Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
One year ’til I’m forty
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Happy birthday to me
Imagine you decided to learn a new programming language. You navigate to that language's website and you discover the documentation consists entirely of:
- “Getting Started”: sample code for Hello World
- “Advanced”: sample code for a Hello World that does a few fancy tricks
- If you're lucky, a list of the more important functions in the standard library,
- A link to the source and native documentation of the compiler/interpreter
You'd think that was a pretty shithouse state of affairs, right? Good programming language documentation introduces its major concepts one at a time, building up to a full understanding of the power of the language. Then it gives you a tour of the standard library, usually task-oriented to show you how common tasks of varying complexities can be performed. Then in the appendix you get the formal definition of the language, and comprehensive documentation of the libraries.
Unfortunately, despite the trend towards Domain Specific Languages running rampant, developers almost never seem to get the point that if this is indeed a language, it should be documented like one. Mostly, the attitude seems to be "Stack Overflow is thattaway."
End result: I spend a little too much of my time like this whenever I try to learn a new library or framework (Scala is a huge offender here).
Look, I get it. Domain Specific Languages are powerful. They create ways to express concepts in code that would otherwise be verbose or ugly. But with the power that comes from stepping outside the grammar and expectations of the host language, comes the fact that the tools and conventions developers are accustomed to in that language, the things they use every day to understand their code and the code of others, are also broken by your DSL.
If you're going to inflict a DSL on the world, at the barest of bare minimums you should:
- Have a properly specified grammar
- Fully document your keywords and operators
- Fully document your “standard library” in a format that is designed for the DSL itself, not by referring to the generated documentation of the language it was implemented in.
Each of these things will not only make your users happier, they will make your DSL better. You'll uncover all the wrinkles in your grammar that will trip up developers, all those places where your keywords or operators totally change meanings in different contexts, and all those weird inconsistencies in your libraries that are there because you're so used to seeing them from inside the interpreter looking out.
And I will have more time on weekends to watch Doctor Who with my wife instead of swearing at a screen trying to work out how to do something that would have been Really Simple if the developer hadn't decided that it would be so much cleverer to build an entirely new language to express it.
I was eighteen turning nineteen in my second year at university, stuck between trying to distance myself from the person I had been in high school and utterly failing to connect with the person I wanted to be in my head. I had managed to isolate myself almost completely.
Then I discovered Usenet newsgroups, a place where who I had been no longer mattered. I could go in with a blank slate and stake my claim on the back of something I knew I was good at: writing. At the same time I made an almost immediate connection to the mythology of the Internet, and a deep interest in discovering how the hell it all worked under the hood. If you want to know how I went from being a disinterested law student to being the architect for a social software platform, there's your catalyst.
By chance I found a corner of Usenet to call home, a place of inconsequential arguments about shit that didn’t matter. It was technically a “flame” newsgroup, so these arguments got pretty heated and personal, but because it was about shit that didn’t matter, it didn’t… well… matter very much. A bunch of us bonded over our ability to throw the choicest insults, then fragmented over petty squabbles, then re-formed into two semi-connected groups, then got bored and moved on with our lives.
At some point during all this, I got into an argument with a complete stranger about some shit that didn’t matter. I wrote a scathing tear-down of their personality, their motives, their utter worthlessness as a human being, ending in a flat statement that the only worthwhile thing they could do with their life was to end it.
I showed this post to an online friend of mine, a fellow flame-war veteran, expecting her to be impressed by how completely I had defeated this particular foe. Her response was cold. “You don’t fucking say that to someone. Not even as a joke.”
At some point, my Usenet crowd made a second home on IRC, because real-time messaging was a little more convenient for casual chat than essays that, thanks to the fundamental uncertainty of Usenet, may or may not ever be seen by anyone else.
Somewhere else on the same IRC network there was a channel of people who had never been on Usenet, but by dint of the same Shit That Didn’t Matter, were our natural enemies. We took to casually raiding them when we were bored, dive-bombing the channel to have pointless arguments, or just trying out flood scripts or scripted ANSI bombs that hadn’t been effective weapons for years. For some reason I couldn’t fathom they would always un-ban us after a few hours.
Because I was in Australia, there were long hours in the day where nobody from my entirely American Usenet circle was online. Not knowing anyone else on the network I took to hanging out in the channel I had previously been raiding. I got to know some of the night-owl regulars there. Eventually I dropped the pretense we were enemies.
