I dropped one of my two cans of beans on the ground for my new friend, and we engaged in the DayZ tradition of staring at the ground and hoping it would eventually appear. It didn’t.
We’d met near a construction site a few minutes ago and decided to explore together. On the roof of the parking garage, we found a blue backpack. I put my last can of beans in the pack, hoping he could then take the pack and find the beans inside, and open them with his machete.
While he waited hopefully for the beans, I ran off to loot a couple warehouses. We agreed to meet back at the site in five minutes. When I got back, I found him at the bottom of the site, dead, most likely from a fall.
In his pack were the beans. He’d opened them but only eaten half. He’d saved the rest for me.
“ Journalists my age and younger (I’ve been in the business since 2005—right around the time digital media emerged as a plausible career option) have never operated under the illusion that a staff job at The New Yorker or a New York Times column was in our future. But nearly a decade into the digital-media revolution, another shift has occurred. It’s not just that journalists understand former “prestige” jobs will be nearly impossible to get. Now we don’t even want them.”
“ we have applied ourselves toward the creation of trivial, undifferentiated apps; disposable social networks; fantastical gadgets obtainable only by the affluent; products that use emotion as a front for the sale of customer data; products that reinforce broken or dishonest forms of commerce; and insular communities that drive away potential collaborators and well-grounded leaders. Some of us have lent our expertise to initiatives that abuse the law and human rights, defeat critical systems of encryption and privacy, and put lives at risk. We have negated our professions’ potential for positive impact, and are using up our time and energy manufacturing demand for things that are redundant at best, destructive at worst.”