Showing posts with label Internet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Internet. Show all posts
Thursday, 27 August 2020
Thank you Facebook
If I needed any more encouragement to stay at home (and any more proof that algorithms are not to be trusted)......
Monday, 30 September 2019
It's a wise child
There was a family party over the weekend - a special birthday for someone (not me), but if the mood was nostalgic for some of us, casting back decades and generations, the children, though showing polite interest in great-great-grandparents even I never knew, soon brought us up to date by trying to bamboozle the Google Assistant device:
"Google, who is your mother?"
"My engineers are always there for me"
As to asking who its father was, the resulting schmaltzy PR guff about Google's merits put me off trying to remember it.
"Google, who is your mother?"
"My engineers are always there for me"
As to asking who its father was, the resulting schmaltzy PR guff about Google's merits put me off trying to remember it.
Thursday, 2 October 2014
Shiny, shiny
There's a particular sort of magical thinking that used to catch me in posh stationery shops: somehow that pen, that notebook, and those smart file folders would make my handwriting perfect, my thoughts positively lapidary and so tidily organised. Fat chance, of course, but something similar was hovering around while I was spending months gazing at seemingly endless variations of shiny new equipment, my desktop being at least ten years old (in computer years, somewhere near village idiot age, I imagine) and Microsoft having decided to let the operating system decline into decrepitude without support (as I imagine may yet come to us all).
So finally I plumped for a laptop that can do everything the desktop does, only faster and with a much sharper screen display, and a convertible thingy that can replace my travelling netbook and be just a tablet as well. With touchscreens on both of them, the tappy-swipey generation gained yet another member.
It took a couple of weeks for the magical thinking to subside, and work out a routine for doing the same jobs as before, but much more quickly and smoothly (already, scanning my old photos has progressed to the 1990s, whoop-de-doo). For all the complaints people have made about Windows 8.1, I do find the extra options offered by the touchscreen rather useful - it makes scrolling through longer pages much more controllable than using the trackpad, for me anyway.
But superstition, not to mention experience, tells me that the more "intuitive" and "helpful" computers get, the more potential for trouble there is. I wouldn't be surprised if those kindly people at AmaGoogleFacePal come out with some combination of eye-tracking and brainwave-measuring technology to place an order and charge your credit card for whatever seems to attract your attention on a web-page (Apple will have their own version, no doubt called iWant), without your having to twitch an eyelid. And by then we'll have become so inert we'll no longer have the physical capacity to send back all the things they get wrong.
So finally I plumped for a laptop that can do everything the desktop does, only faster and with a much sharper screen display, and a convertible thingy that can replace my travelling netbook and be just a tablet as well. With touchscreens on both of them, the tappy-swipey generation gained yet another member.
It took a couple of weeks for the magical thinking to subside, and work out a routine for doing the same jobs as before, but much more quickly and smoothly (already, scanning my old photos has progressed to the 1990s, whoop-de-doo). For all the complaints people have made about Windows 8.1, I do find the extra options offered by the touchscreen rather useful - it makes scrolling through longer pages much more controllable than using the trackpad, for me anyway.
But superstition, not to mention experience, tells me that the more "intuitive" and "helpful" computers get, the more potential for trouble there is. I wouldn't be surprised if those kindly people at AmaGoogleFacePal come out with some combination of eye-tracking and brainwave-measuring technology to place an order and charge your credit card for whatever seems to attract your attention on a web-page (Apple will have their own version, no doubt called iWant), without your having to twitch an eyelid. And by then we'll have become so inert we'll no longer have the physical capacity to send back all the things they get wrong.
Saturday, 19 May 2012
Shiny, shiny!!
And what could be more appropriate to so many internet users than a technology called Frustrated Total Internal Reflection?
Friday, 3 February 2012
A weekend in Amsterdam (4)
I wouldn't want you to think I totally neglected kulcher on this trip. There were a couple of museums I've not visited in the thirty years or so that I've been going to Amsterdam.
