What a beautiful computer! What poetic specificity in its settings! Self-proclaimed veteran geek Nathan Zeldes explains (and translates) this camera-setting calculator from the 1920s:

Kaufmann’s Posographe is nothing less than an analog mechanical computer for calculating six-variable functions. Specifically, it computes the exposure time (Temps de Pose) for taking photographs indoors or out (depending on which side you use). The input variables are set up on the six small pointers; the large pointer then gives you the correct time. The variables are very detailed, yet endearingly colloquial. For outdoors, they include the setting — with values like “Snowy scene”, “Greenery with expanse of water”, or “Very narrow old street”; the state of the sky — including “Cloudy and somber”, “Blue with white clouds”, or “Purest blue”; The month of the year and hour of the day; the illumination of the subject; and of course the aperture (f-number).

(link and photo via bughouse)

In Steven Spielberg’s 2002 film Minority Report (based on a short story by dystopian future-obsessed paranoid Philip K. Dick), oracle-like clairvoyants envision crimes that haven’t yet happened. They broadcast these visions to police officers in the Department of Precrime who arrest the would-be criminals, wipe their memories, and imprison them.

On Monday, Erica Goode of the Times reported that the Santa Cruz Police Department has been testing an analogous “precrime” technique named predictive policing. A computer program analyzes years of data on past crimes to predict that certain specific crimes, such as car burglaries, are especially likely to occur on a specific day in a specific location. So far, the program, which was developed by researchers who based it on models that predict earthquake aftershocks, “has helped officers pre-empt several crimes and has led to five arrests,” according to the Times.

Equally fascinating and unnerving!

(link via Tantek Çelik, who made a Minority Report connection; crop of a Minority Report teaser poster via teeVault)

The HP Officejet 6500 is my kind of printer. It doesn’t look brawny but when confronted with a potential jam, it didn’t stop and wink an amber light for help. It plowed ahead stubbornly, though that meant printing at a rakish angle, tearing the paper and leaving behind battle-scars of black and magenta ink.

How much longer will an image of a 3.5" floppy disk represent “save” in applications when the floppy hasn’t been in use for some time?

There are two main answers to the question:

1. Not much longer, as the concept of a manual save depreciates. For example, in its default mode, Google Documents frequently autosaves, has a detailed version history and will throw up an alert if you try to exit the application prior to either a manual save or an autosave. It also has a 3.5" floppy “save” icon but it’s effectively unncessary to click it.
2. As long as the need to save manually exists, forever, because symbols needn’t have anything to do with what they stand for. As one commenter to the above reddit thread points out:

   It’s not important that the symbol have anything to do with what it represents, only that people make the association. In the beginning when you need a new icon, you choose something (often timely, like the floppy) which will help people learn the association quickly. But once it’s established, it doesn’t matter what the symbol is.

   Examples? The rod of Asclepius representing medicine, a red cross representing protection, and three spheres representing a pawnbroker.

(screencap of floppy disk “save” icon from Google Documents)

Before G.I. Joe figurines with articulated limbs stormed America in 1982, I played with those generic little plastic army guys. They were packaged in a dark-green orgy of limbs in a clear bag that smelled pungently of vinyl. After they’d been deployed and stationed upright on their wee plastic surfboards, I oversaw battles on the unforgiving terrain of my backyard sandbox. Plosive gunfire fell the infantry. Shells and grenades catapulted bodies around. Conveniently, the dead could be buried in the same dirt on which they’d fought.

So as a kid (and possibly now), I would have enjoyed the Be Your Own Souvenir machine by Barcelona-based collective blablabLAB. Here’s how it works: You get a non-terror-related 360° body scan that’s processed by custom software. Then you’re output in monochromatic plastic miniature by a self-replicating 3D printer called a RepRap. Sounds as if they’ve even been able to replicate that heady plasic odor.

(link via @pruned; photo via Colossal)

The desktop of my PC at work is starting to resemble a Magic Eye illustration.

