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There Is A Special Place in Hell for ZOOM Facilitators
I have so few events to look forward to these days. Receiving an email that yet again a day of interaction with other writers is transferred to Zoom makes me want to barf.
Zoom is no replacement for interaction with people who are 3 dimensional. I fucking hate Zoom. I hate how I look, I hate the sound of my voice, I hate that the lighting in my dining room where my internet connection is most “stable” makes me look like a middle aged raccoon woman no matter how much concealer I apply. I should just buy a Scream mask and wear it every time I have to contain my entire self to the screen of someone’s laptop.
Zoom minimizes all that I am to this 8 by 10 space I stare at while communicating. It emphasizes men’s nose hair and women’s recently plucked eyebrows. It enlarges the small zit on the chin of the adolescent facilitator to the size of a cantelope. And that’s how old these Zoom wizards are. Right?Teenagers, dead set on taking the dignity away from the older, more seasoned victims of this plague that has thrust internet communication upon us. Zoom could make Hugh Grant look like a nerd. I wish I were Zooming with Hugh Grant. Or anyone else that has a nice screen presence. But I do have a thing for Hugh Grant. It’s…
