Anil Dash has a lengthy and very worthwhile post about new technologies and how they are using the illusion of free markets to create monopolies. For example:
“But unlike competitive sellers on eBay, Uber drivers can’t set their prices. In fact, prices can be (and regularly have been) changed unilaterally by Uber. And passengers can’t make informed choices about selecting a driver: The algorithm by which a passenger and driver are matched is opaque—to both the passenger and driver. In fact, as Data & Society’s research has shown, Uber has at times deliberately misrepresented the market of available cars by showing “ghost” cars to users in the Uber app.”
There’s a lot more ending with a key question:
“Look at the apps on your phone right now. Are you sure you are comfortable with what’s going to happen when everyone’s running the same apps that you are?”
I read this post a month ago and find myself thinking about it almost every day.
For three years I was part of a site called “This Is My Jam.” The premise was pretty simple: you choose one song, and only one, you are truly passionate and set it on your profile, along with a few words about it.
The beauty of this versus, say, Spotify is that it was a lot simpler. On Spotify, people make big ol’ playlists of songs they like, which can be fun, but also overwhelming. TIMJ was the digital equivalent of that scene from Garden State where Natalie Portman puts the headphones on Zach Braff’s ears and tells him to listen – one track, not an algorithmically-generated playlist of 30 or more.
Anyway, This Is My Jam shut down, as did Rdio – another place where you could share individual tracks along with some comments. I knew I missed them but I didn’t realize how much until discovering Cymbal.
The premise of Cymbal is pretty similar to This Is My Jam – share a song, and some words, and then listen to other people’s songs and their words. While TIMJ felt like a place where you would want to leave a song up for a day or even a week, Cymbal is a little more immediate – I’m doing two or three a day – but it feels good.
The main thing I like is the conversation that’s happening, and the ability to discover people who have some similar likes as you but are also out there finding new things. Facebook and Twitter somehow just don’t do it for me on music sharing, and while I’ve adopted Spotify as my listening place, it is sorely lacking in the human aspect of things. Music should be social.
I’m steeling myself for the inevitable closure that seems to follow every music service I truly love, but maybe these guys can make it happen.
If you’re inclined, you can find me at my usual spot.
With the news that Kelly O’Bryan’s is closing its doors in Prince George, an interesting point from James Doyle on Twitter:
Kelly O's is closing end of March. Very limited options in PG for family dining as it is. BP, RR, WS, and Denny's only real options now.
— James Doyle (@itsjdphoto) March 22, 2017
There have been some high-profile new restaurants opening lately, but it hadn’t occurred to me they weren’t exactly family-oriented. Two – Kask and Cornerstone – are centered around beer and many others are a sort of high-end, pub-style environment. Kids aren’t excluded, per se, but I can see where they wouldn’t be the sort of place you’d want to bring a crew of under-ten-year-olds. On occasions where I’ve wanted to go out with a group that includes someone with a small child, there have been issues around this.
Which isn’t to say there’s no where for kids to eat. Lots of other people chimed in to talk about the good experiences they’ve had bringing their kids to “non-family” restaurants. Which may be a good thing – Adam McDowell has a good piece in the National Post about the problem with kid’s menus and how they are limiting both future eating habits and cultural horizons. Still, I sympathize with the busy adult who just wants a place they can afford to bring a family and have their kids enjoy it.
Here’s more of the conversation:
— James Doyle (@itsjdphoto) March 22, 2017
— jambell ☕️🙏 (@jamiebell) March 22, 2017
— James Doyle (@itsjdphoto) March 22, 2017
Donut is the only pet I’ve had from birth to death.
She was born in China, one of four kittens in a cat we adopted who wasn’t supposed to have been able to be pregnant. She was named Donut beacause she had a marking on her side that looked sort of like an “O”, but her most distinctive feature was her black nose.
We didn’t plan to keep the kittens, but as a kitten Donut was so attached to our dog that we decided we would keep her. Even though she lived with her actual biological mom all her life, Donut was more attached to the dog than any other cat she encountered.
