Ken’s Blog

A “socket” is the technical term for a piece of software that allows two computer programs to communicate with each other, even if they are running on different computers across the network. As you can imagine (since you are probably reading this on a web browser), this is a very important thing to be able to do.

Today I was at a meeting in which a graduate student was talking about figuring out how to kill a software socket that was hanging around even after it was no longer useful. As he explained the problem, I was very intrigued by his continued reference to “the socket slayer”. I was imagining him implementing an entire suite of software right out of the Buffyverse.

In addition to the Socket Slayer, there could be other software like the Watcher (who trains the Socket Slayer), and of course the evil software daemons, which run around in the background until vanquished by the Socket Slayer.

I started imagining all sorts of cool rules for this software world. For example, daemons cannot enter your dataspace unless you invite them in. The more I thought about it, the more sense it all made.

And then I made what was, in retrospect, a terrible mistake — I asked the student to tell me more about the Software Slayer.

It turned out that he was actually trying to say “sockets layer”.

Oh.

I still think my version was better.

I just had the most joyful evening, with a group of likeminded crazy intellectuals, trading stories about this and that and whatnot.

This feeling of joy is not, in particular, about the fact that we are all “intellectuals”, but rather more broadly about the fact that we are likeminded. To recognize your own tribe — to see yourself and your passions in people whom you may have never before met — creates a unique kind of delight.

I suspect that this joy is not restricted to human beings. The leopard in the veldt, or the hawk flying majestically above the mountaintops, will recognize their brethren, and will feel a kinship that goes very deep.

Perhaps it is the pull of life itself, or rather of life’s never ending quest for meaning. If you and I recognize each other, if we can but peer into each others’ soul and see, reflected back, our own beating heart, then we both can know, without any doubt, that we are truly alive on this planet.

This morning, after initially refusing to release a package of Veggie Chips I had paid for fair and square, an errant vending machine abruptly changed its mind and disgorged two packages at once. Initially delighted by my new found fortune, my elation turned to despair upon perusing the ingredients, when I discovered that these Veggie Chips contained milk, which I do not consume.

Upon arriving at my meeting, I offered the two packages to the several carnivores in the room, who happily ripped open and devoured the Veggie treats, whilst my fellow vegan and I looked wryly at one another, both realizing we would go hungry, yet both amused by the irony of the situation.

A few minutes later, my vegan colleague pulled out from his pocket two large Lifesaver mint candies, promptly offering one to me and retaining the other for his own imminent enjoyment. Gratefully I accepted the proffered gift, and told him “This is a real Lifesaver.”

The moment the words left my lips I realized I had spoken autophorically. While the moment hung in the air, I found myself wondering — as I do now — whether this new found tendency toward autophorical utterance was in any way prompted by my recent traversal of said topic within these very pages.

Yesterday I talked about metaphors that literally referred to themselves. Alas, in the spirit of humor, I cheated a bit. Most of my examples were truly autophorical, but one was faking it.

Or as Sally might put it, it’s only autophorical if X=“X”.

For example, the following was legit:

“I went out on a limb to rescue your cat from that tree.”

because the speaker really did go out on a limb, both literally and metaphorically.

In fact, my first five examples were all properly autophorical. But the last one wasn’t really kosher:

“The editor cut my novel to five pages, to make a long story short.”

The problem here is that the speaker is not using the idiom “to make a long story short”, to talk about the meaning of the sentence (what the editor did), but rather to reference his/her own statement.

In fact this last example is kind of a cousin to Tom Swifties, which depend on a more traditional idea of punning:

“I have a skin infection,” Tom said rashly.

I had an interesting conversation with some friends about puns. After riding a bike for the first time in a long time, my friend David said it was “good to be back in the saddle,” and he wondered whether this counted as a pun.

Since a bicycle actually has a saddle (the more technical term for the seat), it could be argued that this is just a literal statement. On the other hand, “back in the saddle” also has a metaphoric meaning, so it could be argued that his statement has two simultaneous meanings, and therefore should indeed count as a pun.

It then occurred to me that this is an example of a class of statement whose literal and metaphorical meanings coincide — a metaphor for itself. You might say it is “autophorical”.

Here are some other autophorical statements. Perhaps you can think of more:

“Sorry, the train derailment threw me off track.”

“Hey, everybody on this cruise is in the same boat.”

“Drosophila were dropping like flies.”

“The entire soccer team is having a field day.”

“I went out on a limb to rescue your cat from that tree.”

“The editor cut my novel to five pages, to make a long story short.”

One interesting connection between science and art is that they are both concerned with the question of what is irreducible.

Science asks what is irreducible in the world around us. The great figures in the history of science, from Euclid to Einstein, produced beautifully simple explanations for complex observations.

