Jun. 3rd, 2008

Denizens of the internet, this is the most important essay you will read this year.

It starts off slow and seems to be one of those kill-your-television articles that were so popular in the early nineties, but it's actually about social interaction, the Internet movement, and the way computers have revolutionised the way that society interacts with media, or rather, the fact that computers have caused society to interact with media again.

It pretty much sums up every angry knee-jerk reaction I've ever had to people talking about the internet as if it's going to eat our brains and molest our pets.

Quotes:

Starting with the Second World War a whole series of things happened--rising GDP per capita, rising educational attainment, rising life expectancy and, critically, a rising number of people who were working five-day work weeks. For the first time, society forced onto an enormous number of its citizens the requirement to manage something they had never had to manage before -- free time. And what did we do with that free time? Well, mostly we spent it watching TV.

[...]

You may remember that Pluto got kicked out of the planet club a couple of years ago, so all of a sudden there was all of this activity on Wikipedia. The talk pages light up, people are editing the article like mad, and the whole community is in an ruckus -- "How should we characterize this change in Pluto's status?" And a little bit at a time they move the article -- fighting offstage all the while -- from, "Pluto is the ninth planet," to "Pluto is an odd-shaped rock with an odd-shaped orbit at the edge of the solar system."

She heard this story and she shook her head and said, "Where do people find the time?" That was her question. And I just kind of snapped. And I said, "No one who works in TV gets to ask that question. You know where the time comes from. It comes from the cognitive surplus you've been masking for 50 years."

[...]

So if you take Wikipedia as a kind of unit, all of Wikipedia, the whole project, represents something like the cumulation of 100 million hours of human thought. I worked this out with Martin Wattenberg at IBM; it's a back-of-the-envelope calculation, but it's the right order of magnitude, about 100 million hours of thought. And television watching? Two hundred billion hours, in the U.S. alone, every year.

[...]

Did you ever see that episode of Gilligan's Island where they almost get off the island and then Gilligan messes up and then they don't? I saw that one. I saw that one a lot when I was growing up. And every half-hour that I watched that was a half an hour I wasn't posting at my blog or editing Wikipedia or contributing to a mailing list. Now I had an ironclad excuse for not doing those things, which is none of those things existed then. I was forced into the channel of media the way it was because it was the only option. Now it's not, and that's the big surprise. However lousy it is to sit in your basement and pretend to be an elf, I can tell you from personal experience it's worse to sit in your basement and try to figure if Ginger or Mary Ann is cuter.

[...]

Even lolcats, even cute pictures of kittens made even cuter with the addition of cute captions, hold out an invitation to participation. When you see a lolcat, one of the things it says to the viewer is, "If you have some sans-serif fonts on your computer, you can play this game, too." And that message -- I can do that, too -- is a big change.

Note from Sam: What it actually says is U CAN HAS LOLCAT TOO.

[...]

I was having dinner with a group of friends about a month ago, and one of them was talking about sitting with his four-year-old daughter watching a DVD. And in the middle of the movie, apropos nothing, she jumps up off the couch and runs around behind the screen. That seems like a cute moment. Maybe she's going back there to see if Dora is really back there or whatever. But that wasn't what she was doing. She started rooting around in the cables. And her dad said, "What are you doing?" And she stuck her head out from behind the screen and said, "Looking for the mouse."

Here's something four-year-olds know: A screen that ships without a mouse ships broken. Here's something four-year-olds know: Media that's targeted at you but doesn't include you may not be worth sitting still for.
SCORE!

The gift basket was almost completely depleted by three o'clock today -- the chocolate and licorice were gone, also the cookies, and we were down to basically a bowl of spicy nuts. However, into our office came a temp staffing agency, looking to pitch. We get them coming by every once in a while, but we have a contracted staffing agency so I've been given permission to politely blow them off by asking for a business card and then throwing it out when they aren't looking.

The agency came in and said, "We're here to give you candy!" and passed over a plastic jar of candy with their logo on it. Because I'm a nice person I immediately opened it and put it out for passers-by to eat, at which point the spokeswoman said "Oh! Have one for yourself, too!" and gave me another one. And also a pen to give to our staffing person, so I have a lovely new pen.

I am not ashamed to say that I picked the jawbreakers and starburst sweets out of both jars and poured the remaining candy into the bowl for everyone else. Though I did save some tootsie rolls for BossBoss, because he brings me food regularly.
Oh my god.

This evening R turned to me and said, "Did I tell you about the dead donkey?"

"No," I said, "You did not."

So he has a friend, Jay, who owns a farm, and he went out to see him on Saturday. They had a barbecue and Jay showed off their new baby donkey, who had been born a few weeks previous. Apparently they hadn't known Mama Donkey was pregnant until he was born.

At any rate, he got pneumonia literally while R was there, and wasn't looking so hot. I'm going to try and quote verbatim here:

Sam: This...this isn't going to end with a dead baby donkey, is it?
R: Well, see, he was leaning up against his mother, and she walked away and he just kind of tipped over --
Sam: -- oh my god --
R: into an electric fence. And stayed there.
Sam: Oh my god.
R: So, you know, we didn't know what to do about it, I picked up a stick and kind of...poked him off it.
Sam: You poked him off the electric fence with a stick.
R: Yeah, and they had the vet come out, but they didn't think he was going to make it through the night, and then on Sunday as I was packing up in the hotel I got a text message, "Dead donkey."
Sam: It did end with a dead baby donkey, you bastard.

Seriously, though, I'm still stuck on the part where they poked the donkey off the electric fence with a stick.

It occurs to me I need to make myself a "Talking with R" icon.

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