Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, Ph.D.

I study people, technology, and the worlds they make

Month: December 2010 (page 1 of 2)

Not long now

Two weeks to Cambridge and counting…

[To the tune of Kenneth Gilbert, “Bach: The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book 1 - Prelude & Fugue #3 In C Sharp, BWV 848,” from the album Bach: The Well-Tempered Clavier (a 3-star song, imo).]

My Christmas gift to everyone: Amazon’s customer service number

For years, I got a post-Christmas spike in visitors looking for Amazon’s customer service number, which I’ve blogged about in years past.

To save already-frustrated people from searching through the site, here it is again: it’s (800) 201-7575.

Amazon also now has an option to fill out a form and have someone call you, if you prefer.

[To the tune of Simon & Garfunkel, “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy),” from the album The Best Of Simon & Garfunkel (a 2-star song, imo).]

Ngrams of unintended consequences

Inspired by the Google Labs Ngram suggesting that we've reached peak future, I decided to map the term "unintended consequences," and for good measure "unanticipated consequences." I've been interested in the history of unintended consequences for a while (here's a PDF of an article I've written on the subject), and found references in Poole's and other newspaper and magazine databases going back to the mid-1800s, but hadn't done a similar search for books.

Here are the rather unsurprising results ("unintended consequence" is the line in red, "unanticipated consequence" in blue):

It's hard to see, but the line is pretty flat until World War II. From that point "unintended consequence" takes off, and "unanticipated consequence" rises more slowly but still substantially. You can see a bigger version here.

One day I'll have to take on self-fulfilling prophecy. (Actually, that one has a really curious trajectory.)

The rise (and fall?) of the term “future”

D. Boucher uses Google Labs' Ngram Viewer to look at instances of the word "future" in books since 1800, and concludes that "the future is behind us."

Future related (more like, future mentioning) books have taken giant steps back since the beginning of the millennium. According to the data, “future books” peaked around the year 2000. The latest data available, 2008, demonstrates that the level of future mentioning books is back to where it was in the 1970s era. Could it be that there was structural change after the tech-wreck bubble (2001 recession) or even slightly before that period in anticipation of the crash?

Boucher speculates that "our current technological prowess may distract us from the future," and that "technology is a detriment to forward-looking thinkers." My own suspicion is that the peak around 2000 is an artifact of Y2K, and that use of the term is not going to continue to slide but will stabilize before too long.

Automatically trading on the news

From the New York Times, this piece about using analysis of unstructured data in automated trading:

Math-loving traders are using powerful computers to speed-read news reports, editorials, company Web sites, blog posts and even Twitter messages — and then letting the machines decide what it all means for the markets.

The development goes far beyond standard digital fare like most-read and e-mailed lists. In some cases, the computers are actually parsing writers' words, sentence structure, even the odd emoticon. A wink and a smile — 😉 — for instance, just might mean things are looking up for the markets. Then, often without human intervention, the programs are interpreting that news and trading on it.

Given the volatility in the markets and concern that computerized trading exaggerates the ups and downs, the notion that Wall Street is engineering news-bots might sound like an investor's nightmare….

Many of the robo-readers look beyond the numbers and try to analyze market sentiment, that intuitive feeling investors have about the markets. Like the latest economic figures, news and social media buzz — "unstructured data," as it is known — can shift the mood from exuberance to despondency.

Tech-savvy traders have been scraping data out of new reports, press releases and corporate Web sites for years. But new, linguistics-based software goes well beyond that. News agencies like Bloomberg, Dow Jones and Thomson Reuters have adopted the idea, offering services that supposedly help their Wall Street customers sift through news automatically.

Some of these programs hardly seem like rocket science. Working with academics at Columbia University and the University of Notre Dame, Dow Jones compiled a dictionary of about 3,700 words that can signal changes in sentiment. Feel-good words include obvious ones like "ingenuity," "strength" and "winner." Feel-bad ones include "litigious," "colludes" and "risk."

Unfortunate decorating choice, or nudge?

This in the Hotel Durant, in Berkeley:


urinal, via flickr

On the up side, their grilled vegetable panini is excellent.

[To the tune of Joan Jeanrenaud, “Transition,” from the album Strange Toys (a 2-star song, imo).]

History of technology, key to the future

One of the truisms about futures is that insights can come from all kinds of unusual places and unexpected corners of the world. This morning I ran across an illustration of this principle in blog form: an article about a set of 1931 predictions about 2011, via Abnormal Use: An Unreasonably Dangerous Products Liability Blog. Because of course when you think "the history of futures," the next thing that comes to mind is "products liability blogs that interview people on the latest developments in torts."

But to the predictions:

1931 was a long time ago, and few who live today can claim to remember it all too well…. It was a far different time culturally, socially, politically. The issue: What did the great minds of 1931 predict the rapidly approaching 2011 would be like?

There is actually an answer to that question.

Way back on September 13, 1931, The New York Times, founded in 1851, decided to celebrate its 80th anniversary by asking a few of the day's visionaries about their predictions of 2011 - 80 years in their future. Those assembled were big names for 1931: physician and Mayo Clinic co-founder W. J. Mayo, famed industrialist Henry Ford, anatomist and anthropologist Arthur Keith, physicist and Nobel laureate Arthur Compton, chemist Willis R. Whitney, physicist and Nobel laureate Robert Millikan, physicist and chemist Michael Pupin, and sociologist William F. Ogburn.

