Tuesday marks my 15th year at the Reader, but I can’t honestly say this means anything more to me than a convenient hook I can use to get this blog post written, so I can move on to the next task. I miss a lot of people who used to work here, but otherwise I have few fond feelings for the Reader‘s illustrious past. Back when we published 174 or even 198 pages a week, the editorial department was a horrible sweatshop. People worked until 10 PM, 11 PM, midnight, 1 AM. They’d lie down on the cheap carpeting of their offices for cat naps so they could get up and keep working. Occasionally someone would burst into tears from the pressure, the endless drumbeat of more, more, more. In this business one quickly learns the dire imperative of getting this fucking blog post written, so I can move on to the next task.