A year later when I backpacked across the USA for my 21st birthday, five of them bought me dinner, let me sleep on their couches, or both.
A little less than a year ago, I was cleaning up an unused corner of my Internet existence, and found a link to a comment I had left years before on someone’s blog. The topic was men and women. I had absolutely no memory of writing the comment, but my name was above it and my standard throwaway password was on the account that posted it.
And it was bullshit. A whole bunch of biotruth-y, evo-psych nonsense that I must have believed at the time. The blog's author quite rightly eviscerated me for my intrusion into her online space with such a load of rubbish, but I had never revisited the site after leaving my reply. I had just walked away and forgotten I had been there.
I spent the next hour writing an email to the author apologising for my comments, and thanking her because it was people like her, writing the sorts of things she was writing online that had turned the Charles-of-a-few-years-ago who wrote that crap into the Charles of today who understood how much crap it was.
A few months ago, a colleague of mine caused a stir online saying something he should have known better than to say. What happened is a matter of public record, but I’m not going to go over the details here because that part is not my story.
What is my story is that after a frantic day of diving head-first into internal discussions of what we did wrong and what we could do to make it better, I had the sudden realisation that two of the more popular posts on this blog, posts that got me many a hearty back-slap at the time, were written to the same conceit that had got my colleague in trouble, yet with an execution ten times as bad.
Those posts no longer appear on my blog.
I don’t believe that the problem with the Internet is anonymity, and that “people are just going to be like that”.
At no point in these stories did I identify as, or want to be an asshole, or be sexist, or be ignorant. We are always growing and learning, and along the way people came along who filled in gaps in my understanding, showed me what I needed to do to better fit into the shoes of who I wanted to be.
I think the problem with the Internet is that the feedback mechanism that would normally guide wanting-to-be-good but misguided people back to the mean has been broken, often by naive nerds with good intentions. Simultaneously, those people who could provide that feedback have been conditioned not to interfere.
Free speech is a good thing, so we create unsafe spaces where groups get to reinforce each others prejudices unchecked, and silencing abusers is censorship. Where arguing with racists is “mess[ing] with the normal function of the site” but being those racists isn't.
Anonymity is a good thing, so we create unsafe spaces where the maintainers wash their hands of responsibility for safeguarding against the real-world dangers that can emerge from it.
And in every case we lean back on the excuse that the Internet is just like that, and it’s just too hard to stop so why even bother trying (except when it threatens to cause the site to be shut down, at which point it mysteriously becomes enforceable).
It would be one thing if such places were well known as the arse-end of the Internet and admitting you were associated with one in polite company was the same as admitting you were a member of a White Power group. Instead, the rest of the world tacitly excuses these sites, partly because the principles (unmoderated speech, anonymous speech) are so easy to defend in isolation from their consequences, but mostly because they also produce most of our funny cat pictures.
I stopped wearing a watch when I started carrying a phone.
The problem Apple faces is that these days the wrist watch is far more a piece of functional jewelry than it is a thing people depend on to tell the time. Apple have gone some way to address this with multiple faces, sizes, metals and bands, but it will take a significant shift in taste for fashion to look past the fact that at heart it's an oblong block.
Donna predicted before the event that Apple would be getting fashion houses involved in making bands or faces for their watch. That seems even more likely since the reveal.
Much of the appeal of watches as fashion items are their retro-fetishistic throwback to precise arrangements of cogs and wheels, often made visible in the design so wearers can imagine some wizened Swiss genius putting the mechanism together with a loupe and tiny tweezers whenever they check their wrist.
The mechanical precision behind the Apple Watch is likely orders of magnitude beyond that, but it is sealed away from appreciation.
I will probably buy the first generation Apple watch because I am a nerd and I like nerd toys, but I would be surprised if it turned out to be more than a novelty I keep forgetting to put on in the morning.
To state the bleeding obvious, Twitch's software and infrastructure isn't worth a billion dollars. The owner of YouTube could have made a strong expansion into game-centered live streaming for a tenth of that figure, most of the work focused around creating the right user experience for streamers and viewers, and making a few deals to broadcast key events and personalities.
And then we would have two strong players in the market competing with each other, forcing each other to improve. Twitch would have the established pool of streamers and viewers, the deals with console-makers, the first-mover advantage and the indie cred. YouTube would have the rock-solid infrastructure, deep pockets to expand their reach, and the billions of eyeballs that are already visiting their site to watch cats doing funny stuff.
