Day 74: I’m Trying to Make the Questions Impossible to Misunderstand

It's Day 74 of waiting for the detailed Nextdoor Insights data I've been requesting.

Last night, I sent another email to Jacob Chavis, copying Investor Relations, Press, Nirav Tolia, Kelsey Grady, Michael Kiernan, and Sarah Leary.

This time, I tried to remove any possible ambiguity.

I am not asking for links to the publicly available blog summaries.

I am specifically requesting the “detailed data” that Nextdoor itself says is available at the bottom of its Insights posts.

Both posts tell readers seeking:

“detailed data, additional audience segments, and strategic recommendations”

to contact Jacob.

That's what I'm doing.

Again.

I even attached a screenshot of the paragraph so there's no confusion about which information I'm requesting.

And I Added Three New Questions

My email also asks about Nextdoor's new Good Neighbor Day awards.

Nextdoor says a committee of Nextdoor employees will evaluate nominations based on how “specific, sustained, and impactful” the stories are.

So I asked:

1. Who are the employees serving on the committee/panel?

2. Who is sponsoring the awards, if anyone?

3. What additional information is publicly available about the scoring and selection process?

These aren't complicated questions.

They're transparency questions.

Yesterday I wrote about my concern with an unnamed panel deciding which neighbors deserve recognition.

Today I'm doing something about it:

I'm asking Nextdoor directly.

Hearing vs. Listening—Again

After 20+ years in Learning & Development, I've spent plenty of time discussing the difference between hearing and listening.

Nextdoor knows I'm asking.

Communications has responded before.

Multiple executives and departments have received my emails.

At Day 74, the issue isn’t whether the message has been heard.

The question is whether anyone will listen and answer the actual question.

No interpretation necessary.

No guessing.

No need to send the blog summaries again, please.

The request is in writing.

The screenshot is attached.

The questions are numbered.

Day 74.

Now we wait.

Again.

My LinkedIn posts are the condensed version. The complete continuing study, timeline, and my full thoughts are at NielFlamm.com/blog.

And subscribe at NielFlamm.com so you don't miss Day 75—although I'd be perfectly happy if there didn't need to be one.

The Silicone Oil Has Left the Building

This morning, I had the silicone oil removed from my eye—the same stuff that's been hanging out in there since my retinal surgery in February 2026.

Six months. Apparently it had finally overstayed its welcome.

The procedure required anesthesia, which means they put me to sleep, did whatever horrifying eye-related things I'm very happy I didn't witness, and woke me back up.

Now I'm home.

I'm still a little anesthesia drunk, my eye is recovering, and I'm officially a pirate.

🏴‍☠️👁️

All I need now is a parrot, a questionable treasure map, and someone to explain why the room occasionally feels like it's moving.

For today, however, the plan is simple: rest, recover, and make absolutely no major financial decisions until the anesthesia wears off.

The silicone oil era is officially over.

The Hinge Experiment: Kelli Is Out, Gina Is Alive, and Who Is “Missing Me”?

Another day, another update from The Hinge Experiment™.

We have movement.

We have casualties.

We have new contestants.

And I still have absolutely no idea how modern dating works.

Kelli Has Left the Building

Let's begin with Kelli.

I unmatched her.

I tried.

I asked questions. I tried to start conversations. I suggested getting together. I even gave her my Google Voice number.

The baseball game is officially over.

She struck out.

Or I struck out.

Maybe everyone struck out.

Either way, she has my number. If she suddenly wakes up one morning and thinks:

"You know who I really need to talk to? That bald guy who kept asking me actual questions."

She knows how to reach me.

Do I expect that to happen?

No.

But I've been wrong before.

Meanwhile... Gina!

Remember Gina?

Match Number Two?

SHE SENT ME A MESSAGE TODAY!

That's right.

An unsolicited communication!

I didn't have to poke the conversation with a stick to see if it was still alive.

She sent a message.

I responded.

And now we'll see what happens.

At this point, my expectations have been recalibrated to the point that receiving a message on a dating app feels like winning a scratch-off ticket.

I'm not buying a yacht yet, but...

WE HAVE COMMUNICATION!

And Then There's “Missing Me”

We also have Match Number Three.

Her name—or at least her Hinge name—is:

“Missing Me.”

Okay.

That's mysterious.

She asked me:

“How was your weekend?”

Now THAT is a question.

A real question!

Something I can answer!

So naturally, because I apparently don't understand the concept of brevity, I wrote a freaking diatribe.

I told her about going to New York City.

The trip.

What I did.

What happened.

Basically, she asked how my weekend was, and I responded as if she had commissioned an autobiographical essay.

But here's the thing:

I gave her material!

Lots of it!

There were approximately 47 directions the conversation could have taken.

Ask me about New York.

Tell me about your weekend.

Ask why I went.

Tell me you love New York.

Tell me you hate New York.

Tell me you've never been to New York.

Ask about the food.

Ask about the flight.

Tell me I'm insane for writing that much in response to a simple question.

ANYTHING.

Then this morning...

“Good morning.”

Oh.

We've been here before.

GOOD MORNING!

I'm starting to wonder if Hinge is actually a dating app or an extremely inefficient morning-greeting service.

Don't get me wrong.

“Good morning” is nice.

It's friendly.

It's polite.

But what happens after good morning?

COMMUNICATE WITH ME!

This is the part of online dating that I genuinely don't understand.

I see Facebook Reels.

I see TikToks.

