Happy 30th birthday, PC era

I may be a hardcore Apple fanatic now (and, well, for about the last 20 years), but back in the ’80s, I lived in the “IBM-compatible” world, as it was called back then, in the days before Microsoft Windows.

IBM-compatible, of course, meant a computer with the same basic architecture, and capable of running the same software, as the (literally) definitive Personal Computer — PC — IBM introduced on this date in 1981. I have so many vivid memories of the ’80s IBM PC experience that I’m at a loss where even to begin to discuss them. So many games. Such terrible graphics.

I never actually owned the IBM PC, the model 5150 (not to be confused with this), myself, but my uncle did. It was always a treat in the early ’80s when we’d visit him and he’d let me go into the spare bedroom where he kept his PC. He was the first person I knew who owned a computer. It was dazzlingly futuristic, and I eventually learned some rudimentary command line skills — just enough MS-DOS to get myself into BASIC, where I loved to write stupid, pointless little programs.

Eventually, in 1987, I got my own PC-compatible computer, the Tandy 1000 EX that I’ve mentioned here before. The Tandy 1000 was an odd beast. It boasted a better graphics card than the average PC, allowing it to display a whopping 16 colors instead of the usual 4, but in almost every other way it was already hopelessly outdated at the time of its release. It was never able to run even version 1.0 of Windows, so we got Tandy’s feeble semi-GUI, DeskMate, instead. But I still thought it was cool.

It all began with the IBM 5150 PC, though. Without that, Apple might have become the world’s largest (technology) company 25 years earlier. But in the end it all worked out OK. The iPhone 4 I carry around in my pocket now is (approximately) a kazillion times more powerful than the 13-pound metal box IBM gave us 30 years ago today.

Still, I have fond memories of so many games I played on that old Tandy 1000 back in the late ’80s. Here’s a list of some of my favorites.

I brought my Tandy 1000 EX to college with me in the fall of 1992, but the campus computer labs were dominated by Macs (except for a couple of the high-tech labs in the physics building that were full of NeXT cubes), and it wasn’t long before I was a convert. I bought my first Mac — an LC 475 — at the college computer store in the spring of 1994 and I haven’t looked back. Except when I have. That Tandy 1000 EX is long gone but my love of those old games I played in junior high and high school lives on.

There is no John Galt

Who is John Galt? The rhetorical question, posed frequently throughout the early sections of Ayn Rand’s epic tome Atlas Shrugged, continues to crop up here and there to this day, usually as a bumper sticker on the back of a BMW: the economic libertarian’s counterpart to the Deadhead dancing bears. It’s a codeword, the inverse of 420. If you know the answer to the question, you’re in the club of laissez-faire capitalists and would-be prime movers.

If you’ve never read Ayn Rand — and if you’re older than 20, you probably shouldn’t bother — you may still wonder just who John Galt is. Quick summary: he’s the bold visionary savior of capitalism, the person who would let the old world die so he and his disciples can shape a new one in the image of the dollar sign. If that still doesn’t answer the question for you, well, take some solace in the fact that the question probably isn’t really worth answering in the first place.

I’ve been thinking about John Galt more lately than I have in about 18 years, since the second and last time I read Atlas Shrugged cover-to-cover. I’ll admit, it can be a page turner for most of its (excessive) length, at least until the portion near then end where John Galt himself takes over the world’s airwaves and launches into a dry, rambling 80-page soliloquy laying bare Ayn Rand’s philosophy. But people don’t read Ayn Rand because her writing is so great. It’s not. They read Ayn Rand because her ideas are radical and liberating to ambitious minds that feel trapped in a society of conformist mediocrity.

In other words, her ideas are just what 15-year-old, Rush-and-D&D-obsessed nerds need to feel better about themselves in a world that rejects them for being different. At least, that’s what I thought her ideas were until I got really obsessed with them in college, moving beyond her novels to her collected non-fiction essays, along with those written by her “egoist” acolytes, including Alan Greenspan.

Yes, that Alan Greenspan.

I was pretty surprised to learn that the (at the time) Fed chairman was an Ayn Rand devotee, and it convinced me (at the time) that some day soon we’d see Ayn Rand’s philosophy rise up and vanquish the mediocrity of our soul-sucking society.

