Which of course, is a lovely opportunity to share a bit of gratuitous elevator humour, from the Scottish comedy show, Burnistoun:
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Elevate me!
I had a delightful experience today using an elevator in a recently-opened building. Like many modern elevators, this one included voice annunciation to call out each floor. But unlike many automated voicemail systems hereabouts, this one seemed to have an accent somewhat uncommon here in North America--to my untrained ears at least, it sounded like Scottish English.
Which of course, is a lovely opportunity to share a bit of gratuitous elevator humour, from the Scottish comedy show, Burnistoun:
Which of course, is a lovely opportunity to share a bit of gratuitous elevator humour, from the Scottish comedy show, Burnistoun:
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Meditation on mediation
All this talk on mediation of late has me thinking about, well, mediation. Beyond media ecology, mediation has meaning in the world of negotiation. But is media-mediation so different than negotiation-mediation?
Sherry Turkle's TED talk Alone Together includes a brief mention of the problem of communication technology addiction: that the metaphor of addiction is inappropriate because the only way to deal with addiction is to stop using that 'substance' and that's something no one is seriously going to do with our modern communications networks such as the Internet, social networks, or smartphones.
While our smartphones might be packed jam-full of gee-whiz apps and capabilities, they aren't actually smart in the way a sentient being is smart. Yet I wonder whether using negotiation tools such as BATNA (Best Alternative To a Negotiated Settlement) and ZOPA (Zone Of Possible Agreement) might be useful in assessing and negotiating the type of relationship we want to have with our technologies?
We're a long way from our technologies being 'smart' in the sense of having a personal say in this negotiation yet these technologies do mediate our interaction with others across all spheres, including professional and personal. Is navigating technology enough, or do we need to be active negotiators?
Sherry Turkle's TED talk Alone Together includes a brief mention of the problem of communication technology addiction: that the metaphor of addiction is inappropriate because the only way to deal with addiction is to stop using that 'substance' and that's something no one is seriously going to do with our modern communications networks such as the Internet, social networks, or smartphones.
"These technologies are our current partners in the human adventure. The notion of addiction with its one solution that we know we won't take makes us feel hopeless and passive," Turkle says.
While our smartphones might be packed jam-full of gee-whiz apps and capabilities, they aren't actually smart in the way a sentient being is smart. Yet I wonder whether using negotiation tools such as BATNA (Best Alternative To a Negotiated Settlement) and ZOPA (Zone Of Possible Agreement) might be useful in assessing and negotiating the type of relationship we want to have with our technologies?
We're a long way from our technologies being 'smart' in the sense of having a personal say in this negotiation yet these technologies do mediate our interaction with others across all spheres, including professional and personal. Is navigating technology enough, or do we need to be active negotiators?
Monday, January 28, 2013
Mediated life: digital afterlife
An entertaining and surprisingly (disturbingly?) familiar look at what the future might entail:
Who upgrades the upgraders?
Who upgrades the upgraders?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Mediated writing: the writing ball is a thing like me
Nietzsche was famously noted to change his writing style as he adopted a mechanical typewriter instead of writing longhand or dictating to an assistant. The typewriter mediated--changed--the way he communicated, a change rejected by Heidegger as unwanted.
Nietzsche even wrote a short poem for his 'writing ball':
... and of course, don't forget that unlike word processing software, users must use a double-space after the monospaced period.
Nietzsche even wrote a short poem for his 'writing ball':
The Writing Ball is a thing just like me: of iron
And yet easy to twist, especially on journeys.
Patience and tact one must richly possess
And fine little fingers to use us.
Schreibkugel ist ein Ding gleich mir: von Eisen
Und doch leicht zu verdrehn zumal auf Reisen.
Geduld und Takt muss reichlich man besitzen
Und feine Fingerchen, uns zu benuetzen.
Underscoring some of the vagaries and quirks of the machines themselves, Hammacher Schlemmer's description of the typewriter they sell is absolutely marvellous:
The Wordsmith's Manual Typewriter.
