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It's the perfect marriage of old and new technology...no, wait...no, it's just stupid.
Apologies for the long time between runs...Mrs Speech spent the weekend away with girlfriends, leaving me with all the chores. I wasn't blogging because I had laundry to do. That's why. That's totally my excuse.

Anyway, I was having such an awesome time last week, remembering the TV of my youth for my TV is dying post...I thought I might reminisce (in ascending chronological order) some more on the tech of my day and what I grew up with.

And of course, which is now cream-coloured plastic obselete junk clogging up a landfill somewhere.

Dovetailing with this...check out these guys, cataloguing soon-to-be extinct tech sounds.

Rotary Dial Phones

Ours was a light olive colour.
What I remember most about these was the weight. Maybe it was just that I was a little kid when these were around - I mean, I can't test the theory since they haven't been in use for more than twenty years - but they always seemed like a house brick.

And of course, the receiver itself was connected to the brick with a wire. A WIRE! If you wanted to go chop some carrotts while talking on the phone (not a good idea regardless), you had to carry the whole thing over to the kitchen benchtop. That's not a phone, that's an ordeal. And possibly a missing finger.

But they just had this funky go-slow thing about them, didn't they? As though tech back then was less about clogging your life up with worry and rushing, and more about taking your time.

clickclickclickclickclickclick...whirrrrrrrrrr...clickclickclickclickclickclick...whirrrrrrrrrr...



80's computers

The only thing stopping me from making fun is the sentimentality which comes flooding back when I see this ugly dog again.
We got ours in...ooh...I think it was '86.

It was this mortar-coloured monstrosity which I eagerly unveiled Christmas morning with massive raised keys that made a soft thunk sound when you typed the syntax to load your favourite game:

load,"airwolf",8,1[return]

That thing was awesome. The royal-blue-surrounded-by-light blue default screen, the disk drive that was the size of a shoe box but weighed eight kilos or something, the cool midi sounds that were completely unreplicatable...priceless.

In 1993, when I started in grade 9 here in Brisbane, for accounting we used these boxy apple computers, all in one deal, y'know where the screen is connected to the machine itself? Like one of the newer all-in-ones only...nothing like. The screen was deeper than it was wide and the duochromatic picture it showed seemed completely acceptable. Almost space-age, even.



Floppy Disks

The last one of these I owned had Sim City 2000 on it.
These things were awesome.

Remember what it was like to actually hold physical media? A book? A tape? A CD?

Floppies were the ultimate in portable information. With a whopping 1.44mb of space, they could hold your school assignment, a game and STILL have room left over for a couple ones and zeroes.

I used to love the metallic part which you could pull over and it would snap back into place like vicious jaws if you tried to get too close to the precious, precious information inside.



Overhead Projectors

Yes, they were preindustrial, basically.
OHPs exemplified obselete technology: big, cumbersome, clunky, disproportionately high inconvenience-benefit ratio.

When I was in school, not every class had one. So if our teacher needed to show us all a map of pre-World War II Europe, she had to go next door.

'Sorry Rhonda...can I just borrow your OHP for a moment?'

Then she had to bring it to our class, an exercise which because of its weight, today would qualify as a workplace health and safety issue. Then she had to plug it in. Then she had to turn off the lights. Then she had to place the slide on it, which had to have been written/printed on special clear plastic paper. Then she had to flip it over so the letters were the right way.

The mind boggles.



Nokia 3315 and its ilk

Had this colour. Loved that thing.
Loved, loved, loved this thing. This was my first mobile phone. Got it in 2003.

I think it was like, $30 a month, on a phone plan that included x dollars' worth of calls included.

Obviously that's a crime these days but back then it was a different age. It was 1 P.F. (Pre-Facebook).

I loved its simplicity; its shallow colours, its smooth, perfectly-sized buttons which made a delightful soft clicking sound when pressed. Its two-tone screen. The blocky little picture you could set as the background.

Even the semi-coarse texture of the casing, which made it a tiny bit easier to hold when your palm was sweaty. The beautiful curvature of the casing.

I texted with this thing till I could do it in my sleep. Why does it take twice as long to do a text on our smartphone?



Dial-up internet

My earliest external modem. A wonder of teal and silver.
beep boop beep beep boop beep boop beep...

ner ner neee...brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

brrr brrrr brrr dun der DUN der...

SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...

...exactly.



The world wide web/information superhighway/early internet

Personally, I quite like it.
Remember when the internet began to totally take off? Wasn't it fun? All these ephemeral names for it kept popping up as if no-one truly knew what to make of a new social protocol for sharing information.

What would it be? What would it become? Would it take over our lives like Skynet and cause the Russians to obliterate Madagascar? Hey 01011000101, I thought that was supposed to be Tucson...

When people build a new paradigm they do it for function and not so much form, which makes sense; the Wright Brothers wouldn't have been THE WRIGHT BROTHERS, if the plane didn't fly. Who cares if the colour was so 1901.

But what the early internet unleashed on us...egads. My eyeballs. They is hurtin'.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
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When I grew up we had a clacky TV. I Can still see it now: a brown wood-panelled ugly dog of a machine, with a bubble screen that made it look bloated from endless Happy days reruns.

And there was no remote. My goodness, no. Might as well ask for a smartphone back then. This was the mid-eighties. You had to actually get up off the chocolate brown cotton weave couch and change the channel yourself.

The buttons made a clack sound. Clack. Josie and the Pussycats. Clack. He-Man. Clack. Scooby Doo. Saturday Morning was clacks and Coco Pops.

I grew up in that era, where TV was the gathering point for our house, the watering hole of outside interaction and how many questions could we get right on Sale of the Century?

I was a fan of Tony Barber, but he always seemed a bit smirky.


Say it ain't so!

We have five main channels here: ABC, Seven, SBS, Nine and Ten. Each station owns one or more other stations which seem to be primarily for showing endless repeats of 'classic' shows (The Love Boat, anyone? Charmed? Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman?), bizarre guy shows (Coal, Ice Road Truckers, Megastructure Demolition) or in the case of Channel Nine and the Olympics, the exact same content on both channels.

Listen buddy...put some quality locally-produced shows on TV. NOW. Got it?
Channel Ten owns Eleven and One. One was created for the very valid purpose of providing sports content all day, every day. Its content was however last year 'rededicated' to shows like Bondi Rescue, Get Smart and M*A*S*H.

There are also infomercial stations broadcasting 'shows' like Oreck Air Purifier (my favourite!) and Ninja Knife Cutter (ooooh...Mrs Speech could use that for Christmas. All sewn up).

Channels Nine and Ten are in huge financial difficulties. The private equity firm, CVC, which bought Nine a while back, handed over almost $1.5bn for it, also purchasing $3.6bn in debt. The further two billion dollars they pumped into it is also gone.

Channel Ten's ratings are so poor they might as well start showing the Ninja Knife Cutter. After all, it slices and dices.


I'd rather watch grass grow

The main problem, at least on the surface, is the turgid lineup of prime-time programming, which of course is the time-slot where the numbers come from - both ratings and ratings' cousin, advertising dollars.

I haven't witnessed a disinterest quotient this high since Brisbane City Council introduced bikes for rent in the city.

All the star power in the world wasn't able to save this tired format.
The problem - and I know Mrs Speech will want to weigh in on this - is that prime-time content seems to be either a) US shows 'fast-tracked' (more on that later) ie Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, that odd new self-serving Matt LeBlanc show, etc...or locally-produced shows which utilise trends discarded years ago.

People will think what they will about the American shows; most of them aren't to my taste. I've been meaning to delve into Breaking Bad and Mad Men, though.

But the Aussie ones are worse. They're mainly reality TV shows which draw on an ever-descending spiral of the concept of derivation.

That is, each year they're paler and paler copies of shows from the year before.

These are Channel Nine and Channel Ten's major locally-produced shows for this year:

  • Being Lara Bingle (let's follow around a third-tier celebrity!)
  • Can of Worms (panel discussion - things like, 'if you could have one superpower, what would it be?'...I kid you not)
  • The Shire (compared by many to Jersey Shore)
  • Everybody Dance Now (post-Olympic dance competition which, though massively hyped, failed spectacularly)
  • Don't Tell The Bride (what would happen if the groom was allowed to plan the wedding?)
  • Big Brother (grinding my teeth)

People refuse to watch these tv shows. Personally I'd watch...well, anything really. SBS shows the news from various countries. I'd listen to the Cyrillic intonations of Macedonian news before causing my brain to contract by tuning in to Can of Worms.


