverlake theatre where he previewed a play he produced and a couple of shout-outs on social media.
But that’s a lot more positive reinforcement than I tend to receive from people allegedly closer to me who have zero tolerance for anything other than pure indulgence of their passion projects and agendas–regardless of what data and/or direct insight I can point to that strongly indicates their conclusions are at best misguided and at worse a total waste of time. Lord knows I continue to get told those exact words on efforts like these and others I’m undertaking to build something even remotely close to what Shapiro has been able to. Respect founded on brutal honesty by folks at least thick-skinned enough to desire it.
I have apparently lost yet another long-term friendship because I dared to remind this person that a network that has publicly gone on record as embracing a fan base that covets one particular execution and has the receipts to prove their focus is accurate and has privately conceded that they are no longer pursuing unscripted content will somehow believe that an unscripted idea he has been pursuing for months will somehow magically convince corporate management that his half-baked concept will be the exception to the rule. I’m devastated because I honestly don’t have all that many more people in my life left to lose, and it’s yet again another reminder that I have tended to make incredibly poor choices for friends over the years in the first place. And as the holiday season rapidly approaches–a point the above piece made crystal clear–the fact I am facing it once again completely without any destination or ability to spend quality time with anyone at all who cares if I live or die has had me a lot more melancholy and dire than usual. I was all set to devote an entire musing once more to that defeatist and depressing narrative–even though I know damn well from my own metrics that’s a certain path to irrelevance.
But Shapiro happened to drop one of his most bitingly spot-on commentaries yet in his MEDIA WAR AND PEACE newsletter this morning that at least for the duration of reading it took my mind away from that uncomfortably dark space. 
The piece, provocatively called THE TELEVISION WILL BE ENSHITTIFIED, pulls no punches and spares no sector of the trad media industry that we have collectively seen go to pieces in the 2020s. The creatives, the ad sales teams, the schedulers, the data scientists, and especially the short-sighted CEOs who seem to lack even the desire to use actual numbers to back up their reactive decisions that amount to little more than thousands of job cuts that don’t truly make a dent beyond momentary perception in the behavioral shifts these patterns of bureaucratic doublespeak have caused. I won’t spoil this with italicized details in this case because I strongly believe Shapiro’s content is worth the relatively modest amount of subscription cost that he asks for and darn it, if I can find spare change to afford it, you most likely can as well. 
But I will drop in a few of these telling graphics as both a tease for said engagement and a reminder that at least someone in a position of influence believes enough in the power of numbers to at least want to use them as a tool and, when needed, a weapon.
Shapiro has not only a robust paying client base on a global scale, he also apparently has the support of a loving family. Me? None of the above, a two-digit net worth at this writing and an increasingly longer list of ex-friends who have decided I no longer warrant a second of their time because they are incapable of even considering a reality check. Shapiro’s got far more resources and efforts going on to potentially piss off that many more folks he was colleagues off and is even now a peer of. Me? A fraction of those totals and those that remain seem to do so out of spite to watch me fall further and deeper into the abyss of what they feverishly contend is self-inflcted hell.
Shapiro and I have spoken of brief occasions. He’s respectful enough; more than most. But I’ve been around way too many blocks of my own to not pick up on when people see me as far beneath them. The more detached and isolated I become the less respect I command, which leaves scant little left to afford myself.
I don’t even get those kind of scraps these days even at the menial job I claim I’m doing to “tide me over” that by time spent alone now seems to default into my career definition despite all best efforts to eschew it. We no longer meet in person; the perceived cost of having us spend any paid time commuting to one is deemed an unnecessary cost by the new management team. The only communication we have received from senior management in months regarded our need to diligently focus on avoiding overtime and meal penalties at all costs. Our immediate supervisor no longer shares any success stories any of my remaining peers may have had; only when pressed does one discover that we may have had scant few thanks to the lack of results folks we never are allowed to engage with have been able to produce and the mere act of even asking draws thinly veiled suggestions that “this may not be for you”. Not that anyone is even choosing to interview someone of my seasoning and especially my flavoring these days in the first place.
I did say that I was going to try to not go as far down into the abyss the events of the last few days have left me. I profusely apologize that I yet again proved incapable of doing so. I’ll now force myself to stop at the risk of losing any of you who still remain as well.
I’ll merely once again thank Shapiro for the momentary respite and the reminder that at least some of us are still worthy and capable of respect. Maybe you–or maybe one of you readers–perhaps throw an Angstrom’s unit in this direction sometime before Christmas?
Until next time…