Instead, with a billion dollars, Google buys itself a lock-hold on an exciting emerging market. Their presence will actively dissuade anyone new from making a serious bid to join in, because who has the resources to go against Google when they have bought themselves such a massive head-start?
It's a deal that makes perfect sense for both parties, but the consumers lose.
On set: director Duncan Jones, and actors Ben Foster, Dominic Cooper, Paula Patton and Travis Fimmel.
Director: OK, I’m pumped! Finally out on location shooting after all that time stuck in pre-production! OK, Scene 26. Ben? This is a crucial scene for you, as your character Medivh is succumbing to the influence of the evil Titan Sargeras, who wants to destroy all the livin…
Ben Foster: Is this necessary? Just start shooting already.
Director: But I feel it’s important we establish your motiv…
Dominic Cooper: This movie is going to take forever at this rate. Why are we only doing one scene at a time? We’re all experienced actors, we could handle four or five scenes at once easy.
Travis Fimmel: Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Just roll the cameras and we’ll be fine.
Director: Er… Huh? OK… I guess we just go with this… Sound ready? Roll cameras. Dom? Walk to that mark and say your line.
Dominic Cooper: What’s my line?
Director: Er… Someone remind Dom what his line is?
Director: Does anyone know what their lines are?
Cast: More silence…
Director: For the love of… You were sent the script a month ago! The least you could have done is read it before you showed up!
Travis Fimmel: I never read the script. I find I understand the film better if I just follow what the other actors are doing for a while.
Director: This is totally unprofessional, all of you.
Paula Patton: Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing! I have an Academy award!
Director: No you don’t.
Paula Patton: …it’s on my other account.
Dominic Cooper: Wait a minute… Paula is a girl? For real? Where are you from?
Director: Oh God… I give up.
Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
I spend a non-trivial amount of my time talking to students, junior developers and other newcomers to the industry, and one of the war stories I share goes something like this.
At its heart, commercial software development is soul-crushingly depressing.
As a developer, your working day revolves around everything that's wrong with all the hard work you've put in so far. When you come in to work, your primary interface with reality is the infinite list of shit that needs to be done. You have a list of bugs that need fixing. You have a list of feature requests, things your software is deficient for not doing, and every one of which somebody can't live without. Your job is to pick something off one of those lists and fix it, but when you come in tomorrow, the infinite list of shit will still be infinitely long.
One memory from the early days of my current job is a developer who got so mired in this mindset that the founders literally ordered him to fly from Sydney to San Francisco where he could talk to some real customers, the people who had bought his product and, while they might have the occasional gripe, mostly wanted to tell him how awesome it was, and how it was helping them.
One thing I've been trying to do in my daily life is to be less critical of other peoples software, especially in public places, and especially if I think someone who might have been responsible for that software might be listening. I sometimes let frustration get the better of me, but I'm trying.
There are plenty of official channels to report bugs and request features, but when you go outside them, there's a good chance all you're going to do is ruin someone's day for no real benefit.
Instant messages, last Thursday:
Charles: I’m spending the next two days at a terribly wanky-sounding seminar.
Charles: “Search Inside Yourself”
Charles: Someone else cancelled and gave me their ticket.
Vidya: You’d better not come out brainwashed and be like “It was great. I never expected it, but it’s mind blowing ladidah…”
Vidya: You’d better return a cynic.
Charles: I searched inside myself, and found a cynical bastard.
To my great disappointment, a decent chunk of what went on in the day and a half I was holed up in the Sheraton learning to be mindful was not an irredeemable load of wank. Much of the theory around self-awareness and self-improvement was prima facie plausible, and seemed backed by a non-trivial amount of peer reviewed science.
As anyone will tell you, paying attention to one thing at a time is not my strongest skill. In a recent hack day, one of the company’s CEOs went so far as to tell me I had “one of the biggest cases of attention deficit he’s ever seen” as I obsessively command-tabbed between the many windows that keep me with one leg on each strand of my spider-web of constantly streaming global information.
So as much as I hate to admit it, the “mindfulness meditation” exercises around controlling the focus of your attention, recognising when your attention was wandering and drawing it back to whatever you were originally supposed to be doing without falling into a downward spiral of judgement and meta-analysis were something I could use to good effect in my day-to-day life.
