I'm sitting behind my Apple laptop, with in my hand a new opened bottle of Mountain Spring water from Trader Joe's. Next to my computer are the remains of a Wholefoods scone. With my blue Wolky boots, I slowly tap the floor while I'm searching for the right sentences. The label of my Victoria Secrets bra scratches my back, forgot to remove it. I take another sip of water and get up to make some Twinnings Earl Grey tea. In the meantime, I try to figure out where I will eat later today. At one of the nearby restaurants, or at one of the bigger chains, like Humus Place or Sushi Samba?
Too much choice.
I want to see a movie, and luckily, there's no Pathe here in New York. I can choose either Angelica or IFC. My eye, with contacts of Bausch & Lomb, catches The greatest movie ever sold. I take the MTA subway to Broadway and Lafayette and not much later, I sink in the red chair.
When the lights go out, commercial images follow each other for one and a half hours on the screen. It's going fast and I distrust everything I see. Why do we find it so normal that companies and organizations crush us with their messages of dream worlds on a daily basis? How did we let this happen, that we don't think of something to do ourselves, but that we need others to tell us? And, even more important: why do we buy it? Why do we shrug our shoulders and move on? Doing exactly what the corporations have told us we want to do?
After the film, I walk outside feeling dizzy. I'm thirsty. I walk into a bodega and by a POM drink. Weird, I never wanted to buy that before.