The Chicken had to have come first

Aussie programming has always been reasonably derivative. The Price is Right, Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune...Seven shamelessly copied Neighbours with its summer lovin' Home and Away. Those kids and their surf-related angst issues.

But the lack of originality alone is not imploding the major networks. A funny thing happened to Australian TV over the last five years.

It really, got lost in a back alley off a dark city street one night with rain falling heavy upon the well-worn concrete...and was mugged by the internet.

Let's face it...TV wandered down here after a night at the pub and really got what it deserved at the hands of the internet.
People wanted what they considered (and read, was) quality programming and stopped waiting for it from the US. Ten may fast-track Homeland within a week or two, but it's available on the internet within hours of being shown in the States.

A recent case involving the second largest internet provider in the country, highlighted this problem.

In 2008 iiNet was sued by the Australian Federation Against Copyright Theft (AFACT, on behalf of Channel Seven and many major international film distributors) alleging that iiNet had a responsibility to ensure its customers did not download content via BitTorrent. A judge in 2010 ruled in favour of iiNet and then earlier this year the High Court threw the case out.

The point is, people want their content NOW. And will watch it on a laptop, instead of a 42 inch screen if they have to. This is happening a lot.

Fewer people watching their favourite shows on television means less advertising money.

Poor local content means fewer people watching television too.

Both issues affect TV's bottom line. Ironically, the lack of advertising money is probably significantly affecting Aussie stations' capital outlay on new shows. Which then tend to be poor. And which people don't watch. It's like the chicken and the egg.


I refuse to watch the telly on my wristwatch

So what now? Who knows.

Seems reasonably clear that content is moving online. Smart TVs now can access the internet, albeit under the constraints of the manufacturer's frontend software. I can plug my laptop into our TV if I feel like buying a long HDMI cable.

The crossover is really, taking shape. Don your silver jumpsuits, and all that. Tron will soon be here.

No. No. No.
You can also watch on your phone too. You already knew that. Seriously, when the programming on your digital TV is so...analogue...why would you bother? The market has already proved itself aggressive enough to choose what it wants, when it wants. If the networks don't actively seek to catch up, they'll become about as relevant as CDs, which were essentialy relegated to the status of artifacts as soon as the internet realised that a four megabyte file could be downloaded in anyone's bedroom.

There's a blog post somewhere in the deintegration of the Australian home. Dinner in the fifties was around the table. Dinner in the eighties was in front of the TV. Dinner now can be wherever your laptop is; families have more than one computer.

The gathering point for your house, the watering hole of outside interaction, can be wherever you want it to be. It's fluid. It's not stationary. Don't try to fight it. The tube as we know it is dying, in this country.

Some days I bloody miss that clacky television.
Yup, that's about what they look like.
Q. What's the difference between a troll and an ogre?
A. An ogre moves out of his parents' place and becomes a middle manager.

Here in Australia, there's a story circulating right now about a minor celebrity named Charlotte Dawson.

Ms Dawson was the subject of a hate tweet. She was told to go hang herself. She responded by finding out the tweeter's employer (tweeter left a trail), then reporting the tweeter's behaviour to that employer. The tweeter was then put on paid leave from her position.

Ms Dawson then ceased to be the subject. She became a target.

A torrent of abuse suddenly was hurled her way with every possible contortion of the phrase 'go hang yourself' used in hashtags.

Let's have a look at some of the lovely messages sent her way:









The above messages are by a long way the more tame ones. Others I couldn't justify embedding on this blog. I feel like I need to wash my hands.

Ms Dawson, who has a history of depression, was taken to a hospital emergency ward on the morning of August 30th where she received psychiatric care at St Vincent's Hospital in Sydney. She is now being looked after by friends.

Now in the interest of presenting all sides of the story, it appears early on she tried to dish back what she got, responding at a less crude level to the sewage being hurled in her direction. This is called feeding the trolls. It is also akin to putting out a fire by pouring cooking oil on it.

You can't reason with these people. You cannot engage them, co-operate with them, discourage them, threaten or insult them. Any attention you give them will encourage their acts of juvenile animosity.

