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Monthly Archives: March 2013

dialtones

When my home phone… you know, the bulky, heavy one, plugged in to a wireline (perhaps for sentimental reasons, at this point), rings… I don’t answer.

Ever.

It is muted. Permanently.

There’s a generation … a group of people, a dividing line, somewhere… for whom the idea of a dialtone, of verified communication, sounds insane. Most of them are kids at this point, sure, but some aren’t. To me, it is noticeable. To others, it is alien.

A dialtone.

Think about it, how many people alive today don’t know what a dialtone is? Have never heard one?

How many people do not answer their phone because they assume it’s spam?

Spam. Email… bits, translated into voice (also bits). Video. TV, or, truthfully, the constructs that TV (and to some degree radio) created.

Advertising.

Something to consider…

the reason behind windows phone’s dominance in some geographies

via daringfireball, Nick wingfield points to places in the world where Windows Phone is outselling iPhone. Gruber notes, correctly, that these are not Apple strongholds. Blackberry is also extremely popular in those geographies.

What is special about those places? Is it that they have some cultural quirk that prevents them from appreciating iOS?

No. It’s about exchange rates and import controls.

Imports to Argentina, for example, are effectively frozen. People can’t get all sorts of things, from books to electronics. Simple kitchen appliances are in some cases hard to come by. Anecdotally, I can say with some degree of certainty that people would love to get Apple products, and yet Apple products are in extremely short supply since the government denies import licenses unless you export the same amount. Car companies export grains so they can bring in cars. RIM set up a factory in the country just so they could sell phones (you can imagine Apple, given its size and scale, didn’t bother).

As reference, see this businessweek article:

After months of negotiations, [BMW] figured out a fix. The government agreed to let in BMW’s vehicles as long as the company’s Argentine subsidiary exported an equivalent amount of upholstery leather, car parts … processed rice. Echeagaray worked a deal with the Ministry of Industry to get the necessary import permits.

Russia and India are not exactly the same story but match shades of it. The exchange rate factor is a big issue too (more so in Russia and India than in Argentina) — cost of Apple products translates more directly in dollar terms, since they are manufactured in a few locations worldwide and then priced in dollar terms, as opposed to in the local manufacturing and pricing in local currencies. This makes them expensive. No doubt Apple is making a conscious decision here to avoid devaluing their products in real terms.

indiana… smith

via an old post from Mystery Man on Film, The “Raiders” Story Conference: the transcripts of meetings in 1978 during which George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and Lawrence Kasdan ironed out what would become Raiders of The Lost Ark. It is really something to see the movie unfold in the discussion, the recurring themes and references (e.g. James Bond), the highly structured way in which Lucas (in particular) approached the story-crafting process, and moments like this, when Lucas first names the character:

Kasdan: Do you have a name for this person?

Lucas: I do for our leader.

Spielberg: I hate this, but go ahead.

Lucas: Indiana Smith. It has to be unique. It’s a character. Very Americana square. He was born in Indiana.

Kasdan: What does she call him, Indy?

Lucas: That’s what I was thinking. Or Jones. Then people can call him Jones.

If you’re interested at all in art, movies, or the creative process in general, the transcript and Mystery Man’s analysis are a must-read. (Almost a Movie has more formats).

must watch (canceled) tv

There is no doubt in my mind that TV has gotten measurably better in the last decade or so. Something, I imagine, having to do with people figuring out how to really create art in a medium that is relatively young by historical standards. Setting aside the vagaries of the physical medium of TV (which Netflix, with House of Cards just proved pretty convincingly didn’t matter, if HBO hadn’t done that already…) there’s the episodic nature of it, the idea that this isn’t something you go watch in a theater but that you experience at home, either by yourself or with others.

Sometimes TV Series are canceled before they even get to the point of even closing off the story in a good way, usually after one season. Every once in a while those canceled series still stand the test of time, and even if the story is left unfinished they’re still worth watching. I thought I’d add a two here that fall in that category, with the caveat that if you get into them you should fully expect to be frustrated when you reach the end.

