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A group of far-future linguists and archeologists suddenly *poof* into existence in front of me. One is holding a tablet. "What is the difference between 'red sauce' and 'tomato sauce?'" they ask me. "The distinction is not clear in extant texts from this time and place."
"Uh, they're the same thing," I tell them. "Who are you?"
"Yes!" the being with the tablet exclaims.
One of the other researchers groans. "No! My thesis...months of writing wasted..." One of the others comforts them.
"Now, what is this object for?" The first researcher holds up a discolored, dinged-up plastic object. It's clearly been buried in the ground for quite some time, but the two holes and the scuffed plastic window are distinctive.
"That's a cassette tape. You record music with it."
"Interesting, interesting." The being enters something on the tablet.
"How are you speaking English?"
"Sophisticated translation technology," one of the researchers confides. "We are students of your society. From the future."
"What does this pictogram represent?" The researcher with the tablet turns it around so that the screen faces me.
It's the eggplant emoji.
"Sex," I say. "Why do you need to ask me this if you can time travel or whatever? Can't you just go wherever you want to go and look around and see how these things are being used?"
The beings shift guiltily and look at each other. "Technically, travel to times and places prior the advent of time travel is strictly prohibited. Paradoxes, you know."
"Oh."
"We must be get back before our advisor returns to the lab. Just don't tell anyone you saw us, alright? The space-time continuity depends on it. Can you do that?"
"Uh, sure, I guess?"
One of them pats me on the head. "And don't go to Mars."
"Okay. Wait, why? Is it dangerous?"
"No. Just not worth it."
The group disappears in a shimmering light.
The cassette clatters to the sidewalk behind them.
Out of befuddlement, mainly, I pick it up. It's clearly old, discolored and scuffed, but it still has tape in it.
I carry the tape around in my pocket for a while. The curiosity builds. I want to know what's on that tape. I don't have a cassette player anymore, so I go to Goodwill and pick up the first one I can find, praying that it still works. I plug it in. It turns on.
I slide the tape inside. It's dirty, but it still seems to be in decent shape. I snap the player closed and hit play. The wheels begin to turn. I hold my breath.
A familiar tune starts up. A wobbly voice comes out of the machine.
you may think misogyny is good because it is made up of miso, which is delicious, and gyny, which is woman. and girl miso sounds great. but đ it is not girl miso
you may think homicide is good because it is made up of homo, which is gay, and cider, which is delicious. And gay cider sounds great. but đ it is not gay cider
You listen to music regularly? Why? Have you even tried quitting? Could you quit? You get music stuck in your head? Wow. You're so ruined and music brained. I bet you make your partners listen to music with you when you have sex. Music addiction has really ruined a whole generation. You know it's not realistic to expect reverb in real life, right? You're probably so desensitized that you don't even feel anything anymore when you hear a bird singing that it wants some fuck.
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-christ we had a well know book that almost perfectly, step by step, laid out exactly how weâd get where weâve gotten now, and its been around for like 90 FUCKING YEARS
Burning the mammoth flank just a lirtle instead of eating it raw gives grug more calorie to think. Grug thinking about color symbolism in silence of the lambs
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
How I knew I was officially Old: I stopped being disoriented by the experience of meeting with grown-ass adults who wanted to thank me for the books of mine they'd read in their childhoods, which helped shape their lives. Instead of marveling that a book that felt to me like it was ten seconds old was a childhood favorite of this full-grown person, I was free to experience the intense gratification of knowing I'd helped this person find their way, and intense gratitude that they'd told me about it (including you, Sean â it was nice to meet you last night at Drawn and Quarterly in Montreal!).
Now that I am Old, I find myself dwelling on key junctures from my life. It's not nostalgia ("Nostalgia is a toxic impulse" â J. Hodgman) â rather, it's an attempt to figure out how I got here ("My god! What have I done?" â D. Byrne), and also, how the world got this way.
There's one incident I return to a lot, a moment that didn't feel momentous at the time, but which, on reflection, seems to have a lot to say about this moment â both for me, and for the world we live in.
Back in the late 1990s, I co-founded a dotcom company, Opencola. It was a "free/open, peer-to-peer search and recommendation system." The big idea was that we could combine early machine learning technology with Napster-style P2P file sharing and a web-crawler to help you find things that would interest you. The way it was gonna work was that you'd have a folder on your desktop and you could put things in it that you liked and the system would crawl other users' folders, and the open web, and copy things into your folder that it found that seemed related to the stuff you liked. You could refine the system's sensibilities by thumbs-up/thumbs-downing the suggestions, and it would refine its conception of your preferences over time. As with Napster and its successors, you could also talk to the people whose collections enriched your own, allowing you to connect with people who shared even your most esoteric interests.
Opencola didn't make it. Our VCs got greedy when Microsoft offered to buy us and tried to grab all the equity away from the founders. I quit and went to EFF, and my partners got very good jobs at Microsoft, and the company was bought for its tax-credits by Opentext, and that was that.
(Well, not quite â several of the programmers who worked on the project have rebooted it, which is very cool!)
https://opencola.io/
But back in the Opencola days, we three partners would have these regular meetings where we'd brainstorm ways that we could make money off of this extremely cool, but frankly very noncommercial idea. As with any good brainstorming session, there were "no bad ideas," so sometimes we would veer off into fanciful territory, or even very evil territory.
