
Seriously, no joke: my mom used to drive a truck across the country. She would start out on the East Coast with a truck stacked with new cars, and a couple days later she’d deliver them to some cruddy sand-blown dealership somewhere on the West Coast. One time when I asked her what it was like to drive across the country, she said “It’s depressing, really. Every town you go through, there’s a Pizza Hut, there’s a Walmart, and there’s a Wendy’s. Everything is everywhere.”I used to really enjoy going to used record stores. Whenever I’d visit a new town, the first thing I’d want to do would be to find the comic book shops and the local basement record stores. More often than not, I’d find some cool CD that I could never have found at my scuzzy little local strip-mall Strawberries Music. Same thing with book stores; visiting a used book store in another town might mean finding a rare and out-of-print book for cheap. During my twenties, this hunter-gatherer ritual was incredibly important to me; I liked being the guy with the really cool books and really cool CDs that no one else in my peer group had.
Today, both those activities seem completely pointless. If anyone even slightly tech-savvy still looks for media this way, surely they only attempt it for the anthropological thrill of the physical shopping experience, and not the end result of finding something new. I can now sit on the couch in my apartment, and via Amazon.com, I can have access to a far wider variety of music than could be available in a thousand local indie record stores. And even more efficiently, via the iTunes Music Store, I could get that music sent instantly to my iPod faster than I could even pick up the phone and ask some sullen clerk to check the shelves.
Because all this media — books, music, movies — are being stored digitally and are thus infinitely replicable, nothing will ever go out of print again. There’s no need, since none of it ever actually needed to be “in print” in the first place. From now on, everything we all produce is constantly, universally available. Forever and ever. Amen.
And: it’s almost too bad. For as much convenience as digital distribution gives us all, it also removes every trace of the thrill of the hunt. It removes any special feeling you’d get when you were pretty damn sure you were the only kid in your town with that impossibly cool, incredibly rare CD. It removes any sense of scarcity you might have felt when you saw something so very rare that you simply had to get it, now-ish, or you might never see it again. And it removes the ability to browse someone’s “private stash” of books or CDs, replacing that with aggregates and averages of items “recommended if you like”; recommended if you like completely anonymous fellow consumers and efficient, highly-tuned math equations.
These days? Nowhere is any different than anywhere else, and whatever it is you want, you can be sure you’ll see it again. And you can buy it anywhere.
~jeff