Can you see the sailboat?

TechCrunch notices:

When you get your MacBook Air and you open the box, you will find exactly zero optical discs inside. Normally, Apple includes at least one back-up DVD to reinstall OS X and other software if your computer fails. But now, that has been replaced with a super-slim USB stick. This stick, packed in with your manual, is all you need to reinstall your system now.

Heck, I’m old enough to remember hackles raising in 1998 when Apple made the then-controversial decision to exclude floppy drives from the original iMac. Take a trip down memory lane on that one via this comp.sys.mac.advocacy thread. Chuckle at amusing-in-retrospect comments such as:

I think the lack of a floppy drive is a bad thing. Even though Apple says the internet will take care of everything, a floppy drive is a nice backup to have. And that’s a little hypocritical of them to say to use the internet, and then not put in a 56k modem, which seems like it is becoming the standard.

Up next, naturally: Apple helping kill the hard drive with on-board Flash memory.

What fun to be a simultaneous leader and destroyer!

There is little or no educational benefit for schoolchildren in a low-income household to have a home computer. In fact, the test scores of such kids often worsten after they get a computer, possibly because they “use the computer for entertainment unrelated to homework” and spend less time studying.

After a highly discouraging bout last month with Katie’s evil, evil PC, I once again made the trip to Jersey to attempt fixing it.

This time, I followed along with Gina Trapani’s excellent PC resuscitation guide by bringing a copy of Lavasoft’s Ad-Aware anti-spyware software and a copy of a Fixefox 1.0 in case Internet Explorer kept pissing me off.

While Internet Explorer updated via dialup from version 5 to 6 (a leisurely two hours), Katie and I ordered some pizza and played Scrabble. (I won by one point.) I ran Ad-Aware several times and installed Firefox for good measure. Oddly, everything seemed to be working OK on the ‘net via both Explorer and Firefox. I was able to connect to various web sites, including the previously inaccessible Hotmail, even after restarting the computer and trying again with a new connection.

My fingers are crossed.

Did you get the idea I was making progress on Katie’s PC the last time I was at her place? I did too until I found out tonight that I couldn’t access her Hotmail account on her computer. I have never encountered a problem with a computer as annoying as this, and keep in mind I’ve been using them since the days of the Apple II.

All other web sites seem to work via her dialup connection, but the Hotmail site just sits there and doesn’t load. I cleared the cache, cookies, temporary files, reset Explorer’s settings: nothing works. Nearly the whole reason Katie wanted her Internet access back was to check her account, and she can’t.

What’s more, she is still getting spyware/virus popup messages, even though I formatted the fucking hard drive. Explain how that is possible, please.

And the printer’s still DOA.

The only positive is that the audio hookup from her computer to her stereo speakers seems to work, so she can watch Moonstruck on her DVD-player software and hopefully not crash her computer in the process.

Argh. This computer is winning and sapping my will to live.

My old Epson Stylus Photo 820 printer in tow, I went down to McNally Robinson Booksellers at 5:45 p.m. to meet up with Katie in preparation for Round 2 of rejuvenating her PC. While waiting for her to wrap up her workday, I settled into a chair downstairs and read some calming Pablo Neruda poems.

Soon after arriving at her place, I tackled her curséd computer with an extra copy of Windows 2000 that Jimi generously donated. Surprisingly, the installation worked without a hitch, allowing me to format the hard drive and install the system software with ease. But little did I know it was a setup for some cruel Internet troubles ahead.