I even found myself paying more attention to the speakers than I normally would. It almost seems like cheating, when you start the day teaching your audience how not to tune out of what you’re saying for the rest of it.
The journalling exercises also reminded me of the power of putting one word after another. Whenever I write, I fight with the way what felt in my head like a linear narrative waiting to be transcribed verbatim turns out to be anything but. Turning ideas into written words forces you to fill in all sorts of gaps you didn’t even know were there until you started writing, and often you learn a great deal of what you really think by making yourself express it.
Other techniques, like the practice of recognising emotion in the physical effects it has on your body, and then distancing yourself from them enough to make rational decisions seemed promising, although I utterly failed to summon any triggers from memory during meditation.
It’s also worth mentioning the massive buffet lunch the hotel put on for us was nothing short of amazing.
The first thing I wrote down in my notes on day one: “Amazing how you can prime an audience to say what you want them to, by describing something then asking people to describe it as if you hadn't.” If you have spent five minutes telling a room full of people what you think are important qualities for success, don’t pretend to be all surprised when you ask them what they value in a leader and have those points regurgitated back to you.
Despite the presentations being quite grounded in rationality and scientific evidence, the atmosphere in the room often verged on the revival meeting, and even if there was no “woo” on stage, you could hear the crystals’ faint clinking whenever the microphones roamed the audience. In the frequent feedback sessions, attendees competed to be the most earnest, to provide the most insightful reinforcement of the speakers, to gush at how the most recent five minutes of meditation had changed their lives.
By the second day I had started collecting examples of “common phrases that make me dismiss your statement”, including any comment from the audience starting with “Can I acknowledge…” or ending with “I just wanted to share that.”
A note from my end-of-first-day summary: “Boring people should not be given microphones.”
I hope they didn't think I was taking the piss too much when I volunteered that I had attempted to mindfully drink a beer, but wasn't sure I had experienced anything different because “the first beer after work is already a spiritual experience.”
The rare admission that some practice hadn’t been useful, or some enlightenment hadn’t been felt, was met by the presenters with a thoughtful “Well isn’t that interesting”, reminding me so much of the “That is such a great dream” that Quentin Watts, Triple J’s resident morning show dream interpreter in the 90s, would preface every one of her blatant cold readings.
A note early from the second day, whispered to me from a neighbouring seat during one of the many times comment was being sought from the audience: “I challenge you to think of the most absurd thing you can say and still get [the presenter] to agree with you.”
Even as the presenters pushed the science, they were careful to hedge their bets occasionally by pointing out that the field and much of the research was new and uncorroborated.
During the lunch break on day one, I asked an academic working in the field how you could possibly have a double-blind study when the subjects obviously knew which group they were in by dint of the fact that they either were, or were not taking a mindfulness course. His response: “It’s even worse than that. In [the study he was involved with], the evaluating therapists all knew which group each subject was in within minutes of starting their evaluation, just from the words they used to describe their progress.”
I suffer from a mild social anxiety. It manifests as an irrational but unescapable belief that aside from about half a dozen people—wife, immediate family, closest friend—everyone else in the world would be far happier if I wasn’t around. Amongst other things it’s why at University I was that guy who would always leave parties without saying goodbye, why I’m so bad at conferences and trade-shows, and why performance reviews turn me into an alcoholic.
Over the years I’ve developed effective ways of coping. Simple things like structuring social interaction around some activity like a game, or around alcohol, (preferably both) limiting my daily contact with strangers, or making sure I have scripts to deal with common social situations. (When I make a phone call, I’ll map the expected conversation out in my head before I dial the number. Which is why voicemail always throws me for a loop.)
Which brings me to the last four lines in my notebook, written just before lunch on the second day:
“Just like me” practice.
Staring at someone - awkward as fuck.
The exercise… I mean “practice” was to explore the concept of empathy by staring intently at a complete stranger for what felt like an eternity, while the convener quietly encouraged you to recognise this person as another human being just like you, with all the same kinds of thoughts and feelings, memories, triumphs and pain as you, to connect with them.
At times it was hard not to giggle, but we got through it. It certainly created the illusion that somehow just by staring at someone for a while I had made some connection to them.
After the practice was over, as we debriefed in preparation for lunch, I felt this growing feeling of dread.
