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In outer space, when an object becomes so powerful that it sucks everything nearby into itself, we call it a black hole.
In cyberspace, when a device becomes so powerful that it sucks every electronic function into itself, we call it a BlackBerry.
Over the last couple of years, we've witnessed the consolidation of more and more functions into what used to be called a cell phone. First it was a phone, then a texting device, then a camera, then a game console, then a Web surfer, then a music player. Then it became a reader of physical hyperlinks. Then a reader of 3-D digital maps. Then a universal remote. Today, we call this thing a smartphone. Within three years, we'll be calling it something else. As it absorbs one function after another, it's becoming strong enough to consume the ultimate prey: the minds of its users.
Here's one more job the phone is devouring: GPS.
Jenna Wortham presents the latest trend data in the New York Times:
More than 40 percent of all smartphone owners use their mobile devices to get turn-by-turn directions, according to data from Compete, a Web analytics firm. For iPhone users, the figure is even higher, eclipsing 80 percent. ... Sales of traditional GPS units from companies like TomTom, Garmin and Magellan (a unit of MiTAC International) have fallen sharply recently. During the first quarter, TomTom said it shipped 29 percent fewer GPS units compared with the period in 2008. Garmin said unit sales fell 13 percent in the first quarter compared with the previous year. ... Meanwhile, shipments of smartphones in North America are expected to grow by 25 percent this year, with more than 80 percent of them equipped with GPS, according to ABI Research.
One reason for the exodus from dedicated GPS devices is cost: You can get a smartphone for $100 to $300 instead of spending $177 on a GPS unit. But the main reason is consolidation: Nobody wants to carry two devices—or three, or four, or five—when you can carry one that does all five things.
Some GPS makers, Wortham reports, are responding to this trend by selling GPS as software for smartphones instead of selling it as hardware. Others are adding phone service to their GPS devices. Good luck with that. But the bottom line is that no matter how this fight ends—smartphones with GPS, GPS with smartphones, or add-on GPS software for your smartphone—only one device will remain. Consolidation is inexorable.
What will the smartphone eat next? In no particular order, my money's on credit cards, car keys, flashlights, flash drives, books, television sets, and laptops. Some of these functions are already being absorbed. And one of these days, somebody will figure out how to add a stun gun. Just try not to hit the wrong button.
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Sanford's e-mails paint a vivid and sad picture. It's a picture of two people in love but tragically bound by commitments they have already made. A man who has been married for two decades seems to be discovering, for the first time, how love feels. He writes of solitude, longing, and spirituality in a style that oscillates between Spanish love songs and bad country music. He seems naive about everything: love, poetry, and e-mail. He is writing for publication and doesn't know it.
Wise up, cheaters. Your passion for what's-her-name may be gone with the sunrise, but text is forever. Just because it has vanished from your screen doesn't mean it has ceased to exist, any more than your wife and kids cease to exist when you fly to Argentina.
More here.
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Is it rude to focus on your smartphone during meetings?
It's way more than that. It's another sign that the virtual world is overtaking the physical world.
Here are the evolving facts on the ground, so to speak, as presented by Alex Williams in Monday's New York Times:
The phone use has become routine in the corporate and political worlds—and grating to many. A third of more than 5,300 workers polled in May by Yahoo HotJobs, a career research and job listings Web site, said they frequently checked e-mail in meetings. Nearly 20 percent said they had been castigated for poor manners regarding wireless devices.
Despite resistance, the etiquette debate seems to be tilting in the favor of smartphone use, many executives said. Managing directors do it. Summer associates do it. It spans gender and generation, private and public sectors. A few years ago, only "the investment banker types" would use BlackBerrys in meetings, said Frank Kneller, the chief executive of a company in Elk Grove Village, Ill., that makes water-treatment systems. "Now it's everybody." He said that if he spotted 6 of 10 colleagues tapping away, he knew he had to speed up his presentation.
It is routine for Washington officials to bow heads silently around a conference table—not praying—while others are speaking, said Philippe Reines, a senior adviser to Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton. Although BlackBerrys are banned in certain areas of the State Department headquarters for security reasons, their use is epidemic where they are allowed. "You'll have half the participants BlackBerrying each other as a submeeting, with a running commentary on the primary meeting," Mr. Reines said.
