Most Recent Entries
Search by category
Search by month
solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris
I’ve pretty much given up on blogging, mostly, I think, for the same reasons that I’ve never been able to keep a diary that lasted for longer than a few days, in which the entries would become shorter and shorter whilst increasing in tedium. My main worry is that I’m simply not interesting enough, or that my life isn’t particularly worth showcasing to the wider world. I don’t do anything out of the ordinary; granted most don’t do a PhD, but then most people would rather not be bored to tears with the sorts of things I find interesting (or they have a set opinion in their mind about how what I’m studying works based on what ‘They’ said -I’ve never been able to work out, or get anyone to explain to me, just who ‘They’ are; the Illuminati?). This desire to avoid talking about something beyond the usual quickly becomes apparent at the start of meeting someone.
‘…I’m currently working on concepts & thought, and what they consist of; are thoughts computational in the same way a Turing machine is, for example’
‘Oh cool…… So do you like football?’
Twitter and Facebook are two things I’ve also abandoned for largely related reasons. That and – just give me a sec whilst I adjust my tin hat- privacy concerns (seriously, I don’t know how everyone can be so comfortable with that stuff -‘What do you mean uploading all these pictures of me doing semi-illegal things to a private server where you’ve agreed that they can do what they they will with it, might, at some point, come back to haunt me; the recent obsession with linking Facebook profiles to amateur porn springs to mind). What becomes depressingly clear about social networking with friends, that is, having the ability to find out every single thing that a friend has, or hasn’t, interacted with at most points in any given day, makes you realise just how boring & uninspiring you -and people you know- are. What was nice about friendship (‘in the good old days!’) was that this strange thing called a ‘private life’ used to exist alongside your ‘public life’. Whilst your friends would get to know intimate parts of your life, they were usually spared the woefully dull aspects, like what you ate for breakfast or that really clever observation about people in queues you had that turned out to already be mass-printed on a t-shirt on some hipster clothes site. You knew about the important aspects of a persons life; you knew the hidden things that made them them. Now that everyone is OK (nay, obsessed) with habitually documenting every single experience of their lives in ‘the cloud’, that is no longer the case. When you used to meet up with friends, you related to them the more notable things they’d missed since you’d parted in order to fill them in. Now if you haven’t seen someone in a while (and that usually now means less than 24 hours) you just look at their profile and become overwhelmed by 3,000+ ‘updates’ made in the past hour; who has the time to wade through all that, especially once you multiply that by however many hundreds of people you might have as ‘friends’.
The great thing about actual clouds is that once they reach a certain size, they break up and the water that once comprised it falls as rain; in other words, it purges. The problem with ‘The cloud’ is that it doesn’t. It just keeps swelling, and if it reaches capacity, instead of ‘purging’ some -or all- of itself, it just adds more space to fill up (i.e. the companies that own the servers simply buy more). The internet, construed as some kind of entity (which, for the record, it isn’t), is an obsessive hoarder; a seriously demented creature that can’t comprehend getting rid of anything. All status updates, tweets, mind-numbingly stupid blog posts (……) are all seen as representative of human development (or is a chance to milk some money from someone at some point), so it’s all kept. Gmail proudly boasts that you need never delete another email again because, well, it has more space than anyone would ever need so why wouldn’t you? Am I alone in thinking this sort of mind-frame is lazy at best, demented at worst? Most emails that reach most inboxes are spam, or contain as much meaningful information as the average spam email (I haven’t, technically, bothered to look into this, but I can’t imagine I’m far wrong); I really wouldn’t be surprised if 75%+ of Google’s Gmail servers were emails that no-one is ever going to read or find useful at any future point in their lives (I imagine for businesses they need to keep hold of a lot of details simply for record keeping and so on, however I’m concerned with Joe Public).
Hoarding is a dysfunctional behaviour; if your brain stored every single sensory experience, you’d quickly become overwhelmed and go insane. In reality, our brain filters out a hell of a lot of information, discarding a lot of what isn’t helpful; this is a good thing (FYI, my take on concepts is that, by their very nature, they aid in this process).
