The implications of this article are depressing. While I usually keep a tiny violin handy for when I run across writers bemoaning the death of journalism, the b

The implications of this article are depressing. While I usually keep a tiny violin handy for when I run across writers bemoaning the death of journalism, the bleakness of an Internet full of crappy howto videos busted out for $20 a pop has gotten to me. We already have far too much slapdash, zero effort link-baiting blog drivel. But the worst part is the Orwellian (or perhaps Huxley-ian?) idea of all those people being driven to satisfy the demands of an algorithm on tiny margins, because it makes me feel somewhat culpable as a web programmer with an interest in statistics. But then I observed that I was reading a more than 3000 word article, one which includes several interviews (with at least one on-site). And I wondered: is Wired itself a dinosaur? It's still apparently paying for pretty high journalistic standards. I imagine this article would have taken at least a few days to file, and presumably cost thousands of dollars. Why hasn't Wired figured out that the way to make money in online Journalism is to rip out dozens of 100 word articles per writer per day, consisting of facts plagiarized from others, with a few pithy statements and a linkbait title? It's like Wired is some nostalgic holdover from the heady days of the print magazine, when they had people like Gibson and Stevenson writing grandiose, timeless (if a bit naive) articles on the coming digital wonderland. It made me want to search into Wired's archive and re-read Mother Earth Motherboard for the umpteenth time -- perhaps before Wired folds like the other dinosaurs and takes its archive with it. But then it occurred to me: the fact that I could, on a whim, pull up an article that was published in an ephemeral magazine more than a decade ago is itself a result of the Internet. When that article was originally published, Wired's entire opportunity to make back the commission it paid was the shelf life of the issue in which it was printed. After that it would have spent perhaps a few years in library periodical departments, and would have eventually ended up on microfilm in archives, available to those who know the issue and volume number. I would have only been able to access their back catalog with great effort, and their ability to make money off of my doing so would have been nonexistent. But now Wired's entire catalog is available online -- years and years of articles. And they all have fresh, revenue yielding advertisements around them. I think about how much time I've spent in Wired's archives. Just a few weeks ago I read a huge article about Project Xanadu that made the rounds. If you look at the link-broker sites like news.ycombinator, there is a good deal of blogspam -- no doubt -- but just yesterday there was a Dijkstra essay from the 1980s. It makes me think that perhaps there is a market for quality on the Internet. It's just hidden, because the quality isn't rewarded upfront by the initial wave of attention, but by the slow, slow trickle of back-issue readership -- still producing impressions on articles written and paid for many years ago.