Rubicon (13 episodes, 1 season, 2010)

rubicon-showPerhaps what I appreciate the most about Rubicon is the silences. No dialog, just long stretches in which people do what they do in everyday life… like being in their apartment by themselves, for example. Not constant action and interaction between characters…. But people being alone and still moving the story forward. This is extraordinarily difficult to pull off and Rubicon does it really well. Almost everything in Rubicon is against the grain. It’s a conspiracy thriller set in our post-9/11 world with a distinct 1970s vibe, where people carry around huge piles of paper, memos, and reports and rarely use computers. Subtle character building instead of in-your-face exposition. Steady but slow story building, with strands emerging until it all comes together in the last few episodes. As far I can tell it is only available through Amazon Instant Video, but you may be able to find it through, um, other means. AMC has dropped the ball on not having this on iTunes, or DVD/Blu-Ray. Then again, they nearly destroyed The Walking Dead in Season 2, and almost managed to kill Mad Men over some silly argument around a few extra minutes per episode, so I’m not that surprised. I’m rooting for them to do better, though.

If you like movies like The Conversation (1974), Three Days Of The Condor (1975) or The Parallax View (1974) then you are sure to enjoy this series. Note the dates on those movies — not a coincidence.

SGU: Stargate Universe (40 episodes, 2 seasons, 2009-2011)

260px-SGUTVlogoStargate became, to some degree, the heir of Star Trek as a TV Science Fiction franchise, but SGU took things to the next level. The writing is spectacularly good, and the “cliche problem” is almost non-existent, as are occurrences of Deus ex machinas  (I say again: almost). SF classics like Rama and 2001: A Space Odyssey are clearly strong influences here. It is available pretty much everywhere, including Netflix. It ends with a semi-cliffhanger that will almost certainly never be properly resolved (maybe a Kickstarter campaign could fix that… but I’m not holding my breath).

If you like the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica then this series is a must-watch. It is one of the few series I’ve seen that does Science Fiction right (two others that come to mind at the moment are Caprica and Firefly, both cancelled as well — perhaps the subject of a follow-up post). Watching SGU makes you wonder if its writers and producers were also following Ron Moore’s “Battlestar Galactica Series Bible” (Google that, if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

The BSG Bible has more to say about the “cliche problem” I mentioned before:

Story. We will eschew the usual stories about parallel universes, time-travel, mindcontrol, evil twins, God-like powers and all the other cliches of the genre. Our show is first and foremost a drama. It is about people. Real people that the audience can identify with and become engaged in. It is not a show about hardware or bizarre alien cultures. It is a show about us. It is an allegory for our own society, our own people and it should be immediately recognizable to any member of the audience. 

(My emphasis). SGU does “break” those rules now and again, certainly more than BSG ever did. But it does it not do it because it’s out of things to say, but in the interest of the overall story arc, which in my mind makes it acceptable. For BSG, for example, Edward James Olmos revealed later that he had a clause  in his contract that no strange aliens or monsters would ever appear on the show, because he wanted to insure that the story stay focused on human drama (basically if a monster or alien showed up, he would just drop dead of a heart attack at that point). Apparently, this made the writers nervous when the introduced the concept of Hybrids but Olmos was fine with that because it fit the story and was a natural outgrowth of it (thank the Gods! heh). What SGU does is generally within that framework.

So, enjoy! And be prepared to scream (silently… or not) at your TV at the end. You are going to wish these series had arrived at an appropriate conclusion.

remembering

“The movie will begin in five moments,” the mindless voice announced. All those unseated will await the next show. We filed slowly and languidly into the hall. The auditorium was vast and silent. As we were seated and were darkened, the voice continued.

“The program for this evening is not new. You’ve seen this entertainment through and through. You’ve seen your birth, your life and death. You might recall all the rest. Did you have a good world when you died?… Enough to base a movie on?”

ghost stories

You think it will never happen to you, that it cannot happen to you, that you are the only person in the world to whom none of these things will ever happen, and then, one by one, they all begin to happen to you, in the same way they happen to everyone else.

 Paul Auster, Winter Journal

Solipsistic. That’s the word I’m looking for.