The Times headlined this article, "At Meetings, It's Mind Your BlackBerry or Mind Your Manners." But the story is much bigger than manners. It's the ascent of the virtual world as a rival to the physical world. We've talked about this trend before in the context of cell phones and driving. When phone calls draw your eyes off the road, and when electronic messages pull your attention out of business meetings, it's time to think about what's happening to the relationship between your mind and your body. You're drifting out of physical space. Not just you but the millions of others who are doing the same thing.
That point about "the etiquette debate ... tilting in the favor of smartphone use"? That's the virtual world gaining parity and vying for supremacy. That guy who speeds up his presentation when most of his listeners disappear into their BlackBerrys? That's the physical world struggling to keep up. That observation from Clinton's adviser about "half the participants BlackBerrying each other as a submeeting"? That's no joke. They really are having a meeting. It just happens to be in the virtual world. If your body is in the room but your brain is offline, you're missing that meeting. You're absent.
The virtual world has many advantages in the fight for your attention. It can connect you to people and places far away. It can tell you almost instantly what you need to know. It lets you flip through incoming messages at your own pace, unlike the boring presentation you're enduring in the physical world. And it lets you communicate privately, even in public. That's what many of those "submeetings" are, an executive tells Williams. They're exchanges of "things that you might not say out loud."
There's the real story: People are migrating from the old world to the new one. That's why you're here, reading and exchanging ideas with people you've never met offline. "Manners" is just the old world's way of protesting this migration. But protestation is weak. The old world has no inherent claim to your attention. It will have to earn it.
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The next battlefield in the evolution of warfare won't be in physical space. It'll be in cyberspace.
Today, President Obama will announce a civilian office to protect the nation's computer networks. Meanwhile, backstage, the U.S. military is preparing its own cyber-defense organization. If you haven't taken cyberwar seriously as a threat, it's time to start thinking about it. This morning's New York Times story is a good place to begin. Here are four points worth gleaning from it.
1. Cyberspace is a new dimension of battlespace. According to the story, U.S. officials now see
cyberspace as comparable to more traditional battlefields. "We are not comfortable discussing the question of offensive cyberoperations, but we consider cyberspace a war-fighting domain," said Bryan Whitman, a Pentagon spokesman. "We need to be able to operate within that domain just like on any battlefield, which includes protecting our freedom of movement and preserving our capability to perform in that environment."
Wars used to be two-dimensional, confined to land and sea. Air power added a third dimension. Cyberspace adds a fourth. It has spatial properties, such as freedom of movement, but it isn't necessarily affected by events in physical space. I can invade your cyberspace and cripple your forces without controlling any other dimension of the war.
2. It defies national boundaries. As the Times notes,
the military debate over whether the Pentagon or the [National Security Agency] is best equipped to engage in offensive operations ... hinges on the question of how much control should be given to American spy agencies, since they are prohibited from acting on American soil. "It's the domestic spying problem writ large," one senior intelligence official said recently. "These attacks start in other countries, but they know no borders. So how do you fight them if you can't act both inside and outside the United States?"
Exactly. And this is just one of many puzzles created by the nonoverlap of cyberspace with physical space. How can defense and intelligence forces organized by nationality and territory patrol, hunt, and fight across computer networks that transcend such boundaries? We'll have to rethink the whole notion of domains.
3. It empowers nonstate actors. One major factor in the rise of terrorism over the last decade is the proliferation of physically destructive technology. Cyberspace multiplies that problem by allowing ubiquitous information technology to become destructive in a different way. It lowers the barriers to military entry, enabling mischief by individuals, small groups, and loose networks. According to the Times, our civilian cybersecurity office will be "responsible for coordinating private-sector and government defenses against the thousands of cyberattacks mounted against the United States—largely by hackers but sometimes by foreign governments—every day." Are the hackers less dangerous than the governments? Don't count on it. And they're certainly harder to pin down.
4. It facilitates economic destruction. The civilian office will report "to both the National Security Council and the National Economic Council" and will "protect systems that run the stock exchanges, clear global banking transactions and manage the air traffic control system," says the story. Why the focus on commerce and finance? Because that's how you bring a country to its knees in this century. It's one reason why the 9/11 terrorists targeted the World Trade Center.
