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Happy Friday everyone, and thanks for being here. To kick off the first weekly edition of Fun House, let’s revisit a scene from the comedy classic Hot Tub Time Machine.
HTTM follows four friends who return to a once-thriving ski town, now rundown and lifeless. Seeking excitement, they party in a hot tub, only to wake up in 1986 (without realizing it at first). Given a chance to relive their past, they must decide whether to change their futures or stay the course - all while navigating 80’s culture, wild parties, and unexpected twists.
One character, Jacob, born after 1986, finds himself overwhelmed by the era’s outdated tech and neon fashion. More so, he is chronically online - some would say a doomscroller. Though mostly a background figure, he delivers the film’s most memorable exchange. At a concert, he meets a girl and wants to stay in touch.
The back-and-forth conversation between Jacob and the girl is iconic, and somewhat nostalgic.
Jacob - I'm kind of right in the middle of a thing right now, but can I text you later?
Girl - Can you what?
Jacob - Are you online at all?
Girl - I have no idea what you're talking about.
Jacob - How do I get ahold of you?
Girl - You come and find me!
Jacob - That sounds...exhausting.
Although it has been many years since I last watched HTTM, this scene, and the “you come and find me” line in particular, lives rent free in my head. It’s an innocent yet profound statement, one that speaks to an entirely different era. Before smartphones and social media, connecting (and reconnecting) required effort, luck and a little fate. The thrill wasn’t just in making a connection but in the possibility of serendipity itself.
Today, in an era where everyone is a text or DM away, that kind of spontaneity feels rare. But does it have to be? Could Web3 actually help restore it?
There was a time when nights out were unpredictable. You didn’t know who you’d meet or how the night would unfold. Conversations happened organically - at the bar, on the dance floor, or in line for the bathroom. If you hit if off with someone, you might exchange numbers - or leave it up to fate, hoping to cross paths again. That unpredictability made nights electric.
Parties were about more than just music and drinks; they were playgrounds for the unexpected. You showed up with a loose plan, but the best nights always came from things you didn’t anticipate - running into an old friend, getting pulled into a random side quest, meeting someone who’d change your life in ways you couldn’t predict. All of these were serendipitous.
Technology changed that dramatically. Dating apps, social media and instant communication made connections easier, but also more transactional. Algorithmic curation is the new status quo. There’s less mystery when everyone’s location, interests, and mutual friends are mapped out before you even meet. The unpredictability, the tension, the magic - lost. Culture is stagnating, engagement is replacing experience, and true serendipity is all but gone.
The third generation of the internet is usually framed around decentralization and ownership, but its real potential lies in rethinking how we interact - not just online, but IRL. Instead of isolating us, it could create new ways for chance encounters to thrive.
Imagine a members-only social club where your access isn’t a phone number on a guest list, but an NFT that signals community belonging. You show up, and instead of scanning Instagram to see who’s there, you let the night unfold naturally. Maybe you share an inside joke with another member based on a cryptic detail in your digital collectible. Maybe you strike up a conversation with someone because they hold the same token from an event you both attended years ago. The connections are real, but the discovery remains organic.
Or picture a world where location-based smart contracts trigger spontaneous experiences - membership NFT holders receive last-minute alerts about exclusive pop-up events happening in their city. Instead of meticulously planning nights out, they remain open to the unexpected, knowing that at any moment, an invitation could lead them somewhere unforgettable. The serendipity of being in the right place at the right time is no longer left entirely to chance—it’s enhanced by technology in a way that preserves its magic.
Or consider a future where concerts and underground parties operate on on-chain identity, where attendance itself builds your reputation. Instead of networking through LinkedIn, your past experiences—what events you’ve supported, what art you’ve collected, what places you’ve been a part of—act as your social fabric. You don’t need an algorithm to tell you who you should meet. The room itself is already curated in a way that allows magic to happen naturally.
The goal isn’t to replace human connection with tech. It’s to build systems that encourage us to be present—to bring back the feeling of “come and find me.” To let some things remain unsearchable, unpredictable, and beautifully uncertain.
The best moments in life aren’t planned. The best parties aren’t the ones posted online. The best people aren’t curated by an algorithm. They’re the moments, parties and people you stumble into, the ones you don’t see coming, the ones that leave you wondering what could happen next.
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