But then I grew up. I realized that her writing fell firmly in the realm of fantasy. And it wasn’t just that the “second-handers” of society that she described did not correspond in any recognizable way to anyone in the real world. It was that the leaders in her world — not just the godlike John Galt but the creators, the captains of industry, like Dagny Taggart and Hank Rearden — didn’t have any real-world counterparts either. People, in most cases, do not rise to power and wealth purely through their noble industriousness and hard work, just as people do not struggle with poverty because they’re lazy. The world Ayn Rand creates has a tantalizingly simple internal logic. Unfortunately, her world is a miserably inadequate model of the complex, messy external reality she believed her “objectivism” so clearly observed.

Still, all of this would be an academic exercise for me to ponder in my parents’ basement were it not for the likes of Alan Greenspan, and so many who have come after him: Ron and Rand (Rand!) Paul, Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity, the Tea Party and anyone whose ability to follow a thought through to logical conclusion is so broken that they somehow manage to espouse both Ayn Rand’s (aggressively atheist) philosophy and fundamentalist Christianity simultaneously. Check your premises, etc. etc.

What frightens me is that in the two decades or so since I outgrew Ayn Rand myself, and especially since the 2010 midterm elections, we’ve come to a point where we have people who embrace Ayn Rand’s philosophy, however contradictory their overall views may be, in positions of government power in the United States. People who apparently know (and, for that matter, care) so little about the way our government actually functions, yet who believe so fully — so faithfully — in the economic principles described in books like The Fountainhead and, especially, Atlas Shrugged, that they would run the metaphorical ship aground on these shaky premises, believing that allowing the United States to default on its debts, allowing the economy to crumble, would actually be a good thing, and would give them the opportunity to remake our government, our economy, our society, in a way more in line with Ayn Rand’s ideas.

But Ayn Rand wasn’t even a good science fiction writer, much less a good economist, and far less an astute, objective observer of the fragile complexities of human character and American society. If we allow our economy to collapse, if we make it collapse because we think we can start over from scratch with a (non-existent) team of all-star CEOs drawing up the blueprints, we will quickly learn the answer to the question. There is no John Galt.

Google’s redesign: a second look

I want to follow up on my post about Google’s redesign from a couple weeks ago, as this redesign has, unsurprisingly, continued to evolve (or at least, reveal itself through ongoing usage).

It’s clear that Google is phasing in a massive overhaul, not just of how their products look, but how they work, and more specifically how they work together. This is a full-scale rethinking of the Google brand, and I’m not sure I like it.

The natural inclination for most users when something is unexpectedly changed is initially resistance. (Just look at how TechCrunch announced their redesign yesterday. They knew what the reaction would be.) And I frequently fall into that too, only to finally come around after a while when I finally “get it” or just get used to it.

But there are unprecedented challenges for Google with this redesign, owing mainly to two things: 1) users’ absolute dependence on Google tools for certain online tasks (search and mail being the most obvious) and 2) the vast scope of products and services Google is attempting to graft together.

The first is hard to avoid: the more users depend on something, the more upset they’ll be when you change it. (Like this.) The second is not. The second is neither necessary nor obvious. It didn’t have to happen at all, and it doesn’t have to happen the way it is. And as time goes on, I realize that’s what I dislike most about both the initial shoddy execution and the plan and goals underlying it.

As I consider it more, I realize that my disappointment and frustration stem from the fact that this massive integration effort affects my dependence on Google products in a way more profound than I would have expected. I have a Google Apps account for my room34.com domain, and in the conversion Google has forced upon that domain, I am running into numerous issues as I’ve had to merge my personal Google account with my domain account (which I didn’t even realize were separate, since they both use the same email address). Certain data didn’t survive the transition (like my Reader subscriptions); third-party applications that tie into these services are no longer working because of the “2-step verification process” which itself isn’t working, for reasons unknown; certain tools are unavailable to my domain, without explanation (I can’t create a Google Profile, which also means I can’t use Google+); and worst of all, whenever I run up against one of these issues, all Google can do is direct me to outdated and irrelevant documentation. No answers, only more questions.

I’m left with the impression that all of this was not fully thought through. But then again, I don’t think all of it could be thought through. I think it’s damn near impossible to integrate all of these disparate products and services into a cohesive whole, when most have been developed by relatively autonomous internal teams or acquired from outside, and were never designed nor envisioned as one day becoming integrated. And while I applaud Google for its (apparently sudden) focus on this grand new vision for its products, I’m not sure it’s something I really want anyway. Google is already a bit frightening and monolithic, with its vast stores of personal data collected about each of its millions of users. Despite its “Don’t be evil” motto, (former) CEO Eric Schmidt has said things like this (as quoted on Daring Fireball):

“We don’t need you to type at all. We know where you are. We know where you’ve been. We can more or less know what you’re thinking about.”

