Fragments: 2012 - 2013

I don’t post on this blog a lot. But, that doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I love writing, and do it often. I just don’t finish what I write. My Google Drive is chock full of large, complicated pieces that I’ve had ideas for, began writing, and then abandoned. Which is a shame, because some of them are fairly promising. Theoretically, I’d like to finish most of these pieces. But, it seems wasteful to just let the words go stale in my digital pantry. So, I’m releasing them. At least, some of them.

What follows are fragments. Bits and pieces of unfinished writing, exploring a whole lot of topics. If anyone is interested in me completing any particular piece, feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I’ll just get to them whenever I get to them. Or, maybe just keep them in the pantry, while I spend my time looking at pictures of cute animals on the Internet.

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Part of an in-depth series on the built environment: 
In this great land, there are lots of things we like to question and critique. We are, after all, Americans. If our fries don’t deliver the combination of deep-fried crunch and lightly salted flavor we crave, we shame the local greasy spoon with a one-star rating on Yelp. If a Pakistani has the gall to answer our tech-support questions, we vent our anger on talk radio. But one thing -- an absolutely inescapable and essential part of life -- seems to avoid this treatment on a regular basis. We largely take it for granted, despite the fact that it defines most aspects of our existence.

I’m talking about the built environment. The spaces we live in, work in, and travel through. The physical reality behind almost every experience in our lives. The elevated highways, parking lots, lawns, drive-throughs, elevators, and living rooms that contain us every hour of every day.

The whole kaboodle.

Criticism of “suburbia,” the most dominant form of built environment in America, isn’t new. Academics have generated volumes of detailed criticism of every element of suburban life since the post-war age began. Even a few suburbanites occasionally voice misgivings about their own way of life.

In some ways, I’ll be continuing this grand tradition of sophisticated suburban criticism*. My thinking on this subject has been shaped by a number of other writers, and I won’t pretend like my ideas emerged from a vacuum. But I think the issues go much deeper than a simple dichotomy between the city and the suburb. Given that the population of almost every metropolitan area in America is overwhelmingly suburban, scoffing at single family homes and wondering why everyone doesn’t want to live in Manhattan is unproductive and silly.

What I’m really attempting to do is to convey two simple ideas: the built environment matters, and it isn’t static. Most of the spaces we inhabit are very new, and the way Americans live and work have been radically transformed in a relatively short period of time. Things can, and will, change again. And because the built environment is such a key part of our lives, the way we organize human existence in the physical realm has moral and spiritual components. This isn’t a subject that should be pushed the periphery. Whether we acknowledge it or not, the question of where we choose to live has massive implications for how we live.

Part of a related essay on the effect the pattern of suburban development has had on our conception of the church:
 For individual congregants, there are certainly benefits to choice and competition. Separating church from any physical community allows modern Christians to select congregations that fit their preferences for worship, theology, preaching, and fellowship. The problem is that this choice inherently subverts our conception of what church is. Choosing a church the way you might choose a grocery store or a dry-cleaner leads to a consumer mentality among churchgoers. Rather than being a people who belong to the church, we are people who go to a church. Young pastors talk in the capitalist language of growth, and even congregations with similar theological persuasions often have no meaningful communion with one another. What was established as a unified body has become something more like the competition between Burger King and McDonalds.

There are no easy answers to the challenges the church will continue to face in the age of urban sprawl. But perhaps the best lesson to learn is that place matters. The physical organization of life in America has been almost entirely transformed in the last century. Changes like this come at a price. But the story is far from over. Unlike many other countries, America is still growing. The form of our cities and towns will likely change, in one direction or another. During the transformation of American in the 20th century, the church was a largely absent player in the conversation. (Although, to be fair, the conversation itself was often absent, outside of left-wing intellectual circles). Recognizing that the form our cities take have implications for our spiritual lives is a good first step to avoiding these mistakes.

Part of an essay on how modern conservatism doesn’t seem that interested in conserving anything in particular: 
Conservatives have long held that many things that are theoretically legal are nonetheless bad, and should be discouraged, and vice-versa  -- albeit not necessarily at the level of government. For example, it isn’t a legal requirement for parents to spend quality time with their children, and pass on their values, but it's a good thing. But in the brave new world of modern conservatism, bad choices are celebrated, and common sense is derided as elitism. Are big boxes stores transforming small towns into homogenous wastelands, and erasing centuries of tradition and history? It’s legal, so it must be awesome!

