by
Frank Conroy
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The five-minute warning bell had rung. I sat with my ankles on the railing reading a novel about the Second World War. I should have used the time to do my homework, but the appeal of Nazis, K rations, and sunlight slanting through the forest while men attempted to kill one another was too great. I read four or five hours every night at home, but it was never quite as sweet as in school, when even a snatch read as I climbed the stairs seemed to protect me from my surroundings with an efficacy that bordered on the magical. And if the story dealt with questions of life and death, so much the better. How could I be seriously worried about having nothing to hand in at Math when I was pinned in a shallow foxhole, under a mortar barrage, a dead man across my back and a hysterical young lieutenant weeping for his mother by my side? I could not resist the clarity of the world in books, the incredibly satisfying way in which life became weighty and accessible. Books were reality. I hadn't made up my mind about my own life, a vague, dreamy affair, amorphous and dimly perceived, without beginning or end.
[...] I stared at the meaningless stream of cars going by, my brain as empty and silent as the house around me. Within me sadness had given way to hopelessness. And I mean genuine hopelessness, when faith had evaporated and the imagination is dead, when life seems to have come finally and irrevocably to a standstill.
[...] I read very fast, uncritically, and without retention, seeking only to escape from my own life through the imaginative plunge into another. Safe in my room with milk and cookies I disappeared into inner space. The real world dissolved and I was free to drift into fantasy, living a thousand lives, each one more powerful, more accessible, and more real than my own. It was around this time that I first thought of becoming a writer. In a cheap novel the hero was asked his profession at a cocktail party. "I'm a novelist," he said, and I remember putting the book down and thinking, my God what a beautiful thing to be able to say,
Google uses contract labor, in a manner similar to Amazon; to save money on labor by making employees as disposable as possible. 'People would be asked to leave at a day's notice,' said Danielle. 'We were employed through a subcontractor company and they reserved the right to terminate at any time or for any reason. There was a climate of fear ... People worried about making mistakes that would get them fired, people worried about not being able to keep up with the work quotas the team leadership started making us have to fulfill, [and] people worried that the new leadership wouldn't 'like' them, and that that would get them fired,' she added.
Contractors tend to be much lower than the salaried employees' wages, Danielle explained. 'We didn't really talk about salaries, but there were full-time Google employees doing the same thing as contractors - we just had different statuses. Those employees could make three times what a contractor did. That felt bad.'
The vast wealth of Silicon Valley - the $100,000 Teslas that zip up and down the freeways, the walled-off estates of the tech titans, the exclusive parties and the expensive restaurants - all of these do not exist because a few smart whiz kids had an idea that they turned into an app. They exist because of people like Audry Bialura in the Congo, Yu Tiang in Shenzen, and Bill Woolcock at the Staffordshire Amazon fulfillment center. Gadgets are forged and shipped through their labour. And for every Mark Zuckerberg, there are 10,000 Yu Tiangs and 100,000 Audry Bialuras upon whom Mark Zuckerberg stands, like a circus performer atop a human pyramid.
Nowadays, the idea of technology is tied to a notion of progress. We all take for granted that technology exists on a scale of constant improvement and reinvention: we must cast aside old technologies in favor of consuming new ones; those with better technology are more advanced than those with lesser technology. Philosophers Jacques Ellul and Martin Heidegger described technology as a 'cultural system that restructures the entire social world as an object of control.' In other words, technology is not merely a built world of things - a device, or a piece of software, or a cotton gin - but a system of thinking, and one with the potential to take over, like an infection. To paraphrase philosopher Andrew Feenberg:
[Technology] is characterized by an expansive dynamic which ultimately overtakes every pre-technological enclave and shapes the whole of social life. The instrumentalization of society is thus a destiny from which there is no escape other than retreat. [...]
In short, the federal money that poured into Silicon Valley was due to a fear of Soviet domination in science and engineering. In the same manner, that fear led to massive increases in defense and science budgets in the United States in the postwar years. Noticing these trends, the engineering dean at Stanford University during this era, Dr. Frederick Terman, fought both to bring in federal grant money as well as to encourage private enterprise ('start-ups' in today's parlance) in the region. Terman had a dream of developing long-standing relationships between universities and the federal government, specifically the military sector. Likewise, he nurtured faculty relationships with tech and defense companies and encouraged them to consult for the same companies.