So she flew home with us, along with her mom and another kitten we couldn’t find a home for in Wuhan. The other kitten was adopted out in Canada, and Donut stayed with us- at my in-laws, then a rental, then another rental in Victoria, then my parents house before the house we live in now.
She took to living in Prince George just fine, but she did not like Victoria. We had to get her old cat tree shipped down to us before she became somewhat settled. She was particular like that.
She was also very vocal. A lot of cats are noisy, but Donut was one of the loudest and most persistent I’ve met. She would purr for a while if you’d pet her, but very quickly move on to another spot, just out of your reach. Though she would allow us to brush her out on the deck in the sun for long periods of time, purring and rolling around.
She had some other odd habits, particularly an obsession with eating plastic. We tried various psychological and physical remedies, but nothing seemed to reach, so we had to be careful not to have any plastic anywhere she could get it- no bread on the counter, no ribbons on the Christmas gifts, no packages ready to be mailed left on the ground.
Since we had her from kittenhood, I kind of figured that as long as we kept her away from plastic we’d have Donut into our forties. Most cats I’ve had live between 15 and 20 years and she was healthy.
Unfortunately, a growth in her stomach started slowing her down in December. We had her on fluids and medication in the hope that we could get her strength up enough that the vet would be able to get a better idea of what it was, although it was almost definitely inoperable. She perked up a little here and there, but over the last week deteriorated to the point that we were ready to let her go.
A vet was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, but that’s been cancelled. Donut died curled up in my wife’s lap, a few months shy of the ten year anniversary of her cutting her umbilical cord halfway around the world.
She will be missed.
So you’ve probably seen posts saying “Don’t normalize this,” or “Don’t let this be normal”. I didn’t really think about them until today.
Earlier today i was going to write a Facebook post saying I’m happy to have Muslim neighbours. Then I stopped myself.
As a journalist i’m not supposed to take a position on controversial issues.
And i found myself thinking, “Is this a position on a controversial issue”?
This is not a question i would have asked myself a year or two ago.
My mind on diversity hasn’t changed, but the world has shifted in a way that what used to be boilerplate “Oh Canada” sentiments seem less so.
So even though my values haven’t changed on this front, in my mind they’ve shifted from fairly innocuous to potentially controversial.
But the sentiment is fairly simple: I’ve grown up with different races and religions and I like living somewhere where that can happen.
I can and will not allow what is going on in the world to make that a part of me that I feel the need to hide for the sake of “neutrality”.
You can’t allow extremists to shift the conversation so that what should be basic human decency becomes somehow partisan.
I believe in the basic humanity of people. I believe we should not allow race or religion or place of birth to divide us. I won’t hide that.
I found my basic values slipping today without me noticing. It scares me that it happened. I hope I catch it if it does again.
Do not allow it to become normal.
Writing in iPolitics, Paul Adams criticizes not polls, but reporters who don’t understand polls. Part of it is reporters who ignore the margin of error, reporting on polls showing a “clear winner” rather than a possible winner, but maybe not, because there’s a margin of error:
“If you look at the final polling forecast from Real Clear Politics, it showed Hillary Clinton with a 3.3 percentage point lead in the popular vote over Donald Trump. Guess what? She won the popular vote by almost 3 million votes; that’s just more than 2 per cent.
“An error of just over a percentage point is an error, for sure. But it’s a perfectly unsurprising error. No reasonable observer would expect the national polls to be more reliably accurate than they were.”
I ran into this during the last federal election. A group with the express purpose of getting people to vote strategically to defeat the Conservatives released a poll indicating that the NDP was the favourites to win- unless you looked at the margin of error. As I wrote:
“The more accurate way to read the results is with NDP support somewhere between 32 and 40 percent, the Conservatives between 26 and 34, and Liberals between 25 and 33 (19 times out of 20). The NDP could drop 4 points and the Liberals could go up 4, resulting in a Liberal victory, and it would still be within the margin of error. Or the Conservatives could win. Basically, it’s too close to call.”
For this I had a couple of days of (a very few) people accusing me of being a Liberal or Conservative shill.
I don’t know for sure, but I suspect I may have had less of this if there hadn’t been a bunch of headlines saying the NDP was the favourite to win.
In the end, the Conservative candidate won, followed by the Liberal and then the NDP.
If we must report on polls, let’s at least do it accurately.
I’ve never been a big fan of people who talk about ignoring the news. I believe in the need to be informed about the community and the world so you can act in an informed and responsible way.
But at a certain point you have to ignore the news. Not all of it, but huge chunks of it. The majority of it, really. Do you know how much news there is?
24/7 TV stations, countless current affairs shows on radio, a constant stream of new information breaking on Facebook and Twitter and news feeds coming from all around the world. Look at the newspapers in your local grocery store. Think if how much time it would take you to read all of them. Then multiply that by literally thousands from around the world. The idea that we could take even a small percentage of it in on a daily basis is… well, it’s impossible.
So we filter. We’ve always filtered. I’ve always filtered. We focus on the stuff that’s closer to home, the things that more directly affect our lives and, hopefully, the stuff that we can more directly affect back.
It’s that last point I’m starting to think about a little more in 2017, especially with the thing happening down south. You know the thing– how could you avoid it? It’s everywhere.
And yet I find myself checking out. This thing has consumed so many headlines, so many broadcast hours, so much of my personal time and thought over the past months and, dear god, years, actually, and to what end?
I’m not about to go take part in foreign politics. I don’t know anyone with political sway in that country. What is the point of me sitting, breathlessly, watching the thing move onto its next stage? What insights will it give me? Almost as important, what insights can I offer back?
The thing about platitudes is they are only platitudes until they become profound. I suddenly find myself reflecting on the profundity of the Serenity Prayer– you know, the famous lines:
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”
It’s a surprisingly good guiding light for a period of time in which we are invited by all sides to be constantly shocked, constantly outraged, constantly righteously indignant and can you believe this is happening in our world?
I’m not trying to be flippant when I say that bad things have always happened. But, bad things have always happened. Bad things are always happening. They are happening far, far away and they are happening right in your own neighbourhood (good things are always happening, too, but I wrote about that elsewhere).
What I’m trying to do is be strategic about which bad things get my energy. This is a privilege I have as a person who doesn’t have any dramatically bad things happening directly to me. I get to choose which bad things come into my life.
With that privilege comes a responsibility: being strategic about how I use the reserves of energy I have for dealing with bad things. I get to focus it on the areas that I am best equipped to make better.
So is it the thing happening in the United States? Probably not. Is it the less well-documented things, happening closer to home? Almost definitely. Is it less political and more economic things happening in other parts of the world? Quite likely.
There are probably hundreds of ways I could more effectively spend my energies and positively change the world than spending more time focused on the latest what, REALLY? moment coming out of the online conversation.
This isn’t an excuse to be ignorant. This isn’t a throw-your-hands-up-and-watch-Netflix-cuz-we’re-all-going-down-anyway moment. It’s a question of which path is the most morally right one, with a rather utilitarian view: how can I be most effective?
I did a bit of research (Wikipedia) and found out that the Serenity Prayer as I’ve always known it is not actually the prayer in it is original form. Theologian Reinhold Niebuhr had a number of versions over the years, but one of his later drafts had a subtle shift, imploring us not to change what we can but to change what we should:
“Father, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what cannot be helped, and the insight to know the one from the other.”
Another one done, it’s been fun.
Over the Christmas break, I visited the home of Rose and Nael Tohme who, along with their children, were the first family of Syrian refugees to come to Prince George.
Since it was the break I had more time than usual, so I was able to speak with them for an hour- a wide-ranging conversation that covered everything from pets to faith to food to music.
The end result is one of the reasons I love working with audio over other mediums. There are moments in here that I feel capture something lost in print and even lost in video because having a visual element takes you out of the narrative more than simply sitting and listening does. It’s intimacy without distraction.
I didn’t have any goals going into this except to tell an honest version of their story. I wanted to avoid any preconceived notions of what the end-goal would be, and tried to focus on personal moments rather than larger narrative ones about the conflict and the numbers. I wanted to hear from these two people as people, not as symbols of anything.
I don’t know if I accomplished it, but I have heard they are happy with how the story was portrayed. They were generous with their time and thoughts and I thank them for that.
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