This is the manual typewriter that recalls the thoughtful, well-written correspondence of yesteryear. Devoid of technological crutches such as spell-check and deletion, each of its 44 keys requires a firm, purposeful stroke for a steady click-clacking cadence that encourages the patient, considered sentiment of a wordsmith who thinks before writing. Using a 10-characters-per-inch Pica 87 font, it faithfully reproduces the eclectic printed impressions of its forebears—variable kerning, subtly ghosted letters, and nuanced baseline shifts—imparting unique, personal character to every letter, piece of prose, or verse of poetry. Updated with a lightweight yet durable ABS housing and carrying case for easy portability.
... and of course, don't forget that unlike word processing software, users must use a double-space after the monospaced period.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Mediated art: Ways of Seeing
Ways of Seeing (1972), an engaging series by John Berger, opens with a look at how mass reproduction of paintings mediates a different relationship with a painting than a person seeing the same item in its original environment, whether on a moveable substrate such as canvas or as part of a particular building.
The first part of the first episode is here:
The notions discussed in the first episode are credited to an essay by Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (1935).
The series' content is fascinating, but so too is the meta of the medium, seen from a 2013 perspective.
Berger explains what we're viewing both for what's in a shot as well as how the shot is being broadcast and the ways the medium changes the content of what we're viewing. This meta-narrative is deliberate: Berger is making visible aspects of viewing we often fail to notice or forget is present.
The precise framing and carefully choreographed camera movement of each piece seems sedate compared to typical video today. Our gaze is directed at each step, and only late in the episode is music introduced for a particular purpose that further aides in mediating the meaning and experience of the images we view.
Colour is also intriguing. Berger as narrator stands in front of a blue screen that only serves as a backdrop that contrasts reasonably well with his clothes and skin, not as part of special effects. The final credits also point out that the item is BBC Colour, further reminding viewers of today that colour wasn't necessarily a universal given in video or film footage.
The opening title is static over footage of television production equipment: no swooping animations or other visual noise (... but for the sake of reminiscing, here's a nifty Flash re-build of several historical television logos). Paintings are depicted without additional title overlays: we need to listen to Berger's narration to know what we're viewing if we don't already recognise the painting.
Additionally, the opening includes a selection from Dziga Vertov's film, The Man With a Camera, ground-breaking in many ways that could appear quite familiar to modern audiences. Vertov's full-length film is also available here in a re-scored (1996) edition:
The first part of the first episode is here:
The notions discussed in the first episode are credited to an essay by Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (1935).
The series' content is fascinating, but so too is the meta of the medium, seen from a 2013 perspective.
Berger explains what we're viewing both for what's in a shot as well as how the shot is being broadcast and the ways the medium changes the content of what we're viewing. This meta-narrative is deliberate: Berger is making visible aspects of viewing we often fail to notice or forget is present.
The precise framing and carefully choreographed camera movement of each piece seems sedate compared to typical video today. Our gaze is directed at each step, and only late in the episode is music introduced for a particular purpose that further aides in mediating the meaning and experience of the images we view.
Colour is also intriguing. Berger as narrator stands in front of a blue screen that only serves as a backdrop that contrasts reasonably well with his clothes and skin, not as part of special effects. The final credits also point out that the item is BBC Colour, further reminding viewers of today that colour wasn't necessarily a universal given in video or film footage.
The opening title is static over footage of television production equipment: no swooping animations or other visual noise (... but for the sake of reminiscing, here's a nifty Flash re-build of several historical television logos). Paintings are depicted without additional title overlays: we need to listen to Berger's narration to know what we're viewing if we don't already recognise the painting.
