Sunday rant on a Saturday:
I am on my browser, using my home wifi. I am patiently sitting through an ad that precedes the trailer for a film coming to the cinema next week. This is normal. I’m paying to watch an ad to watch an ad for a product I might want to pay for.
I am doing this voluntarily.
I’m thinking about the Black Mirror episode where the indentured workers (or whatever they are) have to pay to turn Off their walls that stream sex and violence.
¤ealistic? I can already purchase an app that will help me limit my own use of the net. Which I only have because I pay for it.
I keep getting private messages on Instagram from people who want me to pay them to “grow my following” though I’m clearly not selling anything there. Taking pictures is a frigging hobby.
I am overwhelmed by this neo liberalism idea that we have to financially justify every aspect of our lives. Meanwhile people living in this same society want me to do what I do do (yes, that was intentional) for a living for free.
I am so confused.
I want a house in the woods, warm blankets, good books and real food: I need a vacation. I know there is some way to monetize my vacation pictures and experiences to justify it. I could make money being an “influencer”, which I think has something to do with the ability to generate feelings of envy and inadequacy so people will pay you to direct them to the products that will fix them. Which will, in turn, allow them to do the same for others. A pyramid scheme for personal worth. Literally: how much money can you make for just being you? The *work* never starts/ends.
What happened to the title “tutor”? When did we all become /need “mentors”, a kind of diffuse term that avoids the need to point out the specific skill set that is being taught. When did “teaching” give way to “modeling” as though that is somehow less hierarchical in praxis? There is still a hierarchy. It just isn’t defined by knowledge or skills.
The 70s cult of personality has become an economy of personality that has penetrated the arts and sciences both. That is my hypothesis for a book I’ll never write.
This may be the first time in my life that I feel old and jaded. And wise enough to not to give a damn.
And I reserve the right to change my mind tomorrow.