Hitting the target

You're probably already familiar with targeted marketing. You might have also heard it referred to by that other name the monumental douchewhistles running Facebook and Instagram give it: relevant ads. You know, ads you'll appreciate interrupting your otherwise perfectly good scroll.

These are those creepy ads that appear within five minutes of you talking about something that interests you while you're in earshot of your iPhone, Alexa, Google Home, Apple Homepod or other digital assistant. Devices that listen in on your conversations even though at the same time the companies that make them are paying for ads and running interviews everywhere telling you about their committment to privacy.

I hate 'em as much as the next guy. But I have to admit, I'm at a meth-laced crossroads when it comes to this little number that popped up in my inbox.

If you've followed this blog at all, and with all that pandemic time on your hands you have no excuse if you haven't, you know I'm a fairly hardcore Breaking Bad fan. The fact I've binged it fourteen times was probably your first clue.

So a few months ago when Omaze was runnng a contest to have Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul cook breakfast for me and a friend in the RV they cooked meth in on the show, it's safe to assume I entered. Several times. And then a few more for good measure.

But did I win? No I did not. Apparently Elissa and Heidi got to enjoy the breakfast that was meant for me. Apparently they forgot I am the one who knocks!

I may have gotten off track here. Anyway those nice folks (algorithims) at Omaze remembered and sent me the personalized invite to their latest contest to spend a little time with Walt and Jesse.

Now I'm not naive enough to think I'm the only one who got the invite. I'm sure everyone who entered the breakfast contest (and lost to Elissa and Heidi) received one as well. But it does make me reconsider my take on targeted marketing.

I guess the bottom line is I'm good with it as long as the ads are Breaking Bad, Springsteen or sushi related.

Footing the bill

Yesterday it was my gums. Today it's my feet. I'm falling apart from head to toe.

And because I feel I don't share enough personal information, the kind you really don't want to know, the kind you'd subtly back away from someone if they were telling it to you at a party, I'm going to share some now.

So the thing is for years, I've had neuropathy in my feet. It means they feel slightly numb a lot of the time, and cold as well although not to the touch. No you can't touch them. The easiest way to explain it is to think of it like the plastic covering on copper wire. It starts to fray a bit and reduces the ability to conduct impulses.

Impulse control has always been a problem of mine.

There are a lot of vitamins that claim to restore nerve function, and I'm taking them all. I also get acupuncture for it, which helps by taking the focus away from my feet and putting it on the needles being stuck in me. I have a sneaking suspicion my acupuncturist was a voodoo doll maker in a former life. Maybe in his current one.

Recently I found out about a neuropathy treatment called Neurogenx. It's an FDA-approved treatment which sends electrical impulses through pads attached to my feet and legs to the nerves, and is supposed to eventually restore a significant portion of their conductivity.

Every session, and there are three a week for eight weeks, they hook up pads to my feet and legs and run electricity through them for 40 minutes while I tell Alexa which Springsteen songs I want to listen to (for those of you keeping score, the correct answer is all of them). Right now I'm on treatment six, so we'll see where it goes. Even if it knocks the neuropathy back 20% it'll have been worth it.

And speaking of worth it, of course this revolutionary, neuropathy-curin', patient-pleasin', feeling restorin', FDA-approved treatment isn't covered by insurance—it's all out-of-pocket.

I charge the treatment, the treatment charges me. It's the circle of life.

I'll keep you updated on my progress. I'm keeping my expectations low and my hopes high. After all, I can't keep rescheduling that Riverdance audition forever.