1. I’m watching Flash Forward on ABC.

I read the novel too.  It’s not Robert Sawyer’s best novel, but it’s okay. (I haven’t read all Sawyer’s books, so I can’t say which is the best exactly — but Flash Forward definitely isn’t.)

Here are a couple of interesting passages from Sawyer’s Flash Forward (p. 166-7) that reference Tipler’s Omega Point:

…Tipler says there are 110,000 genes that make up a human being.  That means that all possible permutations of those genes…amount to about ten to the tenth to the sixth people…[and] you could reproduce all possible humans that could ever exist, and all possible memories that they could ever have, in ten to the tenth to the twenty-third bits.

Ten to the tenth to the twenty third is a very, very large number.  But it is, nevertheless, a finite number:  a number with a limit.

And here are some more, not quite so large but equally interesting numbers, from an article published in 1963 by John Senders…

Three calculations of the number of different things stored in the world’s libraries yield estimates from 7.5 x 10⁷ to 7.7 x 10⁸. At 10⁵ words per volume, five letters per word, and 12 bits per letter, the information capacity used for storage is between 4.6 x 10¹⁴ and 4.6 x 10¹⁵ bits, and is increasing at about 2 x 10⁶ bits per second.

These are, again, very large numbers.  Once upon a time, both sets of numbers might have been inconceivably large.  Now, however, the last set of numbers — the number of bits in the world’s libraries — is not only conceivable, it is manageable.

2. The most recent round of Google Book Search Project settlement negotiations were completed on Friday, November 14, just before the midnight deadline set by the judge overseeing the settlement.

The idea behind the Google Book Project is to make all books in all libraries available to the public.  As ideas go, it’s a very good one.  Lawyers, guns, and money have cut that idea back a bit –although not yet erased it as a good idea or as an achievable goal.

I am now wondering, however, based on the numbers above, which will come first:  The ability to search through the accumulated knowledge of all mankind with something like the Google Book Search Project OR the ability to generate all possible knowledge that could ever exist,  from scratch.

3. The first possibility — cataloging all available human knowledge — would be, in chess, sort of like taking all chess games that have ever been played and creating a index of those chess games that can then be searched for good moves and bad moves.  We more or less have something like that right now.  It looks something like this:  Current Index of All Chess Positions.

The second possibility — generating all possible human knowledge — would be, in chess, sort of like taking the rules of chess and then, based on those rules, generating all possible chess moves that could ever be played.  We are now working on doing just that.  It’s called a brute strength method of playing chess, and chess programs that use this brute strength approach, beginning with Deep Blue, include Rybka, the current world chess champion.

Rybka can refer to a large database of chess games and chess moves, as necessary.  More critical to its ability to play chess, however, Rybka can generate lots and lots of chess moves that have never been played.  And, at least potentially, chess programs like Rybka may be able generate all chess moves that ever will be played.

The rules for generating all possible human knowledge are, of course, likely to be a bit more complex than the rules for generating all possible chess moves.

But, if those rules are determinable and, most importantly, if those rules are finite, then there seems to be little doubt that those rules can and will be used to generate knowledge.  And, given enough time, that generation of knowledge can and will become complete.

It’s going to take a while, of course, because there are a lot of bits involved.  But then the Google Book Search Project is taking a while too, not only because of all the bits, but because of all the lawyers and the money.

So here’s a question to ponder:  Which sorts of problems are likely to be solved sooner — the inconceivably large bit problems or the incredibly obtuse legal problems?

Or, an even better question:  Which sorts of problems, when and if solved, make the other sorts of problems irrelevant?

I am perfectly okay with students using laptops and mobiles in my classroom.  Of course, I do teach in the School of Mass Communication.  And, of course, I expect students, regardless of what I am teaching, to use their laptops and mobiles in the classroom to supplement what’s going on in the classroom.  But, with that single caveat, no problem whatsoever.

Here are my reasons:

1. Usefulness.

Laptops and (increasingly) mobiles are useful to record information (e. g., taking notes, or even taping the entire lecture).  And they are useful to communicate information.  Let me dwell on that second one.

