Monthly Archives: November 2007

Y’know, Thanksgiving is the one American holiday I can relate to almost unreservedly. Putting aside, for the moment, my usual cynicism about stage-managed emotion - never mind an awareness of the holiday’s genocidal roots that no tryptophan nod can quite banish entirely - it really is pretty amazing to have a space on the calendar devoted to celebrating those things for which we’re most grateful.

It’s been a huge year in my life - pivotal, really - and I have many, many people to thank for my continued good fortune. I take such joy and pride in knowing you all, and my only wish is that you know it and are somehow able to profit from it.

The following are all people I really, really need to thank:

- First, and I do mean first: Kevin Slavin for inviting me to teach a class with him, and thus opening all kinds of doors for me whether he knew it or not. I always hope you know just what an honor and an inspiration it is for me, Kevin.
- At ITP, Clay Shirky, Tom Igoe, George Agudow and all of our Urban Computing students, for their wisdom, patience and advice.
- Chris Fahey, for Team Awesome.
- Teresa Tan and Frank Vial, for among other things so graciously offering us the sanctuary of their home.
- Tom Coates, Mike Essl, Matt Biddulph, Christina Ray and Khai Truong for championing me to your various networks and/or otherwise helping make some unforgettable experiences possible;
- Mark Shepard, for your continual generosity, good humor, and faith in me.
- George Showman for many pleasant hours over the nineteen-by-nineteen grid, and much food for thought besides;
- Ben Cerveny, Timo Arnall, Bruce Sterling, Jan Chipchase, Genevieve Bell, Annalee Newitz, Julian Bleecker and Fabien Girardin for being such great travel buddies, above and beyond the constant inspiration and friendship. Similarly, Anne Larilahti for a few well-placed midnight Bintangs, and Andrew Otwell for being the mellowest possible roommate.
- John Zapolski and Jennifer Cheung, for like the breezes and whatnot.
- Kazys Varnelis, Bryan Boyer and Derek Lindner for understanding (not to mention sharing) my various couture fetishes;
- Marc and Young-Hae for taking such good care of us whenever we touch down in Seoul;
- Stewart Brand, Peter Schwartz, Craig Denny, Cecilia Marinier and everyone at Monitor/GBN. It was kind of a thrill working with you.
- Laurent Haug, Nicolas Nova, and Cristiana Bolli Freitas (and Jaewoong Lee in Seoul) for ski lessons, fondue, etc. ; . )
- Abi Sellen, Richard Harper, Yvonne Rogers and Tom Rodden, for El Bulli and everything after.
- Quite a few sharp folks I regrettably can’t name here, who understand why, and who know perfectly well how grateful I am to them.
- Wes Neff, Kyle Roth, and Rachel Moran at Leigh Bureau, and - OMG, I cannot overstate how huge this is - danah boyd for having introduced me to them in the first place. Endless bouquets, darlin’.

(UPDATE: Dag, you try to be comprehensive, and there’s always friends you overlook, without the slightest justification. Perils of posting late at night, I guess. Forgive, forgive.)

Above all, of course, my beloved Nurri Kim - who is, as you know, made of weapons-grade awsum. You remind me every last day how profoundly lucky I truly am.

Something I am very excited about: my friends at Microsoft Research Cambridge have invited me to spend some time with them next spring/summer, and I’m delighted to accept the offer.

I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to the prospect of “some inventing and making, some writing and publishing” - particularly if that prospect involves colleagues like Richard Harper and Abigail Sellen, with their superb knack for asking the right questions. (Richard and Abi co-authored the wonderful Myth of the Paperless Office, a volume I unreservedly recommend to you.)

I know what you’re thinking. Gotta tell you, though: in my experience, “Microsoft Research” and “Microsoft” are two entirely different orders of beast. Trust me, it’s not nearly as odd a juxtaposition as it might seem. ; . )

Not too long ago, NPR’s Morning Edition had me on to discuss the near-term prospects for “behavioral marketing.” Inevitably, in a five-minute radio segment, you’re going to wind up focusing primarily on something ready to hand and easy for the mass audience to wrap their heads around - in this case, Yahoo!’s introduction of so-called “Smart Ads.”

As we know, though, such ads are only a small part of a much larger discussion on the use, wisdom and reliability of behavioral modeling. Here’s the “script” that I ginned up for myself, mostly to clarify my own thoughts on the topic before going on the air and having to represent these issues fairly to a very large, non-specialist audience.