One was the Tropenmuseum, originally devoted to the wonders of the Netherlands' overseas empire in Indonesia and the West Indies, but now expanded to include the cultures and environment of the tropics generally, in Africa, Latin America and South Asia, focussing on changes resulting from development and interaction with new ways of living. Alongside that are regular art installations and events on similar themes. Even though the content is more contained than its equivalent in Paris, the Quai Branly, it could be just as exhausting - it would repay an early start and a leisurely tour.
Another is the Museum Van Loon, an imposing canalside residence restored to something like the style of its wealthy 18th century owners, but full of mementoes of successive families living there. It's a slightly odd mix of a very Dutch worthy restraint and the opulent, as the pictures below would suggest. The grand staircase is in largely unadorned marble; but the very last picture shows not the main residence but - the coach house and stables.
One was the Tropenmuseum, originally devoted to the wonders of the Netherlands' overseas empire in Indonesia and the West Indies, but now expanded to include the cultures and environment of the tropics generally, in Africa, Latin America and South Asia, focussing on changes resulting from development and interaction with new ways of living. Alongside that are regular art installations and events on similar themes. Even though the content is more contained than its equivalent in Paris, the Quai Branly, it could be just as exhausting - it would repay an early start and a leisurely tour.
Another is the Museum Van Loon, an imposing canalside residence restored to something like the style of its wealthy 18th century owners, but full of mementoes of successive families living there. It's a slightly odd mix of a very Dutch worthy restraint and the opulent, as the pictures below would suggest. The grand staircase is in largely unadorned marble; but the very last picture shows not the main residence but - the coach house and stables.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
What does your Web look like?
I know it's an advertising stunt for the new release of Firefox, but ingenious. Though I have to say I don't really recognise "mine": it looks much more tidy than I'd ever thought myself. And what's with the pincushion and knitting needles?
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Friday, 27 May 2011
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Photos, feathers and frills
You might think, on hearing that the Victoria and Albert were inviting people to send in photos for a database on wedding fashion, that there would be too many to choose from.
For them perhaps, once they're deluged with photos; but it's surprising how those heaps (in my memory) of old photos and albums, stuffed randomly into drawers over the decades, turn out to amount to no more than a medium-sized box or two - at least for photos up to about the 1960s. In the five years I've had a digital camera, I've probably accumulated more images than all the decades-worth I've inherited from my parents and grandparents.
We forget how rare photographs could be (especially the ones worth keeping). The vague memory of some enormous piece of cardboard covered in Edwardian frills and huge feathered hats has to give way to the reality of a couple of faded, rather dog-eared, rather small photographs on the verge of fading out altogether. But another wonder of digital technology is that a little bit of fiddling with the scan of what looked like a bleached-out, "soot and whitewash" print uncovered ghostly traces of carefully goffered frills.
So now my grandparents and some of their families, as they were in August 1902, are preserved in a museum (so too are my parents in the run-up to the Second World War - much less photogenic neat and reuseable daywear that would be no more than stylishly "retro" today).
In 1902, everyone looks rather more grimly determined than joyful: but there's a clue to that, in the rather dull light and the fact that my grandmother's image is slightly blurred. They must have had to hold position for rather longer than today's point-and-push, on-the-fly, snapshots require.
A not very scientific sample of submissions to the database include comments, not so much on the fashions (what's to say?) as clues to social and family histories. In their group photo, my grandparents have yielded pride of place to the senior members of their families: my grandmother's aunt, my grandfather's mother, and his brother-in-law's father (who seems to have been acting a sort of substitute father for the occasion).
It's noticeable, and entirely explicable from family legend, that my grandmother's stepmother is definitely NOT there. Other stories would be sparked off by pulling this photo from the drawer: that the formidable-looking Aunt Sarah Corke was wont to limp on to buses with a winning smile and ask if any kind gentleman would give up his seat "to a lady with a Corke leg", and that among the imposingly behatted ladies is "Auntie Nan, who sneezed at the wrong moment and flushed away her dentures".