Sometimes lectures are one-way streets.  That can be fine, depending on the circumstances, but, equally fine can be a two-street, with lots of class discussion and interplay among students and lecturer.

Unfortunately, when I was student (as I still am), I remember very often being very annoyed at the amount of class time discussions took from the lecture (which I really wanted to hear) and gave to the comments of other classmates (which I sometimes I felt were less useful than the lecture).

But, suppose technology could provide both the one-way superhighway and, simultaneously, the two-way country road.  Suppose, as a student, you had the capability to listen to the lecture and simultaneously, without interrupting the lecture, engage in running commentary that could aid further thought about, participation during, and understanding of the lecture?

You have that capability.

Simultaneous and participatory commentary during a lecture is live and well; it’s called a backchannel.   And backchannels are an accepted – and desired — feature of every scholarly academic conference I’ve attended for some time now.  (E.g., read this.)

Of course, you can only have a backchannel if you have the technological capability to provide that backchannel AND if you have a willingness on the part of lecturer and students to allow and use that backchannel.

Are backchannels — and similar forms of new media communications — disruptive to a traditional lecture?  In this sense of “disruptive,” probably so.

Are they beneficial to the lecture?  In my mind, most definitely.

Are they inevitable components of the lecture of the future?

Oh yeah.

Currently, we have the technological capability at Loyola to push our lectures — at least some of our lectures — into the future.

Do we have the willingness?

2.  Hypocrisy.

Again: Laptops and mobiles are accepted — and desired – communication tools at every scholarly conference I’ve attended.  They’re used for backchannel participation (without which you would miss much of the conference’s value), and for many other purpose as well – all supplemental to conference content.

And, if I’m doing something and benefiting from doing it – REALLY benefiting from doing it — why shouldn’t I be teaching my students to do it too?

Isn’t that the idea?

1.  At the core of digital communications is something called packet-switching.

In brief, packet-switching takes messages that were once indivisible and divides those messages into tiny little “packets.”  Once messages are in these packets, it’s lots easier to send those messages over telecommunications networks, like, for instance, the internet.

The Sandman is a personification of packet-switching.  (That’s the Sandman in Marvel Comics, by the way, not the Sandman in the Roy Orbison song).  The Sandman can dissolve into little particles of sand — packets — and these little particles of sand can then go wherever they want to go.

2.  Suppose I just want a banana.

I go to a grocery store to buy a banana.  But this particular grocery store doesn’t sell just bananas.   To buy a banana, I have to buy a mango and a pear, and I have to rent a grocery cart (getting a free coupon for future grocery cart rentals in the process), and I have to listen to the grocery cart rental guy try to sell me a time-share condominium in Marigny.

The grocery cart rental guy calls this the Banana-Mango-Pear “Package.”

I ask the grocery cart rental guy if I can buy just the banana part of the package.

“No,” says the grocery cart rental guy.  “The Banana-Mango-Pear Package is indivisible.”

3.  In the olden days when I bought a newspaper…

…I got news and sports and editorials and this and that and (once upon a time) lots and lots of advertising.  Somewhere in there was probably what I wanted to read — but it was locked inside the newspaper package.

Currently, when I get on the packet-switched internet and Google the news, I get lots of little newspaper “packets.”  Maybe one of those packets is the New York Times.

When I go to the NYT website, I find more little packets — headlines, they call them.  So I click on a headline, and I read what I want to read.

And I say yay for the NYT, because I didn’t have to buy a mango and a pear to eat a banana.

4.  Some people think the NYT is packet-switched too much.

These people think the NYT is nuts.

These people would like for the NYT to sell you a newspaper package — because that’s what newspapers have sold you for a a long time, and that’s what  some people are still trying to sell you.

5.  Some other people think the NYT is not packet-switched enough.

If the NYT can packetize their news, these other people ask, why can’t the NYT packetize the price of their news?

If I only read Malcolm Gladwell’s articles in the New Yorker, for instance, why shouldn’t I pay just for those articles?