For years, marketing firms like Claritas have organized consumers into ZIP-code-derived clusters. Their argument, more or less, is that “you are where you live” - that where you live is a reasonably accurate predictor of your behavior as a consumer. What kind of beer you buy, what sorts of magazines you read, and so on.

The Claritas clusters themselves make great magazine fodder. They have cutesy names like “Money and Brains,” “Rustic Living,” and “The Affluentials,” and they’ve been pretty widely reported on. In fact, I think at one point there was even a deck of cards featuring the 66 PRIZM clusters.

It hardly needs to be said that these are pretty reductive descriptions. The Claritas description for the “Difficult Times” pattern, for example, describes the residents of such areas as “very low-income families [who] buy video games, dine at fast-food chicken restaurants, and [use] non-prescription cough syrup.” Whether or not this bears any resemblance to any actual American neighborhood, the pernicious thing is that the clients paying good money for the PRIZM dataset certainly believe it does. And they act on that belief. They build their marketing and advertising campaigns around that belief.

And not surprisingly, people tend to buy and consume the things they’re offered. It’s a vicious cycle.

This is all problematic enough already. My own concern is that, as digital information technology pervades more and more of everyday life - as not merely mobile phones but iPods and Nike+ shoes and digital artifacts of all sorts are networked, and transmit a rich variety of data points relating to each person’s location and current activity - we give away enough to build some vastly improved models of personal behavior.

Location in itself, it turns out, is enough to build some pretty interesting pictures with, given a long enough timeline, and, of course, your mobile phone is giving away your position all the time whether you’re using it or not. (To cite just one fairly recent example, the FBI used this method to locate the body of Kelly Nolan, a University of Wisconsin student who went missing last summer.)

Just how full a picture of activity can be built up from such data? I’ve gotten a much better idea of the possibilities from listening to an MIT researcher named Nathan Eagle describe his work. Nathan calls his project “reality mining“: given the ability to install a few lines of Java code on your mobile phone, he claims to be able to reconstruct some pretty high-level phenomena.

Even without knowing anybody’s name at the start, given a large enough mobile data set, he can build very detailed models of social networks and activity patterns. All he’s starting with is anonymous patterns of mobile-phone use, and he can essentially tell you who you are, who you hang out with, what you’re likely to be doing at any given time.

There are two reasons that this is even scarier than it sounds.

The first is that Nathan only has data from your phone. Imagine now that there’s someone in a similar position, but with less benign intentions. And they’re able, in building their models, to draw not merely from the mobile-activity dataset, but from information stored in databases strewn across the Web. Height and weight information, health history information, histories of contributions to political candidates, records of what you’ve downloaded, book purchase and video rental histories - imagine being able to pull all of these sources together into one query, and to build behavioral models on that one query in real time. (I have some friends whose company, Metaweb, is building a “database of databases” that will essentially allow you to do just that.)

And then consider that it doesn’t even take that level of sophistication to tie people back to their online behavior. Here’s an example of what I mean by that. As part of an academic outreach program not too long ago, AOL released a block of 20,000,000 search queries. They had of course very conscientiously scrubbed all potentially identifying details from this stack of requests before releasing them to the academic community. There was ostensibly no way that you’d be able to tie the requests back to any given person. But through the sheer application of good journalistic research practice - time on the phone, lots of good ol’ shoe leather - New York Times reporters were able to correlate and cross-reference these innocent, trivial search strings until in the whole world, there was one best candidate to have produced them. And when they called her up and asked her if she was the originator, she confirmed it. Of course, she was flabbergasted. Who wouldn’t be?

The point I take away from Foucault’s discussion of the Panopticon is that it isn’t necessarily important whether we’re actually under surveillance at all times and in all places or not. No: it’s enough for us to believe that we’re under surveillance at all times and in all places, to internalize this belief, to get us to change our behavior. To be “docilized.” And what Nathan Eagle’s work and the efforts of the Times reporters suggest to me is that any sufficiently interested party even now has access to datasets large enough not merely to model my current behavior to a reasonably high degree of resolution, but to be able to make meaningful predictions about my future choices. And if anything ever was, that’s docilizing.