The most interesting piece, to my mind, is Ogburn's. Of course he got some stuff wrong, but the broad outlines of his vision were pretty spot on:

Technological progress, with its exponential law of increase, holds the key to the future. Labor displacement will proceed even to automatic factories. The magic of remote control will be commonplace. Humanity’s most versatile servant will be the electron tube. The communication and transportation inventions will smooth out regional differences and level us in some respects to uniformity. But the heterogeneity of material culture will mean specialists and languages that only specialists can understand. The countryside will be transformed by technology and farmers will be more like city folk. There will be fewer farmers, more wooded land with wild life. Personal property in mechanical conveniences will be greatly extended. Some of these will be needed to prop up the weak who will survive.

Inevitable technological progress and abundant natural resources yield a higher standard of living. Poverty will be eliminated and hunger as a driving force of revolution will not be a danger. Inequality of income and problems of social justice will remain. Crises of life will be met by insurance.

Not only are the big trends recognizable, but the specificities are interesting too: yes, there's no mention of the microchip, but it strikes me that "the electron tube" is the functional equivalent in his vision. It's also heartening because Ogburn (here's a pretty good biography) was noted for his work at Columbia on social trends, and argued for the growing importance of technology as a driver of human affairs and the future (obviously). He was elected first president of the Society for the History of Technology, but died before he could take office.


illustration from William F. Ogburn, You and Machines, via flickr

Some of his work was controversial- his 1934 pamphlet You and Machines was banned on the grounds that it was too left-wing- but the rest of his work was more mainstream, and as Rudy Volti argues (in a recent Technology and Culture article available behind the Project MUSE firewall), deals with issues that have been at the center of the history of technology and STS:

Ogburn's seminal work on technology was Social Change with Respect to Cultural and Original Nature… [which] introduces the concept that has been his greatest sociological legacy: cultural lag. As he explains: "The thesis is that the various parts of modern culture are not changing at the same rate, some parts are changing much more rapidly that others; and that since there is a correlation and interdependence of parts, a rapid change in one part of our culture requires readjustments through other changes in the various correlated parts of culture."

A 1950 edition of the book more explicitly lays out his theory of the "role of an advancing material culture in bringing about social change," and breaks it down into four parts:"

"Invention" is still given top billing, complemented by "accumulation" (the store of past inventions, which expands at an exponential rate) and the diffusion of inventions from other cultures. The fourth element of social change is "adjustment," the process through which lagging cultural elements catch up with the changes driven by invention, accumulation, and diffusion.

You can see Ogburn's model in his 1931 New York Times piece.

Scholarly publishing really is just a form of vanity publishing

Okay, all publishing involves at least a little bit of vanity, but… I recently published an article in an Elsevier journal, and today they sent me a message about their “article services.”

Think all you can get are reprints? Think again! I could get an “eye-catching, full-color, poster of your article on the cover of the journal,” or “an attractive color poster” of my article, “Perfect for your lab or office,” or a “Certificate of Publication… in a high-quality frame, dark brown wood with gold trim.”

Just in time for the holidays! Except probably not.

I wonder in which countries, or which disciplines, these things sell? Academic life has lots of well-worn rules about display and status, and the book-lined office, piles of paper on the desk (and floor and extra chair), and harried yet abstracted expression are all signifiers of The Life and how well you play it. (Few things mark the boundary between tenured faculty and adjuncts more powerfully than their control of space: the bare office shared with two other people fairly screams, “I’m just here temporarily, pay no attention to me.”)

But having a poster advertising an article… that seems over the top, at least in the places I taught. But maybe in places that are very status- and publication-conscious, it’s actually useful to have such in-your-face markers of accomplishment?

[To the tune of Keith Jarrett Trio, “You Took Advantage Of Me [Live],” from the album Yesterdays [Live] (a 2-star song, imo).]

Andy Clark on cognitive prosthetics

Andy Clark argues:

[W]e seem to be entering an age in which cognitive prosthetics (which have always been around in one form or another) are displaying a kind of Cambrian explosion of new and potent forms. As the forms proliferate, and some become more entrenched, we might do well to pause and reflect on their nature and status. At the very least, minds like ours are the products not of neural processing alone but of the complex and iterated interplay between brains, bodies, and the many designer environments in which we increasingly live and work.

Ann Blair suggests, not so fast:

[We assume] that modern technology is creating a problem that our culture and even our brains are ill equipped to handle. We stand on the brink of a future that no one can ever have experienced before.

But is it really so novel? Human history is a long process of accumulating information, especially once writing made it possible to record texts and preserve them beyond the capacity of our memories. And if we look closely, we can find a striking parallel to our own time: what Western Europe experienced in the wake of Gutenberg’s invention of printing in the 15th century, when thousands upon thousands of books began flooding the market, generating millions of copies for sale. The literate classes experienced exactly the kind of overload we feel today — suddenly, there were far more books than any single person could master, and no end in sight.

“Solvitor ambulando” was the first expression of embodied cognition

In the New York Times, Edinburgh philosopher Andy Clark has a nice essay on embodied cognition. If you’re familiar with his book Natural Born Cyborgs, you’ll already know the outlines of his argument; but it includes this update:

Most of us gesture (some of us more wildly than others) when we talk… [and it seems that] bodily motions may themselves be playing some kind of active role in our thought process. In experiments where the active use of gesture is inhibited, subjects show decreased performance on various kinds of mental tasks. Now whatever is going on in these cases, the brain is obviously deeply implicated! No one thinks that the physical handwavings are all by themselves the repositories of thoughts or reasoning. But it may be that they are contributing to the thinking and reasoning, perhaps by lessening or otherwise altering the tasks that the brain must perform, and thus helping us to move our own thinking along.

It is noteworthy, for example, that the use of spontaneous gesture increases when we are actively thinking a problem through, rather than simply rehearsing a known solution. There may be more to so-called “handwaving” than meets the eye.

More on this at Contemplative Computing.

[To the tune of Keith Jarrett, “The Mourning Of A Star,” from the album The Mourning Of A Star (a 2-star song, imo).]
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