Spending My Own Money

So I’m under 25. In the adult world, meaning not including any kiddiewinks, or teenagers, because they pretty much live in their own separate society anyway, someone under 25 is largely considered a drooling, boggy-eyed, snotty bag of incompetence. One with much too soft an epidermis, covering that dumbo bimbo cranium, let alone those naive and pointlessly hopeful eyes. Fucking young people.

So when it comes to expenses, the reasoning behind what to get consists of either an unbridled urge to grasp, get hold of, (and then listlessly throw away) anything that seems exciting at the moment, or relying on the competence of authority figures, vaguely thinking “what would mommy buy”? 

The word itself creeps me out now, and only Whovians will get this. If you're not one, try and imagine the mask is the child's actual face, and he's calling you his mummy. Okay, never mind.

What's really odd at this point is getting into a cycle of financial self-sustanence, and actually being able to assess how much you'd need in hours, of labour that is, in order to acquire a new desireable, if not quite necessary, purchase. Say, I want a velvet cape I've found on Amazon that would really help me live out my being-a-wizard fantasies (before I get too mature, and until I am mature enough for this to be socially acceptable again). If it's cheapety mass-produced and of typical Amazon quality, you're looking at, maybe several hours.
A whole day if you're me, but I can bitch about that on other media.

Thing is, there is no sweeter assessment of the worth of an object than by one's own work and effort put into being able to acquire it. I'm sure even thieves feel this way: if you've nicked something quite shiny, new, and potentially hefty-priced, you'll be glad even if you'd had to climb trees, cut through  layers of window panes, disabled the alarm, chloroformed the family - and the dog - and only then pocketed the daughter's tiara. It's just so precious!...

Where it gets weird is strangers buying you stuff sometimes, just because! It's one thing to volunteer to cover the price of tickets for your date, or cuffing your employees with pint handles (how good am I with this metaphor thing, eh?!), but it's plain odd after you've just got used to buying stuff that's your own, to have someone just chip in, and join in on your expenses, as if you're married or they've adopted you for a few hours or something. It's like they have too much, and just feel the need to level things out with you. You know, because you're just so... unbearably poor.

I bet the stylist on the show makes a bunch twice as big for a single shooting of this.

I've never been bought anything ludicrously pricey by a stranger, but surely it must feel like someone seeing you knitting, for example - like you do (beer bottle close by, Top Gear in the background of course) - and them suddenly hugging you from behind and sort of angling their fingers through yours to knit a few loops in as well. First off, they're really not adding much overall, regardless of how skilled they are. And secondly, the whole process will only serve to freak you out, or even worse, will allow you to become complacent with intrusions like that, and to begin to rely on volunteered assistance. Soon enough you'll be widely known as the feeble-fingered knit-digger on the block whose sweaters and beanies only come from a borrowed sets of hands over yours. You slut.


Again, if you're at a starter (at life) age, you're probably broke as hell, and are still finding this whole complete independence thing quite raw, maybe even brutal. So, you know, if someone wants to buy you a drink, if someone's insisting on paying for you cab, if they refuse you chipping in to the birthday funds for Dave the new guy - heck, let 'em. There's always hope you will pay them back some day, right? When you're properly settled and comfortable enough about your income and outcome ratio to let kindness take over and buy others something too sometimes, just because. I mean there is always hope, right? Guys?
There's hope for everyone?

...Right?

[Kid in mask: http://basementrejects.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/doctor-who-season-1-10-the-doctor-dances-are-you-my-mummy.jpg
Sarah Somebody throwing fake stage-money on stage, demonstratively: http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140105070830/degrassi/images/3/31/Sarah_money.gif
Desperation from Michael Scott: http://www.crushable.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/The-Office-Michael-Scott-bankruptcy.gif]

Privacy

What with all the exceedingly media covered hooplah about the leaked sensitive information on iCloud–

#2014AppleFail 

#TheFappening

#TheIlluminatiAreReal

#ThanksObama

–and especially a year after Ed Snowden's heroic gesture exposing pretty much everyone being surveilled or under threat to be, it's hard to avoid assessing today just how much information about themselves one should trust putting out there.

It's obvious these leaps in technology, especially regarding communication, is making us increasingly relaxed and consequently trusting, without much regard about where and how the magical electric impulses are sending out our oh-so-trivial messages. Mostly because most of us have hopelessly lost track of the how a long long while ago. And deeply trusting we've become of global corporations running certain websites or producing several ubiquitous pieces of software too, let alone the makers of our computers and smartphones themselves.

That to me appears very akin to "just going with it" regarding genetically modified and highly preserved food. It's so challenging, impractical, and costly to avoid all of it that you feel it'll be less fuss to just accept the mass trends, and risking to havie all the mysteriously appearing allergies, and the cancers, or your grandchildren being born with two extra livers or something.

Or ending up like this. Which I guess is kind of nice.

[On a mini side note, wasn't she already sort of naked through most of the X-Men films?]

