Thursday, May 27

People Who Make Websites

Have you ever been to a tech-y conference? This was my first time: the first thing that struck me, amazed and annoyed me, was about half the audience, from my perspective, seemed totally OK spending a good chunk of presentation time checking gmail, Twitter, and… eBay!? I assume most of these people weren’t paying their own way (I wasn’t either) — the pricetag is a hefty $1k — and I’m guessing they didn’t feel much urgency of getting the most bang for the buck. Or other people are much better at multitasking than I. Or they’re totally rude. Or I’m an old-fashioned prig. I don’t know. I obviously don’t get these things.

Anyway, that was my first clue that An Event Apart was not so apart — slightly askew, perhaps? I’m not a conference-goer at all (I can only hope this continues to be so) but this is about what I expected an average one to be. Am I wrong? Are even the best so flawed?

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Friday, March 19
In the early days of Macintosh, before Microsoft Windows, Apple’s evangelists told everyone that the average Mac user used more different programs to get their work done than the average DOS user. I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I believe it was something like 1 or 2 programs for the average DOS user versus twelve programs for a Mac user. The reason was that it was so easy to learn a new program on the Mac because they generally worked the same way.

Consistency and Other Hobgoblins - Joel on Software

Great article from the archives. Applies just as much today, and interesting in light of new UI metaphors of touch interfaces.

I am learning InDesign at my job now, which is laughable for a few reasons, but wow is the interface a nightmare. Its user model is understandably weighed towards the dinosaurs who’ve been using it since 1.0 and are used to its quirks, but there’s stuff in there that no Mac user should have to see, ever, period. Cmd-tabbing into Photoshop is a relief, if you can believe it.

Today, for me — iPod aside — it’s all about the browser and the command line. I’m starting see why “small pieces loosely joined” is so powerful exactly for the reasons Joel writes about ten years ago (and I’m sure many more before him): consistency and usability. Think of how quickly you can learn a new web app today. The first time I really used MyFonts.com, an extremely powerful app for font browsing, I knew how to use it, instantly, undoubtably due to its fantastic design but also to the plain fact that it sits in my browser.

So where I can I’m using less and less desktop apps, especially Apple’s (I’m forced to use Adobe’s) — I’m the DOS user who can’t run too many applications because they’re all different and it’s confusing and too much of a pain. To pick on Adobe again, have you ever tried to use Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign and Lightroom all in the same day? I hit cmd-E in Lightroom, expecting to export the selected photos (like in InDesign); instead it converts the enormous files tiffs and shoots them over to Photoshop (which has to launch), and depending on the day this little operation can hijack my computer for ten minutes. And to a lesser extent, Snow Leopard is different in lots of little, frustrating ways from Leopard: just look at the dock.

Contrast the increasingly confusing UI patterns of OS X and desktop apps with the command line, though. Unix is complex and it costs time to learn but once you get it you get everything, because it’s consistent. That’s why it works: everything is just text bouncing around; anyone or thing is free to grab it and do something useful. The Unix pipe — the stringing together of processes so the output of one becomes the input of the next — is indicative of how a workflow can be so integrated in this enviornment. That doesn’t happen with a lot of desktop apps; if it does, you have to really search for it.

Tuesday, March 2
If you’re ever at a party with a bunch of librarians, make sure you get into an argument about ebooks; it’ll be good.

I do agree with my bibliomaniacal friends about one thing: ebooks are not a replacement for books (despite their industry’s imminent collapse). Books do what they do very well and have been doing well for many, many years — and they continue to do it well. There is just no replacement for the weight and papercuts, not to mention the bad smell. (Kidding). And the most important part: you can look smart on the subway.

Pictured above is Instapaper, now version 2.2, with the wonderful pagination feature. It’s a bit old-hat now to rave about this program, but in the last few weeks I’ve totally changed my hour-both-ways commute into reading time. As much as this surpises me, I look forward to the commute because of this. When I was a kid I loved coming home to a new MacAddict magazine. This is the same feeling. There’s wonderful writing out there, everyday, that I can’t wait to get to.

I like Instapaper because it makes this possible on a crappy little harsh screen. Because it treats the text well. No ads, no flash, very little formatting, dead simple. I’ve never used anything else like this. Especially not on my big monitor. Certainly not, for instance, the online edition of New York Times. It’s like the entire website and all of its articles and advertisers are jumping at you, competing for attention. It’s one reason why reading anything of length on the internet is so difficult. Another reason is the windowed OS. It’s too easy to completely switch frames and follow an entirely different narrative thread. It’s too easy, you switch too often, and it becomes destructive.