Additionally, the opening includes a selection from Dziga Vertov's film, The Man With a Camera, ground-breaking in many ways that could appear quite familiar to modern audiences. Vertov's full-length film is also available here in a re-scored (1996) edition:
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Some of these things might not be like the other
The other day I watched a TED talk by Pattie Maes on a technology dubbed 'SixthSense'. The video is here:
It's an interesting concept, but one part of the presentation troubled me: the comment about a user possibly preferring to purchase a product that was not as "ecologically responsible" as some other product. Would a technology like this actually allow us to know which product was most 'ecologically responsible' or would it merely re-iterate corporate greenwashing?
It's an interesting concept, but one part of the presentation troubled me: the comment about a user possibly preferring to purchase a product that was not as "ecologically responsible" as some other product. Would a technology like this actually allow us to know which product was most 'ecologically responsible' or would it merely re-iterate corporate greenwashing?
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Bad omen
I'm in the market for a lightweight, portable keyboard for all the usual reasons someone who actually knows how to touch type might not want to deal with the frustrations of the on-screen keyboard on iOS devices. While the Mac wireless keyboard works perfectly fine, it's a lot larger and a bit heavier than I want to carry.
Imagine my happiness at finding what appeared to be a tiny, compact board with actual, pressable keys. Over the years, I've successfully worked with keyboards so small that the home row could be adequately demonstrated by simply placing your fingertips in a line, touching together. On that board, due to the extreme compact placement of keys, I had to slow down a bit, but I could achieve between 40-60 wpm, with excellent accuracy.
A well-designed small board has well-demarcated keys (often called a Chiclet keyboard, after the candy-coated chewing gum). A well-designed keyboard has keys in places that make sense--commonly used items such as punctuation shouldn't be assigned to some apparently random place.
The first clue that my newest acquisition might not be up to the task was the simple question of how much does it weigh? Carefully inspecting the package provided no enlightenment. Expecting the manual to contain this information, the store manager helped me to open the package: nope, nothing. The manager went online and managed to find a product specification sheet, not linked here because I can't find it anywhere--the website has minimal information on the product specs.
In any case, the product specs she found and gave me to me on hardcopy included all the typical information of description, reorder number, pack size, brand, system requirements, compatibility, etc. The bad omen arises when you see the answer to my question about the product weight.
This answer is a classic blunder, one that's shown up in some fairly spectacular examples. As you know, we get fabulous data about Mars regularly from the Mars Climate Orbiter. Wait--you don't remember the Mars Climate Orbiter? Maybe you remember this: it didn't get to Mars, at least, not in one piece, possibly not even in particularly tiny pieces thanks to disintegrating. Why might that happen, you wonder? A simple problem--the spacecraft operated on metric, while the ground-based software back on Earth operated in Imperial. When it comes to manouevring, this discrepancy is disastrous.
According to the keyboard specifications, the weight is 7.23 oz (3.28 kg). I don't use ounces, but I understand they're pretty light. I do, however, use kilograms and something that weighs more than three of them is pretty hefty. One kilogram is one thousand grams, and one gram is about the weight of a paperclip. Google's conversion feature shows that 7.23 oz should be nearly 205 paperclips, which feels about right.
Despite being much lighter than claimed on the specification sheet, I won't be keeping this keyboard. Again, the whole point of having a keyboard is so that a touch-typist can, well, touch-type. After giving it a thorough workout, it's clear that the problems go far beyond merely getting used to a new board. These problems are not surmountable simply by continuing to use it--fundamental design problems make the board no better than the problems that already exist using built-in iOS on-screen keyboards. Others have reviewed the downsides of this item at length, I'll just add that given the strange position of the spacebar relative to the letter keys, I have to wonder whether the designers themselves actually know how to type.
Imagine my happiness at finding what appeared to be a tiny, compact board with actual, pressable keys. Over the years, I've successfully worked with keyboards so small that the home row could be adequately demonstrated by simply placing your fingertips in a line, touching together. On that board, due to the extreme compact placement of keys, I had to slow down a bit, but I could achieve between 40-60 wpm, with excellent accuracy.
