Illustration by Catherine Chan
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Reading an article online is a true test of my attention span. The internet wants me to be healthy. It wants to help me shrink my enlarged prostate. It wants me to “do this every morning,” “avoid this food,” “stop doing this” and follow the advice of a sleep expert.
It usually starts like this: A provocative headline suggests a topic of interest to me: “The one song Bob Dylan wishes he hadn’t written.”
Which song could it be, I wonder? Blowin’ in the Wind? Positively 4th Street? Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door?
In order to find the answer, I have to first slog through a couple of paragraphs describing Dylan’s importance as a cultural icon and Nobel laureate, his roots in Minnesota and the Greenwich Village folk scene in the 1960s. I just want to know which song he regrets writing, and I want to know now.
I’m already on the fourth paragraph and I still don’t know which song they’re talking about. I tried skimming the first few paragraphs, but the writer inserted a couple of red-herring song titles near the top, just to throw me off. So, I’m back to reading the article from the beginning, my concentration disrupted every few seconds by jarring ads, disguised as links to articles, that pop up on my screen.
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“Eat one teaspoon every night and see what happens a week later.”
One teaspoon of what? The only way to find out is to click on the link. But I won’t. I am committed to this Bob Dylan article and I will read it until I know which song it is that torments the troubadour with pangs of regret.
“I’m a cardiologist. Do this to completely empty your bowels every morning.”
As tempting as this proposition is – and who’s going to argue with a cardiologist when it comes to matters of the colon? – I resist the urge to click on this ad. There’s a picture of a grey-haired man in a powder-blue surgical cap, ostensibly the cardiologist, pointing to a pot of glistening, white globules. What are they? Boiled eggs? Grapes? Ping-pong balls? Enlarged grains of tapioca pudding? Yes, I’m curious. But if I click on the link, I might open a Pandora’s box of pop-up ads offering amazing neck pillows and invitations to see what Tiger Woods’s ex-wife looks like now – and never find my way back to the Bob Dylan mystery.
So, it’s not The Times They Are A-Changin’ and it’s not Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands, according to paragraph five. Meanwhile, the writer of the article is revelling in the opportunity to display his chops as a cultural critic and chronicler of the social and artistic zeitgeist of the 1960s and 70s.
“Doctor warns: Avoid this food at all costs.”
There’s an extreme close-up of the food, pale green with tiny seeds, being prodded by an incriminating pair of tweezers. For the life of me I can’t make out what it is. Is it a dill-pickle spear, or could it be the diseased duodenum of the unfortunate sap who has failed to avoid the food at all costs? I might have to click and risk succumbing to the further temptation to find out the average cost of hearing aids for seniors in my neighbourhood – and perhaps never know the source of Dylan’s contrition.
“Your prostate could be as good as new. Do it in the morning.” Nope. I’m not biting. I’m reading about Bob Dylan, the evolution of folk-rock and the craft of songwriting. My prostate be damned.
“Enlarged prostate has nothing to do with age. Just stop doing it.” Wait a minute. If I should stop doing it, am I doing it now? Doing what?
“Change this one common habit to ease your sciatica.” I don’t have sciatica. At least I don’t think I have sciatica. But this animated diagram showing the hip bone and the spine and the throbbing, red nerves is hard to ignore and I might well be guilty of the common habit.
“Veteran fund manager unveils eye-popping S&P 500 forecast.” An economics story. And it must be pretty important if it’s “eye-popping.” Just one click and then I’ll hit the “back” button and return to Dylan.
But when I click on the link, the next page is a full grid of dozens of tempting links, of which the S&P 500 story is just one.
“The truth about Caitlyn Jenner.” “Chewable pill changes everything for chronic pain.” “Get a free estimate on gutter guards.” “What happens when you eat oatmeal every morning.” “How much does a cremation cost in Ontario in 2025?”
Help! I scroll down, hoping for a clean, malware-free escape. But I’m snared by a piece of clickbait I just can’t resist:
“The one song Bob Dylan wishes he hadn’t written.”
Grant McIntyre lives in Toronto.