That quote is taken out of context, but the context doesn’t really help it much. With thinking like that trickling down from the top, do you really want Google to seamlessly integrate all of its products? Their disarray was the only thing providing a modicum of security-through-obscurity for Google’s users. Google may just be collecting all of this personal data to help it more effectively deliver ads to your eyeballs, which is how they make their money, and is bad enough. But that data is there. Who knows how it will be used by Google or whoever else might get their hands on it in the future?

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be too paranoid. Google’s incomplete efforts at integration are probably a good thing after all.

What I did on my summer vacation, 2011 edition

My family and I went on vacation last week. Nothing major… a driving tour of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and Duluth, Minnesota. A “greatest hits” tour, if you will. There were some things I’d rather forget (a constantly spreading crack in the windshield from a rock that hit it two hours into the first day of the trip; the daily kid freakout in the hotel because we weren’t at the pool yet; watching lots of Disney Channel), and other things I’ll always remember (jogging along the canal waterfront in Houghton at 6 AM; eating a sandwich of salmon, egg and radish on grilled lefse).

But the most enduring overall memory of the trip will probably be the collection of nearly 150 Instagram photos I took on my iPhone during the course of the trip. Instagram’s images may be low-resolution (612×612 pixels), but the endearing and quaint qualities its filters and effects lend, combined with the modern technologies that underly it (and allow for things like instant worldwide sharing, geolocation, and printing a poster of your photos), make it a transformative tool for turning cell phone photos into meaningful artifacts.

And, with that grandiose setup, here’s a sampling of some of the more interesting photos I took on the trip.

I found what was quite obviously not a naturally-formed rock on the shore, and placed it on top of what was also quite obviously not a natural piece of driftwood.

I doubt Roger Ebert was actually at McLain State Park, north of Hancock, Michigan. But someone by that name apparently was.

Whoever wrote this must have been under the effect if they thought they could fit the entire phrase in that amount of space.

Retaining walls can be ugly. Someone in Houghton did their part to change that.

Rosie throws a rock while Fletcher looks on.

I had some fun experimenting with different arrangements of natural elements, and artificial photographic effects.

I think this was a strawberry, growing wild on a rock near Lake Superior.

A stern warning from the monks of Society of St. John, in front of the Jampot.

This disturbing mural greets the inebriated patrons of the Ambassador Restaurant in Houghton, Michigan.

Rosie found a piece of bark on the beach near the mouth of the Presque Isle River in Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park.

I’m no botanist, but this is a cool looking flower.

Not “You Are Here.” Just… “You.”

I’ve always found artsy photos of derelict businesses appealing, so I had to try my hand at it.

There’s nothing to see out there, but you can see it up close.

I discovered what appears to be half a bowling ball amidst the rocks on the lakeshore north of downtown Duluth.

Amazingly, in all of the times I’ve visited Duluth in my life, I’ve never approached the lift bridge on foot. So I never saw details like this…

…or this.

I like the composition of this photo, with Fletcher in the foreground symmetrically balanced against the lighthouse in the background.

Toy cars on I-35. OK, they’re not really toy cars, of course, but a clever bit of tilt-shift trickery.

Another thing I’ve somehow managed never to experience before was Canal Park in the fog. Until now.

Before writing this post, I tried to research the history of… this thing… sunken in the waters of the Duluth Lakefront just northwest of the canal. But it appears to have been purged from the city’s history. Kind of like… this.

Update (8/5/2011): A former coworker has identified this as the “Ice House”… it even has a Facebook page. Sadly, I still can’t find any more information about its history. How can there possibly not be any more information about this thing online? Is Duluth really so ashamed of it that all but its teenaged, diving residents deny its existence?

There was a cool exhibit called “Masters of Disguise” at the Great Lakes Aquarium. Chameleons are awesome.

So are mantises that look like twigs.

While eating lunch at Takk for Maten in downtown Duluth, I couldn’t help noticing that this giant onion is totally gonna eat that guy!

Yes, I was Hoodwinked Too!

I don’t often write movie reviews here, but then again, I don’t often see the worst movie ever made, and I think the latter may just have happened yesterday.