A well-designed small board has well-demarcated keys (often called a Chiclet keyboard, after the candy-coated chewing gum). A well-designed keyboard has keys in places that make sense--commonly used items such as punctuation shouldn't be assigned to some apparently random place.
The first clue that my newest acquisition might not be up to the task was the simple question of how much does it weigh? Carefully inspecting the package provided no enlightenment. Expecting the manual to contain this information, the store manager helped me to open the package: nope, nothing. The manager went online and managed to find a product specification sheet, not linked here because I can't find it anywhere--the website has minimal information on the product specs.
In any case, the product specs she found and gave me to me on hardcopy included all the typical information of description, reorder number, pack size, brand, system requirements, compatibility, etc. The bad omen arises when you see the answer to my question about the product weight.
This answer is a classic blunder, one that's shown up in some fairly spectacular examples. As you know, we get fabulous data about Mars regularly from the Mars Climate Orbiter. Wait--you don't remember the Mars Climate Orbiter? Maybe you remember this: it didn't get to Mars, at least, not in one piece, possibly not even in particularly tiny pieces thanks to disintegrating. Why might that happen, you wonder? A simple problem--the spacecraft operated on metric, while the ground-based software back on Earth operated in Imperial. When it comes to manouevring, this discrepancy is disastrous.
According to the keyboard specifications, the weight is 7.23 oz (3.28 kg). I don't use ounces, but I understand they're pretty light. I do, however, use kilograms and something that weighs more than three of them is pretty hefty. One kilogram is one thousand grams, and one gram is about the weight of a paperclip. Google's conversion feature shows that 7.23 oz should be nearly 205 paperclips, which feels about right.
Despite being much lighter than claimed on the specification sheet, I won't be keeping this keyboard. Again, the whole point of having a keyboard is so that a touch-typist can, well, touch-type. After giving it a thorough workout, it's clear that the problems go far beyond merely getting used to a new board. These problems are not surmountable simply by continuing to use it--fundamental design problems make the board no better than the problems that already exist using built-in iOS on-screen keyboards. Others have reviewed the downsides of this item at length, I'll just add that given the strange position of the spacebar relative to the letter keys, I have to wonder whether the designers themselves actually know how to type.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Treadmill in space?
Back in 2004, widespread popular interest in average folks going into space was rekindled with the success of SpaceShipOne. The privately-built ship won the X-PRIZE, a competition that required three people to travel to a 100 km altitude twice within two weeks.
Here's a happy little video looking back at that adventure, produced in 2009:
For those old enough to remember the heady days of the space race, and classic science fiction that assumed rocketports and beanstalks and all manner of travel for both specialists and tourists alike, SpaceShipOne brought back the hope and anticipation of human-based space exploration.
But then, a mere two years later, in 2011, a peculiarly uninformed article showed up on Blastr, part of "The Syfy Online Network." Syfy, whose tagline is "Imagine Greater," brings all manner of science fiction and other imaginative works to television. The Blastr item, titled 8 once-amazing sci-fi devices now inferior to real-life gadgets, includes as its 7th (not-numbered) item, the "360-Degree Treadmill from 2001 ... One-Upped by: An ordinary modern treadmill."
Here's the scene:
The Blastr article's comments section is now fully buried under heaps of product spam, but back when it was a fresh item, it was heartening to see so many folks come to the defense of what was--and is--perfectly good science in a film that made extraordinary attempts to get the science right.
True, because the film was by necessity shot on Earth, using something known as a "set" to simulate an actual spacecraft (which wasn't available for loan or hire), the filmmakers did have to design a "360-Degree Treadmill" insofar as they needed to simulate the rotation of the ship--and given ongoing restrictions against using magic in the presence of Muggles, they couldn't simply have the actors levitate to perform the scene.