The problem is that if conservatives wish to shrink government, they must be far more vigilant when it comes to their choices. Federal regulation can be a pain, but most are borne out of neccesity. The EPA didn’t come into existence because some “environmental wackos” wanted to control our lives -- it was created because America was so polluted that a freakin’ river was on fire.

Thoughts on the smartphone wars: 
When Android first came out, it was a laggy, incoherent mess compared to iOS’s sparkly polish. Today, Android is a much smoother experience. Bugs remain, but it’s clear that things are progressing at an exponential clip. In the long run, it’s a pretty safe bet that Android will end up more than a match for iOS’s speed and polish.

That doesn’t mean the iPhone will somehow die out, as rabid fandroids would hope. Apple makes excellent products, and millions will continue to buy them. In the end, both sides bring a lot to the table, and push each other to excellence. The iPhone was an incredibly well-designed product from day one, and it’s perfection continues to inspire other phone makers to reach a higher level of polish. Meanwhile, the sheer diversity of the rapidly innovating Android ecosystem is a huge playground for new features and form factors, giving people choices that open up new possibilities.

And ultimately, these are just phones. They are tools for communication, and not holy relics to be worshipped. If you think the kind of phone you have makes you a better person, get over yourself.

Part of a critique of the “food movement”: 
Ethical considerations should, of course, come into play in practical decisions. In the case of industrial farming, the most common complaints surround the manner in which meat-producing animals are grown. I, like most good white people, have watched Food Inc., and seen all the the terrors of coops practically bursting with obese hens. These are then contrasted with the proud, free-range chickens, which strut their stuff through glorious meadows. They are, we are meant to believe, happy chickens.

But, to be honest, those free-range chickens don’t really seem any happier than other chickens. They just seem like... chickens. Chickens who will be killed once they become delicious enough.

(Sidenote: chickens are mean, and I don’t really like them on a personal level. So, I guess that’s probably why I wrote this whole thing. Just a personal chicken vendetta).

The big problem with the fight between locavores and big ag is the either/or assumptions. Big farms aren’t very nice to animals, and grow too much corn, therefore, everyone should buy kale from some bearded guy who lives 30 miles away. What if, for example, big farms still raised lots of chickens in big barns, but gave them a little more space? Or if we subsidized corn less, and encouraged more diverse, healthy crops, taking into account their effects on long-term soil quality? What if instead of getting rid of big farms, food activists focused on making big farms better? Like it or not, little farms aren’t that efficient, and most people dont want to be farmers. Big farms will continue to produce most of our food. Making the perfect the enemy of the good isn’t a recipe for positive changes in agriculture.

Part of a complicated foreign policy piece: 
More than any other president in recent history, Obama seems to lack any sort of clearly articulated vision for America’s role in the world. On the balance, this is probably a good thing. I’d much rather have a lack of vision than a destructive one. But unfortunately, Obama seems to be bent on continuing the worst of the Bush years (rampantly overrunning the sovereignty of other nations to fight an objective-less war against shadowy terrorist organizations), without any sort of comprehensive rationale behind it.

All of this brings us to a single question. It’s a question that our leaders don’t seem interested in answering. But it deserves to be considered.

(It’s also kind of a long question. Deal.)

What is America’s obligation to the citizens of other states, specifically regarding violations of what we believe to be human rights and the resolution of violent conflict? Here’s the crux of the issue: the world is a big, messy place. America is one medium-sized (but powerful) slice of it. Bad things are happening all over the place, all the time. There are tyrants, and terrorists, and warlords. Our response to these issues has been all over the map. We’ve tried to establish democracies, while simultaneously partnering with dictators. We’ve allied ourselves with terrorists when it suited our interests, and then declared war on them later. We’ve insisted on staying out of foreign conflicts, but then mourned when we failed to prevent genocide. We support international justice for war criminals, unless they happen to be American. We’re damned when we do, and damned when we don’t.