Instapaper + iPod solves this. It’s so odd to treat a mere blog post to such a wonderfully simple layout that fills the screen. It’s as if it were worth reading, fit to print. As it turns out, for me, lots of blogs are.

Also, Dear Marco: please devise a way to let the volume control paginate, if only because it’s annoying to have something so perfectly designed for such a thing not to do it.

If you’re ever at a party with a bunch of librarians, make sure you get into an argument about ebooks; it’ll be good.

I do agree with my bibliomaniacal friends about one thing: ebooks are not a replacement for books (despite their industry’s imminent collapse). Books do what they do very well and have been doing well for many, many years — and they continue to do it well. There is just no replacement for the weight and papercuts, not to mention the bad smell. (Kidding). And the most important part: you can look smart on the subway.

Pictured above is Instapaper, now version 2.2, with the wonderful pagination feature. It’s a bit old-hat now to rave about this program, but in the last few weeks I’ve totally changed my hour-both-ways commute into reading time. As much as this surpises me, I look forward to the commute because of this. When I was a kid I loved coming home to a new MacAddict magazine. This is the same feeling. There’s wonderful writing out there, everyday, that I can’t wait to get to.

I like Instapaper because it makes this possible on a crappy little harsh screen. Because it treats the text well. No ads, no flash, very little formatting, dead simple. I’ve never used anything else like this. Especially not on my big monitor. Certainly not, for instance, the online edition of New York Times. It’s like the entire website and all of its articles and advertisers are jumping at you, competing for attention. It’s one reason why reading anything of length on the internet is so difficult. Another reason is the windowed OS. It’s too easy to completely switch frames and follow an entirely different narrative thread. It’s too easy, you switch too often, and it becomes destructive.

Instapaper + iPod solves this. It’s so odd to treat a mere blog post to such a wonderfully simple layout that fills the screen. It’s as if it were worth reading, fit to print. As it turns out, for me, lots of blogs are.

Also, Dear Marco: please devise a way to let the volume control paginate, if only because it’s annoying to have something so perfectly designed for such a thing not to do it.

Monday, February 22

Zoinks

It’s crazy how important identity is. To me at least. Even now, a couple years after college, I still wonder what people in my philosophy class would think of what I’m doing. It’s such a potent thought that I sometimes even stop doing what I’m doing.

Really? Really? Let me recommend never taking a class with super intelligent folks when you yourself want desperately to seem super intelligent though you aren’t and really aren’t even willing to put the time in to do so. It messes with ya.

Last summer I quit my job and spent a couple months writing lots of code that ended up doing pretty simple stuff. (Simple, yes, but complex to me in that I hadn’t ever really written actual code before, so the entire process was new. I’ve put some of the results on github to embarrass myself.) It was an experiment in alternating between bliss and self loathing. Bliss when the world around me disappeared and there was only pointers, class interfaces, algorithms and view controllers; loathing when the sensible part of me surfaced and recalled I had been sitting in front of a screen for eight hours and forgot to eat or hang out with friends.

OK, I’m exaggerating a little, I never truly geeked out and really disappeared for months — that would have been ideal; I would have been sent along the merry path to developerhood and that’s where I’d be today. But I’m still in half-worlds, and I still cringe (a little) at the thought of staring at screens all day.

Coffee helps. (And it will hurt later when the caffeine addiction gets unmanageable.) Sitting in a coffeeshop is huge. It’s a big fat legitimization of whatever it is I’m doing. I’m no longer some weird guy holed up in his room tapping and clicking away — it is ok to be zoned out in front of a laptop screen for hours. (Well, unless lots of people actually want to sit down to eat, in which case a manager will yell at me. But then I feel even better.) I think I get about three times more work done than I do at home. And it’s for the very simple reason I don’t get distracted because I don’t feel wrong about what I’m doing or who I am. That makes a scary sort of sense that I can’t feel comfortable with myself at home — scarier still when I think of the money spent each week on rather unhealthy food and the power of this mysterious black liquid that helps me put off deciding who I really am.