As the internet increasingly feels like you have to wade through a hell of a lot of shit in order to get to something remotely worth anyone’s time, I say that we need a good spring clean. Youtube, for one, could probably use 99.9% of its videos being taken off the internet, if for no other reason than just to save everyone the hassle of having to fight through it all just to find a video that is at least moderately entertaining. How many hundreds of videos are there of people singing along, or lip-syncing, to some popular song? More importantly, who the hell actually watches these videos? Who in their right mind might think someone (who isn’t bat-shit crazy) would want to watch them lip-sync to a Britney Spears tune (I confess that I have absolutely no clue what songs or artists are popular these days, and this has been the case since at least 2001)? What’s the best that could possible come out of that for either party? Is there an organisation desperately in need of people to lip-sync to various songs or speeches (to be fairy, if the not-too-distant memory of the 2008 Olympic Games were anything to go by, China might) that hires scouts to scour Youtube for? Does that account for the ludicrous amount of views those videos get?
A lot of Twitter and Facebook (etc.) needs culling too. At the time of writing, the following was a trending tweet:
#WhenIWakeUp I either stay in my bed or check my phone or Twitter. RT if you do the same :)”
(It has been retweeted over 100 times -I assume that figure has risen too)
That tweet has been saved in the Library of Congress (in case you weren’t aware, all tweets are now being permanently stored there). Alongside classics of literature. Amongst some of the very finest uses of the English language by some of the greatest minds that have lived on our planet we are now storing such gems of auto-biographical snippets.
Maybe every single website, video or picture should have a thumbs up/thumbs down (or tick/cross, etc.) next to it, and if something receives too many negative votes, it gets taken off the web permanently. We’d have to set up a worldwide committee to enforce it, but think of the benefits. Sure there’s room for abuse of the system, but I’m starting to think it would be massively outweighed by the possibility of never having to acknowledge the existence of a Rebecca Black video.
So this post has come later than I would have hoped, but truth be told I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to write about until now and I didn’t want to just write a post whose sole purpose was simply to be a new post that was around 800 words. So, between reading various articles about intentionality being the mark of the mental, I have snuck onto WordPress to rant about Vodka Revolution as a ploy to cover up my obvious lacking when it comes to ‘having a good time’.
Just to be sure, you did read that right. I ended up in Vodka Revolutions on a Saturday night. It wasn’t my idea, mind, it was my housemate’s birthday and he wanted to celebrate. It just so happens that his idea of ‘celebrate’ is much more extrovert than mine. Whilst my idea of celebrating something is to go to a quiet, real-ale pub with a few good friends, his is to go to a place (or several) that will facilitate the need to take as much anger out on his liver as possible. Or that’s what I gather (he may read this so I’ll probably find out -Happy Birthday James!).
For those who have never been to Vodka Revolution, or have and don’t share my perspective on life (which will be nearly everyone), let me try and paint a picture for you. Vodka Revolution is a chain bar that you usually find in most cities in England (I’m not sure if you find them elsewhere), and they’ve chosen a rather generous take on communist Russia as their aesthetic. It’s the type of club that is so against the idea of conversation (perhaps because it inhibits time you could otherwise spend downing ludicrous amounts of spirits) that the volume is high enough to be classed as a form of mild torture playing music that descriptively sits between ‘a cacophony of car alarms’ and ‘the war cry of the Decepticons’. I’m well aware that most people would class most of the music I listen to as unfavourably as I have done here, but I’m right and they’re wrong. Clearly.
The guys fit into two categories, generally speaking. The first are 20-somethings that would describe themselves on their Facebook page as ‘Well up for a laugh, totally mad for it’, and probably have a traffic cone and can of Fosters somewhere in their profile picture. The other half of the men consist of older guys that are still intent on chasing girls that are barely out their teen years, which usually means they act just as cunty as their younger peers but instead of seeming like 20 year old testosterone-fuelled bags of toss, they come across as middle-aged bankers ‘cutting loose’. This is another way of saying they try too hard, shout more than is necessary and end up being Danny Dyer-plays-cheeky-Jack-the-lad-Danny Dyer-in-every-fucking-film-he’s-ever-fucking-in clones.
The floor acts like a fly trap, which either says something about the kind of clientèle the managers expect to turn up or that staff policy is to try to ensure customers never leave unless it’s via an ambulance. To be honest, this second possibility is rather unnecessary because, although this might just be me, upon entering you want to drink yourself into a coma and stay there anyway. But like I said, that might just be me.