“Aha!” I thought. “A chance to use that thing we learned yesterday!”
I took a deep breath or two, tuned out the microphone-grabbers describing how their minds had been opened to the beauty of the world and focused my attention on the sensations in my body. Tightness in my chest. Tense muscles. Heightened senses. “Fight or flight” reflex.
It was the very familiar sensation of “human being overload”. Unlike all the previous one-on-one exercises which had been safely covered by my “talking at someone on a harmless predetermined topic” script, this unexpected, unscripted and unfamiliar interaction was something my brain was not prepared to process rationally.
I'd felt this often enough to realise the only reliable way to make it go away was to distance myself from anyone who might want to interact with me. So I gathered up my notepad and bag, avoided the Sheraton’s delicious buffet, ate a large tub of frozen yogurt in blissful anonymity in a food court, then went home.
Everyone’s mind is different. Some peoples minds don’t work quite as you (or they) wish they did. Introducing people cold to exercises designed to have a psychological impact, in an unregulated, highly conformist environment with no safe avenue to opt out seems… risky.
(Transcript of IM conversation)
Charles: We need this!
Donna: It's fugly.
Charles: Yes, but… but…
Donna: You can put it in your study?
Charles: I don't have room. It would have to go in the living room.
Charles: IT WAS HIS FAULT FOR NOT PAYING ON TIME.
Ultimately, online abuse isn’t a technological problem; it’s a social problem that just happens to be powered by technology. The best solutions are going to be those that not only defuse the Internet’s power to amplify abuse but also encourage crucial shifts in social norms, placing bad behavior beyond the pale. When people speak up about online harassment, one of the most common responses is “Well, what did you expect from the Internet?” If we truly want to change our online spaces, the answer from all of us has got to be: more.
I haven't seen the F8 session or used Flux. I've just vaguely skimmed some of the reddit comments. However…
Once upon a time, there was this thing called the Model View Controller architecture. It was a product of the Smalltalk community, but then so were Design Patterns and Extreme Programming. At its heart, it was the simple idea that Model classes should be responsible for representing the state of your application, View classes should be responsible for drawing your user interfaces and presenting that state to your users, and Controller classes should be for translating actions performed by your user into changes to your model, that were then reflected in your view.
In a typical screen for an MVC GUI you might have any number of widgets, each drawn by their own independent view objects, backed by different models, connected to multiple controllers. Almost forty years after the MVC pattern was formulated for GUI development it is still out there, albeit in obscure rarely-used frameworks like Cocoa Touch.
Then, twenty years after MVC was introduced to the Smalltalk world, along came the Model 2 Web Application. In an attempt to make Java web development fit into the growing J2EE spec, the Java community seized on MVC and mapped it almost arbitrarily to the web. Every HTTP request would be served by a single controller (servlet), which would collaborate with zero-to-many models (EJBs), and map the resulting data into a DTO (Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!) that could be passed via RequestDispatcher to a single JSP view.
The sleight-of-hand was the assumption—baked into the servlet spec—that each HTTP request would map to a single controller which would delegate to a single view. A few frameworks like Tapestry tried to buck the trend, but a Java developer years later could literally replace servlets with actions, EJBs with dependency-injected beans and JSPs with the templating language du jour, and still deliver a not-unreasonable technology choice in most circles. This malaise even infected other undeserving languages like Ruby.
The problem is that even in a very simple web application, a single page contains elements that by rights should be the responsibility of different views, backed by different controllers and their own models. The single controller-per-request, or even the primary controller-per-request is a broken paradigm, and one that every developer has come up with some sub-optimal tower of contraptions to compensate for.
As a result, your average non-trivial Java web application ended up being a mess of controller implementation inheritence, servlet filters, interceptor stacks, view decorators and arbitrary objects placed in the template engine's context to allow the drawing of all the bits of the web page that don't belong to the increasingly impure controller.
Amusingly, the "Type 2" approach to web MVC isn't a bad fit for REST-based systems, (because a REST resource usually does have a single responsibility), but most pure REST systems figure it's overkill… because a REST resource just has a single responsibility.
A simple inversion fixes so much. Going back to the GUI paradigm and flipping the process around so the view comes first and then delegates to controllers and models as necessary is already the go-to strategy for single-page applications and frameworks like Backbone. This kind of "view first" is also a perfectly good strategy for server-side page generation, one that large distributed systems have been taking advantage of for years to delegate fragments of page generation to independent external services.
