Marcus' World

MUNI Moments

On the N Judah tonight, I was standing up and reading The Essential Chomsky (2008), as part of the background reading for my essay "On the Perch."

At one point I moved to let someone off the train, which placed me in the path of a man holding a very large guitar case.  He noticed the Chomsky, and told me that he had seen it at San Francisco's one and only City Lights bookstore.  He also said that he'd recently seen the documentary "Manufacturing Consent," which is based on Chomsky's work.  He briefly borrowed my copy (after I chirped, "Do you want to take a look?"), and he read while trailing his fingers line-by-line along the page.

I discovered Chomsky in high school, in an anthology of interviews published in Rolling Stone. Reading Chomsky--who has been one of the most trenchant critics of American power and pretension in the last 40 years--felt vaguely treasonous in Grove City, OH.  But today it felt like par for the course in San Francisco, CA.

Back in high school I flirted with Chomsky but now he leaves me cold.  (I didn't reveal this to my MUNI friend tonight.) I admire his rigor, passion, and courage. But his essays are so throroughly depressing and devoid of hope that they become a recipe for apathy (at least for me).  Chomsky's refusal to abide by dominant notions ultimately feels forced and formulaic.

So I was reading Chomsky to reacquaint myself with his work, challenge my old perceptions, and figure out how to funnel all this into my essay.  The MUNI moment was a bonus.

Anniversaries and Waterfalls

Today's our "monthly anniversary" (wedding date Feb. 27, so we always do something on the 27th of each month), when Helen and I would normally splurge on a nice dinner.  This month we both hosted up dinners at home and talked to each other on the phone.  That's not quite the same. However, Helen's exquisite touch with the US Postal Service ensured that an anniversary card arrived this evening (which I later learned that she purchased a month ago, almost as soon as she left).  I'm pleased to report that my own card--more of a general greeting--came Helen's way yesterday.

Next weekend I'm going to visit, for July 4th and Helen's birthday on July 7.  I can't wait! We're staying in NYC for two nights, and then spending our final night together in Danbury, Connecticut (where Helen's living this summer).

Yesterday, in New York, Olafur Eliasson and the Public Art Fund unveiled The New York City Waterfalls. These are four temporary falls (they come down in October), between 80 and 120 feet high, arranged at various junctures along the lower East River.  Is it art? nature? both? It's probably too early to say, but so far the critics have been kind. 

"The Gates of Central Park," in February 2005, was New York's last major public art event.   Many people poohpoohed the pretentiousness of Christo and Jean Claude, but I liked the community spirit that the Gates engendered.  (I've been blogging so long that I can link back to these old posts!)  Looks like The Waterfalls will have the same effect in a larger, wetter pocket of the city.  I'm looking forward to seeing them next weekend.

Of Kindles and Changes in Writing

When Amazon came out with the Kindle last November, I was aware of it but didn't pay all that much attention.  I'm far from an early adopter of new technologies; still don't have an iPod and have no desire to have an iPhone.  I'm more adept at learning how to use "new tools" (blogs, wikis, Facebook, del.icio.us) rather than learning the nuances of new toys.  But the Kindle did stick a little more deeply in my brain because it involves reading.

A few months after the Kindle came out Ezra Klein noted that he planned to review it.  His fascinating take is now the cover story in the latest issue of the Columbia Journalism Review.  Klein's piece bears the provocative title "The Future of Reading" (more on that later).

Finally, just a few weeks ago Paul Krugman wrote that soon the Kindle (or something similar) would redefine how we read. Then wasn't a breathless prediction; Krugman correctly observed that many previous e-book readers have failed.  Nevertheless he feels that using a Kindle is close enough to reading a book on paper that it has a real chance of success. 

Krugman's piece finally broke through my inertia, and I decided that I needed to think seriously about whether to get a Kindle.  It didn't feel like an act of betrayal to print-on-paper books (even though Ezra Klein worried about being "berated by a librarian" for toting around his Kindle), but rather a bold foray into "the future of reading."