Part of a bulleted list of things I like about living in Lincoln, Nebraska: 
- It’s cheap. This is actually kind of a big deal. If you’re a poor kid who is in college, or just got out of college, you can afford your own place. Elsewhere in the United States, living in your mom’s basement is basically your only option until you start making a six-figure income. That would suck.

- It’s safe. Even if you live in a sub-$400 apartment in a sketchy neighborhood, you will likely not be murdered. I’ve never been crime-ed in any way. Crime-ed is totally a word.

- The people are pretty okay. Generally, I reject the whole “people are friendly” description people tack onto cities they like, as there are friendly people and jerks everywhere. But, there are good people here, and I know some of them.

- It isn’t too big for its britches. Neighboring Omaha exists under the delusion that it is the Next Big Thing in the midwest. Unfortunately, every other similarly-sized city in America believes it also the Next Big Thing. Eventually, they will probably battle to the death, before realizing that they are still medium-sized cities whose importance will always be regional, rather than national. Lincoln, as a whole, seems to be more content to be Lincoln. Anyway. Moving on.

- It’s kind of cool. No, really. Local coffee shops are abundant, the music scene is diverse, and if getting drunk on the cheap is your thing, Lincoln is your place. The fact that Lincoln is a college town keeps it from being too conservative, and the fact that Lincoln is in Nebraska keeps it from being too liberal. It’s the perfect balance between redneck and pretentious.

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So, there you have it. Many written things. All of them unfinished. Perhaps someday, I’ll develop the attention span to finish stuff.

Vinyl, Cities, And Why Smart People Are Often Wrong.

A few weeks ago, I was at an educational technology conference, listening to a presentation on the evolution of consumer tech. The speaker used props extensively, showing off relics like 5” floppy disks, and 8-track tapes.

At one point, she held up an LP, and firmly stated, “if you’re under 30, you have no idea what this is.”

Of course, if you’re someone under 30, you know this is crazy talk. While vinyl records aren’t the mass medium they once were, they’ve become extremely popular with a large crowd of young, mostly well-educated people who enjoy the sound of analog music. In many cases, young people are dusting off their parents’ unused record heaps, and giving them a second life.

This may turn out to be a fad. At the very least, it doesn’t mean that digital music is declining, or that the traditional record industry will suddenly be the titan it was in the ‘70s. But it’s an interesting phenomenon nonetheless.

It’s interesting because there’s not really a quantifiable reason for the resurgence of vinyl. Massive, physical records are no practical match for the millions of songs Spotify can magically stream to your laptop. The fact that the revival of a seemingly-ancient format has occurred in tandem with the continued growth of digital music is a delightful paradox that cuts against the linear march O’ technology narrative the speaker was trying to present.

And it’s a testament to the power of the intangible.

We live in an age of data, enthralled by technocrats who can gaze into the future through massive sets of numbers. We’re meant to believe that anything significant about human behavior can be reduced to spreadsheets assembled by economists and statisticians.

One of the most immediate consequences of this laser-focus on data is a continuity bias.The purpose of most data analysis is to identify patterns, like historical trends and correlations between data sets. So, when we discover these little gems, we can only rationally assume that these patterns will hold. And, viola! We have a little portal to the future --  and for writers, a harvest of click-ready headlines:

The End Of _____ !

The Future Of _____ !

The New ______ !

Why What You Think About _______ Is Wrong!

The Upcoming ______ Disaster!

For a while, these predictions seem correct. But then, shifts take place. And the roots of these shifts can usually be found in different realms: the realms of preference, belief, and other mental constructs that can defy numerical analysis.

Take the state of the American city: 40 years ago, any number of experts in the field of urban policy would tell you that the American city was dead. The suburbs were rapidly growing, inner-cities were zones of hopelessness, and the streets of downtown areas were empty. Rationally, this made sense. People wanted space, privacy, and personal mobility. The suburbs offered all those things, and the old city cores didn’t. Their death was a necessary, but inevitable, tragedy.

Today, things have changed. The suburbs are still large, and in some places, still growing. But dense urban cores have replaced suburban areas as the center of the elite class's aspirations. Neighborhoods in and close to downtown areas have experienced massive influxes of wealthy, mostly white, residents. The very people who were expected to continue to seek out more space in the leafy-green sprawl around the edges.

