Why do I not care about data privacy?

I've discovered a strange thing about myself recently (among the many other strange things I already know about) and that is the fact I simply am not worried about my data.

I know. It's terrible.

Don't get me wrong - I'm absolutely terrified for other people's data. Hospitals, legal firms, the government (not the UK's but in general), banks (money is important) and such. But not my own.

I've tried hard to dig up something that could be used against me if stolen, imagine a blackmail scenario or the like - but the truth is I'm a truly boring person in this sense. I don't even watch porn. I don't know anything about the dark Internet (is there a website to access it? A secret passage like the one that accidentally leads you into Knockturn Alley?). I've never hired a hit man to kill an ex's current girlfriend while drunk - although kudos Rebecca Bunch - nor posted a repulsive tweet which I then deleted due to public backlash.

Nonetheless, I am not naive. I know there's probably stuff that, used the right (wrong) way could absolutely get me into trouble. It could ruin my career. It could hit back at my family. But it turns out I am also one of those people that genuinely thanks Google for sending me targeted ads, and for helping me find the right person when I'm looking for a very specific John Smith on LinkedIn. I actually marvel at this.

I don't really mind that a recruitment company, which has helped me land a very cool job very early on in a very specific area, still has my details and calls me up from time to time to check if I'm looking for a new place. I probably never will be in that area again, but it's still flattering.

On the other hand, I came across a scary concept at an event I recently attended at the FT, featuring one of my top three favourite authors - if you haven't yet, now is definitely the time to look up James Smythe - and FT innovation editor John Thornhill. A member of the audience raised the question of whether it's still possible to go completely under the radar. Disappear. Poof. Without a trace.

The simple answer from James was 'no'. He didn't even really have to think about it.

And this, I can believe. Even if we threw our phones and everything we owned into the sea, it would take years before we'd be declared dead. And even then, you may pass a Google Earth car by accident and you're back on their map. I don't believe there is a way for us to pretend that we've completely and utterly stopped existing. Our phones are always watching. Our webcams are too. Closing an app is more of a formality than anything (apparently it doesn't even save us battery). Just think of all the GDPR emails you've recently received from places you don't even remember visiting in the first place. Your data is everywhere. *cue ominous music*

On the other hand, it takes minutes to order Chinese because Just Eat already knows what you want. So, up to you, really.

The Trump phenomenon shows no one ever grows up

Due to being an avid New Yorker reader and, admittedly, a pleb simpleton who enjoys the day-to-day soap opera that is flowing from the White House (although please take 'enjoy' with a giant spoonful of salt), I can't help but finally sum up my current thoughts in a short post on what I see as the heart of the matter.

Taking a very simplistic view on the entirety of Trump's presidency so far, there is really one thing that comes to mind that seems to be the base of every liberal minded, anti-Trump voter's (or non-voter) thinking - we could use grown-up words like anti-liberal, nationalist or self-indulgent, but the truth is, to borrow words from Bruce Almighty - scarily fitting, when you think about it - Trump is 'a mean kid sitting on an anthill with a magnifying glass', and we're the ants.

Or put it even shorter, he's nothing but a big kid with a grudge.

The shocking discovery that I had made a few years before already but which really came to fruition after the 2016 elections is that no one really ever grows up. When you're young, you think about how your handwriting will magically change by the time you're 25; you think about how you'll think more adult thoughts and how you'll use words like 'educational policy', 'GDP ratio' and 'infrastructure budget' in your active vocabulary. But then you hit 25 and you still write with the same ugly letters, still wonder where bogies come from and how they keep respawning, and instead of fancy words you still use 'shit sandwich' and 'poo' on a daily basis.

There are so many examples I wouldn't even know where to begin, so I'll just stick with a recent one: the president of the United States - the so-called leader of the free world - announces the official date and time of what could potentially be one of modern history's most important meetings with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un on Twitter. That is, a social media platform that now allows a generous 280 (up from 140) characters to share your thoughts. So, instead of holding a press conference or making an official announcement, Trump turns to his fans. Why? I imagine a dominating reason is that he just couldn't wait. Like when you used to get home from school and could barely wait to brag about an A you got that day. Or when you asked your parents to watch while you performed your latest trick/dance/headstand, what have you.

That's one thing. Another element of this official announcement which I find outrageous is the words themselves. Take a look at the tweet (in case you were able to not come across it for this long - sorry to spoil your streak):

As a sucker for literary studies, I can't help but take this apart. First of all: 'highly anticipated'. By whom? Trump voters? Doubtful. They most likely care much more about what happens within their borders, so long as they're locked and sealed, preferably with bricks and mortar. World leaders, leaders of Europe? After his withdrawal from the Iran nuclear deal, it seems they've finally lost all confidence - publicly - in Trump's abilities. For now, at least. So the prospect of the 'healthiest individual ever elected to the presidency' (according to his health report which, it now seems, he may have written himself) to be the first sitting American president to meet with the leader of North Korea may seem just a little daunting now. Let's not even mention their previous stand-offs, including competing about who has a bigger and more powerful nuclear button. 

Then there's 'very special'. Katy Waldman recently pointed out in a piece for the New Yorker that Trump's speeches seem to always be clotted with buzzwords: "Who is Theresa May? How to talk about the relief effort after Houston flooded in 2017? A wonderful woman; a wonderful thing." 'Very special' is probably the right choice of words here, as we have especially good moments as well as especially bad ones. Which way this meeting is going to go will likely depend on keeping to pre-agreed dialogues and not letting things get out of hand. A misplaced compliment or a sly insult may set either of these leaders off, and who knows what the consequences of personal grudges could be. It seems Obama's policies are already taking a hit because of them.

A final note on 'World Peace': what's with the capital letters? I've had a theory for a while that Trump's random letter capitalisation, which seems to bear no logic or reasoning whatsoever, may in the end reveal the code to his entire presidency. A secret code? A salad recipe? Someone should really start writing them down.

But when all is said and done, this is just one - relatively - small example of the behavioral issues we are all observing. The fact that the president thinks and acts like a child may be appealing to those blinded by his previous media fame and talk, including down-to-earth, no bullshit speech - but how do we make that side of the world see that acting on impulse is simply the direct opposite of the art and craft of politics? Especially when played on such a massive scale? The stakes are high. And we're all getting a little desperate.

Finally giving in to Call Me By Your Name

I try to never believe the hype but I always do in the end anyway. So is the case with my latest favourite restaurant, Chik'n; so is the case with bluetooth headphones. And now, finally, with Call Me By Your Name too (which I'm now going to proceed to abbreviate as CMBYN, as much as I hate it, because it's just too long to type out - and read - each time).

I find that watching films at home never quite has the same impact on me as when watching in the cinema. That's probably because at home, I'm not ashamed to pull out my phone to take a quick glance at whatever social media channel I feel like at that given moment. It's an awful habit. But with CMBYN, that didn't happen.

Why did I enjoy it? Mostly because it wasn't at all what I had expected. It was clear cut, beautiful and not a moment too long. The acting was fantastic and the two main characters - in fact, all of them - were well-developed, which is so rare nowadays. In a way, in the first half of the film, we focus on Elio; on the second half, more on Oliver. They both get dedicated screen time to allow viewers to dig a bit deeper into their souls, and they're both worth our time.

Coming-of-age films always run the risk of being too cheesy or getting the theme completely wrong, but I found that Elio's slow but sure development is well packaged. He's 17 years old and everything new is exciting and first, then terrifying. In a burning temperature that demands nothing but bare chests and sweat, life obviously becomes about sex. And in a secluded villa somewhere in northern Italy, where apart from swimming and drinking there's not much to do for teenagers, it is inevitable that Elio would fall in love. With whoever is on hand.

That makes the story believable, and the relationship that develops between Oliver and Elio is especially exciting because of a constantly shifting power play. Dominance seems to come naturally to one, while it seems well acquired by the other. Then that sense is thrown up in the air. Both characters get hurt. They both open up, then close up. It's a beautiful up-and-down, and I think that's the main trait that keeps viewers glued to the screen. That, and the gorgeous setting. And Armie Hammer's beautiful behind. (It had to be said.)

I also enjoyed several brutal, abrupt cuts - piano music that shifts viewers into a sense of peace and pleasure is suddenly cut in the next scene, in the middle of a musical sentence. Touching scenes shift to those about doing nothing. Plot-moving scenes shift into insight. In other words, the rhythm of the film keeps viewers on their toes.

I'm very glad I finally gave in and watched the film. I don't know if I'm biased because I enjoy a film about intellectual, tri-lingual families and Italian villas, or romantic ones, but I do think this is a beautiful piece of work that deserves all the hype it got, and more.

PS. I just saw that a sequel has been announced. Now THAT I have mixed feelings about.