The drunk, the lamp-post and Amazon’s Kindle

This morning’s Observer column.

Know the old joke about the drunk and the lost keys? A policeman finds a guy scrabbling under a lamp-post and asks him what he's doing. “Looking for my keys,” he replies. “Is this where you dropped them?” asks the cop. “No,” replies the drunk, “but at least I can see what I’m doing here.”

When it comes to technology futures, we’re all drunks, always looking in the wrong place…

LATER: Interesting stuff about the upcoming eReader from the Cambridge firm Plastic Logic.

STILL LATER: See Jakob Neilsen’s review of the new Kindle.

Cloud computing’s silver lining

This morning’s Observer column.

Here’s an ugly word that has infiltrated itself into everyday discourse: “outage”. Its etymology is a bit opaque, but it’s clearly modelled on ‘shortage’. Until last year it meant “a temporary suspension of operation, especially of electrical power supply”. Now it means a temporary suspension of ‘cloud computing’ services – ie services, such as email, web-hosting and file storage, provided remotely via the internet.

Until last week, most Europeans were probably blissfully unaware of the term. But then Gmail – Google’s webmail service – went down on Tuesday…

Openness is a feature, not a bug

Today’s Observer column.

Openness is what makes the internet what it is. It enabled Tim Berners-Lee to dream up the web and release it on an unsuspecting world without seeking anyone’s permission. It’s also what enabled the guys who invented Skype to use the network as a carrier for voice communications, again without seeking administrative approval. But the same openness is what enabled Sean Fanning to launch peer-to-peer file sharing on the music industry. And of course it’s what enabled the sinister Eastern European crooks of Markoff’s nightmares to unleash the Conficker.B worm, with who knows what consequences.

So we’re stuck with the trade-off between the creativity, innovation – and, yes, insecurity – that comes with openness; and the security – and stagnation – that comes with a tightly-controlled network. Which do we prefer? You only have to look at the data traffic for web pages and file sharing to know the answer.

Need to read between the lines? Try Microsoft Word

Today’s Observer column.

That left only Facebook as a focus for irrational exuberance. But how much was the preppy social-networking site ‘worth’? Arcane formulae were deployed by investment analysts to rationalise a range of fantastic valuations. Then Microsoft blew them out of the water by paying $240m for a 1.6% stake in the company. Here at last was a real number that people could latch on to. Even newspaper columnists could do the calculation: if 1.6% is worth $240m then 100% equals $15bn.

QED? Er, no. Even in those far-off days when a billion dollars was real money it was a preposterous valuation. But it entered the culture as a hard fact. After all (so the reasoning went) if those boys at Microsoft thought that 1.6% of Facebook was worth $240m, then it must be an exceedingly valuable company…

The sound of serious money

This morning’s Observer column.

At this point, those of us who have been watching Mr Jobs strut his stuff for decades began to yawn. Then something happened that made your columnist sit up. On to the stage strode John Doerr, the driving force behind Kleiner Perkins Caufield and Byers of 2750 Sand Hill Road, Menlo Park, California – the world’s premier venture capital firm. Mr Doerr said that he was so taken by this apps store idea that he was setting up a $100m fund to invest in people who were interested in developing software for the iPhone.

In retrospect, it may have been a pivotal moment in the history of the computing industry. Doerr, you see, has great judgment and a long history of spotting winners before anyone else. Companies he backed in their early days, for example, include Amazon, Compaq, Electronic Arts, Google, Lotus, Macromedia and Sun Microsystems. So if he thought there was something in the apps store idea then perhaps Jobs’s hyperbole might be justified.

And so it has proved…

Terminological capture

This morning’s Observer column.

Rule number one in ideological warfare is to capture the terms in which the debate is conducted. If you can do that, you’re well on your way to winning the argument. Thus the religious right describes itself as “pro-life” and characterises abortion as “murder”, which means that anyone who does not share its views is, apparently, anti-life and in favour of murder. It’s preposterous, but it happens all the time.

This practice of terminological capture is the stock in trade of lobbyists, especially those employed by the music and movie industries. Thus any unauthorised use of copyrighted materials is always “theft”, anyone engaging in file-sharing is a “pirate”, and so on. And technical measures introduced by those industries to protect digital content are called “digital rights management” (DRM), a reassuring term implying that the user is managing something that is rightfully theirs. In fact, they are really digital restriction measures whose sole purpose is to constrain the consumer.

Governments and legislators everywhere are suckers for terminological capture…

Computing’s religious wars

From this morning’s Observer column.

Umberto Eco once wrote an intriguing essay about the differences between the Apple Macintosh and the PC. ‘The fact is’, he wrote, ‘that the world is divided between users of the Macintosh computer and users of MS-DOS compatible computers. I am firmly of the opinion that the Macintosh is Catholic and that DOS is Protestant. The Macintosh is… cheerful, friendly, conciliatory; it tells the faithful how they must proceed step by step to reach – if not the kingdom of heaven – the moment in which their document is printed. It is catechistic: The essence of revelation is dealt with via simple formulae and sumptuous icons. Everyone has a right to salvation.’

The PC was very different: ‘Protestant, or even Calvinistic, it allows free interpretation of scripture, demands difficult personal decisions, imposes a subtle hermeneutics upon the user, and takes for granted the idea that not all can achieve salvation. To make the system work you need to interpret the program yourself: Far away from the baroque community of revellers, the user is closed within the loneliness of his own inner torment.’

