Brainstorming

Today I worked with a small team of colleagues on an all-day brainstorming session. And it was a lot of work.

One of the most difficult things about brainstorming is that you don’t really know where you will end up. Yes, there are general guidelines, ground rules, agreed upon paths, to be sure.

Yet by definition, you don’t know, going in, which ideas are going to evolve into something exciting, which are going to be controversial, and which might just turn into a sinkhole, leading to argument, confusion and mutual incomprehension.

But it’s always worth it. Even the bad parts are good, because what you are really doing is learning a map of each others’ minds. So not only are you generating ideas together, but you are steadily improving your ability to work together.

In the long run, that can be the most valuable part.

Building a library

Every day for weeks, here at the Centre for Digital Media in Vancouver, I have passed by an empty bookshelf in the hallway, just around the corner from the room where I’ve been staying.

I realize that this is a centre for digital media, but the sight of that bare bookshelf, looking so empty and forlorn, would tug at my heart every time. So finally I decided to do something about it.

This weekend, on a visit to Bowen Island, I came across a wonderfully illustrated book about Visual Thinking. I brought it back with me on the ferry yesterday morning, and put it on the shelf. Now at least there would be one book!

This morning I emerged from my room to discover that this first book had been joined by a second — a nice little paperback of short stories about Vancouver. Overnight, the number of books in our emergent library had doubled!

I am hopeful that people will continue to add books, and that our little shared bookshelf will grow and grow, one day becoming filled to the brim with good old-fashioned pre-digital media.

Wearable technologies

Clothing is such a successful and well integrated technology that we generally forget that it is a technology. For most people reading this blog, almost anything you are wearing is the result of highly mechanized and capital-intense methods of production.

And clothing is not a voluntary technology — it is mandatory, both socially and legally. If you try to walk out in public without clothes, people will think that you are crazy, and you will also get arrested.

There is much worry, as our society edges ever closer to universal wearable technologies, that we will lose privacy, anonymity, freedom of unmonitored movement. Once we pop in those convenient AR contact lenses, we might find ourselves tagged by the NSA, Google, rogue hackers in Belarus, or god knows who else.

But we long ago gave up our ability to remain “untagged”. The clothes we wear — those extremely mandatory clothes — tell a rather detailed story about who we are and where we fit into society. And rather than fight that ability to be identified, most people have been socialized from an early age to embrace it, to incorporate it into their very sense of self.

The social control exerted through fashion can be quite pernicious. For example, if you are too poor to afford expensive clothes, there are many places where you will never be welcome, or even permitted to enter.

So don’t be surprised by young people who are not at all freaked out at being constantly tracked through the newest wearable technology. Being continually monitored and identified, wherever you go, might very well come to be considered the height of fashion.

Learning curves

Every so often I am struck by the huge gulf that can exist between “knowing what something does” and “knowing how to make something”. The tools that we rely on can be every simple to use, and yet extremely difficult to create and to understand under the hood.

For example, everybody gets what television does, but it takes specialized knowledge to understand how it really works, and even more specialized knowledge to build a working TV set. The same goes for automobiles, pianos, smartPhones, and all sorts of other modern tools that we take for granted.

This came home to me yesterday when I set out to do something for a computer graphics project that is very easy to describe: Given two curves, find out how much to move and scale one of the curves so that the two curves become superimposed on each other as close as possible.

To do that, you need to change the x,y and scale of one of the curves. All those possible x,y,scale values form a kind of parabolic dish, and the best answer is at the very bottom of the dish — the place where a marble would roll to if you dropped it into the dish.

But to turn that picture into math, and then into a computer program, took me several hours, and at the end of it I had a little piece of code that would make sense to very few people:

      var n = min(P.length, Q.length), a=0, b=0, c=0, d=0, e=0, f=0;
      for (var i = 0 ; i < n ; i++) {             var px = P[i][0], py = P[i][1], qx = Q[i][0], qy = Q[i][1];             a += px;             b += py;             c += qx;             d += qy;             e += px * px + py * py;             f += px * qx + py * qy;       }       return solve([ [n,0,a,c], [0,n,b,d], [a,b,e,f] ]);

Like most software, this relies on other software. For example, the last line calls a linear equation solver, which is a standard tool that I already had lying around.