Similarly, art also looks for the irreducible truth, stripping away all that is inessential. Except that in the case of art, what is considered essential is not the world around us, but rather our own human condition. In this regard art differs from entertainment, which merely seeks to divert and amuse.

A work of art, such as Becket’s Endgame, Picasso’s Guernica, Munro’s Passion or Beethoven’s ninth symphony, may indeed entertain, but its primary purpose is to illuminate some essential truth about ourselves.

In other words, both science and art seek truth, but they do so in very different ways. For example, both can teach essential truths about pain. Science will show you the connection between sensory stimulus and cognitive effect. Art will punch you in the nose.

Recently I was trying to describe why I find Google Docs to be such an interesting tool for collaboration. It’s not just Google Docs itself, but also the very idea of collaborating in real time with other people. There is something about this process, compared with many other computer experiences, that feels as thought it is more about people, and less about computers.

In my description, I used the following metaphor: Essentially, I said, Google Docs is a shared virtual world. You and your collaborators wander around in this world together, and if any one of you makes changes to the world, everyone sees the change immediately.

Usually when we think of “shared virtual worlds” we think of the 3D computer graphics of games like “Counter-Strike” and “World of Warcraft”. In these shared 3D game worlds, objects have a kind of shared permanence: If I pick an apple up off the table and put it on a chair, everybody sees the apple change its location. And if they are watching my avatar, they can also see me pick up and move the apple.

Similarly, in Google Docs, the fact that everyone can see my cursor moving in real time means that my cursor is effectively my avatar in the shared world. If I cut and paste and do other editing operations to modify text and style, I am changing the state of our shared world. In essence, I am moving the apple.

I like this analogy because it underscores the fact that the concept of a “shared world” is not inherently about 3D graphics, nor any literal representation of reality. The metaphor of “interactively sharing a common world” is clearly a very general and re-mappable concept for human minds.

If we can apply that concept to something as non-physical as text, then perhaps we can apply it to all sorts of other interesting interactively shared “worlds” that nobody has yet thought of.

To dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow
      — Bob Dylan

I talked yesterday about the odd specter of people on the street being “differently present” while immersed in their SmartPhones. There’s another aspect to all of this that seems equally strange.

One of the various wonderful things about human evolution is the way we have developed such an extraordinary ability to use our hands. Through the combination of large brain power, binocular vision, strong yet flexible hands and fingers, and an amazingly ability to sense touch through our fingertips, we have become master tool builders.

The great majority of humans have two hands, and we take for granted the various powers this confers. It is simply a part of us, not just biologically but also culturally and technologically.

So we actually giving up quite a bit when we tether ourselves to a SmartPhone. Effectively, one of those two hands is now occupied with holding a plastic brick, and cannot be used for anything else.

It seems to me that in historical terms, this arrangement must be temporary. After all, it’s hard to believe that humanity will be willing to pay such a high price for much longer.

Everywhere I look in New York City I see people staring into their SmartPhones. Whether they are holding an iPhone or an Android, the physical act is the same: One hand grips the softly glowing object, while the other strokes and pokes it in endless combinations, as the phone’s user stares intently down at the little screen.

Since this is Manhattan, these people remain vaguely aware of the need to function as pedestrians, more or less. They shuffle along, trying to progress down the street with one eye on oncoming human traffic, for the most part managing not to barge into other folks.

I think a new sort of protocol is developing around these half-present entities. Other people understand that they have a sort of disability, while they themselves expect to be treated with the deference that one shows the disabled.

But of course, these being politically correct times, we must not call these people disabled. For then they will become discouraged, and will lose self-esteem. Instead of pointing out that they are psychologically absent, rather we must say that they are “differently present”.

On some level they themselves understand this. If you attempt to treat a mobile texter/tweeter as a fully abled person — say, by expecting them to not simply walk head-on into oncoming pedestrian traffic — they tend to look at you with a kind of distractedly annoyed expression. “Can’t you see,” the look seems to say, “that I am not completely here? Have you no respect for the differently present?”

I was watching “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” today on DVD (a wonderful film), when I heard one of the characters say:

“There is no past that we can bring back by longing for it. Only a present that builds and creates itself as the past withdraws.”

This was such an amazing line that I paused the film to look it up. A quick Google search revealed it to be a slight variation of the English translation of a saying attributed to Goethe:

“There is no past that we can bring back by longing for it. There is only an eternally new now that builds and creates itself out of the Best as the past withdraws.”

The original is a bit more ungainly in English (I can see why they streamlined it) but also more positive. Whereas the line in the film is somewhat fatalist, Goethe’s original conveys a very charming Karma: If you are able let go of the past, then your life going forward will build upon the best parts of that past.

It really is a beautiful thought, isn’t it? True, wise, very simple to understand, yet incredibly difficult to live up to in practice.

Interestingly, I was not able to find this quote in the original German. If anybody knows it, please tell me.