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News Tagged ‘Technology’
Hey Pluto
Saturday, July 18th, 2015Celebrity clips toe nails. Woman loses phone signal. Man doesn’t see point of twitter. Space ship reaches Pluto. Am I alone in thinking that the media and the public may have lost their collective sense of wonder? I mean we have just witnessed quite possibly the most remarkable feat of technology and engineering for a generation and the press seemed positively underwhelmed and the few conversations into which I have managed to slip the word Pluto have been met with glassy eyes and soft pleas to talk about anything else. Anything. Which is strange because this particular piece of news was exciting, exhilarating and astonishing. It had legs yet has fallen from general discourse with all the haste and dignity of a lead plate. So please indulge me.
Pluto is very, very distant and for most of its known existence was considered to be a planet. It was never much more than a smudge on a telescope lens and its exact size was difficult to determine. When after years of observation Pluto’s vital statistics were finally calculated it was deemed to be too diminutive and not dominant enough in its area of space. In 2006, with impeccable timing, the esteemed gentlefolk at the International Astronomical Union downgraded it to a dwarf planet, just weeks after a spaceship had been launched to visit what had been the ninth planet, reducing the number of planets in our solar system to eight and somewhat diminishing the mission. Why being a dwarf planet should be considered a downgrade is not clear, apparently the IAU have not heard of Peter Dinklage. He may be small but he is truly massive. Size should not be considered an impediment, no one ever thought Pluto was big, it didn’t suddenly shrink it was always small, quite a bit smaller than our moon in fact but still it loomed large in our imaginations. Well, in mine at least, so much so that when I was fourteen I wrote a gloriously uninformed story about it.
Pluto was were the Plutocrats came from. Civilised aliens who arrived on Earth and were immediately welcomed due to the fact that they possessed unimaginable quantities of ploon, a metal they considered almost worthless because Pluto was pretty much made of the stuff. But with great distance came great value and on Earth ploon was known by a different name, gold. Everything the Plutocrats had was made of it, their clothes were spun from it, they ate off it and their space ships were not only constructed from it but their alchemy engines and weapons were powered by it. It was the weapons that most interested the human governments however because anyone shot by them was miraculously turned into their weight in gold. This encouraged them to declare an unwinnable war on their once feted and technically superior guests and in their greed literally millions of fattened up human soldiers were sacrificed so that their dead bodies could be melted down for precious metal. I didn’t say it was a fun story.
My point is Pluto was always a planet of incredible mystery, not least because it was billions of miles away and we never had any chance of ever going there and if I wanted it to be made of gold it could be, no one could tell me otherwise. Pluto was the pie in my favourite mnemonic, but now my very educated mother just serves us nachos, I don’t like nachos, I want pie. So thank you NASA for such a big slice, because here we are making the impossible look easy, cruising through Pluto’s neighbourhood, rolling down the windows and taking a few snaps. As it turns out Pluto isn’t made of gold it is much more extraordinary than that, it is a confounding place of rock and ice, mountains of ice, thousands of feet high. Frozen canyons roiling with methane and plains covered in nitrogen snow, a place so hostile it is hardly surprising the Plutocrats left, but then again if Pluto looks this amazing from Earth just imagine how amazing Earth must look from Pluto.
You can’t wrap an app
Thursday, December 11th, 2014I don’t know if you watch Game Of Thrones but in it is a huge wall of ice called not unreasonably The Wall. It is a man and magic made folly, three hundred miles long, seven hundred feet high, forever looming. On this side a near insurmountable climb, on the other permanent winter. I have another name for The Wall. Christmas.
Now don’t misunderstand me, I love Christmas, what is there not to love (insert favourite Christmas cliché here) but do we have to do it every year? I know it is important from a retail, I mean a religious point of view but couldn’t we sort of alternate? One year on one year off or maybe every four years. Oh yes, imagine the excitement, the preparations, the scale, all that pent up Christmas cheer. Though having said that my favourite Christmas cliché is that Christmas is for the children, I repeat it endlessly, how Christmas wouldn’t be the same without them (cheaper, quieter, more relaxing) that it is all worthwhile just for the look on their little faces when they stuff the ends of their stockings with unwanted oranges and walnuts and use them as maces. I would hate to have to explain to them that Christmas was now bi annual or every four years. I had a friend at school who was born on the 29th of February and his parents insisted that he only celebrate his birthday during leap years. I remember when I was twelve he was three, it didn’t make him very happy. But that’s just him and Christmas is bigger than one person, unless that person is Jesus of course.
Children aside I really think every four years could work, it would be like the World Cup or the Olympics, we could have a committee, call it the IOC, (It’s Occasionally Christmas) we could even have host nations, everybody’s Christmas in one place, think how grateful santa would be. I know my parents would love it as when they say Christmas is for the children they mean me and they never know what to get me, except for book tokens.
Okay confession, the whole every four years thing, I sort of have an ulterior motive, presents. It’s not that I am a Scrooge or anything it is that I have three sons of various ages with all the hand-me-down potential that creates and no longer have a clue what to get them. I am sick of buying the obligatory remote control something (cars, robots, helicopters, last year spiders) only to watch them careen into each other or the skirting or grannies stricken ankles because they don’t have multiple radio channels as promised on Amazon.
I blame Steve Jobs. Ever since my boys got ipads buying presents has become a near impossibility, you can’t buy them music or a music player or a TV or a camera or a game machine or games or DVD’s or fish tanks. You can’t buy them dictionaries or calculators or planetariums. You could buy them an app, but you can’t wrap an app, can’t really put it under the Christmas tree, besides most of them cost less than a pound, ‘Oh thanks Dad, Angry birds in Helsinki, how much did that set you back?’ We are trying tennis racquets this year, three of them, because you can’t hit a tennis ball with an ipad, well you can but backhand is difficult. My boys don’t play tennis, not yet, but we live in hope, don’t we all?
So go on, have a Merry Christmas and if you too are struggling to find the perfect gift don’t worry, I have a shop.
Remains of the lush interior
Wednesday, October 9th, 2013Fashion is unfamiliarity. The reason that fashion doesn’t last is simple. It preys on a very basic human mechanism. Curiosity. We are hardwired to notice the unfamiliar, for good reason. Can I eat it? Can I sleep with it? Can it kill me? Once we have identified it as a rock, a sheep and a tree we lose interest. This doesn’t stop the fashion industry from continually redesigning rocks, sheep and trees though. And when I say the fashion industry I don’t just mean clothes, I mean everything from cars to HP sauce, everything that is old is new again, but this is not always a good thing. Sometimes familiarity breeds content.
We all have things that we love forever, a toy, a pair of shoes, an old motor bike something by Fleetwood Mac. Things that we have recognised for what they are. This is what I try to do with my furniture, make it fashion proof. Anticipate the end of the journey from the beginning, I design things to last not only in time but also in spaces. It is a trait I look for in everything, will I still love it tomorrow.
My phone is a good example. I still have a 4s because it is better looking than the 5. I loved my phone as it was, it was a friend I wanted to keep. I loved iOS 6 too, it was way beyond fashion. I loved its personality, its sense of humour, its pinstripe suit, the way it looked real, like you could press or pluck or turn it. Not because I am too stupid to recognise a plainer button but because of its extravagance and because the dreaded minimal ultimately means we all end up living in the same empty concrete box, albeit one with a pastel paint scheme.
I guess I can understand the logic, they want to tempt younger users, cool and groovy types, less fuddy duddy more faddy daddy. Old lamps for new. It explains the 5c which looks like it has been designed to tempt children into a gingerbread house but it does somewhat ignore an ever increasing but terribly unfashionable part of the apple user base. The old.
My father is 83. Unlike his ipad he has left the pursuit of the perfect model far behind and becomes slightly more inferior with every update. Having just watched him trying to navigate his way around his freshly skinned device by touching every single word on a page on the off chance it did something I felt like asking mister Jony Ive to step outside. It was a nice night. There were stars.
My father calls his home button the ‘going home button’ and his homepage his front room and in his front room he had furniture, after an hour with iOS 7 he said to me ‘put the old furniture back would you son’. Sorry dad but this is the new world where the furniture is all modern, hard, where you sit on your bones.
I have taken to calling my 4s the reformation phone because it looks like a sacked abby with all its beauty stripped bare by the iconoclast general, the man who took the fun out of functional. An austere phone for austere times.
My dad will get used to it, we all will, we will barely remember how lush the interior once was, how finely tooled, how upholstered and any further changes will be seen as progress. Quick march. As Lindsey Buckingham from that Fleetwood Mac once said. Never going back again.