Such stories, like the frills, fade over time: but, as ever, there's a digital solution to that too, in "legacy" websites and "companion" software to keep track of family photos, videos and memories. The mind just boggles at the thought of the data storage required - and the future digital equivalent of all those holiday slideshow evenings: not so much Big Brother as Big Granny and Big Grandpa, available worldwide, 24/7. So long, of course, as someone keeps up the subscription: how do Flickr and Facebook and the like keep up as members die off - what happens to what they've posted, and are their executors reminded to inform all the websites they've subscribed to?.
For them perhaps, once they're deluged with photos; but it's surprising how those heaps (in my memory) of old photos and albums, stuffed randomly into drawers over the decades, turn out to amount to no more than a medium-sized box or two - at least for photos up to about the 1960s. In the five years I've had a digital camera, I've probably accumulated more images than all the decades-worth I've inherited from my parents and grandparents.
We forget how rare photographs could be (especially the ones worth keeping). The vague memory of some enormous piece of cardboard covered in Edwardian frills and huge feathered hats has to give way to the reality of a couple of faded, rather dog-eared, rather small photographs on the verge of fading out altogether. But another wonder of digital technology is that a little bit of fiddling with the scan of what looked like a bleached-out, "soot and whitewash" print uncovered ghostly traces of carefully goffered frills.So now my grandparents and some of their families, as they were in August 1902, are preserved in a museum (so too are my parents in the run-up to the Second World War - much less photogenic neat and reuseable daywear that would be no more than stylishly "retro" today).
In 1902, everyone looks rather more grimly determined than joyful: but there's a clue to that, in the rather dull light and the fact that my grandmother's image is slightly blurred. They must have had to hold position for rather longer than today's point-and-push, on-the-fly, snapshots require.
A not very scientific sample of submissions to the database include comments, not so much on the fashions (what's to say?) as clues to social and family histories. In their group photo, my grandparents have yielded pride of place to the senior members of their families: my grandmother's aunt, my grandfather's mother, and his brother-in-law's father (who seems to have been acting a sort of substitute father for the occasion).
It's noticeable, and entirely explicable from family legend, that my grandmother's stepmother is definitely NOT there. Other stories would be sparked off by pulling this photo from the drawer: that the formidable-looking Aunt Sarah Corke was wont to limp on to buses with a winning smile and ask if any kind gentleman would give up his seat "to a lady with a Corke leg", and that among the imposingly behatted ladies is "Auntie Nan, who sneezed at the wrong moment and flushed away her dentures".Such stories, like the frills, fade over time: but, as ever, there's a digital solution to that too, in "legacy" websites and "companion" software to keep track of family photos, videos and memories. The mind just boggles at the thought of the data storage required - and the future digital equivalent of all those holiday slideshow evenings: not so much Big Brother as Big Granny and Big Grandpa, available worldwide, 24/7. So long, of course, as someone keeps up the subscription: how do Flickr and Facebook and the like keep up as members die off - what happens to what they've posted, and are their executors reminded to inform all the websites they've subscribed to?.
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Words, words, words
I see Madame Defarge is feeling deprived of the opportunity to comment in her Blogger identity. Such is the world of dependence on "free" software, but that's one of my King Charles's heads when I'm at work, and I don't intend to harp on it now.
Instead, let us ponder the relative frustrations of, on the one hand, having things to say and not being able to say them, or - as in my case in recent weeks - having a space to say things, and not finding that much to say.
It might, perhaps, be an idea to try a different sort of concept: in which spirit, this website offers some ideas for blog titles - Crepuscular Degeneration, anyone? Withdrawn Lassitude?
Alternatively, some new vocabulary might be in order. In which case, in honour of Burns Night, here is a test of some opportunities from north of the border. (29 out of 35, since you ask, mostly by inspired guesswork: and I'm still working out how to create the opportunity to call someone a kenspeckle bauchle cockapentie - now that would be a blog identity to have some fun with).
Instead, let us ponder the relative frustrations of, on the one hand, having things to say and not being able to say them, or - as in my case in recent weeks - having a space to say things, and not finding that much to say.
It might, perhaps, be an idea to try a different sort of concept: in which spirit, this website offers some ideas for blog titles - Crepuscular Degeneration, anyone? Withdrawn Lassitude?