Who should I be? I think I’ve always wanted to be a writer, from all the way back in 5th grade. But I couldn’t write, so I started coding. But that was too hard, so I’m in design now. Print’s too tricky, so I’m trying to balance comfortably between learning web development and web design. I totally haven’t decided, and I get flustered whenever I have to say “I am a …”

Anyway, this is all on my mind because today I’m visiting an art school, and I have a feeling it’s going to be full of folks who have solid images of who they are and what they’re doing and so on. I forget how important school is in legitimizing all that.

Monday, December 28

Some thoughts on Avatar

Yes, the story is mostly crap (Disney’s Pocahontas in space, I think has been said) but the visuals are excellent. I’m interested in the potential of 3D — especially now that it appears more and more of it will be shoved in front of us film goers — and I noticed the following:

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Saturday, December 12

I’ve been playing with Typekit, and marveling at the beautiful fonts available. (FF Meta Web, for instance.) If you’re interested, the pros and cons of Typekit are discussed in detail at i love typography’s review.

But wow — there’s a huge difference in rendering across browsers and platforms. And no wonder: take Tim Brown’s essay at A List Apart and his overview of the font-creation-to-screen process:

  1. A glyph starts as a bezier-based shape.

  2. This shape is made in or brought into a font-creation program such as FontLab.

  3. Settings such as UPM (units per em), key dimensions (for vertical measurements such as x-height, cap height, ascenders and descenders), and metrics (for horizontal measurements such as sidebearings and kerning) determine how the letterform will act as a glyph in a font—e.g., how much room it will occupy at a given size, how close other letters may live.

  4. Hinting or instructions are added (automatically and/or manually) which can provide directions to conserve the font’s design character in environments where less-than ideal output is to be employed.

  5. The glyph is exported as part of a font, in either OTF or TTF format (in this context, I am ignoring all other formats—let me know if I shouldn’t). TrueType hints are ditched if the font is OTF.

  6. The glyph is confronted by operating-system-level and browser-level rendering algorithms. I am still trying to list these combinations for myself. I would want to cross-reference technologies such as Quartz and ClearType with headings such as OS rendering engine, browser rendering engine, result of combination (overrides, any ignored font data).

  7. User settings in various places (browser preferences, OS preferences) can modify how and when the rendering engines interact with font files. Windows users can turn ClearType on or off. Users can turn antialiasing off altogether. Certain preferences can limit the size at which antialiasing is applied. Listing these variables is another item on my to-do list.

  8. Finally, there are the physical qualities of a user’s hardware, such as the kind of monitor they use, its resolution, whether they run it at native resolution or not, and their settings for color and luminosity.

Steps 6-8 are out of a designer’s hands, and must be worked around.

Here’s a comparison of two different renderings of FF Meta Web Serif. Top is IE 6 on Windows XP, bottom is Safari on 10.6 — essentially the worst and best rendering available, respectively, in terms of being true to the font.

They may as well be two different fonts. The kerning is also different, which may affect the line character counts, causing IE to drop ‘adipiscing’ to the next line where Safari doesn’t. Look closely at the ‘u’ in the paragraph ‘ipsum’ (not the heading): it’s much further apart from the ‘s’ in IE. (Oddly, the heading ‘ipsum’ appears to be kerned the same.) Here’s what happens if you combine both versions of the first paragraph line:

I guess it’s good that IE 6 even renders the font, it being like 8 years old. IE 7 and 8 and later versions of Windows do better jobs, I think, so this becomes less of an issue as more (most) people upgrade. Still, for the picky designer, yikes.

Monday, November 2
Friday, October 30

Thus the oft-heard claim that the death of a language means the death of a culture puts the cart before the horse. When the culture dies, naturally the language dies along with it. The reverse, however, is not necessarily true. Groups do not find themselves in the bizarre circumstance of having all of their traditional cultural accoutrements in hand only to find themselves incapable of indigenous expression because they no longer speak the corresponding language. Native American groups would bristle at the idea that they are no longer meaningfully “Indian” simply because they no longer speak their ancestral tongue. Note also the obvious and vibrant black American culture in the United States, among people who speak not Yoruba but English.

The main loss when a language dies is not cultural but aesthetic. The click sounds in certain African languages are magnificent to hear. In many Amazonian languages, when you say something you have to specify, with a suffix, where you got the information. The Ket language of Siberia is so awesomely irregular as to seem a work of art.

