Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, Ph.D.

I study people, technology, and the worlds they make

Month: April 2003 (page 1 of 3)

Lost in So Cal

Im in southern California. I dont really know where. Normally, you have a sense of where you are that is built up from overlapping kinds of knowledge. You can find your region or country on a globe, your street on a map. Your home sits in the center of a network of places that you go to regularly. Its part of a fabric whose warp and woof are people you see (these are the people in your neighborhood), the routes you take to the store or school or work. Its refined by a sense of the culture and history of the place. Its polished by a knowledge of all kinds of quirky thingswhich restaurants have the nice bathrooms, which parks dont have too rambunctious a crowd of kids playing in the afternoons. Maybe you sense the geomagnetic field, without being aware of it.

Here, in contrast, I have none of that. Once I reached San Jose airport, I entered a world of alternate coordinates: a flight number rather than a sense of a place, a hotel name and street address rather than a distinct point on a map. Theres the occasional bit of local cultureall the food service people at San Jose seem to be Philipino, and the shuttle drivers in Orange County are Iranianbut theyre exceptions. And Im now at an Embassy Suites hotel, which is part of a shopping mall: theres a JC Penneys on one side, a Beverages and More and a Strouds on the other. The logical end-point for a journey into a serial-numbers-filed-off space.

Information that youre not aware you possess until you miss it: the very definition of tacit knowledge.

Actually, the thing isnt just that my mental GPS cant calibrate. There are some recognizable things here, theyre just unexpectedly close together. I got a little tour of the area on the SuperShuttle. We first touched down briefly in Irvine, where I once gave a terrible job talk (but then again, I dont know I would have been happy living down here); we then drove to Anaheim, which I had no idea was so close. We were driving past block after block of hotels, and I wondered what in the world could support so many hotels; I happened to look out the opposite window and saw Disneyland. Duh-oh! Then it was back onto the highway, past Cal State Fullerton (or so said a sign on the roadside, with a Carls Jr.; at least CSU got top billing). Finally we reached Brea, wherever that is.

The first time I came to southern California, I kept having the weirdest dj vu. It all seemed so strangely familiar, even though Id never been here before. I couldnt pin it down; then finally it hit me. Xevious! Id probably spent hundreds of hours flying over that video game landscape of grass, groves of trees, blacktop and sleek buildings and now I was driving through it. Someone at game design company Namco must have had a serious sense of humor. Not having touched that game in a decade, I dont quite have the same double vision. But I still think the mix of palm trees, neon, and concrete is the apex of friendly artificiality. No one does fake like Americans.

But its often an interesting fake. This hotel, for example, is your basic Business Hotel Box, with a central atrium courtyard (a radical architectural move in 1974, thanks if memory servesto John Portmann, who wasif memory serves againwidely reviled among Serious Architects); but for the Hotel Theme, the decorator chose, of course, Ancient Egypt. This might be a politically explosive choice today, but I suspect that when it was made, there was a wax museum or amusement park that was renovating and had some Egyptiana to let go cheap. I especially like the giant sarcophagus outside the King Tut Bar and Grille.

Though I suppose any attempt to give some distinctiveness to a hotel space should be applauded, even if that distinctiveness is imported from a civilization that lived 3000 years ago on a different continent. And to be fair, otherwise sensible nineteenth-century Americans had a mania for Egyptiana, which they used in funerary architecture. You can still run into curious bas reliefs and blocky, winged buildings in Connecticut and Vermont.

I surrender! I surrender! Go away!

I’m heading down to Southern California later today, and may be out of blog range until Wednesday night, but I wanted to make sure that this latest tidbit from the headlines made it to my friends’ attention:

US forces ‘turn down Sahhaf’s surrender overtures’:

Iraq’s former information minister Mohammad Said al-Sahhaf, who denied to the end the presence of US forces in Baghdad, was turned down by US troops after trying to turn himself in… Sahhaf had been at his aunt’s house in Baghdad for the past four days and wanted US troops to arrest him so that “they can protect him” but they refused since he was not on their “most wanted” deck of playing cards.

Boy, those military guys are focused on the mission!