This blog post was brought to you by the Society for Sending Charles Back In Time Fourteen Years To Slap Himself.
Help! Stuck in Turbolift!
Reporter: Williams, D. Lieutenant
The Turbolift is not moving, no matter how many times I state my destination to the computer.
I am reducing the priority of this issue from Critical to High. While we appreciate the urgency of your situation, Critical priority is reserved for issues that may impact the integrity or spaceworthiness of the vessel.
Old Enterprise versions do not have a reliable voice control in the Turbolift. Have you tried twisting the cylindrical handle clockwise or anticlockwise?
I rotated the handle anticlockwise and I am now in Engineering. Please close the issue, I will find someone here to show me how to get to the Bridge.
From: Cordova, M. Lieutenant Commander
Subject: Auxiliary Power
It has come to my attention that many support engineers are reducing their “time to first response” by, on receiving a new case, immediately bouncing it back to the customer with the comment: “Have you tried diverting auxiliary power to the affected system?”
While diverting auxiliary power is often a good short-term fix, suggesting it in every case will only reduce the confidence our customers have in our service, and increase the perception that we are just making guesses instead of taking the time to understand the issue and provide informed advice.
As Starfleet officers, we should take pride in the service we provide, and not resort to cheap shortcuts to artificially boost our metrics.
LtC. Michelle Cordova
Team Lead, Enterprise Support
Starship adrift! Please Escalate!
Reporter: Picard, J-L. Captain
It has been seven days since I opened my previous ticket re: having completely lost control of my Starship. The Enterprise is currently adrift in space, main power is dead as are the warp and impulse engines. We are locked out of the computer and all diagnostics and overrides have so far been fruitless.
Despite this dire situation we have found ourselves being bounced back and forth by a junior engineer who does not seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation, or even be able to provide us with an idea of how much longer our situation will have gravity!
We have approximately four days of auxiliary power remaining (Thank you for that suggestion, it would SO OBVIOUSLY have not been the very first thing we tried ourselves!) and would appreciate the attention of a more senior engineer before then.
Hi, I was assigned to help you with your case. I have reviewed the previous tickets and will be working personally with you going forward until we have found a solution.
Have you checked Jeffries Tube 194a? The problem you are experiencing could be caused by a crystalline intelligence having taken refuge in your substructure, using that location as a beach-head to control the core engineering functions of your starship.
As a higher form of life you may not wish to kill it, but short bursts of gamma radiation triggered manually from the deflector dish can make it uncomfortable enough to leave on its own.
That was exactly right! How did you know? Please close the issue.
It happens more often than you think.
Thank you for contacting Enterprise Support. Now your case is closed, we would appreciate if you took a moment to fill out the following survey:
On a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is “never” and 10 is “always”, how likely would you be to recommend Enterprise Support to a friend or colleague?
From: Cordova, M. Lieutenant Commander
Subject: First and last warning.
Everything in my previous email referring to diverting auxiliary power _also_ applies to reversing the polarity.
LtC. Michelle Cordova
Team Lead, Enterprise Support
According to the Wall Street Journal, the top five companies responsible for U.S. peak Internet traffic in 2013 were Netflix (32%), Google (22%), Apple (4.3%), twitch.tv (1.8%), and Hulu (1.7%).
For those of you who haven't been following along at home, Twitch.tv, the company coming in fourth place, the one that edged out the name-brand service that streams TV shows from NBC, Fox and ABC for free, is a platform devoted to streaming video of people playing computer games.
Twitch produces almost no content themselves, instead acting as a portal through which anybody can use readily available (often free) software to broadcast their own gaming shows, live. These shows are monetized through advertising and subscriptions, with Twitch passing a proportion of that revenue back to the streamer.
By their own statistics, Twitch reached a global audience of 45 million unique viewers a month, each of whom averaged 106 minutes of viewing a day. Regardless of what you think of the kind of person who will sit down in front of their computer to watch someone else play League of Legends, it's hard to argue that the numbers are astounding.
And for every big eSports organisation getting a million concurrent viewers for their grand finals, there are a dozen popular streamers broadcasting gameplay or doing shows from their bedrooms for thousands of viewers, making a decent living from advertising and subscription revenue. And for each of those, there are several hundred amateurs streaming to their friends, or whoever happens to pass by, hoping maybe to make the big time.