To hit our financial system in physical space, al-Qaida had to get 19 guys through airport screening. And that was before we beefed up security at our airports and borders. But borders and screeners no longer protect us, because cyberspace dissolves distance.
In the old days, you needed physical reach to cripple your adversary's livelihood. It took an invasion or massive bombing to devastate his manufacturing base. An information economy enjoys no such buffer. It can be hit instantly through the computer networks that sustain it.
Over the last couple of months, we've talked about some of the incremental steps through which the physical and digital worlds are beginning to converge and blur. One is physical hyperlinks, which assign a digital incarnation to each physical object. A second is the integration of physical perception with 3-D digital maps. A third is the convergence of the phone and the Internet device with the universal remote.
Cyberwar is part of this revolution. We'd better wake up to it.
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Two days ago, we were talking about how the physical and digital worlds are beginning to converge and blur.
Step 1: physical hyperlinks.
Step 2: the integration of physical perception with 3-D digital maps.
Step 3? I speculated that it might be a change in human perception through external devices, biotechnology, or acculturation. But maybe that's Step 4. Maybe Step 3 is the convergence of the phone with the universal remote.
There's nothing mind-blowing about this idea. But that's the point. In real life, cosmic revolutions unfold incrementally: a device here, a software upgrade there. The New York Times lays out some of the new options:
1. A free application (called Remote) and a gizmo (called Intelliphone) that enable iPhones to control computers.
2. A $100 hardware-software package (called Shadow) that "converts a BlackBerry's Bluetooth transmission into an infrared signal your TV can understand." A similar device lets the BlackBerry control a garage door.
3. A $10 app (called i-Clickr) that uses the iPhone screen to display buttons that will operate a PowerPoint presentation on a nearby PC.
The Times says this is "probably the beginning of the end" for the universal remote, since it relies on buttons, whereas a smartphone screen can provide as many options as you need. But my guess is that a more fundamental dynamic is at work: We want to centralize our power to manipulate the things around us. The universal remote was supposed to do that. But it doesn't, because it can't navigate the digital world the way the smartphone can.
We need to consolidate these two devices. And it's a lot easier to put the remote's abilities in the smartphone than vice versa.
Bye-bye, universal remote. You can't be universal when you don't reach the other universe.
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How do alternate universes materialize, coexist, and converge? Here's one answer: Look at your cell phone.
Two years ago, I saw an article in the New York Times about "physical hyperlinks." Essentially, these are contact nodes between the physical and digital worlds. I can hardly begin to explain them. So I'll let the Times' Louise Story do the talking:
New technology, already in use in parts of Asia but still in development in the United States, allows [cell] phones to connect everyday objects with the Internet. In their new incarnation, cellphones become a sort of digital remote control, as one CBS executive put it. With a wave, the phone can read encoded information on everyday objects and translate that into videos, pictures or text files on its screen. ...
In Japan, McDonald's customers can already point their cellphones at the wrapping on their hamburgers and get nutrition information on their screens. Users there can also point their phones at magazine ads to receive insurance quotes, and board airplanes using their phones rather than paper tickets. And film promoters can send their movie trailers from billboards. ...
"You've picked up this product, and you don't want to go back to your PC," said Tim Kindberg, a senior researcher at the Bristol, England, lab of Hewlett-Packard. "Or you're outside this building, and you want more information. We call it the ‘physical hyperlink.' "
In much the same way that Web publishing took off because of the ability to link to other people's sites, cellphone technologies linking everyday objects with the Web would reveal the digitally encoded attributes of tangible things on grocery shelves or newsstands.
In this rendering of the nexus between space and cyberspace, the cell phone is the reader. It translates physical objects into their digital incarnations. The operative digital incarnation, as of 2007, was bar codes:
The most promising way to link cellphones with physical objects is a new generation of bar codes: square-shaped mosaics of black and white boxes that can hold much more information than traditional bar codes. The cameras on cellphones scan the codes, and then the codes are translated into videos, music or text on the phone screens. ... Now, as more cellphones come equipped with cameras and the ability to run small computer programs, the codes are beginning to appear on some state drivers' licenses and on some mailing labels ... In Japan, some highway billboards have codes large enough for passing motorists to read them with their phones. Hospitals put them on prescriptions, allowing pharmacies to instantly scan the medical information rather than read it.
