I was in a computer services
and equipment shop for an ap-
pointment, an app of rare em-
ployment these days. Arriving
early, I picked up a current
tablet and dialed up the web-
site for The New York Review
- which bails us all out of
many an unattended moment -
and commenced reading in Dan-
iel Mendelsohn's review of
in these pages, The Broken
Road, which I'd noticed on-
line a couple of days before.
Fair enough, but what I was
seeing didn't look the same.
Here the article was ration-
ally laid out, full-screen
and crystal clear, and very
evenly illuminated. One had
no recourse but to note how
these organisations, striv-
ing so compulsively to ruin
our lives to the delight of
investors, are bound to ham-
mer out a good thing every
so often, like Shakespeare's
proverbial simian transcrib-
ers. Already, naturally, the
obsolescence of this shining
little accident is quite ur-
gently plotted, wherever bank-
ers and tinkerers may gather
these days, if not still at
Stanford.
I have a hunch, if you wish
to know what Laurent is late-
liest up to, one of these
little techboards may be the
happiest mechanism. But now,
you see, I've gone and done
it, laying down the gauntlet
of needing not another thing,
to our noodlers with things.
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