Why I run an Apple-free household but am still cool

Apple’s theatricals this week haven’t convinced me to buy an iPhone 6 – which, as Ron Amadeo pointed out, has the same screen size and features as a 2012 Nexus 4. George Takei got it right when he tweeted that he couldn’t remember the last time so many got so excited about 4.7 inches.

Not that this an admission of being un-cool, though it might seem so to the phanbois. Earlier this week I commented on some guy’s blog that I’m Apple-free. Other products do all I want at less cost and I’m not interested in the Apple cool factor. Another commenter wondered whether I still watched black and white TV.  Absolutely. I watch shows about sarcastic assholes.

Get real folks. Apple isn’t a religion. They make consumer products. For profit.

OK, so I'm a geek. Today anyway. From the left: laptop, i7 4771 desktop, i7 860 desktop.

My Apple-free desk. From the left: ASUS laptop, i7 4771 Windows desktop (yes, the same CPU Apple use in their iMacs), i7 860 Windows desktop.

When I look at the venom displayed on some of the forums and blogs, against Apple-critics, I suppose I got off lightly. But as I say, commenting that I don’t buy Apple isn’t license for the fans to make personal attacks of any sort. Apple are a consumer product company. Competitive. But failing to buy it doesn’t, by definition, make you a luddite.

I suppose it’s not surprising, really. Apple’s schtik – originated by their late CEO, Steve Jobs – was an appeal to cool, to the social status that, we are conditioned to think, comes with this consumer product or that one. That approach underlies most big brands, of course – and it certainly worked for Apple. Hugely. In the late 1990s Apple was a dwindling computer company that had failed to compete with Microsoft. Jobs came back on board and reinvented it as a lifestyle choice – a company whose products bypassed the reason circuits and drove straight to the appeal of emotion.

It worked a treat. People didn’t buy Apple because they could get a sharply better phone, or sharply better computer. Apple’s gear was always well engineered, well designed and reliable. But so was the gear sold by other major manufacturers. Most of it was also just as easy to use. That wasn’t why people bought Apple. They bought Apple because it was a statement about themselves. They get drawn into it – I mean, I heard that some guy in Australia microchipped his own hand, on the off-chance that some rumoured feature might be built into the iPhone 6.

It was, by any measure, a brilliant recovery. Genius. But when I look at the sarcasm, the personalised anger with which some respond when anybody questions Apple products – when I suggest that, maybe, other products are as good – I have to wonder. Do people validate their own self-worth by ownership of an Apple product? Is that why they get so angry, sarcastic and abusive? So personal?

Is this where Jobs wanted his customers to go when he reinvented Apple?

For myself, I don’t feel the need to define or validate myself with any consumer product. It’s just stuff, and these days it’s increasingly short-life stuff. For me, phones, tablets and computers are things you buy for a purpose. Not to make you better than somebody else. Products. For me that’s the arbiter. Will it do the job I need it for – properly, and without compromise? And at what cost – up-front and lifetime? How reliable is it? Will the maker support it for that lifetime – and a little way beyond – at reasonable cost? If I drop a phone, what will it cost me to replace it?

All these reasons keep intruding whenever I look for any new consumer product. The fact that this path has produced a wholly Apple-free household, I think, speaks for itself.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Why celebrity phone hacking is really everyone’s problem

Until last week, I’d never heard of Jennifer Lawrence, still less known that she apparently had salacious selfies on her phone’s cloud account. Now, it seems, everybody in the world has the news, and apparently the stolen pictures will be made into an art exhibition. Do I care (just checking the care-o-meter here)? No.

But what I do care about is the fact that the celebrity selfie hacking scandal is everyone’s problem.

1195428087807981914johnny_automatic_card_trick_svg_medMy worry has got nothing to do with the way the public debate has been sidetracked by red-herrring arguments, all flowing from the cult of celebrity that began, in the modern sense, as a Hollywood marketing device during the second decade of the twentieth century. That’s why these pictures get targeted. Hey – get a life. Celebrity Bits are the same as Everybody Else’s Bits. Get over it. Celebrities are also entitled to their privacy and property, just like everybody else.

No – the problem is the principle of data security. Everybody’s data security. It’s an arms race, on-line and off. People store all sorts of things on electronic media these days. Medical records, bank account details, passwords. Some of it ends up in the cloud. Some doesn’t, but even home computers may not be safe. Hacking goes on all the time, often looking for your bank account. It’s a sad indictment of human nature that those perpetrating this vandalism look on it as an assertion of superiority. I believe the term is ‘owned’, spelt ‘pwned’.

Artwork by Plognark http://www.plognark.com/ Creative Commons license

Artwork by Plognark http://www.plognark.com/ Creative Commons license

It’s not going to be resolved by passing laws or codes of conduct. Some immoral asshole out there, somewhere, will spoil the party.