Terman's efforts marked the birth of a new kind of relationship between a university and the private sector, public-private partnerships, the notion that an ostensibly not-for-profit university might have interests in cultivating private industry profits. Though now public-private partnerships have made collusion between industry and higher education more common, at the time, this relationship was unprecedented. [...]
Faculty members commonly invest in start-ups launched by their students or colleagues. There are probably more faculty millionaires at Stanford than at any other university in the world. [Stanford President] John Hennessy earned six hundred and seventy-one thousand dollars in salary from Stanford last year, but he has made far more as a board member of and shareholder in Google and Cisco. And very often, the wealth created by Stanford's faculty and students flows back to the school.
Terman's efforts spawned a legacy of strange relationships between entrepreneurial students and Stanford faculty - a nepotistic web that many see as inappropriate for a university that, though private, is as a nonprofit supposed to act in the public interest and good. Besides the wealthy professors, the university had benefitted tremendously from its situation at Silicon Valley's center: $1.3 billion worth of royalties have augmented its endowment, harvested via inventions by students, faculty, and researchers.
quote from an article by journalist Ken Auliffe
[...] Tech writer Jon Evans wrote a eulogy for the Silicon Valley of yesteryear, in which he lamented that:
The tech industry used to be home to a disproportionate number of misfits and weirdos. Geeks. Nerds. People who needed to know how machines worked; needed to take them apart, make them better, and put them back together again. People who existed a little apart from society's established hierarchy ... and often saw that hierarchy as another machine to be deconstructed and improved ...
That is no longer the case. Now that technology is the dominant cultural and economic force of our time, and startup execs have become rock stars, the establishment is flocking to the tech industry. Rap stars and movie stars want to be tech investors ... Tech is becoming the finishing school and springboard for the upper-middle-class, the way law and finance were a decade ago. Now that the tech industry is cool, the pretty people are taking over, flooding out of top-tier universities with MBAs and social graces and carefully-coiffed hair, shouldering the misfits and weirdos out of the way.
ok i take some umbrage with this perspective. the problem is not "pretty people" (which has obvious sexist implications) but capital. and yes, sure, the stereotype of geeks etc is meant to invoke some sort of shelter from capital (people motivated by the technical challenge as opposed to the money) but to suppose a dichotomy between the two is silly. what is mark zuckerberg, then? larry and sergey? are we supposed to root for some of the wealthiest companies on the planet simply because their geek founders are still in control?
he's right that the rise of the "pretty people" marks a shift in the demographic most attracted to tech, as a result of the money flooding into tech. but the problem is capital. "pretty people" are only one symptom of the problem, and in any case geeks can be corrupted by capital, too, not to mention other social forces (cf my 'revenge of the nerds' fragment). the point is not to blame pretty people (as much as they can be easy to blame) because it's not their fault - they're following systemic incentives.
plus, implying that social graces & carefully-coiffed hair is a bad thing gives me very bad vibes (extremely gendered...)
IBM was rushing the production of their IBM-PC, and was in a hurry to find a suitable operating system for it. After negotiations with another company fell through, IBM turned to Microsoft's Bill Gates, who bluffed his way through negotiations with IBM management about having an operating system ready for them (he didn't). Microsoft acquired an already-existing operating system from Seattle Computer, named QDOS (Quick and Dirty Operating System), modified it to suit the IBM-PC, and rechristened it simply DOS.
Microsot's innovation wasn't designing an operating system - they simply bought one that already existed, and which was derivative of CP/M, another company's operating system. And it wasn't creating a great product - as its original name suggests, DOS was by no means the best operating system in existence. Rather, the most innovative Microsoft decision, and one which would set its future, was Gates' insistence that Microsoft would be free to license DOS to other hardware companies, not just IBM.
fake it till you make it amirite
[...] It used to be that software was something you installed on your machine; now, many software-makers have moved towards software as a service (SaaS), which involves accessing software through one's browser, without having to install anything. [...] companies like Microsoft can now 'leverage the gratis work of the open-source community to run the servers' that power SaaS services. 'As a result, it is beneficial for [companies like Microsoft] to rehabilitate their image in the open source community,' in order to 'garner goodwill from the community and attract talented developers,' Robinson added.
some good stuff on open source vs free software that chimes with my logic piece
speaks to the failure of the aGPL (too little, too late)