Anyway, so granted you still talk to someone in person sometimes. Hopefully. (Lucky socializing you, if I may interject so). But just what proportion of all of your friendly/professional/intimate/socially (in)appropriate interactions just happen to have been documented on some "cloud" on a Facebook server somewhere? Or Snapchat? Yeah, they say it's all safe and they really do swear they don't go through your stuff. 

But say your closest BFF asks if they could access your brain, for example - suspend yur disbelief for a jiffy here, and imagine the technology exists - is there anyone you would ever, ever, allow to enter into any corner of your brain? Again, not to experience the entirety of your brain, but only some highly selective lines of files of folders of the drives of your mind's operating system, overall reflecting precisely only the mind of the person viewing, and not the entirety of the information viewed which ultimately comprises you. 

So what I'm saying is, even if it's the only way you can talk to people, is it worth writing it down into a text, or an e-mail, or a message, pack it up, and send it out into the skies? What if everything gets hacked? What if it already has? And it has! What if someone decides they really need to know if you did cheat on your wife in 2011? Remember? Oh, well you didn't sleep with her, but those texts - all 1452 of them - do sound juicy! Here you go, Mrs Cheater, we have transcripts of all of it, 120'000 pounds please.

Then again, are you paranoid enough to not tell your friends anything remotely significant over social media and messages then? Will you not respond to Suzie's texts now just because of what someone somewhere may or may not think about you because of it?

...

And what if Suzie's a psychopathic cunt though who will ruin your marriage on purpose? Yeah, yeah, and I think the mailman is putting some lead dust on all of your letters, so you develop severe raspiratory diseases and die soon enough, coughing blood and all, because you didn't say "good morning" back to him that one day. 

What if you  do have a Tyler Durnen peeing into your soup in restaurants? 

What if there is a Slim Shady working in a Burger King, spitting on your onion rings?

Okay, how about simply not getting into the habit of telling poeple everything? 

Whoah, whoah there! You mean in the age of communication, the decade of #sharing? But how? Surely thou shalt be cast away and shunned from the religiously socializing society for your secluded ways! 

Well, what if you don't, and what if you're not?

Okay, here's an idea:

Selective candour. You classify everyone that you know or tend to meet into several groups, and gauge your level of informational intimacy depending on their status to you:

1. The distant ones: most of your colleagues, casual acquiantences, communities on the internet, and the bartender that you like in that place you frequent - as far as serious matters go, and we're assuming the worst type of betrayal and backstabbing imaginable - these people don't need to know much about you. They usually come and go, and there's no need to provide them with easy access to your most vulnerable information.

2. The loyal ones: some of your work partners - the ones you know for a length of time capable of making you both feel ancient when mentioned out loud, or someone you're forced into close and constant relationship because of dependent responsibilities and/or due to legal reasons. 

Same with your personal solicitors, and doctors. Let these people know all about the matter they're linked to you by, but leave it at that. When the work, or trial, or the surgery is done, the convo shifts to that new hot actress in that cool new show, and about how ridiculous 70s perms looked. 

See, you're already imagining people in tight faux-leather buttox-hugging pants, and shirts with necklines way too low, swaying awkwardly to a monotonous synth. Not a trace of a thought about my general lack of insanity, an aching lack of friends or a significant other, or whether I maybe drink too much! Um...

This is one classy show.

3. The significant ones! You know: your mom, your dog, your kids if you decide to have any... and that's it. Obviously your spouse may eventually get his feet around where you stash both of your money, or your sisters may get close to finding out you've actually have the opposite reproductive organs on you your whole life. None of that means you must always tell everything to any one person. Especially to acquired statuses, like your wife or husband. (That would include your dog too, I know, but if you have released your suspense of disbelief by now, I think we can agree on most canines being fairly good with secrets).

Your mother is genetically programmed to work in your interest in any case, so she's alright. Unless you're a superhero - in which case don't tell anyone anything, are you crazy! 

Your kids? Well... I suppose that's the only weakness you're allowed to have sensitive-information-wise. Oddly enough, you yourself get to programme how loyal those buggers are to you. So they're pretty much your minions, which makes them eligible for knowing the stuff you do too. Again, not all of it. 

You twisted fucker.

Really though isn't it... mostly protecting others from your data, and not yourself from others acquiring it? How deep is that.

So don't forget to delete your browsing history, erase and block all cookies on your browser, make private all information, interactions, and searches, delete all files, and never ever talk to anyone again! Stay super duper safe, little ones.

X-Men gif: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lphhtrRjtM1qc4utoo1_500.gif

The Office gif: http://31.media.tumblr.com/2e9f6f8d870bf2ce068fd0a1afc26e6f/tumblr_n9u63yrYnU1r2r6qqo1_400.gif

Idea Channel gif: http://31.media.tumblr.com/4156762025d99745d0a5c13fe91f17f7/tumblr_n5806be88Z1sdu1x4o1_400.gif

Mad Men gif: http://media.tumblr.com/0b68e5410d87c0072e4a820c9c29d5c7/tumblr_inline_mgngnl5kF31rq6v17.gif