I see dating profiles.

Over and over, women say they want a man who:

“Communicates.”

Excellent!

SO DO I!

But apparently, we need to establish what “communicates” means.

I don't need a 37-page PDF outlining your thoughts and feelings.

I don't need hourly status updates.

I don't need:

10:42 AM — Going to Publix.
11:17 AM — Purchased bananas.
11:32 AM — Returning home.

But if you ask me a question and I give you an actual answer, maybe grab onto something I said.

Ask a follow-up question.

Tell me something about yourself.

Give me something to work with.

Conversation is supposed to be a tennis match.

Hit the damn ball back!

Am I Expecting Too Much?

And that's my legitimate question.

Am I expecting too much?

Maybe I am.

Maybe dating apps aren't supposed to produce immediate, flowing conversations.

Maybe people are cautious.

Maybe they're talking to five other matches.

Maybe they're busy.

Maybe some people are terrible at texting.

I understand all of that.

But I'm not asking someone to pick out china patterns after three messages.

I'm trying to have a conversation.

Ask me something.

I'll ask you something.

Tell me something ridiculous.

Make me laugh.

Tell me about the weird person you saw at Walmart.

Tell me you spent Saturday watching terrible movies and eating cereal.

I don't care.

Just give me something beyond:

“Good morning.”

Current Hinge Standings

So here's where we are:

Kelli: Unmatched. She has the number. If she wants to use it, she can. I'm not holding my breath.

Gina: Sent a message today! I responded. This one remains officially in play.

Missing Me: Asked about my weekend, received the extended director's cut of my NYC adventure, and followed up the next morning with “Good morning.”

And me?

Still here.

Still asking questions.

Still attempting to communicate.

Still wondering how the hell people meet each other in 2026.

And yes...

Steve the Iguana remains on standby. 🦎

At this rate, he's going to have his own Hinge profile before I have an actual date.

Back on Two Feet—Well, Sort Of

On Monday, I went to Floyd Brace to have my prosthetic repaired—and I’m happy to report that it is officially fixed!

No more loose parts, strange movements, or wondering whether my leg was about to develop a mind of its own. Everything is secure, comfortable, and working the way it should.

Living with a prosthetic means occasional repairs and adjustments are simply part of the adventure. Thankfully, the team at Floyd Brace got me put back together and walking out the door.

One less thing to worry about—and one more reason to keep moving forward.

Day 73: Who Exactly Is Judging Nextdoor’s “Good Neighbors”?

It's Day 73 of waiting for the detailed Nextdoor Insights reports I've requested.

Yesterday, Nextdoor published something that initially made me smile:

“It’s Time to Say Thank You: Nominate a Good Neighbor.”

Full article:

https://blog.nextdoor.com/its-time-to-say-thank-you-nominate-a-good-neighbor

I like the concept.

Nextdoor is asking people to nominate neighbors who consistently show up for others—the person who brings in the trash cans, checks on someone after a storm, waters the plants, or does the little things that make a neighborhood better.

Five neighbors, one from each region, will be publicly recognized on National Good Neighbor Day, September 28.

Great.

Although I hope the winners receive more than a digital pat on the back.

A medal? Plaque? Certificate?

Even better: How about a Nextdoor-funded donation to each winner's favorite local charity?

The blog itself doesn't mention a monetary prize or charitable donation. It says the five winners will be publicly recognized.

Then I reached “What happens next.”

And my communications-study brain switched back on.

Wait...Who's on the Panel?

Nextdoor says that after nominations close on September 14:

“a panel reviews the strongest nominations in each region”

They're scored based on how specific, sustained, and impactful the story is. The rules further say winners are selected by a committee of Nextdoor employees, one for each of five regions.

Okay.

Who?

Who selects the “strongest” nominations before they're scored?

Who sits on the panel?

What makes those people qualified to determine impact?

How is each criterion weighted?

Is there a scoring rubric?

Will those scores be published?

Are panelists required to disclose relationships with nominees?

These aren't accusations.

They're basic transparency questions.

And perhaps I'm particularly sensitive to the word panel after everything I've documented about Nextdoor.

I've questioned its moderation structure.

I've questioned its communications strategy.

And now we're introducing another group of unnamed decision-makers making subjective judgments.

Nextdoor, Show Us Your Simon Cowell

Look at American Idol, America's Got Talent, or Dancing with the Stars.

You know who's judging.

You know their backgrounds.

You can agree or disagree with Simon Cowell, Sofia Vergara, Mel B, Howie Mandel, or whoever happens to be sitting behind the desk—but at least you know who is making the judgment.

So Nextdoor, who's behind your desk?

If you're going to celebrate the best examples of neighborliness across the country, why not make the selection process part of the celebration?

Introduce the panel.

Tell us who they are.

Explain the scoring.

Show us what qualifies someone to evaluate a “specific, sustained, and impactful” contribution.

That's not bureaucracy.

That's transparency.

And after 73 days of my ongoing Nextdoor communication experiment, transparency remains a recurring theme.

I genuinely like the idea behind #GoodNeighborDay.

But if Nextdoor wants neighbors to trust the outcome, don't just tell us that a panel made the decision.

Show us the people behind the decision.

Otherwise, we're back to another familiar Nextdoor question:

Who's making the call—and why should neighbors trust the process?

Meanwhile...

Day 73. Still waiting for those detailed reports.

Follow my continuing Nextdoor study at NielFlamm.com/blog.