John McWhorter in World Affairs

I’m currently working with an — unorthodox — linguist, Richard, who is also a back-to-the-land hippy slash photographer; his project of the last few decades is to help preserve the language of the Penobscot Indian tribe in Maine. The last fluent native speaker (according to some) Madeline died a decade ago. Richard was able to record Madeline’s voice and put together a slideshow presentation, pairing his photos of Indian life with Madeline’s response to them in Penobscot. It’s an interesting project, by no means academically rigorous, but meaningful and beautiful in its own way.

It’s interesting how a dying language is treated. Outsiders race to preserve it and those of the culture that “dies” are often offended — from what I’ve heard many native American tribes are understandably suspicious of the “White Man’s” involvement. The language and its preservation become politicized. The Penobscots are currently battling the academic opinion that their language is “extinct” and, accordingly, any efforts to “preserve” it.

Gosh, I know almost nothing about Madeline, or the Penobscot tribe, or, really, linguistics. But I find it hard to believe that, when she died, only an ‘aesthetic’ was lost. Madeline was, first of all, a superb basket maker. I can’t find any photos online now of her work, but there are some of an apprentice’s. (When the work I’m doing comes online, there will be many available.)

She was also humorous, smart, insightful. One of my favorite quotes in the project is her response to a photo of one of her baskets:

That’s mine. I made that one. That’s like a wedding basket, and I gave that to my girlfriend, and she guessed, she said is that a wedding basket? I said, No, it isn’t, I didn’t want to say yes and get her hopes up too high. [Speaks penobscot…] “I gave her a basket so she can get married” … she’ll kill me if she ever hears that.

Here’s another nice quote, from an online article Last of the Penobscots:

“When I showed Madeline a picture of the outfall from the Lincoln Pulp and Paper Mill—and make no mistake, this is an insult to the Penobscot people, the crap that it pukes into the river,” [Richard] Garrett remembers. “I figured, Oh well. She’s not going to know what this is. But that wasn’t the case at all.”

Here, Garrett quotes [Madeline] Tomer in Penobscot, words that translate to “That’s the white man’s bad medicine.”

I suppose if you can neatly separate language and those who use it, it’s natural to call it an aesthetic. It’s true that Madeline did, after all, speak English, and that’s certainly the only way I (for one) understand her. But to say objectively that what a language means ultimately reduces to the difference between pronouncing “dizz-gusting” and “dis-gusting” (McWhorter’s example) amplified over centuries and millennia of random evolution, seems at best disrespectful to those who live in a language. What it means to them is likely much more. I know that, for myself, many English words have incredibly rich emotional associations, in certain contexts, spoken by certain people. But I do agree with McWhorter’s sentiment that one cannot say, for instance, a Native American culture is “dead” because no one speaks the language.

Monday, October 19

I wish…

I could write in the car. I mean while driving. Alone. Not just words, an essay. Write an entire essay, edited and all, while driving alone in my car. I don’t mean a high school essay, where I start with a topic sentence and end with its synonym, a real essay, one with rhythm and time and that wanders a bit, stops here and there, each paragraph is a rest or a go, with a real destination, but it’s not in sight until nearly the end, where the arrival time is just an estimate… where I start with a rough map, in my head it’s a few arguments or phrases or ideas, but the actual words coming out are something else, take on life, each word is another map… where a word might be misleading and I’m off course and going back in my head for the wrong turn and recreating the steps and finding new words and signs and a different route…

Well, I wish I could write, too.

Tuesday, October 13

More thoughts on the filesystem

(Note: this is from my other tumblelog, which hopefully I’ll be updating regularly.)

wineofbean:

Earlier this year John Gruber wrote about “Untitled Document Syndrome”:

Saving a document for the first time is a minor chore, but it’s a chore nonetheless. The avoidance of such a minor chore is not rational; it is neither particularly complicated nor time consuming to hit Command-S and deal with the Save dialog.

Which I happen to have an awful case of, and I consider myself to be a fairly competent computer user. It’s not rare for me to have four or five TextEdit documents full of notes minimized along with one or two essay-ish Pages documents. To be honest I actually like this method, that somehow letting documents sit around open and unsaved, keeps the ideas percolating and forces a survival of the fittest to determine which document will, at the end of the day, actually be saved.

But another reason I hate saving documents yet unfinished is that by placing an actual file somewhere, I know that I’ll have to define and categorize it (I rarely rename or move a file after it’s been saved). The file system works against me in this instance: when I want to write something, the metaphor is picking up a notebook and scribbling something down. I don’t file away the notebook or tear out the pages I just wrote. The only categorization I’ve done so far is picking up the notebook.

