The Eye Patch Came Off. That’s When the Fun Began. 👁️
Today, after dialysis, I headed back to the retina surgeon for the follow-up from yesterday’s silicone oil removal.
And the eye patch came off.
That’s where the fun began.
First, my eye looks like it got beat up in a bar fight. It’s bruised, irritated, and yes—it hurts.
But strangely, that isn’t the worst part.
Looking through that eye right now is like looking through a glass filled with cloudy liquid that is slowly trying to level out under gravity.
There’s a line. There’s cloudy stuff. It moves.
Basically, someone installed a snow globe in my eyeball and forgot to put the snow in.
Apparently, this is now part of the healing process.
I’ve also graduated to eye drops four times a day. One is an antibiotic, and the other is a steroid.
So if you see me next week and I’m green, 8 feet tall and screaming “HULK SMASH!”, we’ll know the steroid drops worked a little too well.
For the next week, I’ll continue the drops, keep an eye—literally—on the healing, and wear my eye guard at night so I don’t accidentally mess with it while sleeping.
Then it’s back to the retina surgeon in a week to see how everything is progressing.
Until then, I have dialysis, eye drops, an eye guard, and my own personal cloudy aquarium attached to my face.
Recovery continues.
Day 75: What Could Nextdoor Have Accomplished in 75 Days?
Today is Day 75.
Instead of writing another post about unanswered emails, detailed data, panels, communication strategies, or who did—or didn't—respond, I started wondering:
What can actually happen in 75 days?
Quite a lot.
A company can launch a product.
A marketing team can build and execute a campaign.
A business can hire and onboard employees.
A research team can conduct a study, analyze the results, write a report, and publish the findings.
A CEO can appear on multiple podcasts.
Nextdoor can publish new Insights reports, announce initiatives, change how small businesses interact with the platform, promote advertisers, celebrate emergency managers, and launch a Good Neighbor recognition program.
While one simple request remains unresolved.
Let's Measure This Differently
Forget days for a moment.
75 days = 1,800 hours.
That's approximately 108,000 minutes.
My original request probably requires one of three responses:
1. Here's the detailed data.
2. The detailed data isn't available to you.
3. Here's who you need to contact to obtain it.
That's it.
At this point, I'm almost impressed.
We've taken something that potentially required a two-minute email and turned it into a 75-day communications case study.
As someone with more than 20 years in Learning & Development, I've taught and designed training around efficiency, customer experience, communication, process improvement, and identifying performance gaps.
If this were presented as a training scenario, I'd probably ask learners:
“What could the organization have done differently?”
I have a feeling that discussion would be lively.
The Opportunity Cost Is More Interesting
Here's the part organizations sometimes miss.
Every unnecessary customer interaction has a cost.
Someone reads the email.
Someone forwards it.
Someone discusses it.
Someone decides whether to respond.
Communications becomes involved.
Leadership gets copied.
More emails arrive.
More public posts appear.
And suddenly the cost of not resolving something becomes greater than the cost of resolving it.
That's the fascinating part of Day 75.
Nextdoor didn't just spend 75 days not providing the detailed data.
It turned a two-minute question into a 75-day story.
And I'm still writing it.
So Let's Try Something New
I'm giving Nextdoor a hypothetical challenge:
You have two minutes.
No committee.
No communications strategy meeting.
No executive approval process.
No corporate language.
Just answer:
Is the “detailed data” referenced in your blog available to me?
Yes?
Send it.
No?
Tell me.
Restricted to advertisers?
Tell me.
That's communication.
And then we can finally retire the counter.
Because I'd much rather write:
Day 75: NEXTDOOR SENT THE DATA
That's a post I'd genuinely enjoy publishing.
Until then...
1,800 hours and counting.
This is the condensed version. My complete thoughts and continuing Nextdoor study are at NielFlamm.com/blog.
And subscribe at NielFlamm.com because apparently we're finding out together how high this counter can go.
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:
Who are the employees serving on the committee/panel?
Who is sponsoring the awards, if anyone?
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.