We all experience solipsism at times, and consciously applied it can be a refuge, even if not quite a philosophy. A natural reaction, probably, at the attack on the ego that are shared experiences. After all, if nothing is real, nothing can hurt you. Right? Biographies can bridge the gap, to climb out of the hole, at least briefly. They’re also about ghosts, beyond the more classical definition of the word: the ghosts of who yourself and others were.

Ghost stories. The ethereal presence of past selves that hang around us, unbidden, unshakable.

I’ve been re-reading three this week. Two autobiographies, neither of which, perhaps appropriately, was written in the first person, and one biography.

The first is Winter Journal by Paul Auster. Maybe not his best work, but still worthwhile. Subdued, fragmentary. Nowhere near the power of The Invention of Solitude. Written in the second person, it feels disembodied at times even as he describes the physical in detail: “a catalog of sensory data,” he says at some point, and after all this is much of what consumes life, living, death, dying. The narrative nudges, rather than pushes, forward. It ends up feeling like a meditative exercise.

Joseph Anton: A Memoir, the second book, is on the other hand like being thrust into the edge of a tornado. You can see the calm center of the storm, integral to it but out of reach, as you spin wildly on its edges. This is may also not Rushdie’s best, but to place it against works of fiction, however autobiographically informed they may be, is a disservice in my mind. “Life and death” feels real in these pages, and I doubt any one of us could have done better at navigating the choices he faced. Fear is palpable, so is anger: he could have easily borrowed the title from his 2001 book: Fury. Writing it in third person as he did may have been the only way to frame these experiences.

Rushdie’s celebrity status is responsible for a lot of the negative reaction towards this book, but it’s an important work, and I tend to ignore what surrounds the celebrity obsession within the book, wives, girlfriends, meeting Bono… and focus instead on the struggle around the fatwa and The Satanic Verses. Self-publishing is revolutionary and is happening in this area is important and in any case would happen no matter what. But disintermediation can have the effect of, um, disintermediating and therefore exposing bare an artist, leaving them without a support structure. What would happen today, I wonder, if instead of principled editors and publishers all that stood between an artist and a murder proclamation was… the complaints department at Amazon?

I wonder.

This applies more broadly. The very force that gives everyone a voice may be also be empowering those who want nothing but to take our voices away (think China, or Iran, or Syria, or…).

Irony.

Which brings me to Every Love Story Is A Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace, by D. T. Max, and perhaps the best book I read last year. Here, finally, a biography written in third person about a third person. It could also have been subtitled “DFW’s Battles With Irony And Addiction,” although it didn’t deal exclusively with that of course, and I use the word “with” carefully here, since it doesn’t univocally mean against. What follows is a brief passage that illustrates well not only some of these ideas but also makes visible to different degrees strands that are woven throughout the book and the story, and DFW’s life.

America was, Wallace now knew, a nation of addicts, unable to see that what looked like love freely given was really need neurotically and chronically unsatisfied. The effect of Leyner’s fictional approach to life—mutated, roving, uncommitted—like that of Letterman and Saturday Night Live—was to make our addiction seem clever, deliberate, entered into voluntarily. Wallace knew better. And now he was far clearer on why we were all so hooked. It was not TV as a medium that had rendered us addicts, powerful though it was. It was, far more dangerously, an attitude toward life that TV had learned from fiction, especially from postmodern fiction, and then had reinforced among its viewers, and that attitude was irony. Irony, as Wallace defined it, was not in and of itself bad. Indeed, irony was the traditional stance of the weak against the strong; there was power in implying what was too dangerous to say. Postmodern fiction’s original ironists—writers like Pynchon and sometimes Barth—were telling important truths that could only be told obliquely, he felt. But irony got dangerous when it became a habit. Wallace quoted Lewis Hyde, whose pamphlet on John Berryman and alcohol he had read in his early months at Granada House: “Irony has only emergency use. Carried over time, it is the voice of the trapped who have come to enjoy the cage.” Then he continued: “This is because irony, entertaining as it is, serves an almost exclusively negative function. It’s critical and destructive, a ground-clearing….[I]rony’s singularly unuseful when it comes to constructing anything to replace the hypocrisies it debunks. That was it exactly—irony was defeatist, timid, the telltale of a generation too afraid to say what it meant, and so in danger of forgetting it had anything to say.”