As Gruber and LKM have written, programs like Yojimbo and iPhoto solve this partially by mostly doing away with hierarchical structure; their organizational “flatland” is much more like the scrapbook or notebook, which are meant for one thing: getting things done. Because we all like to get things done, saving the document is done as quickly as possible, and in a “file-based” application (e.g., Photoshop, TextEdit, Pages) this usually means stuff goes on the ~/Desktop, or if one is slightly more skillful, in ~/Documents; rarely, say, ~/Documents/Academics/2007/Spring/PH412/notesonrousseau.rtf (yes, I used to do this.)

The Finder is undoubtedly tough on the average user; when I’m helping someone with their Mac it’s a surprise to see an uncluttered desktop. It takes a real geek or a highly organized person to do this. Gruber wrote on the Finder’s hierarchical structure back in 2003:

But every single person who wrote expressing satisfaction with the current OS X Finder had one thing in common: they are all computer nerds.

The browser metaphor the OS X Finder relies on requires you to understand and to be conscious of the hierarchical structure of your volumes. That you can open two windows viewing the same files requires you to understand how it can be that you’re looking at the same file in two places at once, and not two separate files. That’s great for some people; it’s not so great for many others.

I think the solution lies in applications, not the Finder, which will never be all organizational metaphors to all types of documents. Yojimbo and iPhoto are two examples of apps taking their own approach, and if you’ve used both you know they have very different ways of organizing stuff. And that’s good (at least for me) because mentally I treat family photos differently than scrapbook-like clippings and notes. Then there’s iTunes, Lightroom and Aperture, Mail, iCal, Coda, many more, all with their own ways of organizing documents/events/emails/etc. It’s easy to argue that some (especially the iLife) apps are “too simple” compared to the Finder’s browser, but this is definitely the geek perspective, holding the Finder and a hierarchical filesystem to be a self-evident Truth and plainly intuitive. They aren’t, and I don’t think they reflect how a user really treats documents.

Monday, October 12

Why Christopher Buckley Wins

Recently I was asked — no, accosted — at a friendly dinner party at my parent’s house, “So, what do you think about Milton Friedman?”

(Mind, my parents live in Hippy Hideout of central Maine, where Friedman represents something like unadulterated evil.)

I should preface this by saying Pop and I usually argue about the normative role of governments and markets and, on a scale, I’m much more “free market” than he, lately acquiring the epithet “Friedman-ite,” which has apparently caught on.

I suppose it comes from my admiration for Adam Smith, who is for whatever reason seen here as the gateway drug to the Friedman Faith, which may be a bit unfair to Smith but that’s another story…

The truth is I don’t think much about Milton Friedman, in the sense that I don’t know much about him, either as a historical figure or as a thinker. I have a few of his books but haven’t read them. I know he represents “the free market” but a) I hate that phrase and b) he’s a polarizing figure drawn like a weapon for political purposes, so there may be some distinction between what he represents and what he is.

But all that is irrelevant, because this is a dinner party, I’ve been baited for an argument. And yes I love arguments, but, well…

Arguments at parties are, in my experience, ways to signal affiliation and (more rarely) intelligence or status. Which is fine and pleasant until an argument actually takes off, the people involved trying in earnest to prove their point, which for reasons above won’t happen. What’s worse is when the argument is about something really abstract — God or the macroeconomy — in which case many people have very strong opinions, and it’s incredibly easy to step on lots of toes. If, rather, the argument was about how a motorcycle works, it precludes any non-mechanic from arguing, and as a bonus listeners might learn something technical or practical. But the arguments I hear are rarely about something practical because at that point a person’s pride may be threatened: a motorcycle repairman will feel it a personal attack to question his expertise.

At my house the touchy subject is pets: in our circle of friends and relatives, no one’s pets get along, some pets don’t get along with some people, everyone loves his or her pets, we all probably have something productive and useful to say about certain pets, yet we stay away from arguing, presumably because the likelihood of the argument erupting towards physical violence is quite high.

Yeah, pretty lame.

The point: here’s my dilemma: what’s my optimal response? It is a party and of course I care about status; I can’t just say “not much.” If I argue, nothing will be gained.

Luckily satire gets around it. Making fun means neither remaining silent nor actively agreeing or disagreeing with a theory. I guess it’s time to work on my macroeconomic jokes.

