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| Friday, May 10, 2002 |
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Cluster blogging 
| | Had a great time hanging with Griff Wigley yesterday afternoon in Minneapolis. He intercepted me after my talk at the Convention Center (while I was busy forgetting my power adaper), and we went out for coffee during a break (we were pelted with snow when we left the building — on May 10!) before I had to head off for other meetings and then a real fun dinner that I won't talk about because no linkable entities were involved — think of trees falling soundlessly in forests with nobody to blog them. |
| | Griff brought up an interesting difference between collections of blogs (self-organized around interests of various kinds) and newsgroups (and other forms of common-space groupware). Because blogs belong to individuals, and each individial has control of his or her own space, there's much less flaming. On the whole proceedings are remarkably civil. |
| | Even though they are technically journalists (writing, that is, in journals), bloggers on the whole don't feel the need to express highly editorial absolute opinions. They tend to vet ideas, opinions and pointers in a far more conversational way than you find in print journalism, or even in a newsgroup. The agenda tends to be more about what we know than what I know. |
| | Among interest groups, blogs are a lot more likely to change minds and cause agreement than any altermative we could think of. |
| | Or so it seemed at the time, with nothing but coffee between us and snow falling from the thunderheads outside. |
| | (Of course you could just discount all that stuff because Griff and I are both board-certified nice guys.) |
Hack your dad, dude
| | David Williams is working on something cool: a programming language powerful enough to retain a 8/9-yr old's interest but simple enough that the syntax can be grasped by them. |
Inna zona
| | I was responding to an email from Chris Locke when I looked out the window of the plane, and there, in an approximate sense, he was, somewhere in Boulder, thirty-seven kilofeet below the window. |
| | I'd say the same about Eric Norlin, but I wasn't writing to him. |
| | Now I'm grooving over Arizona, a state of red and brown layer cake, eroding, like everything else, away. Here and there some darker rock intrudes. Shiprock, for example, which slid beneath the wing a few minutes ago. A ruined stone church, it's all that remains of a volcano that operated when our ancestors looked like little 'possums. (Just kidding. It was only about 30 million years ago. I think we all looked like little bitty Donald Rumsfelds.) |
| | One brief stop in Phoenix and then home. Can't wait. |
| | [Later...] Just arrived. Hundreds of emails, phone calls... lotta catching up to do. (Nice to rejoin the privileged 13 percent again, too.) |
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