And so it was that I was up to almost 1 AM two nights ago, gorging myself on pro-and-con reviews of the Kindle.  (Helen wisely encouraged me to familiarize myself with all the points of view).  In the end I decided to hold off for now.  The price point is still a bit high ($359).  And since it's an Amazon product, right now you can only download books from Amazon.  But the fact that a full book arrives almost instantly upon purchase; that it can store up to 200 books; that it feels more like reading a familiar book than all previous e-book readers; and that it has a wireless connection is all very cool.  Someday in the near future I'll get an e-book reader, whether or not it's a Kindle.

This doesn't mean I'll abandon paper books.  They have cool smells.  They're comfortable and cozy, and good to read in the bathtub.  And if you drop a paper book there's no fear of damage, unless it falls in a mudpuddle. 

The Kindle won't end the paper book, just like the Web didn't end TV, and just like TV didn't end the radio or movies.  Many old technologies still make sense even after cool new ones come along.  Heck--there's still value in the print newspaper (which gives a boundary to the news that can disappear in a world of wonderfully endless hyperlinks).  Tonight I clipped out a listing of good local restaurants from the San Francisco Chronicle and used a magnet to put it on the fridge. That's really old school, but it still made sense.

So I think that Kindle and paper will learn to co-exist. Maybe they already are, at least in Amazonlandia. 

At the end of his piece, Klein points out that writing will be more affected than reading by our digital age (making his article title a bit tongue in cheek).  I agree with him completely. 

I peppered this post with a few links; I could have added many more, but I figured that everyone who reads this can Google if they want to.  So this meant I chose what was worth linking to, using my own internal compass. If I was writing for print only, I would have explained some things more fully because links weren't available to provide context (obviously my topic would not be the Kindle in this scenario, but you get the point!).  The ability to use links as shorthand is a major change in how people write. This might be good, it might be bad (it's probably both). But it is definitely a change. 

Finally...I deliberately linked out to that listing of good local restaurants--the print version of which is sitting behind a magnet on the fridge--because I wanted to show that old and new ways of conveying information can co-exist peacefully. So bring on the Kindle! Ezra, this librarian is not afraid.

Helen's Blogging Again

Anyone looking for an informative, engaging and lighthearted read should check out Helen's newly enlivened Two Way Streets.

[This has been a Twitter-like post provided via blog. Thank you and goodnight.]

Facebook Phases

As of today I have 232 "friends" on Facebook.  This is getting dangerously close to the level at which I should consider purging some of the less serious connections, according to Reihan Salam's "Facebook commandments."   (Helen is well over the threshold at 438 friends, but who's counting?)  No offense to Salam, but for now I'm fine with letting the good times roll. 

There are several categories of connections: UCSF friends; NYU friends; Haas school of business student and partner friends; librarian friends from hither and yon; college friends; childhood friends and family.  At this point, my guess is that I make 3-4 new Facebook connections each week.

In many cases, I'll connect with someone who is already well acquainted with Facebook.  These linkages generally don't yield much new activity.  However, I frequently connect with somebody who is new to the site.  Here, some distinct patterns emerge.  The person will first send a message, or perhaps leave a wall post.  Maybe they'll post a video, or tag a photo or two. 

And before you know it, I'll be getting an invitation to download an application that I don't want or need.  (By this point I've ignored at least ten "l'il green patch" requests.) I've been there--my profile is littered with applications for programs I never use but am not motivated enough to remove. But I now have a blanket policy to reject all new Facebook apps, no matter how cool they are or how worthy the cause.  Sometimes I wonder if I should tell the person who sent the app that it's not personal, but then I figure that they sent it around indiscriminately.

So there you have it: I'm already a jaded Facebook user, just as others are coming on board. 