I (Mr Speech) have been the subject of trolling, on a website I had in the late nineties. It was not serious, and it stopped after a couple weeks. For unrelated reasons I have not participated much on the internet; I'm more an observer and likely will stay that way except for this blog. I don't have a Twitter or Facebook account. Mrs Speech has both.

Things were not always this way on the internet. There was once some degree of civility, except of course for the always-present exceptions, there to frustrate the rule:

I've watched it begin as the odd revolting comment in the odd corner of the cybersphere in the late '90s to now, where it's everywhere all the time.

I remember chatting online when I was in my late teens. We didn't get this sort of thing. The terms 'flaming' and 'flame war' were really on the periphery of internet culture, as though most online users themselves were the mainstream with a separate seedy undercurrent to whom such terminology was more familiar. I'd wager most people today who spend any amount of time online are acquainted with the term, in theory if not practice.

The Atlantic ran an interesting article online about the possiblity of software which helps civil discourse on the internet: primarily on comment threads, where the one-eyed man is king too often. It references a Scientific American article entitled "Why Is Everyone On The Internet So Angry?"

The Atlantic's comment boards could do with a little housecleaning:

I'd say someone's so friggin' dumb he thinks a German-sounding login must mean that the user is German. You need to mind your manners, Boy. You go round shouting s*** like that, someone might clout you in the piehole.

You cannot reason with these people.

I don't pretend to know exactly why this phenomenon has taken shape with such virulence and ferocity. But the clues are there if you look hard enough.

The Scientific American touches on the circumstantial factors involved. I agree with them completely.

The power of anonymity is critical when addressing online behaviour. You rarely if ever see someone acting blatantly rude to a complete stranger one-on-one, without provocation in the offline world. I can't recall having once witnessed something like that. You read about assaults and such in the news, but at a petty level, it rarely happens. People without that kind of serious criminal intent just aren't that courageous. Those bloody kids on that bus notwithstanding.

Yup, that's about what they look like.
The other side of that coin is that online communication turns other people into abstract objects; even those with little pictures next to their names do not appear like humans to us. How can they be? They don't exist. The only evidence of the possibility they exist is a few pixels on a screen, stored on a server. With a lovely picture to go with it.

There is no real interaction taking place, no engagement. There is no body language to decipher, and I suspect deep on a neurological level we are programmed to humanise based on body language; a bison does not smile and tilt its head when you compliment its shoes. Humans do human things. Avatars do not.

It is difficult sometimes - it can take conscious imagination - to digest that whoever we are communicating with online has more humanity than the hair dryer.

But this alone does not explain online vitriol. The gentleman with the German sounding name in the above quote is commenting on a political issue. If 'commenting' is the right word to use. He may not even be trolling. (Click the arrow to see the thread).

Politics has become the death knell of civil conversation, in western society. Here in Australia, our Prime Minister recently had to defend herself against allegations dating back to the nineties, when she was a lawyer in private practice. She referenced the alternate reality in which many of her detractors seem to be living, and the casually boorish nature of their obsession:

I paid for my renovations. And, well, in terms of people who continue to circulate these claims, will the misogynists and the nut jobs on the Internet continue to circulate them? Yes, they will, and it wouldn't matter what I said and it wouldn't matter what documents were produced...

...It's to do with this, you know, sort of Americanisation of our politics, this eccentric lunar right Tea Party-style interventions that we are seeing in our politics and there is nothing that a person of reason can do to deal with it.

Our opposition leader, Tony Abbott, has helped this along quite nicely. His soaring oratory, capable of lifting people to the stars base and populist rhetoric, repeated ad nauseum, and then ad hominem just in case you didn't hear the first time, has simultaneously dumbed down Australian politics and aggravated an already blood thirsty conservative bloc.

A year ago he attended a Tea Party-style rally at which protestors held signs calling our Prime Minister 'witch', something that rhymes with 'witch' and other uncouth epithets unworthy of debate on federal issues. He endorsed them by being there.

Americans have their own style and it has played out furiously in the years since Barack Obama became President. I've read comment page after comment page on the Obama presidency, with the same kind of revolted fascination I hold when I see one of those really weird lizards at the zoo.

Obummer, Obomber, Oblamer, Oblameo, Obummy, Obooger. These are some of the names I have heard Americans call their President. I made that last one up, but I'm sure it's out there.