The changes that made this possible were changes in the ideals of the affluent generation that had been raised in the space, homogeneity, and safety of the suburbs. The qualities that had such a great pull on their parents and grandparents no longer held the same appeal for them. New qualities -- authenticity, walkability, excitement -- became their touchstones.

Urban economists can point to an increasing amount of data that shows that density is correlated with a number of positive goods, like the amount of economic innovation, but the fact that these benefits exist is besides the point. The educated people who make up the burgeoning urban class aren’t moving downtown because of metrics that show that patent applications increase based on the amount of people per square mile. They’re searching for a “vibe,” or a “community,” or maybe just some really good coffee.

Numbers are useful, but, they have their limits. There’s a lot that numbers can tell us about a place, a group of people, or a certain trend. But all these things are made of more than just measurable metrics.

Another case in point: every year, certain magazines compile lists of the “best” places/towns/cities, which provide another form of headline fodder for over-worked journalists. Interestingly enough, the places that fill the top of these lists are almost never the cities where millions of people actually choose to move. Inevitably, it’s a string of relatively obscure burgs that look fantastic on paper.

The small Nebraskan city I live in, Lincoln, was recently rated the happiest city in America. Now, I can attest to the fact that Lincoln is a pleasant place. And yet, there aren’t millions of people rushing to the Great Plains to experience the marvelous happiness therein.

In the real world, the places tourists flock to, and ambitious youngsters leave their hometowns for, are often pretty poor based on a number of metrics. Things like unemployment rates, and commute times are an important part of the urban puzzle, but so are things like the “feel” of a street, the “energy” a business community, or the way the sunset looks in a certain park. If you ask a newly-minted New Yorker about why he chose to live there, he probably won’t tell you that he ditched everyone he knew and decided to share a studio apartment with five strangers because Once Prestigious Magazine told him it was #45.5 on a list of places for recent college graduates.

Ultimately, the problem isn’t with the data itself. The trouble lies in the conceit that numbers can provide us with an objective and complete view of the world, detached from interpretation and human experiences. In truth, the widespread availability of data about our lives has provided us with incredible tools. But the usefulness of any tool depends on the hands that wield it.

So, go ahead: use numbers. If you must, make predictions, and lists. Numbers are interesting, and can tell you a lot. But at the same time, be human. Listen to people, and search for the interesting cultural events that happen around the edges, where others aren’t looking. And maybe, when reality capsizes the conventional wisdom, you won’t be so surprised.

A Glass House.

Are you ever saddened by the fact that you’re unable to share every waking moment of your life with other people? Sure, your fancy phone is all right when you want to share pictures of cats, or carefully arranged lunches, but all of that taking-it-out-of-your-pocket-and-touching-the-screen business can really weigh you down.

Enter Google Glass -- a computer thing you wear on your face, all the time!

The existence of Google Glass -- Google’s foray into wearable computing -- isn’t exactly news. But Google just released a new video under the heading “How it Feels,” to convey, well, how it feels to use Glass. It’s an inspirational montage of footage, presumably taken by Glass wearers, that demonstrates just how much this technology will enrich your life.

Please, check it out:


Oddly enough, Google Glass is the least interesting thing about this video. The images are captivating -- tumbling through the air on a flying trapeze, jumping on trampolines, riding in hot air balloons, drifting down a canal in Thailand. At best, the little floating Glass display in the corner seems like an irritating distraction. And the functionality of the device isn’t exactly revolutionary either. If Google is trying to convey what Glass is capable of, the answer is clear: the same stuff your smartphone does. The difference is that Glass, in theory, is always on. Always a part of you.

The goal is to take you less out of experiences than your phone does. Instead of pulling out a little device, and staring at its screen, capturing your everyday existence will be as natural as breathing.

At least, in Google’s mind.

In reality, the concept falls short. If you’re eating lunch with your friends, is turning toward your plate of Pad Thai and saying, “Okay, Glass. Take a picture. Share with friends,” really more natural than pulling out your phone and snapping an old-fashioned, pretentious mealstagram? And if you really want to be more immersed in an experience, wouldn’t a better solution be to just experience something without worrying about documenting it?