So, in a way: cell phone + bar code = wormhole.
That was two years ago. I've been waiting for the next piece of the puzzle. I think this is it: the integration of physical perception with three-dimensional digital maps. Here's the Times' John Markoff:
Digital map displays on hand-held phones can now show the nearest gas station or A.T.M., reviews of nearby restaurants posted online by diners, or the location of friends. ... Indeed, a new generation of smartphones like the G1, with Android software developed by Google, and a range of Japanese phones now "augment" reality by painting a map over a phone-screen image of the user's surroundings produced by the phone's camera. With this sort of map it is possible to see a three-dimensional view of one's surroundings, including the annotated distance to objects that may be obscured by buildings in the foreground. For starters, map-based cellphones simply translate paper maps into a digital medium, but future systems will probably begin to blur the boundaries between the display and the real world. ...
Steve Capps, one of the designers of the original Macintosh interface, [asks], "How long will it be before you come out of the subway and you hold up your screen to get a better view of what you're looking at in the physical world?"
Increasingly, phones will allow users to look at an image of what is around them. You could be surrounded by skyscrapers but have an immediate reference map showing your destination and features of the landscape, along with your progress in real time.
If I understand this transition correctly, we're no longer talking about two worlds, one physical and one digital, connected at selectively engineered nodes. We're now talking about a wholesale overlap between the two worlds. Every physical object, or at least every object of sufficient size to be mapped, will have a digital incarnation. And you'll be able to alternate smoothly between the two worlds, most conspicuously by using your 3-D digital map to see right through a visual obstruction.
This is how cosmic revolutions unfold in real life: not abruptly or mysteriously, as in science fiction, but incrementally. A device here, a software upgrade there, a synchronization, a multiplication. New technologies, new possibilities, new combinations, new habits. Economics and culture are as crucial to this process as technical innovation.
The next piece of the puzzle may not be a change in either of the two worlds. It may be a change in what is, for now, the ultimate reader: the human being. This could take place through externally worn devices, biotechnology, or acculturation. But one way or another, we'll begin to shift our mental attention and our comfort zone from the physical to the digitally enhanced environment. If you want to see what this kind of mental migration looks like, just glance at all the people around you who are talking on cell phones, lost in invisible worlds, oblivious to their surroundings.
If we're lucky, the next migration will bring our minds back into alignment with our bodies. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. In a gesture as simple as holding up your smartphone to see what's around you, we'll begin to inhabit the new world, without leaving the old one.
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As the great houses of journalism contract and collapse, what's happening to our best science writers? Here's one answer: Jeremy Manier, formerly of the Chicago Tribune, has set up a "Science Life" blog at the University of Chicago Medical Center.
If you haven't followed Jeremy's work over the years, treat yourself to a few of his fine pieces. Here's his take on synthetic biology last year. Here's his look at empathy among chimps. And here's his wrenching story about a Christian professor's struggle to reconcile faith with evolution.
In Sunday's blog installment, Jeremy picks a small bone with yours truly. To be precise, a dog bone. Last week, I wrote about the breeding of preferred dog traits using the frozen sperm of a long-dead show poodle. I concluded: "I want to throw up."
One thing I should have learned about bioethics by now: Mention anything close to puking, and you'll remind people of Leon Kass, whose "Wisdom of Repugnance" essay has been reduced by progressives, unfairly, to shorthand for irrational conservatism. I can almost draw the chain of linked neurons for you: vomit, repugnance, Kass, George W. Bush, and back to vomit.
But my own chain of neurons has carried me away. Back to Jeremy. Here's his critique:
In this case repugnance seems more silly than wise. Dog breeders have been using frozen sperm since the 1960s. As bioethical dilemmas go, it's a Brave Old World. Saletan wants to use dog breeding as an analogy for designer babies, but it may be hopelessly flawed for that purpose because it's so familiar. Such comfortable examples are of little help in imagining how awful genetic trait selection in human babies would be.
Hmmm. Well, here's my answer, for what it's worth: I was using a familiar example because that's what we have. In projecting the future, the best we can do, empirically, is to look for a similar practice in the present or past. The existing practice will differ in some ways from what we're imagining. But the similarities may shed some light.