Update, 5/1/2003: Talking Points Memo reports that Sahhaf later “tried, unsuccessfully, to turn himself in to a Portuguese journalist.” I assume this means he tried to surrender to a Portuguese journalist, rather than transform himself into one, like Kim Jong Il turning into a giant robot (oh damn, that article from The Onion isn’t up any longer). But the journalist wouldn’t take him. (Portugal?) Fortunately, a satellite channel in Dubai wants to hire him as an analyst. Or perhaps a stand-up comedian.

iPod and mobile work

One of the unintended consequences of having my iPod is that I find myself quite a bit more willing to work outside the office. Having my Clie and Vaio also help, as does the fact that my work is almost entirely cerebral and literary. And I’m not unfamiliar with working in odd places: when I was at Berkeley I did 80% of my best work at Cafe Milano (the best cafe in the world) and the Bison Brewery (the best pub in the world); and these days I do a fair amount of writing in the car, on nap drives.

But the fact that I can now carry my entire music collection, and in any place can listen to anything from Dexter Gordon’s “The Other Side of Round Midnight” to Al Stewart’s “Year of the Cat,” makes me think I can settle in more deeply at a table at Barrone, and get some serious work done. It’s not logical, but it makes me wonder: what’s it going to be like in a few years when I can carry around (or access wirelessly) absolutely every Web page I’ve ever looked at, every document I’ve downloaded or written, etc., etc.? I think it’s going to have a profound effect on how knowledge workers go about their days, and the texture of intellectual work more generally. I don’t yet know what it will be like, but I know to keep an eye out for it.

iPod 2

When you buy anything more technically sophisticated than a wool scarf, you have to calculate whether the satisfaction of possession will outweigh the aggravation of seeing a new, significantly more powerful (or cheaper, or bigger, or smaller, or simultaneously bigger and smaller) version of the same thing show up two weeks later. I’m reminded of this because today, along with its new music service, Apple has announced a new version of the iPod, with a 30 GB hard drive.

I seem to have a perverse genius for buying toys nanoseconds before the next verions come out. But this time I don’t feel so bad. I’ve gone on a tear, so to speak, and desperately MP3ed every last CD I can find in my collection, and still have more than 2 GB left on my 20 GB iPod. So aside from basking in the quiet satisfaction of having 12 unused GB of hard drive space, there’s nothing I’d get from the new machine that I wouldn’t get from the old.

And besides, my iPod was a present, so it has deep sentimental value.

Base of the pyramid

The highlight of the Networked World conference was the discussion of the “base of the pyramid,” the notion (which I discussed in a post here) that the poorest four billion people in the world represent the Next Great Market. The panel was the most high-powered of the day: C. K. Prahalad, NASDAQ’s Al Diamond, and Jim Moore, the head of Advanced Materials. There were several lessons from the session, and a couple unexpected things.

First, it’s clear that in order to succeed in this market, companies will need to rethink their metrics and strategies as profoundly as companies making the move into mass production and markets had to. (“What do you mean, we’ll make more money if we lower the price?”) High unit profits are out, as are conventional models of pricing.

Second, reading the base of the pyramid will require thinking of the poor differently: not as stupid or the losers in the Great Game of Globalization, but as people who often have demonstrated tremendous creativity in the face of tremendous obstacles and nonexistent opportunities. (The instinct to treat the poor as deserving, not of charity but their fate, is easy to come to when you believe you live in a meritocracy.) Prahalad made the case that we have to go from thinking of the poor as an intractable problem, to thinking of them as an opportunity, and finally to thinking of them as a source of innovation. (Not just as
innovators in products, or uses of products, but also in organizations. As an example of the last, consider the Nutan Tiffin Lunch Box Association. It moves 175,000 homemade lunches per day, picking them up from housewives, carrying them into Mumbai, then returning the boxes. It uses illiterate deliverymen who are taught to read a notation system written on the boxes, and has a near-perfect delivery record: “Better than Six Sigma,” Prahalad declared.)