In the age of social media evangelists and their gospel of an evermore-connected-world-in-which-personal-stuff-is-shared, this is blasphemy. The idea that perhaps someone would prefer not to take pictures and videos of everything they do is never considered. The inherent message of the Glass promo is that all the fantastic things the Glass users are doing are made more significant, and more magical, simply because they’re doing them while connected to the digital universe. Social media users already fall into the mindset that the things they do are meaningless unless they’re shared with others. Google Glass takes that concept, and puts it on steroids.

I’m not sure that’s what anyone needs.

However, philosophical objections probably won’t be what sinks Google Glass. The sheer, shall we say, dorkiness of Google’s product, paired with a lack of compelling functionality, make it unlikely to succeed. Visions of the future, even ones dreamed up by very intelligent people, are often remarkably wrong. Glass is a product that seems designed to evoke a sense of being futuristic, without actually filling a human need. This isn’t the best recipe for success in the marketplace.

I mean, am I the only one who immediately thought of this after seeing the first pics of Glass?

I rest my case.

Paywalling.

Newspapers have been grousing for years about the best way to pull in the revenue they need to survive the digital onslaught. The so-called paywall has lots of critics, but an increasing number of news sources are adopting it. It’s a pretty straightforward idea: good journalism doesn’t happen without money, so the public ought to pony up some dough to access it.

Which brings me to a handy little anecdote: after months of stalling, I’m now a paying subscriber to nytimes.com.

I’m not saying that online subscription fees are the best solution for every organization. My reluctant payment isn’t an endorsement of the business practice. But I paid nonetheless, because it was simply more convenient than constantly trying to work around the free article limit.

I read the New York Times a lot. Even if you’re a Palin-esque conservative who believes that The Grey Lady is a bastion of communism and vice, there’s no question that the New York Times produces more original journalism at home and abroad than any other single source. Every day, I visit the New York Times because I know I’ll read things there that I won’t find anywhere else. It offers a blend of opinion, hard news, and cultural reporting that I’ve relied on for years.

And that, I think, holds the true key to journalism’s survival. The digital space is still a harsh frontier for the news industry. No one knows what things will look like in 20 years. Are online subscriptions the answer? Micro-payments? Non-profit corporate structures?

Frankly, I have no idea.

But I do know that if you offer something essential -- something that people can’t live without -- there’s a good chance you’ll survive. As a consumer, I’m annoyed that I have to pay for something I used to enjoy for free. But I’ll pay anyway, because I want what the New York Times has to offer.

The business side of the newsroom has a long way to go in developing sustainable business models. But unless journalists are creating content people depend on, the most innovative corporate minds won’t be able to save the industry from collapse.

In other words: make the news awesome. The money will come, eventually.

Things I Dislike: Via Satellite Magazine.

At Nebraska Educational Telecommunications, a variety of magazines can be found scattered about the building. Some of them are quite interesting, like little hidden treasures of the office. One of them is terrible.

I’m speaking, of course, of Via Satellite magazine, the self-proclaimed “leading magazine in global coverage of the satellite enabled communications marketplace.”

Via Satellite magazine is a magazine aimed at people who are deeply interested in the business of satellite communication technology. In other words, this is a magazine aimed at a group of people that doesn’t actually exist.

You see, when I open a magazine, I expect to be delighted by either,

a) celebrity gossip,
b) political gossip,
c) pictures of food,

or,

d) a surprising story about a thing that an animal did.

Via Satellite has none of those things. It is literally the worst magazine. Nothing about what is printed in Via Satellite is enjoyable to read or look at, because everything in the magazine is about satellite technology. Reading Via Satellite is the magazine equivalent of eating a piece of meatloaf made of moist woodchips: disappointing, painful, and only mildly enjoyable in very special circumstances.

As far as I’m concerned, a satellite is just a thing in space that does something. Until America decides to stop being lame, and start using satellites as nuclear-armed death platforms, I don’t want to think about them, or read about them. No one does.