All we can do is be vigilant. Various services are introducing two-step authentication, in which you can’t just log on by password, you have to add a code that’s sent to your phone.

You still need a strong password. I am amazed that the most popular password is – uh – ‘password’, pronounced ‘Yes, I WANT you to steal my stuff’. Other stupid passwords include ‘123456’, the names of pop-culture icons (‘HarryPotter’) or something published elsewhere, like your pet’s name.

But even a password that can’t be associated with you has to meet certain criteria. The reason is mathematical – specifically, factorial, a term denoted with an exclamation mark. In point of fact, the math of password security gets complex, because any human-generated password won’t be truly random – and terms such as ‘entropy’ enter the mix when figuring crackability. But at the end of the day, the more characters the better, and the more variables per character the better. Check this out:

  1. Any English word. There are around 1,000,000 unique words in English (including ‘callipygian’) but that’s not many for a hack-bot looking for word matches. Your account can be cracked in less than a minute.
  2. Mis-spelt English word. Doesn’t raise the odds. Hackers expect mis-spellings or number substitutions.
  3. Eight truly random lower case letters. Better. There are 208,827,064,576 combinations of the 26-letter alpha set in lower case.
  4. Eight truly random lower and upper case letters. Even better. These produce 53,459,728,531,456 potential passwords.
  5. Eight truly random keystrokes chosen from the entire available set. Best. There are 645,753,531,245,761 possible passwords.

If you use 10 truly random keystrokes, you end up with 3,255,243,551,009,881,201 possible combinations. But even that is still crackable, given time – so the other step is to change the password. Often.

Make it a habit. And – just out of interest, seeing as we’re talking about true randomness, does anybody know what the term ‘one time pad’ means?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

The real truth of the First World War

There has been a growing consensus among historians in recent years that the First and Second World Wars were not separate events. They were two acts in a 31-year drama that began in 1914.

Ration party of the Royal Irish Rifles on the Somme, probably 1 July 1916. Public domain, from Wikimedia Commons http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Royal_Irish_Rifles_ration_party_Somme_July_1916.jpg

Ration party of the Royal Irish Rifles on the Somme, probably 1 July 1916. Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

Indeed, there are reasons to argue that this war was followed by a third act, set up by the collapse of the old order in the First World War – the rise of Communism, which was not resolved by the Second World War and led to the Cold War. That did not end until 1992. These events defined the society, politics and economics of the twentieth century; and it is for these reasons that Eric Hobsbawm has argued that this century – in those terms – was a ‘short’ century, beginning in 1914 and ending in 1992.

I’m inclined to agree. As far as the two World Wars are concerned there is little doubt about the integration between them. Briefly the argument is this. In 1918, the German state collapsed, but the advancing Allies were still – certainly by George Patton’s estimate – a few weeks off being able to beat the German army. The result was that Germany essentially retained an unbroken field army. This was dispersed by Versailles, but the soldiers, brought up like the rest of Germany on the notion of ‘Reich’, felt cheated. Into the breach leaped a shell-shocked veteran of the Ypres front, sporting the Charlie Chaplin moustache he’d devised for gas-mask wear.

SMS Baden, one of the last of Germany's First World War super-dreadnoughts.

SMS Baden, one of the last of Germany’s First World War super-dreadnoughts. Public domain.

It wasn’t difficult for Hitler to whip up support based on the popular sense of injustice and denied destiny, drawing power from disaffected former soldiers who formed a significant demographic group. It was also not hard for him to find a sub-culture within Germany who could be blamed. All of this was wrapped in the guise of a ‘new order’, but actually it was not – the Nazis, in short, did not come out of a vacuum; they merely re-framed an idea that already existed. This connection was realised by the British as the Second World War came to an end and they wondered how to avoid repeating the mistakes of 1919. As early as 1943, Sir Robert Vansittart argued that Hitler was merely a symptom. The deeper problem was that Versailles hadn’t broken eighty-odd years’ worth of Bismarckian ‘Reich’ mentality.

Wright_Shattered Glory coverThis perspective demands a different view of the First World War. So far, non-military historians in New Zealand – working in ignorance of the military realties – have simply added an intellectual layer to the cliche of the First World War as a psychologically inexplicable void into which the rational world fell as a result of mechanistic international systems, the pig-headedness of stupid governments and the incompetence of Chateau-bound general officers. There has even been an attempt by one New Zealand historian to re-cast Britain and the Allies as the aggressive, evil villains of the piece. Military historians have not been seduced by such fantasies, but have still been captured by a pervasive framework of sadness, remembrance and sacrifice. Into this, again for New Zealand, has been stirred mythologies of nationalism, of the ‘birth’ of today’s nation on the shores of Gallipoli in 1915. The result of this heady mix has been a narrow orthodoxy and an equally narrow exploration of events in terms of that orthodoxy.