Finally, multinationals have to do this because if they don’t, they can look forward to a generation of Indian and Chinese companies growing up in these markets, then moving into advanced nations. If you thought that the Japanese were tough, this reasoning goes, just wait until you’ve got competition from countries with billions of people. (Clayton Christensen has made precisely this argument, in fact.) This is a global competition version of the fear of ghetto superpredator, an updated, corporate multinational Yellow Peril story- though I don’t think Prahalad, or anyone else working in this space, intends it to sound quite that way.

Networked World @ Santa Clara

Last Thursday I was at Santa Clara University for a conference on “Networked World: Information Technology and Globalization,” organized by the SCU Center for Science, Technology and Society. You might not think of a place like Santa Clara as the kind of place that would have a high-octane STS center, but it’s quietly becoming a powerhouse in the field. (Maybe the Center’s picked up some management lessons from the Jesuits?) They’re not going head-to-head against the likes of Stanford and Berkeley, but the strategy they’re following offers a couple useful lessons in academic entrepreneurship.

First, the center is virtual. That’s hardly a surprise these days, as most centers are; but it means that they’re putting fewer resources in brick-and-mortar kinds of things (faculty lines, buildings, etc.) and concentrating on building networks among extant faculty. (These efforts eventually can develop into some influence over new appointments, or at least the ability to nudge them one way or another.)

Second, they’re being very aggressive about involving people from across the University. STS programs at other big research universities, can get 90% of its people from one or two big departments (e.g., history, philosophy, maybe anthropology or sociology), and spend vitually no time on outreach to anyone else. (I was always perplexed when I was a postdoc at Berkeley, and living in the OHST program, at how many people there were at Berkeley with interests in the history of science had nothing to do with OHST.)

Third, and this is the really innovative thing, the Santa Clara center appears to have ties to the professional schools and outside community that are at least as close, or closer, as to the humanities. This is extremely unusual: some STS programs are leavened by the occasional cross-appointment with someone in engineering, or very rarely law, but Santa Clara really strikes me as focused more at the worlds of praxis than theoria. This means that they’re actually more likely to do the kinds of outreach-to-the-world things that every STS program says it wants to do, but few know how.

If they play their cards right, I think in a few years the Center could establish a niche in the discipline that gives it a lot of visibility, and a great deal of street cred. They’re never likely to have Bruno Latour come and speak; but they can already attract the likes of C. K. Prahalad. The rubber of STS is meeting the road in some interesting ways.

Sugar industry vs. public health

Sometimes you see an article that has it all: greed, junk science, a level of perversity with the facts that would make the former Iraqi information minister say, “Whoa.” The Guardian reports that the Sugar industry threatens to scupper WHO— saying it will lobby to cut WHO funding if they release a report saying that a diet with more than 10% sugar is bad for you.

The great thing is that the sugar industry is claiming that a diet of up to 25% sugar is safe. Already, Americans eat an average of half a pound of sugar a day, disguised in drinks, snacks, etc.. Maybe the Sugar Association thinks we’re underconsuming.

Banker to the Poor

I just finished reading Muhammad Yunus’ Banker to the Poor, his autobiography and personal history of the Grameen Bank and affiliated projects. For those who haven’t heard of it, the Grameen Bank pioneered the concept (and a lot of the practice) of micro-credit, the practice of loaning astonishingly small sums of money to poor people, to let them do things like buy raw materials or tools for their work, build a house (defined as a structure with a tin roof), or sink a well. More recently, they’ve gotten attention for their village cell phone program, in which they give cell phones to women who are Grameen veterans, and they basically act as a kind of human pay phone.

For me, it’s a fascinating story a couple levels. Grameen is a good example of a phenomenon that fascinates me: the notion that markets or market mechanisms can be employed to achieve virtuous social, economic, or environmental ends. This is something underlying some of the most promising and effective environmental efforts of the last twenty years. The American cap-and-trade market for sulfur dioxide is probably the most famous example of such a market, as it helped bring down acid rain levels pretty substantially, and at a lower cost than government regulation. The Kyoto Protocol had important provisions for such markets for greenhouse gases; in fact some nations and large companies are creating such markets themselves, though it’s generally slower going than anyone would like. These sorts of efforts are criticized both by the left (who see them as providing a cover for rapacious capitalist exploitation of the world and its resources) and right (who see them as meddling with markets), and indeed they cross conventional ideological boundaries in ways that can create a significant amount of cognitive dissonance: Yunus at one point declares that governments should get out of social services, dismantle their welfare states, and turn over those sectors to socially conscious market-based efforts- the sort of thing that you normally expect to hear from the Cato Institute, or the wackier sides of the Republican party.