Even given the minor amount of space we've managed to reach with people on-board to date, one of the challenges we fragile humans face is that we're creatures of gravity, and space doesn't seem to have very much of it in the space-y part. Or to be more accurate, gravity is all over the place, just not where we can make use of it very well when travelling through space. Being "weightless" is essentially falling with nothing to break that fall, meaning that space travellers are in "free-fall."
Using spin on a spaceship is one of the few known ways to simulate gravity. This detailed page on Artificial Gravity gives both the science for this as well as the some of the ideas explored by scientists and science fiction writers alike (not necessarily two distinct categories, FWIW).
While treadmills really don't have anything to do with spaceships under spin, it's interesting to note that treadmills--for exercise--were invented back in 1952. Treadmills for other purposes have been around for thousands of years, and among those ancient forms was--you guessed it--a 360-Degree Treadmill (treadwheel). Not such "modern" technology after all. One continues to worry about the kids these days--sometimes knowing a bit about the past can help the present, not to mention any imagined futures, make a lot more sense.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Iterations: Clippy
Via Slashdot, a link to an article in IT World, Paul Roberts' Five ways the cool stuff at CES will ruin your life.
One particularly triggery-mention for old-timey folks who've ever owned a mobile phone sans smart is the role of Clippy, the infamous digital "assistant" that interrupted you at every possible turn when using a particular famous-brand office suite.
Jogging my memories of Clippy also brought back to mind a more recent experience: dealing with an appliance repair technician who--on that tragic day at least--acted like a human iteration of Clippy. In this case, the comparison is more because the supposed help was utterly useless, not necessarily disruptive. The discussion went something like this:
Me: Here's the broken washing machine.
Clipster: What's been happening?
Me: Well, it was starting to give me intermittent door-lock errors, but worked fine if you just opened and re-closed the door again, so I didn't worry about it. Now it's giving me this other error code, and won't run the cycle at all.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) Do you have the manual?
Me: Not where I can find it.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) What does that error code mean?
Me: Well, according to discussions I've read on the Internet, that error code on this model means there is a problem with the motor.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) Well, then the problem is with the motor.
Me: Yeah, that's what it said on the Internet.
Clipster: Right. (pause) Well, that's the problem, then.
Me: Soooooo ... what do we do to fix it?
Clipster: It would be too expensive to fix. You should just buy a new machine.
... and within five minutes, is charging me 60-some dollars and out the door. No repair possible, just a confirmation that I have decent search skills on the Internet. Assuming of course that what I found was correct--as far as I can ascertain, the Clipster didn't have any idea what the machine could/should/would do (whether operating correctly or not) and was relying entirely on my own verbal report.
Gosh, thank you so much. I had no idea that repair technician is now defined as "search engine result confirmologist." The Clipster came to check on my machine because I booked an appointment with the appliance company requesting technical expertise, expertise I don't have. Internet discussions helped me understand the range of possible problems--problems that the repair technician made no effort to assess further.
I know how to use a washing machine, not repair one. If I'd known how to repair one--or known that there was no point in calling for a technical expert--I could have purchased a new machine immediately, rather than waiting several days for the repair technician to show up and then having to source a new machine, then wait a few days more for delivery and installation because by that time, hey, it's holiday season and everyone has gone absolutely crazy with the big sales! Good luck getting expedited delivery now.
During the booking, I had to give the make and model of the machine, a description of the error codes involved and what I've tried to do to work around it. I think some of my frustration with the Clipster is due to unmet expectations: I expect the technical expert to come to an appointment with--at minimum--the information I've already given when booking the appointment, and I don't expect the technical expert to simply parrot back what I tell him, without any actual assessment involved beyond my own.
Buying a new washing machine was always a possibility--after all, I didn't really know how serious this particular problem might be, nor how feasible it would be to fix the problem, and in the interests of not randomly throwing out things that can easily be repaired, I chose to be responsible and call for expertise. The thing is, the appliance company already had 100% of the information needed to tell me to "buy a new one" before sending the repair technician on a call, and simply making me wait several days to do nothing but tell me not to bother made me 100% unlikely to purchase the replacement from them or any of their subsidiaries.