Thursday, September 24
Yesterday I met Sue. Sue is the largest, most complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton around. When I looked up at her head like so my mind skipped. It connected those bones to tendons, the tendons to muscles, the muscles to skin and so on until I pictured this impossibly real monster two seconds away from chomping my head off.

The fact of the material bone seemed to be important. Something deep and essential connected those old preserved bones and the specific living creature that they supported millions of years ago. I wasn’t thinking about Tyrannosaurs as a species, just Sue, the individual, this particular thing that existed, that couldn’t be described in a textbook or with diagrams. For the same reason we love looking at a real Monet, or feel that we must run up the steps and pump a fist before entering the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I was terrified and fascinated before Sue.

I happened by this William James quote after:


  The first thing the intellect does with an object is to class it along with something else. But any object that is infinitely important to us and awakens our devotion feels to us also if it must be sui generis and unique. Probably a crab would be filled with a sense of personal outrage if it could hear us class it without ado or apology as a crustacean, and thus dispose of it. “I am no such thing,” it would say; “I am myself, myself alone.”


A crab, perhaps, but I wouldn’t want to anger this one.

….

Later, I discovered that Sue’s head is actually a replica. The real thing is too heavy to pose. There goes my point.

Yesterday I met Sue. Sue is the largest, most complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton around. When I looked up at her head like so my mind skipped. It connected those bones to tendons, the tendons to muscles, the muscles to skin and so on until I pictured this impossibly real monster two seconds away from chomping my head off.

The fact of the material bone seemed to be important. Something deep and essential connected those old preserved bones and the specific living creature that they supported millions of years ago. I wasn’t thinking about Tyrannosaurs as a species, just Sue, the individual, this particular thing that existed, that couldn’t be described in a textbook or with diagrams. For the same reason we love looking at a real Monet, or feel that we must run up the steps and pump a fist before entering the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I was terrified and fascinated before Sue.

I happened by this William James quote after:

The first thing the intellect does with an object is to class it along with something else. But any object that is infinitely important to us and awakens our devotion feels to us also if it must be sui generis and unique. Probably a crab would be filled with a sense of personal outrage if it could hear us class it without ado or apology as a crustacean, and thus dispose of it. “I am no such thing,” it would say; “I am myself, myself alone.”

A crab, perhaps, but I wouldn’t want to anger this one.

….

Later, I discovered that Sue’s head is actually a replica. The real thing is too heavy to pose. There goes my point.

Wednesday, September 9

mrgan:

I love the Dashboard, I hate the Dashboard.

The dashboard is a strange beast. When I started using Tumblr I struggled to get it. First problem: no read/unread indication. If you’re following a certain number of tumbelogs and you step away for a day, it can be difficult to find where you left off. Second problem: if you have the first problem, you have a lot of entries to read, and you’re loading page after page. Tumblr solved this partially with “endless scrolling” but created another problem: if you leave an endless scrolling session, it won’t automatically scroll back to where you were on return. I have to remember to open all links in new tabs.

dashboard

I actually spent a month or two this summer developing an iPhone app that lets you organize and read your dashboard more like an RSS reader. Unfortunately there’s no API that lets me grab a user’s dashboard or following list. I ended up screen-scraping the www.tumblr.com/following page, but it became clear that would break easily (in fact Tumblr recently changed /following and the code no longer works).

[Yes, I know that you can just add all of your following list to an actual RSS reader. But that takes time if you haven’t already, and this would do it automagically. There are also a few features you don’t get from the RSS feeds.]

There’s another reason I stopped developing the app: I started to enjoy the dashboard. It’s more like a twitter-stream than it is a collection of RSS feeds. There’s something thrilling about its apparent disorganization. I know that clicking on that “Tumblr” bookmark means instant stimulation; something interesting will be posted. There’s a montage-y quality in throwing together disparate tumblelogs, one begins to pick out patterns and threads spanning many blogs and people that ultimately defy any kind of imposed organization.

With Tumblr you get a strong diachronic sense of what’s happening — posts coming one-after-another through time. It’s like reading. You just follow one word after another. The important part is that you know where to go next.

Contrast this with nytimes.com. The newspaper lays out articles synchronically; i.e., they are meant to be there at the same time. The entirety of nytimes homepage feels as though it should be read as one piece. Which is why I usually never read anything when I visit the homepage. This layout works for a physical paper, because a) it’s all you are holding, b) it’s easier to practically see the whole thing at once and c) the content doesn’t change so you feel you can say: I read thursday’s New York Times.

