Social ME-ME-ME-dia, or, Prepare a Face

I have to talk to you about our cell phone plan. It is really bad. I need a new plan but it seems like every option requires me to submit more and more self to a subscription of surveillance.

I have no physical tattoos and I am not really into the digital ones either. Sure I blog and I've even begun my tweety bird phase. My intuition and the iPhone are hand in glove. But, still, I am sick of it. Sick to death of the options I have to submit more data about myself into the abyss.

I started on the Internet in 1986 and I cling to the classic I suppose. In my canon there remains a certain sanctity to dial-up. Network seemed nothing but a step into the Matrix. Cloud computing well yee-ha.

I look to my kids and wonder about the diffuse and selective identities of the children to come. The distance from their own privacy through avatars and handles. It is different no matter what the p-man says. I think we'll pray they need some great corduroy coat or velvet hat someday to scream me, me, me. It will harken us back to a gentler time when people talked to each other instead of to their cars.