So what is the least you need to take part in this new, booming opportunity? A reasonably fast PC, a webcam and a microphone, and an Internet connection capable of reliably uploading 1080p video. (The resolution at which most modern games stop looking blurry).
Which might be why Australia is famous for having exciting events and world-class players, that only the most die-hard fan wants to watch because of the awful video quality. There could be thousands of young, hungry Australians competing in this exciting new market, trying to make money entertaining viewers around the world, but there aren't, because our Internet is shit.
Advances in Internet connectivity are usually measured in download speed, but download speed is only a measure of how efficiently you can consume the Internet. Upload speed is the measure of how you can change from being a consumer to a producer. Upload speed is what allows an Internet user to engage with the network as a peer. And it's not just the video-maker wanting to send their content to Twitch or YouTube, it's every knowledge worker who wants to send the product of their labour to someone else without a prohibitively expensive dedicated connection.
One of the more frustrating things in the early days of Atlassian was how insanely long it took to upload a new version of our software from our office in Sydney to the download servers in the USA, because even a business-grade ADSL line is still an ADSL line.
And this is why I am dismayed by the continually dwindling promise of the Australian National Broadband Network, now down to 25Mb/s down/1Mb/s up even in areas with fibre. It's not the download speed. At least until 4k video becomes the norm, 25Mbit is more than enough bandwidth to stream a high definition movie.
It's the upload speed. Falling from the originally planned 40Mb/s to 1Mb/s is the difference between telling your co-worker in the branch office a few suburbs over to grab a cup of coffee while you send them that file, and telling them it's probably faster if they get in a car, drive over and with a USB stick and pick it up themselves.
The advances in productivity, the opportunities to build the digital economy in Australia that should be the goal of a national infrastructure project like the NBN don't come from giving Foxtel and Netflix a bigger pipe to shovel content into our homes. They come from giving us connectivity that can talk back, that can let knowledge workers be just as productive without having to slog into an office every day, that puts small networked businesses on the same footing as the established heavy-weights, that allows entrepreneurs to build amazing things from home and loose them on the Internet.
Almost every report on the recent Apple SSL security bug has focused on the code. On the failure of developers to notice the pernicious extra
goto statement.. On the way it could have been picked up by code review, or static analysis, or (my favourite) by making sure you put braces around one-line conditional branches.
Just as much has been made of the almost-too-coincidental fact that within a month of the bug shipping to the public, Apple was added to the NSA's PRISM hitlist of vendors subject to "data collection".
I'm not a conspiracy theorist. Here’s how I am 95% sure they did it, because it's too obvious for them not to be doing it.
Somewhere, in a boring lab in a boring building, an overworked government employee has the job of running a mundane (hopefully automated) test suite against every new release of an OS or web browser. The test suite tries to fool the browser with a collection of malformed or mis-signed SSL certificates and invalid handshakes, and rings a triumphant bell when one is mistakenly accepted as valid.
goto or braces, misses the point. There are an uncountable number of ways a bug like this could end up in a codebase. It's not even the first, or even the worst example of an SSL certificate validation bug: back in 2002 an issue was discovered in Internet Explorer (and also, to be fair, KDE) that meant 90% of web users would accept a trivially forged certificate.
The Apple SSL bug existed, and remained undetected for a year and a half, because Apple wasn't testing their SSL implementation against dodgy handshakes. And it made us unsafe because the NSA, presumably alongside an unknown number of other individuals and organisations, government and otherwise, were.
It's a depressingly common blind spot for software developers. We’ve become much better over the years at verifying that our software works for positive assertions (All my valid certificates are accepted! Ship it!), but we're still depressingly bad at testing outside the “happy path”.
What we call hacking is a form of outsourced QA. Hackers understand the potential failure modes of systems that can lead to a compromises of integrity, availability or confidentiality, and doggedly test for those failures. Sometimes they succeed because the systems are incredibly complex and the way to exploit the failure incredibly obscure, and there's just more people with more time to look at the problem from outside than from within.
Far more often, they succeed because nobody else was looking in the first place.
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Two years ’til I'm forty
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Back in 1998, network news administrator Russ Albery wrote an inspiring rant in reply to a spammer who was invoking “free speech” to defend his dumping of thousands of job advertisements on local newsgroups.