Alternatively, some new vocabulary might be in order. In which case, in honour of Burns Night, here is a test of some opportunities from north of the border. (29 out of 35, since you ask, mostly by inspired guesswork: and I'm still working out how to create the opportunity to call someone a kenspeckle bauchle cockapentie - now that would be a blog identity to have some fun with).
Friday, 13 August 2010
What personality?
My sister-in-law is mystified at being identified as a mechanic.
Such is the world of psychometric testing, particularly when it's yoked to some automatic prose analysis system. I've done more than one Myers-Briggs test; I can never remember what it said, though I'm sure I winced in recognition at being consistently labelled an introvert, and that it didn't leave me aghast, or rolling on the floor in laughter.
This, on the other hand, seems particularly fanciful. I wasn't surprised to find that the results varied according to the prose that's fed into it. Some very dull and factual stuff had me among the INTJ "Scientists", but two separate submissions of this blog had me first among the ENTP "Visionaries":
They highly value knowledge, and spend much of their lives seeking a higher understanding. They live in the world of possibilities, and become excited about concepts, challenges and difficulties. When presented with a problem, they're good at improvising and quickly come up with a creative solution. Creative, clever, curious, and theoretical"
and then among the ESTP "Doers":
The active and playful type. They are especially attuned to people and things around them and often full of energy, talking, joking and engaging in physical out-door activities.
The Doers are happiest with action-filled work which craves their full attention and focus. They might be very impulsive and more keen on starting something new than following it through. They might have a problem with sitting still or remaining inactive for any period of time.
I may be inclined to start things without finishing them, but I have absolutely no problem about sitting still and inactive. The two traits are not unrelated.
What does surprise me (though perhaps it shouldn't) is the suggestion of an inner extrovert, just waiting to burst out of this blog, vuvuzelatastically spurting party poppers and goosing passers-by.
I rather suspect, though, that if I give it another go, it'll tell me I'm something else, but will never be uncomplimentary. So keep trying, Nancy, you could turn out to be among the Performers, Artists, Inspirers or Idealists. Perhaps it just needs to be given a biscuit.
Such is the world of psychometric testing, particularly when it's yoked to some automatic prose analysis system. I've done more than one Myers-Briggs test; I can never remember what it said, though I'm sure I winced in recognition at being consistently labelled an introvert, and that it didn't leave me aghast, or rolling on the floor in laughter.
This, on the other hand, seems particularly fanciful. I wasn't surprised to find that the results varied according to the prose that's fed into it. Some very dull and factual stuff had me among the INTJ "Scientists", but two separate submissions of this blog had me first among the ENTP "Visionaries":
They highly value knowledge, and spend much of their lives seeking a higher understanding. They live in the world of possibilities, and become excited about concepts, challenges and difficulties. When presented with a problem, they're good at improvising and quickly come up with a creative solution. Creative, clever, curious, and theoretical"
and then among the ESTP "Doers":
The active and playful type. They are especially attuned to people and things around them and often full of energy, talking, joking and engaging in physical out-door activities.
The Doers are happiest with action-filled work which craves their full attention and focus. They might be very impulsive and more keen on starting something new than following it through. They might have a problem with sitting still or remaining inactive for any period of time.
I may be inclined to start things without finishing them, but I have absolutely no problem about sitting still and inactive. The two traits are not unrelated.
What does surprise me (though perhaps it shouldn't) is the suggestion of an inner extrovert, just waiting to burst out of this blog, vuvuzelatastically spurting party poppers and goosing passers-by.
I rather suspect, though, that if I give it another go, it'll tell me I'm something else, but will never be uncomplimentary. So keep trying, Nancy, you could turn out to be among the Performers, Artists, Inspirers or Idealists. Perhaps it just needs to be given a biscuit.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Faux amis
I've learnt a new French verb from Claude's blog: "je fessebouc" (think about it).
Does that mean that the French think of the world's largest online network as "Bumgoat"?
Does that mean that the French think of the world's largest online network as "Bumgoat"?
Friday, 16 July 2010
Multiple personalities
Alerted by Mizz Scarlet, I have been undergoing analysis - stylistically, that is - through this enterprising site.