As comparison I think ft.com does a better job. Headline articles are presented in a single-column list. This facilities diachronic understanding much better.

nytimes.com and ft.com

But articles, blog posts, tweets are not part of a complete package like The New York Times. They are thoughts, essays, arguments, individual pieces that should be treated as existing independently, produced at a single point in time. I don’t mean that they are not part of larger narratives — quite the opposite. A narrative must necessarily be laid out diachronically with A coming before B coming before C.

So remarkably I think the dashboard’s apparent disorganization actually allows for a deeper kind of organization by letting you passively read one post after another and actively incorporate them into larger narratives. I am always tempted to put things into categories: design / software development / economics / politics, but what I’m beginning to realize is that my brain doesn’t exactly work that way. Even in NetNewsWire, an excellent RSS reader with a simple and clean presentation, I’m constantly bored with browsing through my organized list of feeds, excellent sites they may be. It’s that extra second I take to determine what articles are good and essential to read and what are just filler, “linked list” items, and that extra second where I have to wade through my own folder organization.

(Not to mention “likes” and “reblogs”, but I see them as functions built upon the dashboard’s structure of presenting content.)

Monday, August 31

Fake rocketship launch pads

8 1/2 is one of those films that just sticks, and if when you see it you’re an impressionable young guy who thinks a film’s being in Italian or French or Japanese grants it power to tell the Secret Truth about things it really sticks. It’s one of those films that gets you into films, like a Pulp Fiction or a Taxi Driver or a Blue Velvet. And like the best of art 8 1/2 can even cause a bit of reflection on your part, upon your life and what you do and what you’d like to do. Because you can intuit the essential problem with Guido’s rocketship launch pad. In some ways your life is starting to look like that launch pad, building up for all sorts of dreamy reasons, your ambitions and visions of lift-off. And you see with Guido that it’s all a sham, a bit of dress-up to feign real production. A way to say things are on schedule without questioning the value of “things”. And finally, you laugh with Guido, that life can’t be controlled so, and celebrate with Guido and his friends, dancing around the giant fake rocketship launch pad.

Asa nisi masa

Wednesday, August 19

District 9

forwhenifeellikesharing has a good review up on District 9. I’m going to respond to a few points that are brought up because I had actually thought about them while watching the film but I came to different conclusions. (Unfortunately I’m not reblogging because the original post has this gratuitously huge poster photo attached.)

If you haven’t seen the film, by the way, this post probably won’t be of much use and also contains spoilers. So I say to you, go and see it first!

[SPOILERS BELOW.]

First of all, my take of what the film was about. Wikus’s alienation provides the drama for the film. That said, there’s a ton of background stuff going on. Aliens, South Africa, Nigerian scams, the quasi-corporate-public-entity MNU, excessive violence, etc. But still I think the film was about Wikus. The background helped to explain his character.

forwhenifeellikesharing writes:

Maybe it’s still a bit novel, but cinéma vérité techniques feel played out given the amount of horror and action movies that have used them in recent years (Quarantine, Cloverfield), but more so the amount of recent TV shows to do so (Battlestar GalacticaFriday Night Lights,Curb Your EnthusiasmReno 911! and Arrested Development to name a few). It’s not like these techniques can’t be used, but they have a tendency to feel like a cheap attempt to give a film “real world” substance and legitimacy.

I think that the documentary framing was actually important and essential to the film’s alienation theme. I’ll start by describing, to me, what this documentary form accomplishes.

The big effect that’s really direct and essentially different than other forms of filmmaking is the relationship between camera, audience, and subject. As a subject of a documentary (at least in District 9’s context) you know you’re being filmed. Wikus was painfully aware. He was projecting an image for the audience’s benefit. You could clearly see his desire to please the audience. He was concerned with the “political image” of his interaction with both the military and the Prawns; i.e. it was all largely for show. This is amplified by the fact that Wikus was in a political position; he was the face of MNU’s operation in District 9 to some extent. Consequently as an audience member you are aware that you are being told a story. “Being told” as opposed to “shown the truth,” that is it’s explicitly filtered through a lens.