Landing at D-Day. Photo by Chief Photographer's Mate (CPHOM) Robert F. Sargent, U.S. Coast Guard. Public Domain.

Landing on D-Day, 6 June 1944. Photo by Chief Photographer’s Mate (CPHOM) Robert F. Sargent, U.S. Coast Guard. Public Domain.

I question this framework, not least because of the argument that the Second World War was a specific outcome of the First. The implication of the two being different aspects of a single struggle is clear; there are questions yet to be investigated about the ‘why’ of the First World War. The issue is the extent to which the ‘Reich’ mentality was perceived as a genuine threat in 1914 when Britain (in particular) debated whether to enter the conflict, and whether and how that answer drove the Allies to persist even after available offence (infantry) had proven itself inadequate against the defence (wire, machine guns and trenches). We have to remember that fear of German imperialism had already driven Europe’s alliance structures from the 1880s. And, for New Zealand, the question is how did that intersect with – and potentially drive – the sense of pro-British imperialism that did so much to define our mind-set in the generation before 1914?

These sorts of questions are beginning to be asked in British historical circles now. I keep being invited to symposia at various universities over there, where these matters are being discussed. Unfortunately we are a long way off being able to properly pose such queries in New Zealand. Yet, realistically, that interpretation needs to be explored. Perhaps I should do it. What do you think?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Close encounters of the meteor kind – this weekend

Back in 2013, I wrote a piece that mashed Pope Benedict’s resignation with the science of the meteorite that exploded over Russia. I was Freshly Pressed by WordPress on the back of it. Good stuff.

The fly-by. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

The fly-by. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

This weekend, a similarly sized chunk of space debris – about 20 metres in diameter – is rolling past Earth with closest approach of just 40,200 km, directly over New Zealand, at 6.18 am on Monday 8 September, NZT (18:18 Zulu, 7 September).

I use the word rolling deliberately. Everything spins in space.

The meteor’s called 20214 RC (R-C) and was detected only on 31 August by the Catalina Sky Survey at Tucson, Arizona. And that raises a point. The spectre of Earth being clobbered by even a modest piece of space detritus has haunted science for decades. Right now, we’re doing something about that – scanning near-Earth space in a hunt for likely impactors.

The orbit. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

The orbit. NASA, public domain. Click to enlarge.

What we’d do if we found such a thing, other than despatch Bruce Willis, isn’t clear. Nuking them isn’t an option – the evidence is growing that some of these space rocks are just clumps of loose-ish ice and dirt. In any case, you’d end up with a cloud of debris, still hurtling for Earth and still able to deliver virtually the same kinetic blow to the planet. Personally I think we should splash one side of any likely impactor with black paint, but that method (which exploits asymmetric re-radiation of absorbed thermal energy) requires several years’ warning. This new encounter comes just a week after discovery – with all that this implies.

There’s no danger from 20214 RC (R-C). It’s got an orbital period of just over 541.11 days, which is different enough from Earth’s to mean there won’t be another encounter any time soon. But one day the orbital mechanics will mesh and it’ll be back in our vicinity. It won’t be an impact danger. But we don’t know what else is out there.

Yup, you’ve got it. That old sci-fi doom scenario involving a meteor suddenly sloshing the Atlantic into the US Eastern Seaboard and Europe? It’s baaaack…

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

Swearing and cussing? Sirrah! It’s a lot of craven murrain

The other week the Prime Minister of New Zealand used a word in public that literally means the ordure of a male cow. The colloquial meaning the PM deployed it for was ‘rubbish’.

William Shakespeare, the 'Flower' portrait c1820-1840, public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

‘Thou dankish unchin-snouted malt-worm!’ William Shakespeare, the ‘Flower’ portrait c1820-1840, public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

Oooh, naughty. Or is it? Way back in 1970, the same word was publicly used by Germaine Greer when she visited New Zealand. Then, police issued an arrest warrant. This time? The PM is in the middle of an election campaign in which everything he says or does will win or lose voters – and nobody batted an eye.

But of course. In New Zealand, today’s generation don’t regard this term as particularly offensive. I’ve seen the same word used in book titles, in the US it was the title of a Penn and Teller series, and so on. But that’s swearing. Words come and go. If they didn’t, we’d all swear like that impious swiver, Will Shakespeare.  Zounds! (God’s Wounds). The big word of his day was fie. But wait, there’s more. Not satisfied with the general vocabulary – which included some of the Anglo Saxon we use – the immortal bard is usually credited with coining around 1700 new words, many of them boisterously intended. You can check some of them out for yourself – here’s a Shakespeare insult generator.