It's one of those evil ideas that I keep coming back to. Sometimes, during these money-making brainstorm sessions, we'd decompose the technology we were working on into its component parts to see if any subset of them might make money ("Be the first person to not do something no one has ever not done before" â B. Eno).
We had a (by contemporary standards, primitive) machine-learning system; we had a web crawler; and we had a keen sense of how the early web worked. In particular, we were really interested in a new, Linux-based search tool that used citation analysis â a close cousin to our own collaborative filter, harnessing latent clues about relevance implicit in the web's structure â to produce the best search results the web had ever seen. Like us, this company had no idea how to make money, so we were watching it very carefully. That company was called "Google."
That's where the evil part came in. We were pretty sure we could extract a list of the 100,000 most commonly searched terms from Google, and then we could use our web-crawler to capture the top 100 results for each. We could feed these to our Bayesian machine-learning tool to create statistical models of the semantic structure of these results, and then we could generate thousands of pages of word-salad for each of those keywords that matched those statistical models, along with interlinks that could trick Google's citation analysis model. Plaster those word-salad pages with ads, and voila â free cash flow!
Of course, we didn't do it. But even as we developed this idea, the room crackled with a kind of dark, excited dread. We weren't any smarter than many other rooms full of people who were engaged in exercises just like this one. The difference was, we loved the web. The idea of someone deliberately poisoning it this way churned our stomachs. The whole point of Opencola was to connect people with each other based on their shared interests. We loved Google and how it helped you find the people who wrote the web in ways that delighted and informed you. This kind of spam, aimed at wrecking Google's ability to help people make sense of the things we were all posting to the internet, wasâŠgrotesque.
I didn't know the term then, but what we were doing amounted to "red-teaming" â thinking through the ways that attackers could destroy something that we valued. Later, we tried "blue-teaming," trying to imagine how our tools might help us fight back if someone else got the same idea and went through with it.
I didn't know the term "blue-teaming" then, either. Once I learned these terms, they brought a lot of clarity to the world. Today, I have another term that I turn to when I am trying to rally other people who love the internet and want it to be good: "Tron-pilled." Tron "fought for the user." Lots of us technologists are Tron-pilled. Back in the early days, when it wasn't clear that there was ever going to be any money in this internet thing, being Tron-pilled was pretty much the only reason to get involved with it. Sure, there were a few monsters who fell into the early internet because it offered them a chance to torment strangers at a distance, but they were vastly outnumbered by the legion of Tron-pilled nerds who wanted to make the internet better because we wanted all our normie friends to have the same kind of good time we were having.
The point of this is that there were lots of people back then who had the capacity to imagine the kind of gross stuff that Zuckerberg, Musk, and innumerable other scammers, hustlers and creeps got up to on the web. The thing that distinguished these monsters wasn't their genius â it was their callousness. When we brainstormed ways to break the internet, we felt scared and were inspired to try to save it. When they brainstormed ways to break the internet, they created pitch-decks.
And still: the old web was good in so many ways for so long. The Tron-pilled amongst us held the line. When we build a new, good, post-American internet, we're going to need a multitude of Tron-pilled technologists, old and young, who build, maintain â and, above all, defend it.
I worked in a semiconductor design team through the 2000s, and my coworkers, who were also avid gamers, would chat about all the possibilities for games as the technology for interconnected computing and personal devices were being developed. We were all excited about the prospect of playing games with people from all over the world, but we also had a number of red-teaming and âwhat if we were evilâ brainstorming conversations.
We came up with the idea of gacha/gambling mechanics, streaks, and many other intentionally addictive mechanics, as well as straight up abusive requirements for gameplay, and we laughed them all off at the time, realizing how miserable playing such a game would actually be. We were all in good tech jobs with challenging and rewarding work at the time, so we never felt the need to try and start a game company of our own, and those ideas never went anywhere for us.
Since then Iâve watched as pretty much every one of those evil ideas, independent of any of us who had those conversations, became a reality in games, and the games have become kind of miserable to play.
I guess what Iâm trying to say is that despite there being Tron-pilled people, there is a lot of incentive to, like Google did, throw out the noble idea of âdonât be evilâ when the profits are high enough; regardless of there being people who wonât do it, there likely will be some that will.
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you try to tell people that Japanese people can, in fact, be racist, and are actually quite good at it, and they act like that's the most implausible thing they've ever heard
#today I found out trans women like blahaj for fucking it #what kind of deranged mf fucks stuffed animals #what is wrong with you people #those are childhood comfort items #buy a sex toy
It's kind of awesome how even though this post doesn't even explicitly mention trans women, y'all are still champing at the bit to call us specifically degenerates.
âredditors need to know thisâ, âtwitterinas need to know thatâ⊠no. you need to know one thing and that is that you are not allowed to complain about werewolf fuckers. this is the werewolf fucking website. grow up and go fuck a werewolf.
This is like someone just informed the newcomers about the devils sacrament taking place every full moon and the devil itself popped up asking âwhat sacrament?â with a cheshire grin.
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