[Aside: Some might argue that adopting documentary form in a film is actually saying the opposite: this is the truth of what happened. I disagree entirely. The documentary form is like an added layer to the whole story in addition to be the filter through which we view it. Also documentary form is distinct from cinéma vérité, which is sort of a less explicit cinematographic style that a documentary usually adopts, but it’s patently clear that a) someone commissioned at least parts of the District 9 footage and b) again, in parts, the people in the film were aware of being filmed.]

The point I get from this is that Wikus is really concerned with his appearance; it may be all that matters to him. Appearance in the abstract sense of “how society sees you.” His job is the obvious big factor here. He cares so much about how he fits in at his job that he tries to hide the fact that something wrong is going on (e.g. black stuff running out of his nose). And when it becomes clear to everyone that something is very, very wrong, well… the appearance of fitting in is demonstrated to be just that, an appearance. It also becomes clear (it perhaps should have been clear before) the only reason he had his job was for some particular use his father in-law had for him.

I’m trying to say basically that the documentary flavor to D9 was not to satisfy the need for some trendy aesthetic. Partially, perhaps. But I’m fairly certain it was deliberate for the reasons above. It also isn’t trying to be “more real” by appearing like some future documentary. It’s not saying, this is what really would happen! Far from it. The form is there to better tell a story about alienation. It works nicely.

forwhenifeellikesharing writes:

There’s also an absurdity to the circumstances of the film to begin with. The lead character, Sharlto Copley’s Wikus van der Merwe, is a likeable goofball despite being somewhat bigoted and dimwitted. He ends up on the run from his villainous father-in-law after he makes a bumbling error and starts to become an alien. It’s an almost farcical set-up, which might be fine if it wasn’t trying to be a realistic portrayal of what might happen if aliens did become stranded on Earth.

Farcical is an interesting word to use here. I was discussing the film with my good friend amkelly and it came up: some review he had read said the same thing, only maybe more strongly, and he and I agreed it’s an odd conclusion. With a farce, you really need the comedy. I don’t get that. I grant that Wikus is bumbling. But his bumbling is at the expense of the lives and respect of Prawns. I guess if you just see the Prawns as these crazy goons then maybe it’s a farce. So it depends somewhat on your perspective. But, even still… really? I thought the scenes of Wikus in the bio lab were pretty intense. The bio lab scene seemed to nail it for Wikus that he’s really just this impersonal cog in the MNU machine and he’s only tolerated as a human as long as there’s a use for him. When that use disappears or changes — when he becomes more useful as a weapon — that respect vanishes. He’s treated like a lab animal. And he knows they see him as a lab animal. No more bumbling.

I really don’t think it’s fair to pass off the film as a farce that doesn’t make any sense. I think you focus too much on the “realistic portrayal” bit. The film isn’t making the case that “if aliens crash on our planet, we’ll treat them like soulless bottom-feeders!” or “if aliens crash, then necessarily there will be this weird alien goo stuff that both powers the alien ship AND turns humans into them!” A better way to think about it is, “why is this particular bit included in the story, what is the effect?” A good example for me is the ship floating over Johannesburg. Why did the aliens pick Joburg? Did they know it would give us all an allegory to work with? That’s not particularly important. But the image of this enormous ship looming, always included in the background of a picture of the city with a history of the apartheid, is an image that starts you thinking about how this elephant-in-the-room, looming-over-ness applies to both the story and South African history.

I read into the film (grain of salt) that Wikum is an archetype. This applies on two levels. One, Wikum is descriptive in his actions of a general model of how humans behave. Two, Wikum tries to fit a general model of how humans behave. In other words Wikum is conscious of the archetype-image and consciously tries to present that image. That he is bumbling is a little beside the point. Don’t we all bumble when we aim to please everybody?

Now for the alienation. It’s a purely physical process. Wikum literally stops fitting the mold of the archetype. The film makes it clear; he now physically fits into and can use alien technology. This theme of physicality comes back, by the way, in the form of lots and lots of gore. (Yes I thought that too had a place.) The rest of the film is now about Wikum’s realization that he doesn’t fit despite his frantic attempts to save his old life. The yes-a-bit clichéd turning point is when Wikum, while piloting the cool mech thing, stops running away, turns back, saves his Prawn friend and tries to kill the bad merc dude.

I really enjoyed the film. I saw a lot going on theme-wise and I’m sure there’s plenty I missed, so I’m considering a second viewing. The whole thing shouted Kafka to me, and I’ll need to re-read Metamorphosis.