One girl sitting a few feet from me screamed at one of the males fitting the second category ‘I’M EIGHTEEN!’, which made witnessing the whole sleazy guy act somewhat more unnerving to watch. However, if that girl’s aspiration for the night was to be another notch on some godforsaken belt, then she was very much in with a chance from the looks of the five middle aged guys circling her and her friend like slightly retarded sharks. To the left of that group and on what was the makeshift dance floor (i.e. a foot of floorspace not occupied by thirty people), were two prime examples of the ‘blonde bimbo’ stereotype, dancing in such a way as to make them appear to have been plucked straight from the opening sequence of Nightmare Before Christmas. All this was set to the sweet sounds of a predictable bass line with interspersions of an auto-tuned voice saying ‘Barbara Streisand’ (not a joke). Every now and again they ceased their ululations to pose for over-dramatized camera shots. I’m not sure what the purpose of this was. Their weird sullen expressions (which I think was supposed to be sexy but the vast amounts of makeup seemed to weight their faces down making sustained sultry looks impossible) warped into smiles larger than the gulf of Mexico. This seems to be a trending phenomena. Why? No-one is that overjoyed in the club, everyone seems to have some vaguely self destructive goal giving the overall atmosphere a grim tinge (the rest being filled with an overabundance of sexual desperation). Nor are they literally always arm-in-arm with their friends and the camera just happened to take a snapshot of an evening that was faithfully captured on film. This obsession of sloshing a fake gloss on evenings seems almost sickening in its calculations. As if everyone and their dog is a self-styled Max Clifford deftly giving their other friends who didn’t go the impression of a wonderful night, via the medium of a billion and one Facebook albums seemingly dedicated to mass delusion.
Admittedly convincing others you had a great night when you fail to remember any of it, spent half the night being hit on by Captian Cockend with his legion of accomplices and probably ended up drunk dialing a friend whilst bawling your eyes out is a difficult task. Unless they think the same way as you. In which case, why bother with the carefully crafted pictures?
That, or I’m a killjoy.
Big Brother is, it seems, really quite interested in what web comics you spend your spare time reading. At least, that is what many internet users seem utterly convinced of. Given New Labour’s fascination with CCTV and other forms of monitoring (like the now-scrapped ID card scheme), or United States citizens’ general obsession with shadowy black-suited agents watching your every move for signs of terrorism, it hardly seems surprising that many fear for their privacy.
Indeed, our former government did have this alarming ability to lose, leak or sell off to private companies, all the private data they systematically went around collecting from all of its citizens. For security purposes, of course. It is difficult to trust a government is acting with your security in mind with the amount of security failings it managed to rack up in the 13 years Labour were in power, but perhaps that is just me.
Labour’s rubbish track record on data keeping aside, what I find curious are many people’s absolute fear of anyone knowing anything about anyone else. Take, for a rather obscure example, the Independent’s extension for Google’s Chrome browser. Owing to a fault with Google’s programming (and not the fault of the extension developers), the add-on had to have permission to access your browsing history in order for the program to work, despite it having no relevance to the extension itself. To many people, this was totally unacceptable and a sufficient reason for not installing, or uninstalling upon realising the apparent privacy breach, the said extension. To me, this puts the people seriously concerned by this into two possible categories; those who have browsing history that includes porn sites or sites conducive to illegal activities (notably piracy), or that they are so self-important as to think that The Independent really gives two shits about whether you visit Hotmail or Gmail to check your emails.
Obviously, not many people want to live in a society where every company or government knows all their personal habits, probably because they would find it somewhat creepy. Perhaps they would be worried that the state would use it for nefarious purposes. Such concerns are, to a certain extent, warranted and I agree that there is a line to be drawn on how much governments should know about its citizens, or how much personal data corporations are allowed to mine in the name of ‘market research’. This kind of principled disagreement to intrusions of privacy is hard to take seriously, however, when the same people are avid members of Facebook, or Twitter.
So we have a contradiction. People do not want companies handling their private lives but simultaneously give them more personal data than most market researchers would even conceive of asking for. It strikes me as running parallel to people’s views about freedom of speech; you can say what you like so long as the majority find it tenable. Similarly, companies and governments can help themselves to as much data as they like so long as they tell your friends that information to. And maybe let them ‘like’ or comment on it.
For more information /commentary on Facebook’s lack of privacy: