There was an exact moment when I decided to quit. I was sitting on a man’s lap and we had just determined that I was “his girl.” As we kissed, I thought, Well, I guess I have to stop stealing now. As if the idea of having a boyfriend, of being straight, required straightening out in other ways. I may have been looking for an excuse; I may have realized that I didn’t need to be a criminal to be an artist. Art itself could be the crime—could be scary and dangerous enough to shoulder my rebellion. After a while, I also stopped getting into physical fights, working in peepshows, bleaching my hair white, and wearing my tights over my shoes. Still, for a long time I thought my biggest heist was fooling everyone into believing that I was an upstanding citizen, a sweet girl. Then, just a few years ago, I realized that everyone feels secretly fraudulent. It’s the feeling of being an adult.
— Miranda July, on shoplifting, in the New Yorker.
I can understand the argument that information, in an ideal world, should be free. But I’m also familiar with free information. Free information is usually free for a reason. Mostly, it’s free because it’s a press release, or an ad, or it’s been nicked from TMZ.com, or because it’s so incredibly banal that even its creator can’t bear to look you in the eye and shake you down for cash. Free information, ladies and gentlemen, tends to be crappy information.
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Annabel Crabb, a highlight of Australia’s politico-journalist scene, delivers the A.N. Smith Lecture in Journalism (via New Matilda).
Well worth a listen/read.
(Source: lyrianfleming)