It’s precisely this that worries me about the next-generation equivalents of the Claritas clusters: their superficial gloss of scientism, empiricism and pinpoint accuracy, and the sense they so easily give us that we are not merely knowable-in-principle, but actually known. Again, my concern is not so much whether “reality mining” à la Eagle actually says anything meaningful about people, but as to whether or not people using it think it does. So I think we’re in for some pretty scary times.

Bought the book, downloaded the app, took the plunge. Processing, here we come.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet what an incredible thing it is to see Ridley Scott’s “Final Cut” of Blade Runner in the way it was intended to be experienced: up on the glorious big screen, wreathed in a sound design so exacting you hear everything from the delicate ticking of a bicycle frame to the subsonic rumble of the cloacal megacity itself. Truly, if this showing comes to a theater within a hundred miles of you, you owe it to yourself to go experience something I have no problem calling a “masterpiece,” in all its considerable majesty.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Blade Runner in a theater, mind you: I did get to see the “Director’s Cut” at the good ol’ Castro in, what, ‘92, and that was pretty neat in its own right. But if I’m recalling properly, it replaced the opening definitional crawl with mawkish laser-slash credits, certain parts of the atmospheric Vangelis score were missing, and it just wasn’t the same. By contrast, the scope of the visual restoration, audio redesign and continuity repair undertaken in this version is breathtaking. Unlike George Lucas’s hamfisted and essentially dishonest digital reversioning, here the result is nothing less than the film the way it was always meant to be seen. And, yes, you’ll walk away knowing whether or not Deckard is himself a replicant.

Of course, Nurri practically had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep me from blurting out the lines. Such a BR geek am I, too, that I’m pretty sure I spotted all of the emendations. For those of you that care about such things:

    - For the first time, Bryant describes Leon’s offworld job, nuclear loader.

    - The embarrassingly visible cables “assisting” the police spinner’s vertical take-off have been erased.

    - Gaff and Deckard’s visit to Leon’s apartment is longer by just a second or two - just enough time to make out the (barely) luminescent panels in the grim hallway outside, and to hear the super mutter “Kowalski.”

    - There’s a few nice moments of goalie-masked strippers dancing in a transparent bubble suspended outside Taffy Lewis’s (Fourth Sector, Chinatown).

    - It looks like Scott managed to convince Joanna Cassidy to refilm (!) the scenes of Zhora’s brutal retirement. No more ultra-awkward cut to what I’ve always assumed was a stuntman in lingerie.

    - For some reason, Roy Batty’s chillingly flat “I want more life…fucker” retains the Director’s Cut’s edit to “…father.” I’ve always preferred “fucker” because Hauer’s delivery - properly, but unlike every other time that word has been uttered on Planet Earth - manages to include and convey the sense of “father.” By contrast, “father” on its own feels like weak sauce.

    - Roy’s murder of Tyrell is much more graphic - fountains of blood, me boyos. By contrast, his almost tender delivery on the additional lines “I’m sorry, Sebastian…come, come” as he backs poor doomed J.F. toward the elevator make the inevitable slaughter that follows that much more poignant.

    - This takes me all the way back to reading about the film in the Philadelphia Inquirer, before seeing it for the first time on Cinemax. (Heh.) The very first edit I ever read about? Pris hauling Deckard around by his nostrils, apparently by Harrison Ford’s explicit request. Here restored.

    - When Roy, at the end of his strength, releases the pigeon, it flies not up into a suddenly and comically clear sky, but into a dark one filled with appropriately looming megastructure.

Long-time fans should note that the new print is so mind-blowingly generous in scale that you’ll easily spot details (of architecture, fashion, signage, advertising, vehicle and interface design) that have eluded you no matter how many times you’ve seen the film before. For one thing, you can add TWA to the list of firms done in by the infamous “curse.” I also spotted one continuity error that’s escaped me through every previous viewing (and there must have been, oh, twenty):

    - The newspaper lining Leon’s hotel-room drawer, under a pile of sweaters presumably a few weeks old at the very least, bears the same front page as the one Deckard is reading right before he takes a seat at the noodle bar. The lede is something about farming the Moon.

At any rate: whether truly “Final” or not, this cut of Blade Runner is a solid ingot of high-purity Yes, and you’ll be doing yourself a significant favor by adding it to your list of things to do and see. And Ridley? You’ve done a man’s job, sir.