“Packetized” payments for individual articles — or even individual words — are called micro-payments.

That’s pretty much what grocery stores do when they sell you a single banana:  they charge you a micro-payment.  And some people think that’s a really good idea for newspapers like the NYT and magazines like the New Yorker.

Others don’t.

6.  But, before the Sandman becomes the Micropayment Man…

…he gets to bust up Rupert Murdoch and the newspaper packaging cartel.

Shouldn’t take long.

1. Hurricane Katrina was, according to most accounts, a 400-year storm.  You can agree or disagree with that assessment (I tend to disagree), but you should at least agree with this:  A 400-year storm should come around about once every 400 years.

In other words, a 400-year storm is rare.  You won’t see many, if any, during your lifetime.

2. Currently, what is happening to the newspaper industry seems rare.

The newspaper has been around for some time, with the modern version tracing its lineage back to the Penny Press era of the early 1800s.  From then until now, given some ups and downs, the newspaper industry has done okay. The Rocky Mountain News in Denver, for instance, was around for 150 years – before it went out of business in February 2009.  The Christian Science Monitor, for instance, published a print edition for over a century — until, in April 2009, its print edition went away.

There is a tendency, I think, to see the circumstances now threatening the newspaper industry as a sort of rare, once-in-a-lifetime, perfect storm.  If newspapers can weather this storm, if they can adapt and adopt new and more efficient business models — like the Associated Press is trying to do, like Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp is trying to do — then all will be well.

Is this just a transition stage?  Will those newspapers that manage to survive emerge into a new and profitable period of stability?

Maybe not.

Maybe digital media is not really the new normal.  Maybe transition is the new normal.

Maybe whatever business model succeeds in the short term will fail in the long term — and maybe that long term is increasingly short.

Maybe the perfect storm now comes faster than the perfect levee can be built.

3. Once there was MySpace; now there is Facebook.

Once there was Yahoo; now there is Google.

Once there was the AP; now there is the clueless AP.

Once there some politicians; now there are some other politicians.

This, too, shall pass.

As the echo format becomes more focused, the original sound becomes more superfluous.

Our first example:  The Lessig Wave.

1.  The New Republic article.

2.  The reverberation of society.

3.  The recursivenness of community.

Carl Malamud, a constant advocate for access to US government data, writes in response to Lessig, arguing that Lessig’s article isn’t an attack on the transparency movement, but a need to locate transparency in a larger framework of good governance efforts. Malamud, like Lessig, quotes Brandeis: “The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in the insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well meaning but without understanding.”

…from Zuckerman’s post, linked in #3 above.

Q:  If there is no understanding regarding what will happen in the future — because the past provides us with none — should we then reconsider the value of the zeal that drives the echo?

***

Our second example is left for the reader to pursue:  The Shirky Wave.

…are the only ones worth paying attention to, since a) you can usually get all the praise and inoffensive information you want elsewhere, b) you are unlikely to improve your position without the motive (and information) necessary to do so, c) you may well wish to defend yourself from serious and potentially fatal attack, and/or d) you may just be flat out WRONG and need to shut up.

The Grammar of Society: The Nature and Dynamics of Social Norms, by Cristina Bicchieri

“In The Grammar of Society: The Nature and Dynamics of Social Norms, Cristina Bicchieri presents a new interpretation of social norms that will offend psychologists, economists, and sociologists alike, and therein lies its value.” PsycCritiques Joachim I. Krueger (here)

Google Book Search version (still, at this moment, hamstrung by the DoJ, among others).

to scale: to increase or reduce proportionately in size

***

There’s this article and this one, prompted by the new social media policy of the Washington Post.  In brief, the new WaPo policy requires journalists to separate their professional from their public activities.  C.W. Anderson, in the first article linked above, thinks that policy needs questioning:

“What is it about journalistic professionalism that demands the monk-like embrace of personal rectitude?”

Here’s an answer:  The truth doesn’t scale.