Clippy's unhelpfulness--in any iteration: digital, human, or other--isn't really the sort of feature that makes the user particularly happy or satisfied. Roberts' description of the impending wave of Clipster-style appliances, vehicles, and other devices showcased at CES is rightly shudder-inducing.
One particularly triggery-mention for old-timey folks who've ever owned a mobile phone sans smart is the role of Clippy, the infamous digital "assistant" that interrupted you at every possible turn when using a particular famous-brand office suite.
Jogging my memories of Clippy also brought back to mind a more recent experience: dealing with an appliance repair technician who--on that tragic day at least--acted like a human iteration of Clippy. In this case, the comparison is more because the supposed help was utterly useless, not necessarily disruptive. The discussion went something like this:
Me: Here's the broken washing machine.
Clipster: What's been happening?
Me: Well, it was starting to give me intermittent door-lock errors, but worked fine if you just opened and re-closed the door again, so I didn't worry about it. Now it's giving me this other error code, and won't run the cycle at all.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) Do you have the manual?
Me: Not where I can find it.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) What does that error code mean?
Me: Well, according to discussions I've read on the Internet, that error code on this model means there is a problem with the motor.
Clipster: Oh. (pause) Well, then the problem is with the motor.
Me: Yeah, that's what it said on the Internet.
Clipster: Right. (pause) Well, that's the problem, then.
Me: Soooooo ... what do we do to fix it?
Clipster: It would be too expensive to fix. You should just buy a new machine.
... and within five minutes, is charging me 60-some dollars and out the door. No repair possible, just a confirmation that I have decent search skills on the Internet. Assuming of course that what I found was correct--as far as I can ascertain, the Clipster didn't have any idea what the machine could/should/would do (whether operating correctly or not) and was relying entirely on my own verbal report.
Gosh, thank you so much. I had no idea that repair technician is now defined as "search engine result confirmologist." The Clipster came to check on my machine because I booked an appointment with the appliance company requesting technical expertise, expertise I don't have. Internet discussions helped me understand the range of possible problems--problems that the repair technician made no effort to assess further.
I know how to use a washing machine, not repair one. If I'd known how to repair one--or known that there was no point in calling for a technical expert--I could have purchased a new machine immediately, rather than waiting several days for the repair technician to show up and then having to source a new machine, then wait a few days more for delivery and installation because by that time, hey, it's holiday season and everyone has gone absolutely crazy with the big sales! Good luck getting expedited delivery now.
During the booking, I had to give the make and model of the machine, a description of the error codes involved and what I've tried to do to work around it. I think some of my frustration with the Clipster is due to unmet expectations: I expect the technical expert to come to an appointment with--at minimum--the information I've already given when booking the appointment, and I don't expect the technical expert to simply parrot back what I tell him, without any actual assessment involved beyond my own.
Buying a new washing machine was always a possibility--after all, I didn't really know how serious this particular problem might be, nor how feasible it would be to fix the problem, and in the interests of not randomly throwing out things that can easily be repaired, I chose to be responsible and call for expertise. The thing is, the appliance company already had 100% of the information needed to tell me to "buy a new one" before sending the repair technician on a call, and simply making me wait several days to do nothing but tell me not to bother made me 100% unlikely to purchase the replacement from them or any of their subsidiaries.
Clippy's unhelpfulness--in any iteration: digital, human, or other--isn't really the sort of feature that makes the user particularly happy or satisfied. Roberts' description of the impending wave of Clipster-style appliances, vehicles, and other devices showcased at CES is rightly shudder-inducing.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Quote: to be human
Via Carl Hiassen's 1995 novel, Stormy Weather:
"Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity--I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples."
-- from Tropic of Cancer (1934), by Henry Miller
"Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity--I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples."
-- from Tropic of Cancer (1934), by Henry Miller
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