From Rebuilding Place in the Urban Space:
Today\’s New York Times (and Ad Age online), in \”NYTimes.com to Offer Subscription Service,\” reports that in September, the Times will start charging for access to certain online features, in particular for access to their columnists, such as Tom Friedman (note: Friedman\’s new book The World is Flat is nothing new, e.g., see the book Global Work from 1994 or Competing for the Future from 1996, in 1997 maybe I heard C.K. Prahalad speak and he made the point that not only in an increasingly connected global economy you have \”global customers\” but also \”global competitors\”). They will join with the Wall Street Journal which also charges for online access, and the Los Angeles Times, which charges for access to its entertainment coverage.
Now has never seemed like a better time to cancel my print edition…in protest. Bastards. Rack another one up in favour of The Guardian, I guess. What happened to freedom of the press? Oh yeah — it went blog. \”Freedom\” and \”free\” still aren\’t synonymous. I\’m already paying $70 (Aus) a month for a lousy 512/128 connection that chugs, and I\’m one of the few lucky ones who can afford to do so.
What, go to the library to read the NYT? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a copy of the current paper at the library, even a foreign library? Go to a coffee shop and read the paper when I can\’t afford the paper, let alone the coffee?
GODDAMMIT, this PISSES ME OFF. Being sunburned, aching, and having just had my very first allergic reaction to shellfish (wtf?) probably isn\’t helping much, but let me just say, how do you expect the ignorant to learn if they cannot afford the access? Schools, newspapers, decent public libraries, computers, internet, book stores, public talks and lectures — if we have to PAY, how much less likely are we to PARTAKE?
I can readily count of every non-essential item and service I have purchased in the last three months (essential being groceries, hygiene products, medication, and rent — clothing is optional if you don\’t leave the house, or something):
– internet access,
– three pairs of panties (purchased at the goddamn grocery store for $10 Aus total)
– eight books (four school, one business),
– one periodical,
– a sweater (thrift store),
– a dress ($15 Aus on clearance at a local boutique),
– a watch ($5 Aus also on clearance at same boutique),
– server hosting,
– tuition,
– one CD ($10, purchased from artist at free show),
– presents, postcards, and postage for family and friends in the States which includes my brother\’s 21st b-day (totaling less than $125 Aus),
– three movie rentals,
– small, one-time donations to Kottke, UNICEF, Soulseek, and No Fauxxx,
– a Flickr buy-one-get-three accounts (two accounts given as gifts),
– today, one frou-frou coffee as a treat for having successfully negotiated a good deal the night before…
AND THAT\’S IT. For THREE MONTHS. In the three months prior there were about four occasions of dining out — most of which was with friends as good bye celebrations — and all of which was cheap, gas for the damn car, a basic Green Cine account, and Christmas presents.
It\’s not because I\’m frugal, it\’s because I\’m FUCKING POOR. My boyfriend doesn\’t buy me presents or treats or whatever — and I don\’t fault him that; he\’s not exactly rolling in it, either. When we go out, we go to free stuff, and he drinks and I sometimes have one drink, which he pays for. If I want to see a show, I save up. If we both want to see it, he pays. If I don\’t want to see it, I don\’t go. It\’s unbalanced, yes, but I do my best to make it even. My indulgences are as fast an internet connection as I can afford, and when in the States, my Green Cine subscription. And buying plane tickets on blow out sales, then staying with friends, family, or Hotels.com finds for a few nights in order to just have a change of scenery, wander around, take some pictures. That\’s fucking it. That\’s all!
Oh, to have clothes that fit me! More than three articles worth! Shoes that don\’t hurt my feet. An updated music collection. A DVD player. Art for the walls.
I\’ve never had my hair professionally done. Nor my eyebrows. Nor my nails. I don\’t know what it\’s like to be pampered in that manner. I\’ve never known. Frankly, I don\’t know if I even want to know that sort of thing anymore — even if I had the money, I might pay to get my hair cut, but I can\’t see ever paying to have someone else do what I\’m adequate at doing to myself in the privacy of my own home. (Which I guess is why I would never pay for sex, come to think of it.)
But it\’s not like I don\’t want to BUY. It\’s not like I don\’t want to SHOP. I pass by stores, and yeah — damn if I don\’t covet the latest fall fashions at all the hip stores and even the not so hip ones. Oh my god, to buy a new ensemble at even a \”lowly\” and \”inexpensive\” place like Target would be an amazing treat. To buy clothes that actually fit, that actually match, that are actually current fashions and don\’t need mending? I might hyperventilate from the excitement. Jewelry? A portable mp3 player? A cell phone? Now you\’re just fucking with me, mate. Now you\’re just TOYING WITH MY MIND.