The bean-counters’ sword

This morning’s Observer column

In the summer of 1978, a Harvard student named Dan Bricklin was cycling along a path in Martha’s Vineyard, when he had a big idea. As an MBA student, he was being taught to do financial planning using a large sheet of paper ruled into a grid pattern. One entered numbers corresponding to sales, costs, revenues and so on, into cells on the grid, did some calculations and entered the result in another cell. This was called ‘spreadsheet analysis’ and it was unutterably tedious because the moment any of the numbers in the sheet changed, everything else that depended on it had to be recalculated – manually.

Bricklin’s big idea was that all this could be done by a computer program…

Footnotes:

John Dvorak’s engaging rant is here.

Dan Bricklin maintains some enthralling pages about the background to VisiCalc.

Slimming down in 2009

This morning’s Observer column.

On the web, we will see whether Twitter, geeks' beloved microblogging service, can find a viable business model. Given that Jonathan Ross and Jeremy Clarkson have just discovered, and signed up for, the service, it has clearly peaked. When boobies like that are using it, all persons of taste flee.

In the corporate world, 2009 is likely to be dominated by: speculation about Apple's ability to survive Steve Jobs's departure (yawn); Yahoo's death throes; Microsoft's struggle to erase the bad karma of Vista with shiny new Windows 7, plus its doomed attempts to seize the initiative in web services, search and online advertising; and Wall Street's disillusionment with Google, as the search giant struggles with the impact of recession on advertising. Hard times will mean fewer impulse buys of electronic toys, that upgrades will be postponed, and that companies will finally begin to examine the energy costs of their PC-based networks.

Other than that, I haven't a clue what will happen. Happy new year!

Wapping comes to Wall Street

This morning’s Observer column.

You might think this is all a storm in an online teacup, but in fact it's a revealing case study of how our media ecosystem has changed. What happened is that reporters on a major newspaper got something wrong. Nothing unusual about that – and the concept of "network neutrality" is a slippery one if you're not a geek or a communications regulator. But within minutes of the article's publication, it was being picked up and critically dissected by bloggers all over the world. And much of the dissection was done soberly and intelligently, with commentators painstakingly explaining why Google's move into content-caching did not automatically signal a shift in the company's attitude to network neutrality. Lessig was able instantly to rebut the views attributed to him in the article.

Watching the discussion unfold online was like eavesdropping on a civilised and enlightening conversation. Browsing through it I thought: this is what the internet is like at its best – a powerful extension of what Jürgen Habermas once called "the public sphere".

And the Journal’s response? A snide little “roundup” on its website about critical responses to the article which – it observed – “has certainly gotten a rise out of the blogosphere”. Instead of an apology for a seriously flawed piece of journalism, it produced only a celebration of the outrage its errors had generated. Verily, the Sun has come to Wall Street.

Because my Observer column is limited to about 800 words, there’s a lot more I’d like to have said about this episode. It would have been nice, for example, to have been able to point to some of the more illuminating commentaries on the WSJ story. For example:

  • Google’s response
  • Scott Rosenberg’s comments
  • Larry Lessig’s scathing remarks on how he was misrepresented
  • Siva Vaidhyanathan’s observations
  • Timoth Lee’s comments in Freedom to Tinker
  • John Timmer’s ArsTechnica post
  • Tim Wu’s observations

    I could go on, but you will get the point. This was about as far as you can get from the LiveJournal-OMG-my-cat-has-just-been-sick media stereotyping of blogging. It was an illustration of something that has always been true — that the world is full of clever, thoughtful, well-informed people. What has changed is that we now have a medium in which they can talk to one another — and to newspaper reporters, of only the latter are prepared to participate in the conversation.

    I’m searching for metaphors to capture what has happened. One image that comes to mind is that of a vast auditorium or sports arena which is packed to the rafters. In the centre is a stage with a very powerful public address system capable of generating tremendous amplification. Only a few people are allowed onto the stage to speak. When they do, everyone in the stadium can hear them. But they can’t hear the audience; or if they can it’s only as an undifferentiated roar. The performers cannot hear any individual voice.

    That’s how it was when newspapers and broadcasters were in their prime. As someone who was first invited onto the stage in 1987 (and has been performing on it continuously ever since), I always felt that it was a privileged position, which carried with it commensurate responsibilities. No doubt many other journalists and columnists felt like that too. But as a group we took our privileged position for granted, and most of us didn’t notice that our technological advantage — the amplification provided by the mass-media publication machine — was eroding. Nor did many journalists notice that network technology — the ‘generative Internet’ in Jonathan Zittrain’s phrase — was busily providing members of the audience with their own global publishing machine. So suddenly we find ourselves in an arena where our amplifiers are losing power, and individual members of the audience can not only talk to one another, they can shout back at us.

    But actually, most of the time they don’t want to shout. They want to talk. They think we’re wrong about something that they know about. Or they feel we haven’t done a subject justice, or maybe have missed a trick or even the point. The challenge for mainstream journalism now is whether its practitioners want to participate in the conversation that’s now possible. My complaint about the WSJ’s reaction to the blogosphere’s reaction is that it evinced a refusal to participate. The errors made by its reporters were serious but for the most part understandable; journalism is the rushed first draft of history and we all make mistakes. The tragedy was that the Journal saw the blogosphere’s criticism as a problem, when it fact it was an opportunity.