Or:  As the public becomes more social, more involved, and more massive, that public is increasingly more likely to get things wrong.  And, when confronted with the wrongness of this misguided, missle-like mass, the journalist is better off isolated and aloof than immersed and connected.

This, I know, is a radical view.

Among current proponents of social media, the public is the bee’s knees.  To “engage in public dialog” (again from Anderson above) is both to engage in truth-seeking and to reveal the truth.  But where is the evidence for these emergent-truth properties of the socially opinionated?

Not in tulip mania.  Nor in the more recent exotic derivatives mania.

Although two heads may well be better than one, public dialog within our current participatory culture  –  twitter chatter, bloggish banter, and website forum folderol – all consistently fail to produce what journalists, scientists, and others have been and do seem able to produce:  the truth.  And, in fact, this public dialog of the social seems more often actively opposed than passively sympathetic to truth and truth-seeking – ask, for instance, Copernicus or Gordiano Bruno or Galileo or, for that matter, Alan Turing about such things.

Crowd-sourcing seems well suited for shaking large pockets for small change, but the big bills still must be paid by some other means.  Scouring the webcam universe for porn simply does not scale into an in-depth understanding of human neuro-aesthetics.

Focused inquiry and exploration of the facts, protected and preserved in many instances from public evaluation, has proven more often effective and, yes, more often truthful than popular vote.  Eventually, of course, public evaluation must be endured in order to integrate and adjudicate the inevitable conflicts that arise from truly diverse thoughts and practices.  But, to shove populist morals down all our throats is not to reconstruct “objective” and “elitist” activities for the social good, it is to destroy those activities – and their products — entirely.  To conflate the private and the public is not an act of compromise; it is a tactic of control.

My wife bought Dan Brown’s new book (made a special trip to the bookstore to do so), and she was reading something else, so I read it.

Aside from the part about moving things with your mind, it’s the same as Dan Brown’s previous book(s) — sort of like a sudoku puzzle with some different numbers in the middle.

Instead of an evil, whacked-out priest guy, there’s an evil, whacked-out non-priest guy.

And there’s a fairly interesting diagram of the Capitol building.  And a fairly whacked-out reference to The Abyss.

And that’s about it.

I did have to read it all the way through to make sure that it wasn’t different or anything.

So I did.

And it wasn’t.

Okay, I am going to go out on a limb and pinpoint the exact moment.

Things started getting bad when the Aarseth-Jenkins debate over the importance — or lack thereof — of game narrative turned out to be a limp-wristed, paper-thin, mutual-admiration-society, I’m-okay-you’re-okay-I-am-the-Walrus nothingness.  That moment was January 18, 2005 — and, for those of you who have forgotten (rightfully and appropriately) that such a pseudo-debate ever took place, here is a reminder.

In brief, because Espen decided to be Mr. Nice Guy, and because Henry decided to be Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Nice Guy won and everybody else — including, importantly, the TRUTH — lost miserably.  This decisive moment in the great game theory and research time-line has now led inexorably to our current moment in which transmedia storytelling, social agency, and all those many other consumer-research-based, community-manager-approved buzz words dominate ALL THOUGHT and ALL THINKING.

Welcome to the Age of Flat Ontologies.  Welcome to the Era of Serious Games.  Welcome to the Kingdom of Page-Ranked Fanbois.  Welcome to the Dawn of the Socially Relevant, the Culturally Obligatory, and, most of all, the Happy-Happy Joy-Joy.

Suppose virtual worlds erase boundaries — boundaries between the real and the virtual.  Boundaries between races, between genders, between old and young.

Sounds like a good thing.  It’s certainly something people are talking about.  And maybe wishing to happen.

But suppose this boundary-erasing function of the virtual is indiscriminate.  Are there not some — any — boundaries worth preserving?

What about the boundary between the intelligent and the moronic?

What about the boundary between the skilled and the incompetent?

What about the boundary between one thing and another thing entirely?

We might well be wary of the power to merge all things into one.  That power conceivably could be used to eliminate and destroy rather than to create and enlighten.