Death by 1000 Clicks

Or; the click that broke the camel’s back.

Our omnipresent Streaming Wars are both annoying and dangerous. Less a matter of mortal combat, more a scramble for mental turf. And every foray costs. Usually along the lines of $8.99 month after a free trial.  By then it’s too late, autopay has you in its maw, and along with every other paywall vaulted, no hassle return purchased, and pre-boarding upgrade taken, the phalanx of charges pile up as the total picture of expenses for these titillations and fleeting glimpses recede from view.

It was the Paris Olympics that drove a last nail in my tolerance. Lifelong habit as much as anything had me want to take the bait, create my complex Peacock password, and opt in. Vini, Vidi, Vici, but soon as the torch of the games was snuffed I started the process of unsubscribing, which led to an audit of all the terms of service and premium platforms I’d been blithely agreeing to over time. After calculating the data plans, film, music, news, blogs, apps, weather, sport, science, and satellite venues frequented, the list was substantial. Saying nothing of interest on payments. (And I am mighty relieved to not have to add a gambling or gaming costs to the mix.)

It’s a phenomena that didn’t exist in this form as I was coming of age. Yes, there were magazine subscriptions, tickets to events, road trips, record and book collecting, acquiring tools…but somehow the price into worlds of enrichment didn’t require a constant ante, an email address and credit card on file, plus a cell phone for six digit code text-able verification. Participations wasn’t as obscure. Obsolescence not as prevalent. I regret this may come off like an Andy Rooneyish “…in my day we had dial tones and two free bags with every seat” rant, but it’s something more insidious I’m getting at.

We’re systematically leeched, in both money and ID, all the while the product becomes increasingly insubstantial. Evidence of this can be seen in the formerly simple act of watching a baseball game on TV. Once upon a time what was presented was the game itself unfolding in more or less real time. Now the screen is split between play, with commercials between at-bats and a barrage of statistics, odds, trivia, and heat maps, while the field itself is dotted with overlays of corporate logos, and the telecast cavalierly turns actual highlights into comic avatars reenacting anime replays.

Distraction and inauthenticity, and only viewable after signing on and hoping the broadcast is not blackened out in your area. Or only available to gold level customers. Ideally I’d say something has got to give, but it appears to me this change has been incrementally phased in to such a degree that we no longer notice, or feel we have the power to do anything about it. Boiled frogs. Except we can take a pass. Spend time in nature, hanging out, or making something. That doesn’t seem so bad an option.

To close this circle a look back to the time of the original Olympics. The Greeks had a good run. A full millennium before the Romans took over. Theatrical prowess and spectacle. The epics of Homer and wisdom of Socrates. Yet it can be seen that all civilizations fade and are replaced when they succumb to sophistry, petty taxes, decadence, infighting, crushing inequity and skewed economics. Richness of expression and creativity go into decline. Bluster and belligerence fills the void. Every era has its kitsch. Its clickbait, its Trojan Horses. Ours is literally at our fingertips.