In my defense, there is one, and only one, reason I went to see Hoodwinked Too! Hood vs. Evil yesterday, and that was to allow myself and my family a two-hour reprieve from the oppressive 100-degree heat of Minneapolis in July. It had not occurred to me prior to leaving home that there may be experiences to be had on such a summer day that were far more unpleasant, even if they were air conditioned.

Two minutes into the movie I was already bewildered by the incomprehensible (and unengaging) plot; the uninspired, inappropriate-reference-saturated, rapid-fire, pseudo-witty dialogue; the derivative grab bag of every possible character and trope from popular animated movies, good or bad, of the past decade (including, but not limited to, Shrek, Ice Age, The Incredibles, Monsters vs. Aliens and Kung Fu Panda); and the lazy, stunningly, sub-straight-to-DVD-Barbie-movie bad animation. The only thing this movie had going for it was a fairly decent cast of voice actors, and even then, most of them sounded as if they were recorded at their first table read, half asleep and wholly disinterested.

It got worse from there.

Or maybe it didn’t, as there were at least 2 or 3 moments — brief moments — during the movie where I was mildly entertained, mostly involving Bill Hader and Amy Poehler as Hansel and Gretel. But even they were annoying far more often than not. And they were nowhere near enough to offset the myriad other horrible things wrong with this movie. Perhaps the most disturbing is the movie’s tendency to take every questionable attribute of modern “kids'” movies to its logical extreme, especially the references to films no child should be able to understand. A few throwaway quotes from the likes of Scarface and Terminator (within 10 seconds of each other) is one thing. An entire scene built upon a parody of The Silence of the Lambs, with an Andy Dick-voiced rabbit strapped to a hand truck and locked behind shatterproof glass a la Hannibal Lecter, is inexcusable. And if inappropriate references don’t bother you, don’t worry. There are enough stereotypes here to offend just about anyone.

At this point you may be asking why I chose to see this movie, and why I’d spend money on it. The reason is simple: it was playing at a nearby second-run theater, which only has a single screen. This is what was showing at the time we chose to go, and tickets were only $2 each. That someone might have spent as much as $15 per ticket to see this movie (in 3-D no less, from which we were thankfully spared) sickens and saddens me. I scarcely even knew this movie existed prior to yesterday, and will do what I can to purge it from my memory as soon as this post goes live.

I’m sure far more people read Rotten Tomatoes every day than have visited this blog since its inception, so reiterating its content here is superfluous. Except… I wouldn’t be surprised if more people read this blog than have bothered to check out Hoodwinked Too! on Rotten Tomatoes. And since some of the reviews of this godawful piece of garbage (which, yes, I know, was the result of a lot of hard work… or, at least… work… by a large number of talented people… or, at least… people) provide far more entertainment (in far less time) than the movie itself, I figure they’re worth shining my dim little light upon.

If you’re not familiar with Rotten Tomatoes, it’s essentially a movie review aggregator. It provides each new release with a “Tomatometer” score, representing the percentage of reviewers who’ve given a film a positive rating. Films over 50% get a nice, plump, ripe red tomato. Films under 50% get a nasty green splatter. The site also gives each movie its own page, featuring excerpts from select reviews.

Hoodwinked Too! has one of the lowest Tomatometer scores I’ve ever seen — 12%— which restores just a shred of the respect for humanity I lost at the movie theater yesterday.

Here are some of my favorite comments from the reviewers:

Full of manic momentum and nattering, witless word play, the movie has all the charm of a mudslide.
–Liam Lacey, Globe and Mail

This is precisely what I was thinking, if not so eloquently, during the opening scenes.

Remember the first “Hoodwinked,” five years ago? Remember how it ended with the promise of a sequel? Remember how many times you’ve wondered when-oh-when-will-it-finally-come? Me neither.
–Stephen Whitty, Newark Star-Ledger

I honestly don’t remember ever seeing any promotion whatsoever for either of these movies, and could have gone on happily ever after (to carry over the fairy tale theme) believing they didn’t exist.

Parents should take their children to “Hoodwinked Too! Hood Vs. Evil,” if only because kids are never too young to learn the important and liberating skill of walking out of a movie and demanding a refund.
–Kyle Smith, New York Post

Why didn’t I think of that?

Somewhere during the first 30 minutes I actually felt my soul shrivel up and die. Trust me, you’ve had more entertaining colonoscopies.
–Jeff Meyers, Metro Times (Detroit, MI)

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