Or maybe I'm not. These days I obsess over the little meter that allows you to exchange instant messages with whomever else is publicly active (you can be private if you want to) on Facebook at the same time.  The first few times I tried to chat the other person did not respond, but now they usually do.  The integration of chat into Facebook is still novel today, but in a few months it will be such old news that I'll be tired of it. 

And so it goes...

Welcome to the Wikitannica

Early this month the Encyclopedia Britannica announced that readers will soon be able to contribute their own entries on the Britannica site.  These entries will all be signed.  Official Britannica content still has pride of place; the phrase "Britannica Checked" will denote vetted encyclopedia entries.  Anything without this label should be understood as the responsibility of the author and not of the Britannica. 

CEO Jorge Cauz, on the Britannica blog, succinctly establishes the guiding principle behind this new experiment:  "[W]e believe that the creation and documentation of knowledge is a collaborative process but not a democratic one." Expertise still matters, even in these "Web 2.0" days.

Although Wikipedia is not mentioned in Britannica's announcements, commentators were quick to note that this move is obviously a reaction to the popularity of the site. Google's Knol is another antecedent (and to a lesser extent Citizendium), but the elephant in this living room is Wikipedia.  After all, who can forget the dust-up a few years ago about whether the Britannica or Wikipedia treats scientific topics more accurately?

Back then (in 2006), librarians were generally wary of Wikipedia.  "Don't use it!!" we'd often beseech bemused students. "It's bad for you!"  But of course everybody went to Wikipedia anyway.  Two years later we're much smarter. Since we know that Wikipedia is a tool of first resort, librarians now suggest how to use it intelligently rather than sermonizing about its shortcomings.  [Incidentally, this is the same arc we all traveled with Google.  One of the most popular classes at the UCSF Library, month after month, is "Advanced Googling." The premise is simple: Take this class and you'll know how to search Google more efficiently. That's all we need to say to bring people in.]

During these years in which librarians have migrated from Wikipedia wariness to Wikipedia acceptance, Wikipedia has grown more conservative.  If anything, these days there might be too much fussiness about who can post and who cannot.  And one of the most underappreciated aspects of the Wikipedia, in my view, are the warning flags at the top of entries that note whether an article is biased.  This is an excellent tool for critical evaluation of the site.

Over the same period that Wikipedia's moved away from its anarchic roots, the Britannica has accepted the inevitability of user-generated content.  Whatever the flaws of blogs and wikis, in some form they are here to stay.  There are still clear differences between the two sites: unlike on Britannica, you don't have to sign in as yourself to edit a Wikipedia page; and Britannica still privileges formally acknowledged expertise rather than the "wisdom of crowds."  The two sites haven't met in the middle, but they are significantly closer to each other than they were in 2006.

I hope that they never meet in the middle.  Productive tension between the Wikipedia and Britannica models for accumulating and sharing knowledge is a good thing, because both models have their strong points.  It is a very interesting time to be a librarian, because we have the professional responsibility to help patrons wend their way through this information universe.  Let's do it by teaching rather than preaching.

The Web Time Forgot

Even though Dean's beaten me to it, I can't help but blog about today's fascinating Times article by Alex Wright, "The Web Time Forgot."  Wright is a writer and information architect who earned an MLIS at Simmons College in Boston.

Wright details the remarkable prescience of Mr. Paul Otlet of Mons, Belgium, who envisioned many of the features of the what we now know as the World Wide Web in 1934.  This is eleven years earlier than Vannevar Bush's article, "As We May Think," which is often cited as one of the seminal works in the history of the Internet. Otlet saw the potential for a network that linked people and concepts together, which is what the Web is all about.

Otlet envisioned the hyperlink (which Kevin Kelly, of Wired, calls "one of the most underappreciated inventions of the last century.")  But Otlet's hyperlinks are smarter than most links that exist today, because they fully express the relationship between concepts.  In this way Otlet anticipated aspects of the semantic web, which doesn't really exist yet. 

