I'm fairly certain I recently passed a rather pathetic tipping point, and now own more unread books and unwatched DVDs than my remaining lifespan will be able to sustain. I can't possibly read all these pages, watch all these movies, before the grim reaper comes knocking. The bastard things are going to outlive me.
It's not fair. They can't even breathe.
The other day I went on a spree in a book warehouse sale: by all accounts, one of the best experience ever. On my way home, it dawned on me that I have purchased more than 20 books. The sheer weight of commitment is daunting. So they sit on the shelf, beside similarly unwrapped and unwatched obelisks, gradually turning into wall insulation. I'm not buying these things for myself any more. I'm hoarding them for future generations.
Clearly, some sort of cull is in order. It's me or them. I pick them. My options need limiting. Isn't it nice just to hop on a time machine and be stranded in the 1970s, with no internet, no DVDs or videos, and only three channels on the TV. Is it me or the limited options looked blissful: You couldn't lose yourself online; you had to read a book, go for a walk; or in extreme circumstances, strike up a conversation with a fellow human being.
But it wasn't just the limitations of the media themselves that appealed. This was 30 years ago. Fewer things had been created for them. Every day we humans gleefully churn out yet more books and films and TV shows and videogames and websites and magazine articles and blog posts and emails and text messages, all of it hanging around, competing for attention. Without leaving my seat I can access virtually any piece of music ever recorded, download any film ever made, order any book ever written. And the end result is that I hardly experience any of it. It's too much. I've had it with choice. It makes my head spin.
Here's what I want: I want to be told what to read, watch and listen to. I want my hands tied. I want a cultural diet. I want a government employee to turn up on my doorstep once a month, carrying a single book for me to read. I want all my TV channels removed and replaced by a single network delivering a movie a day. If I don't watch it, it gets replaced by the following day's selection. I want all my MP3s deleted and replaced with one unskippable radio station playing one song after the other.
In short: I've tried more. It's awful. I want less, and I want it now.
It's not fair. They can't even breathe.
The other day I went on a spree in a book warehouse sale: by all accounts, one of the best experience ever. On my way home, it dawned on me that I have purchased more than 20 books. The sheer weight of commitment is daunting. So they sit on the shelf, beside similarly unwrapped and unwatched obelisks, gradually turning into wall insulation. I'm not buying these things for myself any more. I'm hoarding them for future generations.
Clearly, some sort of cull is in order. It's me or them. I pick them. My options need limiting. Isn't it nice just to hop on a time machine and be stranded in the 1970s, with no internet, no DVDs or videos, and only three channels on the TV. Is it me or the limited options looked blissful: You couldn't lose yourself online; you had to read a book, go for a walk; or in extreme circumstances, strike up a conversation with a fellow human being.
But it wasn't just the limitations of the media themselves that appealed. This was 30 years ago. Fewer things had been created for them. Every day we humans gleefully churn out yet more books and films and TV shows and videogames and websites and magazine articles and blog posts and emails and text messages, all of it hanging around, competing for attention. Without leaving my seat I can access virtually any piece of music ever recorded, download any film ever made, order any book ever written. And the end result is that I hardly experience any of it. It's too much. I've had it with choice. It makes my head spin.
Here's what I want: I want to be told what to read, watch and listen to. I want my hands tied. I want a cultural diet. I want a government employee to turn up on my doorstep once a month, carrying a single book for me to read. I want all my TV channels removed and replaced by a single network delivering a movie a day. If I don't watch it, it gets replaced by the following day's selection. I want all my MP3s deleted and replaced with one unskippable radio station playing one song after the other.
In short: I've tried more. It's awful. I want less, and I want it now.
2 comments:
book warehouse sale?
i reli wan to know how u get to know these events. i m reli interested in buying good books for, um, let's say, RM3?
http://www.bigbadwolfbooks.com/
the price go as low as rm5 per paperback..
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