Banker to the Poor also has some vivid descriptions of what life is like for people at the “base of the pyramid,” as C. K. Prahalad, Clayton Christensen, Stuart Hall, and others call the 4 billion or so people who earn less than $2 a day. (There are days when I spend more in coffee than a family in the Third World will make in a week. It’s a sobering thought.) What struck me most is how these people live with virtually nothing protecting them from complete disaster: a single storm, an injury at work, a death in the family can mean destitution when you have so little to begin with. (And I worry about my 401k not being big enough. I really live in a completely different kind of world.)

One last thing. Yunus started out as an economics professor- he got his Ph.D. at Vanderbilt in the mid-1970s (coincidentally when my dad was a member of the History department faculty there)- which suggests that there’s hope for all of us ex-academics.

Keychain drive

I bought a small, 128 MB keychain hard drive before going to Korea. I figured it could be a useful little gadget- all the clients I’d spent time with seemed to have them- and its platform agnosticism also made it appealing.

It proved plenty useful on that trip. And since I returned a month ago, it’s become my favorite way to carry around data. Better than Zip disks, CDs, or any other media: just plug it into the USB port, download away, clip it to the keychain (yes, I actually DO have it on my keychain), and I’m outta here. Extremely convenient, especially for someone who lives in both the Windows and Mac worlds.

I suspect that the next great hardware battle is going to take place not on the desktop, but on our keychains. More later.

Putting away childish things

Yesterday I boxed up my CDs, and carried them out to the garage. I’ve listen to music most often when I’m working, and over the last year I’ve created MP3s of my entire music collection on my iMac. I just don’t listen to CDs any more at home: I tend to have the TV on, the CD player is hard to get to (it’s protected from Daniel by a childproof lock, which means if I want to listen to anything I have to undo the lock, turn the stereo on, etc., usually while trying to keep Daniel from crawling into the armoire), and as time has passed, the CDs themselves have gotten scattered between the stereo and my desk. Now that I have the iPod, it seemed a good time to move the CDs out of the living room, and harm’s way.

I have no plans to get rid of them, nor am I to be getting my music exclusively from Gnutella from now on. CDs are still valuable as an archival medium, they’re just not something I use on a daily basis any more. After years of avid collecting, CDs are no longer the key- medium? technology?- for my musical listening. They still have a role to play, but when I want sounds to come out of headphones, I reach for the MP3s.

I confess there’s something VERY cool about having all the music I own, and a lot of the music I’ve listened to over the years, in this little white-and-chrome box the size of a large wallet. I don’t know if the availability of 20 GB will change my listening habits- that Pharoah Sanders CD that I got as a present years ago isn’t now immensely more appealing than it was, and the third Asia album isn’t getting better with age- but at least I’ll always have them with me, no matter where I go.

On the other hand, the process of going through my CD collection, sorting out the CDs I hadn’t burned yet, and getting them into the iMac and iPod has reintroduced me to some music that I haven’t listened to in a long time. I have a lot of Miles Davis, for example, that turns out to be REALLY GOOD, and I never paid it much attention in the CD Years: it never got very high in the rotation.

The iPod also drives home how, in the world of portable, ubiquitous, blobject devices, small differences can make a huge difference in convenience and use. I already have a pretty good MP3 player, a Nomad Jukebox: it’s 5 GB, the size of a CD player, and works quite well. It carries more music I could hope to listen to in a month. But the iPod is half the size, which means I can put it in my pocket, which means I can carry it around EVERYWHERE. That’s a dealmaker: the iPod is going to get constant use, whereas the Nomad was a cool thing that I occasionally thought to toss in my backpack.

Older posts

© 2017 Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, Ph.D.

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