It's a very raw ugliness that speaks more to the person saying it than to the target. Its genesis lies at the level of the political and media elite, who over the years have ascertained that appealing to the abject, most contemptible level of name-calling gets you votes, viewers and hard earned cash.

Rush Limbaugh on 13 year old Chelsea Clinton:

Socks is the White House cat. But did you know there is also a White House dog?

Mitt Romney:

You know, out-of-touch liberals like Barack Obama say they want a strong economy, but in everything they do, they show they don't like business very much.

Ann Coulter:

So maybe it’s time to start imitating liberals in another way and go after the Obama children.

Newt Gingrich:

What if [Obama] is so outside our comprehension, that only if you understand Kenyan, anti-colonial behavior, can you begin to piece together [his actions]? That is the most accurate, predictive model for his behavior.

David Letterman on Bristol/Willow Palin (daughters of Sarah and Todd):

During the seventh inning, her daughter was knocked up by Alex Rodriguez.

Glenn Beck on President Obama's intentions towards AmeriCorps:

I mean, this is what Hitler did with the SS. He had his own people. He had the brownshirts and then the SS. This is what Saddam Hussein -- so -- but you are comparing that.

Trent Franks, Congressman, R-Arizona:

(Obama) has no place in any station of government and we need to realize that he is an enemy of humanity.

There is an ocean of this rubbish on the internet.

But the problem is that vitriol is its own particular trickle down economic. Citizens see their leaders treating each other like trash, upping the ante with so much hyperbole and cynical rhetoric that they can muster with profound exaggeration par for the course, that they simply elect to use a usually, more debased facsimile.

Why would President Obama dislike business? That doesn't make an ounce of sense. But carry on, regardless.

Politics in America is rarely discussed humanely.

Yup, that's about what they look like. (Click to enlarge.)
Early in his term, I noticed an internet "blame it on Obama" meme, where literally everything was blamed on Barack Obama. It became so ridiculous that it developed into irony and was thus rightly used to mimic the most inane buffoons out there.

Leadership always counts.

But even if it didn't, we'd have one final insurmountable problem which would likely still result in the existence of trolls, flamers, and the just-downright-nasty.

Humans are terrible people. Just naturally.

My initial experience with this theme comes from the Bible, which states that "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23) And it's so very true.

I realised this earlier this year when I thought of an interesting way to test the idea. Take a normal person, and strip away normal social conventions. Take away the usual, unwritten requirement of society to be civil and polite, and see what happens.

I came to the conclusion that there are two very compelling situations in which people show their true colours as a matter of routine circumstance, in the absence of much regulation.

At sporting events, people are encouraged to be passionate fans. But there is example after example after example after example of fan behaviour that crosses the line. A culture, probably encouraged by absurd ticket prices, that encourages fans to think that they can do whatever they wish. The insults become incredibly personal. As an NBA fan, I've read about players' mothers, wives, girlfriends and children being targeted by fans.

The major leagues in America have stepped up to combat this kind of ruthless semi-hooliganism, but it seems fair to assume people's natural inclinations are to at the least adopt a passive-aggressive mentality, and at the worst to attack a player without regard, because after all, isn't that your right when you show up to a baseball game?

Or, put another way: why are fans not sweet little prepossessing angels when they attend? When addressing the issue of people without restraint, there will only be one outcome.

That was the one example I could think of regarding human behaviour in the absence of regulation.

The other?

Right here, folks.

And this is the crux of the issue. I know people who will argue until they run out of breath about the needlessness for regulation, but when society is facing harm from people out only to make themselves feel better by destroying others, surely an appropriate legislative response should at least be considered.

How about we start with a government-mandated requirement that people who leave comments on websites and forums must give their name, address and phone number. Make them accountable. Minors must provide a parent's details. No details, no comment.

Most of the tweeters attacking Ms Dawson used accounts with no followers; they were set up with the idea of anonymity so they could, with such typical courage, lay in to her with a digital two by four, without consequence.

Bring them into the light.

Let's start there. Let's bring this thing called the internet back to a place of respectability and dignity. Where debate is conducted between civil people and name-calling, trolling and flaming are left to the kids in the playground.

And then let's deal with that, because like much else in the world, the two inevitably overlap.

(The troll) ended up being a 12-year-old girl in a wheelchair who was horribly abused in her offline life and this was a way of making herself feel better and heal.