I pass boutiques and salons and shi-shi furniture stores and boutique bars and fine dining every time I leave my home. And I want. God, I want. I want even to be able to go up the street to the cheap-o Chinese joint and order something other than the fried rice combo because it is the cheapest thing on the menu. I want more books than I can ever hope to read, and a nice, shiny bicycle. Sturdy, high performance shoes for people with bad backs. A dog and the means to care for the dog. A tripod for my shitty Fuji brand camera. Clothes, fancy hair cuts, um… I don\’t even know how to express what I want because I don\’t have the financial means to even bother looking into whatever things are called.
I see: bright, shiny, new, things. Good condition, never been used. Fashionable. \”This is the look that says success.\” \”This is just for me.\” \”For the good life.\” \”For my way of living.\” \”The life style.\” IT\’S EVERYWHERE. All this feel good, me me me living. What the flying fuck?
I get really incessantly mad when people go off about \”the poor\” (which, of course, they aren\’t of that ilk themselves). \”Oh, suuuure, those people, they live in the bad neighborhoods, don\’t take care of their homes and have lots of children who they take care of even less than their homes. Almost none of them have jobs or education or know how to read, and none of them care about improving their lives. Those that do have jobs just suck it up at some retail position and act nasty to the customers. Bring the neighborhoods down, drive up crime rates. But, you know, they all have their satellite tv, leased vehicles and designer knock-off clothes.\” {bitchslap}
Um, hi. If you were stuck in an incessant cycle of poverty whereupon 80% of more of your income goes directly into your necessary living expenses and by the end of the day you feel like hell from working shit jobs and living in a rundown environment with little to no functional public services and you have no health care and you can\’t afford condoms then YES, you are more than likely to blot out reality with frivolous expenditures. Now then. Let\’s look at those who have a tendency to talk down about \”the poor\” — yuppies.
Yuppies who tend to have jobs that eat their souls away but pay a fairly decent income. Who binge drink on a regular basis to forget the day. Who have dumb, meaningless sex without protection but can afford to \”take care of the problem\” if the problem arises. Who run up their credit card debt on DVDs, gadgets, gizmos, bar tabs, expensive restaurants, and other forms of entertainment/distraction. Who often have crippling amounts of student debt. Now who\’s buying in, eh? Different stroke for different folks, assholes.
We all want the same thing — more. More, more, more. We just take what we can get with the ways we have available. And at the end of the day, no matter where we are, we\’re all tired, grumpy, and pissed that yet another was lost into the void of not liking our lives, and so we do what we can to dull that feeling: drink, fuck, eat, gamble, do drugs, go shopping, watch tv, whatever. Tune out. Just tune the fuck out.
(and be honest, when you \”hang with friends,\” how often does that entail not spending money — drinks, movies, food, door/entry fee, games, rentals, etc. like, never. because we are socialized to do things in a social environment, which means consumption. no loitering. tables are for customers only. no talking in the library. parties of four or more. spend to love. christmas. valentine\’s day. etc.)
Eh, sorry for major public rantage, but at the same time, not really. I\’m doing my best to get beyond the destitute point of my life which has been the last three years. Sometimes I honestly feel like I have my shit mostly sorted now, that I\’m moving in the right direction(s). That I\’m better, whatever that means. Like I\’m getting ahead. Then I think about wanting, desire, coveting.
What do I really want? I mean, really? Education, community, conversation, information, knowledge, wisdom, culture, friends, good health, health insurance, a safe and healthy place to live, lots of reading material, lots of new(-to me) music, to not starve. Most of those things are completely intagible. They cannot be purchased. I can pay for tuition but it won\’t guarantee I\’ll learn. I can pay for health care but it won\’t necessarily make me healthy. A steady job which will hopefully come with more education should statistically provide me with the physical goods needed to survive in a base manner. Anything beyond that is cherries.
Wants and needs — totally different. And while I know it will only momentarily make me happy, sometimes, yeah, I want to just prance down to the shops and buy whatever I like — a new outfit, some baubles, get my hair done, whatever the fuck else it is that \”ladies do.\” Have a fucking coffee.
I still want my communal house with a ginormous library, book groups, group dinners, lazy Sunday mornings in bed with friends and dogs and enjoying each other\’s company… all that shit that fairy tale lives seem to be made of. To have a bicycle — hell, to be able to RIDE a bike without every joint feeling like it is breaking. To have a garden with a compost pile, and a grey water system, and all that other sustainable hippie shit that I believe in when I\’m not being a grumpy, nihilistic bastard. But is it a NEED? No. It\’s a want. It\’s a lifestyle choice.
CHOICE. CHOOSE. MONEY. WANT. NEED. CONSUME.
I\’m running a fever. Sorry if it\’s obvious.