Everything that is interesting — and maybe difficult to understand — about these dozen-odd lines of code is in how you convert a simple idea like “make two curves line up” into another simple idea like “find the bottom of a dish”, and then into mathematics. There isn’t anything interesting about the computer code itself.

Sometimes when I think that we should be teaching everyone to program, I look at code like this and I realize that the real power-up doesn’t come from learning programming, it comes from learning how to express ideas using math. And that’s a whole different thing.

Under the watchful gays of the church

Every once in a while you run across a story which is so incredibly stupid, embarrassing, and “hit me in the face with a brick” idiotic that it becomes weirdly transcendent.

Such a story happened the other day, when Tim Torkildson lost his job at the Nomen Global Language Center in Provo, Utah, because his boss, Clarke Woodger, sacked him for posting a lesson on “Homophones”.

As everyone who reads this blog knows, a homophone is a word that sounds like another word. You can’t really teach English without covering this essential topic. But Mr. Woodger, apparently, thought that teaching about homophones would promote a gay agenda.

Around this point, you are probably thinking that I’m making this up. But no, I swear, this is actually what happened.

I suppose I could try to say something clever and funny about this. But what could be funnier, in a tragic sort of way, than what actually happened here?

Evolution

Today I went to the opening of the “Evolution of Gaming” exhibit of old computer games at the Centre for Digital Media in Vancouver. Unlike many other exhibits of historical computer games that date back half a century or more, this one lets you play with the originals.

In order to accomplish this, the organizers searched on eBay and other places, to find original games from the ’80s, ’70s and earlier that had just been languishing in garages and basements for decades. Where needed, the games were put back into working order, and now the experience of playing them has been opened up to the public.

There were lots of little kids roaming around the exhibit today, trying out such classics as Pong, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pac Man and, well, Evolution. It’s wonderful to see these kids take to such games with true excitement and enthusiasm. They weren’t counting pixels and polygons, and they didn’t seem to care that there wasn’t a modern GPU in sight.

It’s good to be reminded that some things are timeless — like good game design.

Love letters, part 2

Second attempt:

“My Darling, I do not deserve you — you are so much more than I am. If I am but a brief moment in time, you are eternity itself. If I am a mere housefly, you are a winged eagle. If I am one of those little holes in a postage stamp, you are the Grand Canyon. If I am an insignificant atom, you are a planet. If I am a planet, you are the Sun. If I am the Sun, you are the Milky Way galaxy itself!!!”

“What?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to say you look fat.”

Love letters, part 1

β€œTo write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written.” — Jean-Jacques Rousseau

First attempt:

“I miss your eyes, bright like the lights from inside a refrigerator full of yummy food, I miss your lips like two pomegranates ripe enough to eat but not, you know, so ripe yet that they start to smell funny. I miss your nose that sticks out of your face so proudly, telling me that you are here well before the rest of you does. I miss your elbows, your knees, that little mole you have that I noticed one day but never told you about because it is in such an embarrassing part of your body. I love every part of you, and I just, well, um, wanted you to know that.”

Hummus and Pita, part 4

Pita knew that his offer would not be refused — since everyone knows that the Baba Ghanoush loves music. And so Pita began to play upon his baklava.

And it was a sweet pastry of music indeed, composed of layers upon layers of delicate melody, sweetened and held together by notes of pure honey. For nobody could play the baklava like young Pita.

Eventually his listener, lulled by the magic of his playing, fell into a deep reverie, and began to doze off. And that is when the young man saw his chance. For he knew that this was not the true Baba Ghanoush, but the Foul Mudammas in disguise.

Taking out his trusty shish kebab, Pita plunged the sharp blade into the stomach of the sleeping monster. And lo and behold, fatoosh! out came Hummus, alive and well, if somewhat the worse for wear.

Once they were sure that the monster was well and truly dead, together they traveled back to the cottage, where their Dolma wept with joy to see them. She was glad to find that they had brought with them the coin purse of the treacherous Foul Mudammas, which indeed contained a fortune.

“Ah my sons,” their Dolma said proudly, “I knew you would come back to me, and that you would turn our tzatziki into a fortune. But tell me Hummus, how did it feel, to be trapped inside the belly of such a foul monster?”

Hummus looked at his Dolma, and he looked at Pita. Then he shrugged. “To tell you the truth, it falafel.”

fini