D.T. Max., Every Love Story Is A Ghost Story

Life. Addiction. Irony. Death. There are no simple, clean, tidy answers, and fragmentary is an appropriately recurring idea.

DFW, commenting on Infinite Jest once said that the novel was “[…] sort of what it’s like to be alive […] really a very pretty pane of glass that had been dropped off the twentieth story of a building.”

Indeed.

snatched away

yiKnowing it’s coming doesn’t help. “Too soon,” you think, still. Faced with loss, your vocabulary feels incomplete; you are left grasping at metaphors. Even those don’t feel quite right. You discard them, reluctantly, all but one.

A life unfairly snatched away. Then again, when is it fair?

Too soon.

Yi. I’ll miss you.

We turn away 
to face the cold, enduring chill

As the day begs the night for mercy love
The sun so bright it leaves no shadows
Only scars
Carved into stone
On the face of earth
The moon is up and over One Tree Hill
We see the sun go down in your eyes

You run like a river, on like a sea
You run like a river runs to the sea

And in the world a heart of darkness
A fire zone
Where poets speak their heart
Then bleed for it
Jara sang – his song a weapon
In the hands of one
though his blood still cries
From the ground

It runs like a river runs to the sea
It runs like a river to the sea

I don’t believe in painted roses
Or bleeding hearts
While bullets rape the night of the merciful
I’ll see you again
When the stars fall from the sky
And the moon has turned red
Over One Tree Hill

We run like a river
Runs to the sea
We run like a river to the sea
And when it’s raining
Raining hard
That’s when the rain will
Break your heart

Raining…raining in your heart
Raining into your heart
Raining…
Raining your heart into the sea

Oh great ocean
Oh great sea
Run to the ocean
Run to the sea

assume good intentions

A good friend once told me: “Assume good intentions.” Those three words have been hugely influential in my world view in the last few years. Once you make this idea explicit it can shape how you think about what others do in significant ways.

I was reading today about some of the brouhaha surrounding Lean In and the whole why-is-a-billionaire-woman-telling-women-everywhere-what-to-do thing and there was a reference for the launch of Circles.

Gina & Team: congratulations on the launch, it must have been a crazy effort and it looks great.

It seems it’s been building up for a while (the controversy around the book, that is) but I had not seen it until today when I read this article in The New Yorker.

Why I bring this up is that what keeps coming back to me in all of this is how our perspective in the Valley is sometimes clouded by second-hand opinions, innuendo, and gossip, for example around who got funded by whom or which idea is “in”. Yes, this is not unique to the Valley, but it happens frequently here and so I can attest to it, in my own backyard (so to speak… the actual inhabitants of my shared backyard are bluebirds and squirrels).

Putting yourself out there, through a book, art, or even, yes, software, is a hard thing to do. People misunderstand and misinterpret your intentions and motivations constantly, and the schadenfreude that is sadly all-too-common makes things even harder. But we are all just people, trying to do the best we can. The number of significant zeros in your bank account doesn’t change that in most cases. And I say that  having very few significant zeros left in my own bank account.

But, funny thing (not ha-ha funny), most of the people that have such strong opinions on these things have never done them. They “talk about the book” without having “read the book.” (You really need to read The New Yorker article to get this reference). Some of my brothers-in-arms work at Evernote, but do they get press and coverage when they “just” keep an awesome service/app running? No. They get press when someone breaks into their systems.

Controversy sells.

Don’t get me wrong: critics are good> But it’s a matter of degrees. I’m not saying you need to write a book to be able to critique a book, or that you need to start a company to be give your opinion on how ist should be run, but at the very least spend a moment and consider the effort involved. Avoid ad hominems. Forget about money for a second. Consider how much of their lives these people are sacrificing trying to do something.

Assume good intentions.

I bet that if you did that you’d find yourself a bit more forgiving of missteps, a bit more understanding, a bit more willing to believe.

And for those who are doing it, regardless of the scope or (apparent) size of your project, here’s something I could not say out loud because it would sound terrible given my accent… but I can write it: Gina, Sheryl, and all of you out there who are putting yourselves, your sanity, on the line for an idea: Give ’em hell.

🙂

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