What changes is the degree of offence society considers the word causes to ‘polite’ ears. That’s how Benjamin Tabart was able to use Shakespeare’s vilest word in his 1807 childrens’ tale ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’. Of course, by that time the hot potato word was ‘damn’, so offensive in polite society it was soon censored to d—d. That became a swear word too – ‘dashed’.

As always, older swear words that now seem acceptable aren’t directed ‘at’ anything. They’re abstract intensifiers that have lost connection with their original meaning. That’s different from offensive words intended to demean others’ behaviours, beliefs or cultures, which never become acceptable, any time. The fact that new terms of this latter kind keep turning up says quite a bit about the unpleasant side of the human condition.

But abstract intensifiers, directed at revealing one’s response to an ordinary event – like stepping in dog poo – are something else, and the funny thing is that any word will do, providing it’s understood. Sci-fi authors coin new ones often as devices for reinforcing the difference between ours and their future society. In Battlestar Galactica (2003-2009) the word was ‘frack’. An obvious homophone, but it worked well anyway. Or there’s Larry Niven’s Ringworld-series ‘futz’, which to me sounded like a mashup with putz. But you can’t fault the logic – the ‘different but not TOO different’ principle demanded of accessible SF.

I’ve only seen one place where a different word emerged. It was in Harry Harrison’s Bill the Galactic Hero. The forbidden term, the deeply offensive word of his galactic future, repeatedly used by his ‘starship troopers’? Bowb. It echoed 1930s slang, but Harrison made it the verboten word and used it with stunning effect – a multi-purpose obscene noun, verb and adjective with which readers instantly identified because of the context. ‘What’s this, bowb your buddy week?’ a trooper demands as his power suit fails and nobody stops him drowning. ‘It’s always bowb your buddy week’, the gunnery corporal tells the troops as the man sinks.

Bowb. Conveying the intensity of personal emotional response to the abstract without the current-day offence.  And that, of course, is the essence of writing – transmitting the intended emotion to the reader. Way cleverer than using existing swear words.

Trouble is, when I use bowb  in conversations, people look at me funny and think I’m a gleeking, beef-witted dewberry.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

 

When tyre-kickers leaf through your books…

Last week I sauntered into the (last) bookstore in Wellington’s Lambton Quay, New Zealand’s Golden Mile of retail shopping. I soon found some of my books – quite a number of my Bateman Illustrated History of New Zealand, in fact, cover-out, which is the very best way to display such things.

The way books should be sold, cover out (the best way to display them). I wrote this one...

The way books should be sold, cover out (the best way to display them). A display from earlier days.

Cheered, I went to leave, when someone standing nearby picked up a copy and began leafing through it. I loitered. He leafed, frowned, smiled, leafed again, smiled, looked quizzical, and leafed some more. Finally he put it back in the shelf. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Would you mind telling me what stopped you buying the book? I’m the author, you see.’ ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I was just browsing.’

I guess you can lead the horse to water. If the guy had no intention of buying and was simply passing time, he wasn’t likely to be captured by the book even if it had ‘buy me, you bastard’ in fluorescent ink at the top of every page. In point of fact, I wrote the whole thing to be appealing (obviously) – but not to capture a reader with hook lines every paragraph. That would ruin the book. That’s why TV is so terrible at the moment, incidentally; the pacing is designed to capture people as they idly channel surf, meaning action/drama every eight seconds (literally). It really affects the structure.

I walked off, “No Sale” signs chinking up in my mind’s eye. Better luck with the next customer. Maybe.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

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Essential writing skills: Weird Al is right to use a split infinitive

I couldn’t stop laughing at this week’s furore over Weird Al Yankovich supposedly having an ‘error’ in a song about grammar errors. Weird Al apparently included a split infinitive in the lyrics.

Oh, the (apparent) irony. Social media went nuts. Well, I beg to differ. And so, I think, would Captain James T. Kirk. Gene Roddenberry anyway.

A split infinitive is where the infinitive marker (‘to’) and the verb (‘go’) are divided by another word – let’s say, ‘boldly’. Thus we could say ‘to boldly go’, rather than ‘to go boldly’. It’s technically ambiguous – what you are doing is making ‘boldly’ into the verb. Are you saying they boldly? Or that they go? See what I mean.

That prompted a furore of its own in the mid-1960s, when Roddenberry first launched that particular phrase upon the world.

Except that split infinitives were upheld as grammatically OK – even adding to the power of a sentence – in the right context, as early as 1948. In the strictest and most retentive sense, it’s not correct. But English is a constantly evolving language, and in general practical usage – back more than 60 years now – it’s been fine to split the infinitive. And we do, a lot. Along with starting sentences with conjunctions…

Weird Al, in short, got it right. But then, doesn’t he always? The guy’s a genius. And now…pay attention…

Some important lessons there, grammar-wise. I wish my high school English teacher had been as entertaining.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2014

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