Bank machines blew my mind today. I don't think I'm a codger quite yet but I trudged over to my new bank to deposit a check and about 10 seconds later a scanned image of the check flashed on the ATM screen. When did this all happen? Not that I miss trying to stuff those weird oversized bank envelopes into the little jaws-of-life machine slot, but this seemed a little too slick.
Walking back to work I passed another bank machine. A guy turned away from the ATM, hands in the air. Wells Fargo wishes me a happy birthday! he shouted to his waiting pal, and the pal shouted, Dude, no way! We know of course that Wells Fargo couldn't actually give a shit about happy guy's birthday but his elation was unfeigned.
So here we are, the machines remind us of milestones, predict our tastes, run our refrigerators, stroke our egos, and we celebrate mindlessly. You do have to wonder who's in charge.
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Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
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