So here's my question to Jeremy: What current practices would be more helpful than dog breeding in projecting/imagining genetic trait selection in humans? Human trait selection is what interests both of us. As to whether canine breeding is the best way to illuminate that future—well, as the saying goes, I've got no dog in that fight.
But I do have some dogs in the fight for the blogosphere. As the old media dissolve or evolve into the new, I'm rooting for great writers like Rob Stein, John Tierney, Rick Weiss, and Carl Zimmer—from whatever perches they can find—to help weave an Internet conversation about science and technology that's as rich and engaging as the best of the Web's political commentary. Add to that list: Jeremy Manier.
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The picture, taken from directly overhead, shows an airfield in Pakistan. It looks like a video frame from one of the American killer drones that have been hunting Taliban and al-Qaida fighters there. But that can't be: The drones are right there in the frame, sitting on the ground. So who took the picture?
A plain old commercial satellite, apparently. The image was freely available on Google Earth until Wednesday ...
More here.
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I'm now going to depict an adult and a minor having sex. The adult is represented by the character on the left. The minor is represented by the character on the right. Here is my depiction:
&i
Have I just committed a crime punishable by 10 years in jail?
Under a ruling issued last week in Australia, it's quite possible that I have. The ruling, issued by the Supreme Court of New South Wales, affirms that a cartoon can be prosecuted as child pornography. Here's the background of the case:
[T]he plaintiff was convicted ... of possessing child pornography contrary to s 91H(3) of the Crimes Act 1900 (the Act) and using his computer to access child pornography material contrary to s 474.19(1)(a)(i) of the Criminal Code Act 1995 (the Code). The alleged pornography comprised a series of cartoons depicting figures modelled on members of the television animated series "The Simpsons". Sexual acts are depicted as being performed, in particular, by the "children" of the family. The male figures have genitalia which is evidently human, as do the mother and the girl.
The Australian laws in question define child pornography as depictions of a "person" or depictions of "a representation of a person." A related memorandum says such definitions "are intended to cover all visual images, both still and motion, including representations of children, such as cartoons or animation." But even without the memorandum, the court says child pornography laws are in part "calculated to deter production of other material—including cartoons—that ... can fuel demand for material that does involve the abuse of children." Accordingly, "The depictions and representations of persons to which the definition refers include a drawing (or, for that matter, a model or sculpture) and, hence a cartoon, of a fictional character."
Does it matter that we're talking about the silly-looking Simpsons? No, says the court: "Even a substantial departure from realism will not necessarily mean that the depiction is not that of a person in this sense." The court upholds the initial ruling that the characters "were indeed depictions of persons" under the law. The convictions stand.
You have got to be kidding me.
Look: If you molest my kid, I'll see that you burn in hell. If you take a picture of my kid and Photoshop it so it looks like a sex act with you, I'll use any law I can find to put you away. If you make a sicko cartoon and digitally alter it so it looks like my kid, I'll throw the book at you. But if what you've made doesn't look like anyone's kid—if it's just a revolting mockery of the Simpsons—I'm supposed to convict you of child pornography? Really?
What's happening to child pornography is what's happening on the Internet and in software generally: Technology is blurring boundaries between action and thought, public and private, real and fake. On this point, the Australian court quotes the Supreme Court of Canada: "With the quality of contemporary technology, it can be very difficult to distinguish a 'real' person from a computer creation or composite." This gray area unnerves us, so we prosecute it. Two years ago, then-Rep. Mark Foley, R-Fla., was forced out of Congress for soliciting teenage boys online, though there's no evidence he ever touched a minor. This year, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld a ban on sexual images of children even if they're computer-generated or nonexistent. Apparently, more people are now arrested for using the Internet to solicit cops posing as kids than for using it to initiate relationships with real kids.
I understand why we do this: We're afraid that if we don't prosecute cyber-perverts, they'll move on to the real thing. But the danger runs both ways. How far will we extend felony prosecution into the realm of the private, the fake, and the abstract? If the Simpsons count as child pornography, what's next?
Actually, the Australian court has answered that question. Under the relevant child pornography laws, says the court, "a stick figure ... might well depict a representation of a person. No bright line of inclusion or exclusion can be sensibly described."
Well, then, come and get me. If there's no boundary between real and fake, between people and "depictions of representations," then prosecute me for my stick figures. Or admit it's ridiculous—and an insult to the real thing.