Depending on which particular past posting I submit to it, I write like
(a) Oscar Wilde
(b) H. P. Lovecraft
(c) Ernest Hemingway
(d) D*n Br*wn (the horror! the horror!).
Perhaps I should settle for being Walt Whitman (who, on this evidence, apparently wrote like Charles Dickens) with his grandiloquent excuse:
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.
Fortunately, I don't think their database encompasses Enid Blyton - their analysis of an example of her oeuvre entitled Big-Hands and Nobbly is that she wrote like J. K. Rowling.
Depending on which particular past posting I submit to it, I write like
(a) Oscar Wilde
(b) H. P. Lovecraft
(c) Ernest Hemingway
(d) D*n Br*wn (the horror! the horror!).
Perhaps I should settle for being Walt Whitman (who, on this evidence, apparently wrote like Charles Dickens) with his grandiloquent excuse:
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.
Fortunately, I don't think their database encompasses Enid Blyton - their analysis of an example of her oeuvre entitled Big-Hands and Nobbly is that she wrote like J. K. Rowling.
Monday, 26 April 2010
Facebook wit and wisdom
What kind of tortured genius was it that programmed Facebook to suggest that you "friend" yourself - and then, if in a moment of devil-may-care whimsy you attempt to do so, to tell you
"You cannot connect with yourself."
Is this some profound observation on online social networking? Or have they been watching me all my life? I could get a complex, or something.
"You cannot connect with yourself."
Is this some profound observation on online social networking? Or have they been watching me all my life? I could get a complex, or something.
Thursday, 18 February 2010
Surreal..
An email from "Mimetic Gillespie" (one of a silent order of Gillespies, I assume) offers me an "Often updated sugary original archive" - not something I encountered in my classes on records management, I have to say.
Reading (not much) further on, I discover that it is an archive of a lady from Port Stanley (who knew they could be so adventurous in the Falklands? You'd think the wind would make it inadvisable) displaying what are apparently now called (if I am to believe a rather shouty Chinese gentleman I've seen on the televisual apparatus) her "bangers".
Later in the day, there's something similar from "Objector Prescott" (surely not our former Deputy Prime Minister?!).
Ho-hum.
Reading (not much) further on, I discover that it is an archive of a lady from Port Stanley (who knew they could be so adventurous in the Falklands? You'd think the wind would make it inadvisable) displaying what are apparently now called (if I am to believe a rather shouty Chinese gentleman I've seen on the televisual apparatus) her "bangers".
Later in the day, there's something similar from "Objector Prescott" (surely not our former Deputy Prime Minister?!).
Ho-hum.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
If in doubt, move stuff about..
Not having anything interesting to write about, I've succumbed to the lure of re-arranging the furniture - and adding a couple of whirly widgets to the sidebar. I'm just a child at heart.
If your inner teenager is interested, here's where you can find the tag cloud and the Flickr widget. And no, I don't know if you can get one that'll add glitter.
If your inner teenager is interested, here's where you can find the tag cloud and the Flickr widget. And no, I don't know if you can get one that'll add glitter.
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
What kind of cheese are you?
Yes, not having done anything at all interesting over the weekend, I turn to one of those internet quiz things for inspiration. Sort of.
Apparently, I'm "a soft, crumbly white blue-streaked cheese... very cool and mellow.... very knowledgeable and wise and people come to you for advice and help."
Which is as might have been last time I looked at it: but the strange thing is, I really don't like blue cheese.
And now I've done the test again, I find I'm camembert: " a creamy, delicate tasting cheese. You are refined and graceful and very organized. As a very insightful cheese, you like to ponder the meaning of life."
Hmm. I wonder if they ever come up with anything uncomplimentary, as for example:
"You are Stinking Bishop - you smell of old socks and wet towels. An acquired taste, favoured by those who don't mind a dare."
"You are Mousetrap - old, hard, bitter and cracked. You are supposedly attractive to rodents if to no-one else, but are not surprised to find yourself remaining un-nibbled by even the most desperate mouse."
Apparently, I'm "a soft, crumbly white blue-streaked cheese... very cool and mellow.... very knowledgeable and wise and people come to you for advice and help."