Now, some of you may be thinking, “But Abe, you’re being ridiculous! You can’t expect to be in the target audience for every obscure trade magazine in existence. Doesn’t the fact that copies of Via Satellite are stocked at NET imply that certain professionals in the broadcasting field are interested in the contents of Via Satellite?”

But, this is a terribly misguided line of thought. Let’s assume for a moment that I’m the kind of guy who deals with satellites as a part of my profession. It’s 11:30. I’ve had a tough, satellite-related morning, and now I’m jonesing for a pack of chocolate Zingers. I head to the break room, looking for a brief respite from the drudgery of my normal life. Do you think that I want to be confronted with a magazine about the very thing that makes my life a hellish slinky of tightly-coiled stress? Do I want to kick back with journalistic gems like “Eutelsat Free-to-Air Platform Looks to Capitalize on France’s Analog Switch-off?”

Of course not. I want to be entertained. I want to enter a world where b-list celebrities and lovable animals become friends, and team up to accomplish amazing things. I want to read about how Steve Buscemi and Carlton the Walrus saved an asthmatic child at Disney World. Does that sound remotely like anything that would ever be published in Via Satellite Magazine? No. Unless Steve Buscemi and Carlton the Walrus team up to increase data transmission rates to receivers in the Ukraine, their exploits will be quite absent from that rag.

Which is a tragedy.

So, for being totally boring and full of lame business and science, Via Satellite gets relegated to my personal hall of shame.

Via Satellite, shame on you. May I never encounter you in a restroom stall again.

At The Very Least, I Think We Can Agree That Jon Hodgman Is Far More Awesome/Hilarious Than The Relatively Obnoxious Justin Long.

For the first time in 7 years, I’m a PC user.

I don’t think this is a big deal.

Don’t get me wrong -- I like Apple. A few quirks aside, Mac OS is by far the most polished operating system currently in existence. And design-wise, Apple hardware is the best you can get. If money is not an object, and you don’t care about playing games, an Apple computer is the best choice out there. If an Apple computer was a car, it would be a Rolls-Royce.

But in the computer world, as in the car world, most people can get along just fine in a Toyota.

On the other side of the equation, Windows isn’t terrible. In fact, it’s kind of cool. Some Windows 7 features, like the window snapping that lets you automatically split your screen between two programs, are delightful. The inevitable bloatware that gets slapped on top of Microsoft’s vanilla Windows distribution is annoying, but most of it can be swept away. Hardware-wise, PCs have the same stuff under the hood as Macs, a fact that makes treating Macs and PCs as two completely different platforms rather dubious. And you can get PCs with some things (Blu-Ray drives, card readers, etc.) that you simply can’t get on a Mac.

Are some PCs crappy and defective? Yes. But no one has a monopoly on glitchy hardware.

I’ve used two Apple laptops over the past 7 years. Both had major hardware issues, including defective graphic cards, ridiculously defective batteries, chronic overheating, and dead pixels. Since both of the computers were purchased by the company I worked for, I didn’t lose much sleep over those problems. But if I had been the one dropping $2500 for a laptop, I think it would have been a different story. This isn’t to say Apple makes crappy computers. Consumer reliability surveys indicate that Apple generally makes pretty decent computers. However, I am saying that Apple isn’t magical. Apple's computers are assembled by sweatshop workers in China, just like that hideous HP box your cousin has. The biggest difference: once Apple’s computers exit the sweatshop, they cost a grand more.

And thus, I purchased a PC.

On the most basic level, a computer is something you use to do things. When I was young, and just wanted to mess around with stuff, my DIY Linux box was ideal. When my job provided me with a Mac to do digital media work, I couldn't have been happier. And now, as a recent graduate who doesn't have an obscene amount of money, a PC laptop fits the bill.

Everyone wants you to chose a side in the computer wars, and defend it with your life. But in computers, as in politics, partisanship just makes you look silly. I’m a techno-pluralist to the core. I love Apple’s ruthless focus on design and minimalism. I love the .conf-editing and command-line-hacking craziness of Linux. And I love Microsoft’s hit-and-miss, and often endearingly nerdy, approach to innovation. Once you stop treating your platform of choice as an article of faith, you can start to appreciate that they all bring something to the table.

In other words: chill, people.