I still go back to it on occasion to remind myself that when you’re writing network software, even when on the surface that software is about sharing code, or tracking bug reports, or answering support queries, or publishing blogs, or producing documentation… you’re writing software about people.
…because the thing that Usenet did, the important thing that Usenet did that put everything else to shame, was that it provided a way for all of the cool people in the world to actually meet each other.
Sure, I've been involved in Usenet politics for years now, involved in newsgroup creation, and I enjoy that sort of thing. If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing it. But I've walked through the countryside of Maine in the snow and seen branches bent to the ground under the weight of it because of Usenet, I've been in a room with fifty people screaming the chorus of "March of Cambreadth" at a Heather Alexander concert in Seattle because of Usenet, I've written some of the best damn stuff I've ever written in my life because of Usenet, I started writing because of Usenet, I understand my life and my purpose and my center because of Usenet, and you know 80% of what Usenet has given me has fuck all to do with computers and everything to do with people. Because none of that was in a post. I didn't read any of that in a newsgroup. And yet it all came out of posts, and the people behind them, and the interaction with them, and the conversations that came later, and the plane trips across the country to meet people I otherwise never would have known existed.
That's what this is all about. That's why I do what I do.
[a few paragraphs…]
And you can talk to me about free speech and applications and the future of communication and the use to which people put such things until you're blue in the face, and when you ask me if there's really such a thing as good speech and bad speech, I'll still say yes. Because there are people talking to other people and there are machines talking to no one as loud as they can to try to make people listen, and damn it, there is a difference, and the first one does deserve to be here more than the second one. And I don't know how to tell the difference reliably either, but that has jack to do with the way I feel about it.And to all of the spammers and database dumpers and multiposters out there, I say this: You want to read that stuff, fine. You want to create a network for such things, fine. You want to explore the theoretical boundaries of free speech, fine. But when it starts impacting people trying to communicate, then that is where I draw the line. This is not a negotiation and this is not a threat; this is simply a fact. I've been through pain and joy with this network, I've seen communities form and wither and reform, I've met friends and lost friends here, I've learned things and discovered things and created things. I've seen people make a home here when they didn't have any other, not on a newsgroup, not with a bunch of electrons, but with people that they've met and communities that they've found and support that they've received from people who had just the words they needed to hear and would never have known they existed, and by God I KNOW what this network is for, and you can't have it.
With the recent announcement of the (probably forced) retirement of Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer, respectable publications are rolling out another series of “Where Did Microsoft Go Wrong?” pieces that almost all trace the same narrative arc:
In 2000, Ballmer inherited a software juggernaut so powerful that it was known to many as the “Evil Empire”. How could he possibly have mismanaged it to the point that, despite its continuing record of raking in cash, it is now almost the industry’s comedic afterthought?
We like our classic tragedies, where one man’s hubris brings down everyone around him. We like stories where there’s someone we can point at and blame, especially when that villain is easy to dislike. And by all accounts Ballmer wasn’t a good leader for Microsoft; neither great himself, nor the kind of person to inspire those under him to greatness.
Blaming Ballmer for the woes of Microsoft, though, misses the fact that every problem the company is experiencing today was written into its DNA in the 1980s.
What should I do for lunch?
That’s why I’m the architect.I come up with the general solution, it’s up to you to decide how to implement it.
On the surface, Quantum Immortality is an attractive thought.
Under the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, every chance event leads to the creation of multiple parallel universes. When you roll the die, it doesn't come up 5. It comes up six different universes, and your personal thread of causation just happens to be looking backwards from the perspective of the '5' branch.
As a corollary, if you are ever in a life-threatening situation and there is a possibility you might survive, in at least one universe, you will.
Sheldon: Penny, while I subscribe to the "Many Worlds" theory which posits the existence of an infinite number of Sheldons in an infinite number of universes, I assure you that in none of them am I dancing.
Penny: Are you fun in any of them?
Sheldon: The math would suggest that in a few of them I'm a clown made of candy, but I don't dance.
– Big Bang Theory: S3. Ep3. The Gothowitz Deviation
This leads to the superficially awesome thought that, at least subjectively, you can't die. Your subjective consciousness will always be looking back through that path of causality in which you survived.
This would be great if existence was a binary state between being dead, and being perfectly healthy and able.
Except It's far more likely that as time increases, the number of universes in which you are not a brain in a jar, screaming your insanity into an eternity of nothingness, approaches zero.