For the moment, I have little enough to say about Amazon’s Kindle e-book reader, either as product or service, except to note the following:

- Post iPhone, especially, the physical product looks dowdy and retrograde. I’m not surprised, given that it’s been in development so long, but the sharply-canted bevels look distinctly mid-90s. To my eye, anyway, Kindle looks something like what we might have been offered had GRiD made it through the dot-com years. Haw.

- And those thick margins. Objectively, there may be a legibility advantage to them. But doesn’t Jeff know the visual rhetoric of ubiquity is frameless displays?

- Unless something comes along to radically reorient my thinking, I’m willing to bet Chris Heathcote has nailed it in eighteen words: “Kindle is what happens when a non-cool company attempts to do a closed service: a car crash.”

- I’m not sure that any product with a full, physical keyboard has ever had less justification for one. Sure, it’s nice to be able to take notes, and I’m far from blind to the e-commerce angle. But primarily, what I’d like to be able to do with all such devices is read. In this light, chosing to sacrifice a full third of the expanse available for display to the keyboard seems like a curious decision.

- I’m also perplexed by the presence of so many hard buttons. If ever an application has ever cried out for an iPhone-style gestural interface, actually justifying what might otherwise be a lazy, component-availability-driven, flavor-of-the-week decision, it’s this one. “Leafing” through a book? Come on, it’s a gimme.

- I’m fascinated by the way Amazon’s explaining and simultaneously merchandising e-paper technology to an audience for whom it’s presumably quite novel: “The screen works using ink, just like books and newspapers, but displays the ink particles electronically.”

- Above and beyond any other consideration, validating Michelle Malkin by including her in your first round of invited bloggers is a deal-killer for me. If it’s balance you’re trying to achieve, surely the right offers one or two more qualified voices.

- Hard to filter this from the background radiation, but it sure seems like Everyware is selling unusually well at the moment. The Kindle edition, especially. I’m not silly enough to think this necessarily has anything to do with the fact that Kindle as conceived is a pretty everywarish object, but it’s not impossible either. (Which reminds me, I need to check my contract to see what, if anything, it specifies about royalties for proprietary-format electronic-edition sales. How much do you want to bet it’s not to my advantage?)

If “the twentieth century should probably be considered the prehistory of the very tall building,” consider this, from Peter Buchanan in the Spring/Summer 2007 Harvard Design Magazine:

Is the tall building an anachronism? Does it, like sprawling suburbia and out-of-town shopping malls, seem doomed to belong only to what is increasingly referred to as “the oil interval,” that now fading and historically brief moment when easily extracted oil was abundant and cheap? The answer is probably “Yes,” particularly for the conventional freestanding, air-conditioned, artificially lit tower that guzzles vast amounts of energy and is built for short-term profit out of high-embodied-energy materials, many of them petroleum derivatives.

(Buchanan, deliciously, goes on to describe one or two projects currently under way as seeming like “last-fling sunset effects from a waning era when, beside the defects listed, towers helped create dismal cities and aptly symbolized their extreme economic and social inequalities.”)

You don’t have to be Jim Kunstler to accept the force of this argument. So why, other than ego-gratification and the perceived need to place in contests of the most childish sort, would anybody trifle with a typology so self-evidently doomed to obsolescence?

Well, it’s not as simple as all that. Buchanan goes on to complicate matters, inevitably, in a nuanced survey of the intersection between “green” and very tall building types in which the usual suspects are well-represented (various Norman Foster projects, SOM’s Pearl River Tower), although any mention of Ken Yeang’s “bioclimatic” architecture is curiously absent.

The sense you take away is that there may in fact be some ecologically sound reasons for building up, including the undeniable efficiencies that can be derived from ultra-high density, and some benefits that are only achievable at all with supertall structures. And if the lovely optimism of the piece’s last line is probably unjustifiable (”There may be a few clusters of green towers here and there, but their presence might be limited in the compact and convivial cities of the future”), there’s still plenty of fodder here for those of us interested in reconciling responsible building practices with the sheer futuristic verve of XL.

The entire issue - titled, with synoptic sweep and no little humor, “New Skyscrapers In Megacities on a Warming Globe” - is worth tracking down. There’s a great Guy Nordenson piece on formal truth and rhetoric in tall buildings, a look at contemporary starchitect condo-branding practices highlighting the very pretty, but evidently underperforming, 40 Bond, and among too many other attractions to list, a scant two lines reminding me that I want to find out much more about Istanbul’s terrifying Kanyon, a Jerde project I’d only previously seen (celebrated) in surface.

“Unindictable co-conspirators, astronaut- and cosmonaut-program washouts, bent professionals, international garbagemen and -women, lowlife scooter trash, uppity drag queens and heavily-armed drunken Shaolin masters.”

LOL, remember when people used Friendster? God, those were the days.

There’s not a little irony in the truth that, for all my constant ranting about metropolitan experience, Nurri is a much better ferreter-out of a city’s secrets and joys than I tend to be. I may display some remaining usefulness when it comes time to manage the logistics of actually getting to these attractions, but almost invariably she’s the one that finds them in the first place. This is just as true of our hometown as it is of any other place in which we touch down.

Last weekend she took me to a place I had never even heard of, the Skyscraper Museum downtown. As small as the space is - so tight that it seems a little grandiose to call it a “museum” - I thoroughly recommend the trip to any fan, critic or user of urban verticality.

And not merely because there can be no such thing as too much Hugh Ferriss in my book, either. The show that’s on right now, the first third of an omnibus called Future City 20 | 21, strikes me as a very useful reminder that in many ways, and for whatever its glories, the twentieth century should probably be considered the prehistory of the very tall building.

The installation looks at the historical development of the skyscraper typology in New York (and, to a lesser extent, in Chicago) as prelude to upcoming episodes devoted to the form’s current native environments, Hong Kong and Shanghai. The inescapable sense you walk away with is that the entire body of built work in this mode has merely been about getting the basic engineering details down, that only now does the delirium truly begin.

Or at least can begin, wherever cheap money, labor and energy continue to flow, an envelope of contraints which largely excludes the cities of North America. Even before September 2001, we’d turned against XL here, in no small part due to that current of righteous Jacobianism so alive in American urbanist thinking of the last forty years, and it turns out that the twenty-first century offers many environments more hospitable to the progressive development of the form than those of its birth. (I suppose a Skyscraper Museum installation on Dubai will eventually become inevitable, but the less said about that regrettable place, the better.)

The show is a trifle short on curatorial connection-making - honestly, I’m not sure how much I would have gotten out of the walltexts had I not had a longstanding interest in the topic myself - but it does manage to bring together in one place at one time an impressive variety of wonderful artifacts. If nothing else, it sure is frontloaded with fabulous futurist visions of the early twentieth, from circa-1908 visions of the beguilingly multi-layered City of Tomorrow to rare footage from 1930’s half-legendary Just Imagine and the inevitable 1939 World’s Fair.

There are shocks, too. Although I had a low opinion of it at the time, and in absolute terms I continue to feel that it was an inappropriate solution for the site, a particularly painful aspect of seeing a circa 2003 model of the first Freedom Tower design is how much better - more daring, more innovative in every way - it looks than the current, utterly and tragically banal iteration, i.e. the one that’s actually going to get built.

Finally, for an institution of any size, the Skyscraper Museum has an unusual and very welcome theory on how to do giftshop. They’ve got the usual variety of t-shirts, tchotchkes and kulturkitsch - red-white-and-blue commemorative WTC lapel pins, for example, from the badly overrated Paula Scher - but they’ve also got a really great book selection, augmented by the staffers’ own forays into bookstalls, flea markets, and online auctions. I picked up an immaculate ex-library copy of Philip Nobel’s problematic but useful Sixteen Acres in hardcover for next to nothing, and Nurri grabbed the reasonably hard-to-find catalogue from a 2001 show called On the Job: Design and the American Office.

So, yeah, if you’re planning a visit to NYC I’d certainly recommend putting this place on your list of things to do, especially if you were going to see Ground Zero anyway. The New York segment of “Future City” runs through the first week of January 2008, and then the exhibit’s attentions turn east. I can only imagine that it will help put things in some much-needed perspective.

Dear OLPC:

I am almost certainly not alone in being interested in learning where (and more importantly, to whom) my donated laptop is shipped, and what the recipient winds up doing with it.

Accordingly, I urge you to provide for some way to connect OLPC donors with recipients, à la the Kiva microcredit program. With each machine having both a unique serial number and the inherent ability to connect with the net, I would imagine this would be technically trivial.

Surely this will help you tell the vastly more important human stories lying underneath the superficial narrative of technology transfer - which, in turn, can only motivate more people to give.

Very sincerely yours,
Adam Greenfield
NYC