Like everyone, I read too much crap. Not novels or even magazines, but crap. Crap is defined by the dictionary as here's-my-newsletter-with-50-links-to-articles-I-have-"consumed" and I've-rewatched-the-Sopranos-through-the-lens-of-mordern-America.
Buddy you can rewatch the Sopranos or literally anything through any lens you want. Season 3 of the Simpsons is still achingly relevant to our contemporary discourse. I bet the first episode of Rugrats offers a tellingly prescient glimpse of a post-worth culture manifesting itself in the haphazard nature of modern parenting in the shadow of the 80s (or, thrillingly, the 2008 financial crash).
What does our relationship to work say about our need to be productive? What does our work say to our relationship with sending mindless emails about non-meetings that no one needs to attend? Is work work or is it work work work?
One man looks at his Spotify account and cries.
One man (it's always a man, isn't it) looks at his Instagram account and cries.
One man realises he spends more time listening to podcasts about shame and the trauma of shame and the shame of trauma than talking to his damn children.
I don't have to read these things but you don't have to write 'em either.
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