Which is as might have been last time I looked at it: but the strange thing is, I really don't like blue cheese.
And now I've done the test again, I find I'm camembert: " a creamy, delicate tasting cheese. You are refined and graceful and very organized. As a very insightful cheese, you like to ponder the meaning of life."
Hmm. I wonder if they ever come up with anything uncomplimentary, as for example:
"You are Stinking Bishop - you smell of old socks and wet towels. An acquired taste, favoured by those who don't mind a dare."
"You are Mousetrap - old, hard, bitter and cracked. You are supposedly attractive to rodents if to no-one else, but are not surprised to find yourself remaining un-nibbled by even the most desperate mouse."
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Something for our friends in the Southern Hemisphere...
Or should I say
˙˙˙ǝɹǝɥdsıɯǝɥ uɹǝɥʇnos ǝɥʇ uı spuǝıɹɟ ɹno ɹoɟ ƃuıɥʇǝɯos
http://www.dawgsays.com/funtext
˙˙˙ǝɹǝɥdsıɯǝɥ uɹǝɥʇnos ǝɥʇ uı spuǝıɹɟ ɹno ɹoɟ ƃuıɥʇǝɯos
http://www.dawgsays.com/funtext
Friday, 18 April 2008
It's not called Twitter for nothing, is it?
Gordon Brown's office has set up a Twitter feed during his visit to the US.
Mind you, I was as >dismissive of blogging in my time: and I could post to this using my mobile, if entering text weren't quite so laborious.
Mind you, I was as >dismissive of blogging in my time: and I could post to this using my mobile, if entering text weren't quite so laborious.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Reading
An interesting piece on Julie's blog on the value of reading*. How could one disagree?
I'm not sure I buy the idea that the internet - any more than TV or radio or the cinema before it - is killing reading (intelligent, engaged reading). It's a commonplace that people don't really "read" online, they scan and focus on what they think they're looking for, and that you have to structure content and write it accordingly. It is undoubtedly replacing a lot of not-quite-reading of hard copy print, but is that among those who would otherwise have read seriously, or just among those who probably wouldn't read seriously anyway?
There is of course plenty of evidence that writers keep on writing and publishers keep on publishing, and that the mass media promote the sale of more and more books.
What I'm in no position to estimate is whether people who do read books do so any more or less reflectively than they did in the days before mass and electronic media. I recently came across this from Milton's Paradise Regained (no, I haven't read the whole thing, this was in an anthology I was given for Christmas and keep as a loo-book):
"However, many books,
Wise man have said, are wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior
(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere seek?)
Unsettled and uncertain still remains,
Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself,
Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys
And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge,
As children gathering pebbles on the shore."
Ouch - I think.
*Note to self: where did I put that copy of Proust's Sur La Lecture I bought in Paris (well, it's short, ooh, when was it? I really must get on with it.
I'm not sure I buy the idea that the internet - any more than TV or radio or the cinema before it - is killing reading (intelligent, engaged reading). It's a commonplace that people don't really "read" online, they scan and focus on what they think they're looking for, and that you have to structure content and write it accordingly. It is undoubtedly replacing a lot of not-quite-reading of hard copy print, but is that among those who would otherwise have read seriously, or just among those who probably wouldn't read seriously anyway?
There is of course plenty of evidence that writers keep on writing and publishers keep on publishing, and that the mass media promote the sale of more and more books.
What I'm in no position to estimate is whether people who do read books do so any more or less reflectively than they did in the days before mass and electronic media. I recently came across this from Milton's Paradise Regained (no, I haven't read the whole thing, this was in an anthology I was given for Christmas and keep as a loo-book):
"However, many books,
Wise man have said, are wearisome; who reads
Incessantly, and to his reading brings not
A spirit and judgment equal or superior
(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere seek?)
Unsettled and uncertain still remains,
Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself,
Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys
And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge,
As children gathering pebbles on the shore."
Ouch - I think.
*Note to self: where did I put that copy of Proust's Sur La Lecture I bought in Paris (well, it's short, ooh, when was it? I really must get on with it.
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