I thought transferring over Katie’s DellNet By MSN dialup account would be as simple as porting over her username, password and local access number, but I constantly received cryptic authentication error messages. I called Andie for her to look up some help on MSN.com, but it only made her really cranky. I called Jimi, and he got cranky as well. (Microsoft has this effect on many.) From their valiant efforts, however, I did end up with the toll-free number for DellNet By MSN, where after a long wait on hold, during which Katie read me some trivia on Civil War generals, I was patched in with a helpful fellow named Jamie. He confirmed Katie’s account was still active, changed her password in case that was the problem, and helped me correct a stray setting or two, yet I kept getting the same error message. After both of us had listened to the distorted tone-dialing and static-ravaged pings of the modem connecting (but failing to authenticate) for the sixth or seventh time, we had the following humorlessly grim exchange:

Jamie: Those old dialup modems are really loud, aren’t they?
Jason: The sound is like a dagger through my soul.
Jamie: Mine too.

Thankfully, Jamie remained calm and eventually unearthed the problem: although the modem was connecting, the dialup number itself (or its connection) was somehow rogue. After Jamie offered another alternate local access number, the modem magically corrected its transgressions, connected without incident, and there was great nerdy rejoicing.

After bidding Jamie farewell, I smoothed out some other problems, including an amusing one with the display, which defaults to 16 colors if you haven’t installed a specific yet really hard-to-find graphics card driver. I also got Katie’s DVD player software working, which was a priority of hers since she doesn’t have an external DVD player. Alas, there will be no external audio until I buy a headphone-to-stereo-RCA cable to hook up the PC to Katie’s stereo receiver, since she couldn’t find the proprietary power cable for the external speakers that came with the computer. Finally, I thought the printer would be easy enough to set up, until I discovered pushing the power button had absolutely no effect. (And, yes, it was plugged in.) By this point, it was nearing midnight and I hadn’t even installed Office 2000, but I figured since I’d be back, I could do so then.

For those of you keeping score, here’s where we stand after two rounds:

a working, stable, updated OS, and working dial-up Internet access; working DVD player software. Advantage: humans.

non-working printer and external audio; non-installed word processing and virus-protection software. Advantage: damn dirty computer.

A slow day at work, as my boss, and indeed all management, was forced to attend what was no doubt a Dilbertesque stress management seminar, the irony being that no one’s stress levels would be improved by missing a full day’s work during the busiest time of our production cycle.

After work, I took the PATH train to Jersey City for the first time in many months and met up with Katie there to diagnose her sick PC. I thought it’d be a simple matter of either solving a problem, or, failing that, reinstalling her system software. Of course, the problems were confusing and multiple, seemingly unrelated head-scratchers ranging from applications suddenly crashing to not being able to dial-into her internet service provider. Plus, she spoke of some sort of rogue software that somehow installed itself and caused an animated monkey to pop up occasionally and make chattering monkey noises. (It wasn’t clear whether this was a problem or a benefit; Katie’s cats really liked it.) Reinstalling the system software seemed the right choice at this point, especially since Katie had nothing she wanted to save on her computer except for a Word document of her resumé (which she now needs to update anyway). Easy, I thought; no problem.

Well, not really. She has a Dell computer and the fine folks there have made it nearly impossible to fully re-install Windows, on purpose or otherwise, likely because they don’t want you overwriting any of the fine Dell software they preinstalled—the reinstall CD that came with the computer was for a “basic,” non-Dell version of the wondrous Windows ME. In fact, the solution provided in the Dell instruction manuals for reinstalling the system software is simply to call their tech support people, obviously because they don’t want yahoos such as yourself fiddling with such business and compounding their problems. Squinting at some fine print buried in the back of a manual, I eventually figured out how to do it myself. It involved holding down the DEL key, which I wouldn’t have guessed, and after several false starts, including a hairy experience with DOS and a command line, I was able to get it reinstalled. But without a “erase the hard drive while you’re at it” function, it was meaningless. So instead of refreshing Katie’s PC, I only managed to slow it down further and add a few more random system crashes for good measure. If this computer were a dog, you’d be leading it out behind the barn with a shotgun in hand.

But Katie’s a great sport and, convinced I had exercised all my options in an honorable fashion, took me out for a beer. But not before I vowed vengeance on her curséd computer and a return trip with a copy of Norton Utilities firmly in hand.