Because computers didn't exist in 1934, Otlet used card catalogs and old-fashioned bibliographic skills to link different concepts together.  He even ran a very successful paid search service, in which people could submit search requests via mail or telegraph.  But the Mundaneum (Otlet's name for his organization) eventually fell on hard times, and during World War II it became the victim of a Nazi rampage.

This is a great article, and I haven't addressed all the points in it.  When I finished reading it this morning, I looked up at my fellow BART riders and thought to myself, "There really is nothing new under the sun."  They didn't seem to appreciate my epiphany, but Paul Otlet would have been with me.

Life is a continuum rather than a series of sharp disconnects; this is why the clear demarcations between Library "1.0" and "2.0" don't make sense (although this does have power as a heuristic device).  Otlet wasn't in a position to act on his insights technologically, but he did have a sense of the great potential of electronic media and of the human need to make connections.

Lately I've increased my appreciation for the stability and boundaries imposed by reading something in print, even though I love the vastness and radical connectivity available on the Internet. So that's another lesson in all of this: new technologies don't replace the old ones, but they do add to our store of ways to connect with each other.

Xenophobia in the BART Times

Helen and I still don't own a car, so my main mode of transport is the BART train.

Last week I picked up a copy of the BART Times, BART's monthly newsletter. It contains many exhortations to take public transit (which is a bit like preaching to the choir, since the main distribution points for the newsletter are BART stations).  There's lots of logical information about how public transportation makes more sense than ever, given the high cost of gas. I'm sold!

But I'm troubled by these lines:

"It's [riding BART] a great way to beat the high price of gasoline and support public transportation, helping reduce our dependence on foreign oil."

"Each year, public transportation use saves the equivalent of 34 supertankers of oil, or a supertanker leaving the Middle East every 11 days."

Would it be any different if the supertanker left Switzerland every 11 days? What does it matter? The conversion of oil into gasoline is bad for the Earth, wherever it comes from. 

Sure--I'll agree that Saudi Arabia is an oppressive state by Western standards, and that most Middle Eastern countries are not democratic.  But let's save that discussion for an appropriate place;  xenophobia in the BART Times is both unnecessary and distasteful.  It reminds me of Back to the Future, in which the villains are Libyans. Or of old pro wrestling silliness, in which the "Iron Sheikh" was the villain because he's (ostensibly) from Iran.

So good grief BART! Just give me a smooth train ride and stay out of politics.

Same Sex Marriage Now Legal in California

It's a great day to be in California.  Since 5:01 PM Pacific time this evening, same sex marriage has been legal throughout the state.  Out with discrimination, in with equal rights!  Massachusetts restricts this right to state residents, but any gay couple can come to California and be married.

The sky hasn't fallen, the world is still turning, and my marriage to Helen is just as strong as it ever was.  This "assault" on heterosexual marriage that you hear about in some quarters doesn't seem to be having much impact, today and forever.

Below are just three of the many pictures from the San Francisco Chronicle--the first from Oakland (in my home county of Alameda), and the last two from San Francisco.  Enjoy!

Yes, I'm Fine!

When I told people that Helen was going away for the summer, a common reaction was, "We need to make sure you'll eat!"  Now that Helen has been gone for a few weeks, this has evolved into, "Are you eating?!"

Nobody means this literally, of course. To alleviate any lingering concerns: I eat out, cook a little bit, and have become a fan of the microwave.

I can't help but think that people wouldn't be so concerned if Helen were here and I were away.  The reason is obvious--gender.  Also, in the Bay Area (to make a sweeping generalization) people seem to eat at home more and go out less often.  In New York everyone would have assumed I'd keep on ordering takeout.

When we lived in New York and in Washington DC, Helen traveled for work most of the time.  She usually left Monday morning and returned late Thursday night.  So we're both pretty independent while being wildly attached to each other.  This summer the weekends away from each other are hard, but at least I have some experience in taking care of myself from that not-so-distant past. 

I'll be fine, and thank you very much to everyone for your concern.