I used to say that sometimes working at a newspaper feels a little like living your life in a house that’s just a little bit on fire. Sometimes that meant it felt a bit like one of the scenes from “Synecdoche, New York” and sometimes that meant feeling like the “this-is-fine” dog, but I pretty much cut it out after last December, because for real though.
Going to a grocery store that’s part of a chain swallowed whole by an online book seller? That was me today, always distracted by the music that plays while I make my purchase, grease the wheels of capitalism, pay a little bit of money and a little bit of attention where they’re not yet but soon might be one and the same.
I can only imagine just how much tighter and brighter and on-the-nose the algorithms governing everything from the spot-cleaning of the aisles to the bands and artists on the store playlists are going to get.