Imagine, if you will, that you’re alone in an elevator, and just before the doors close, someone squeezes in to join you, and it just happens to be the president of your company. The elevator begins the slowest ascent to the top that you’ve ever known. And no one else gets on.
The two of you fidget uncomfortably, but you know that in your bottom-rung position, there’s no way you’re going to initiate a conversation. The president knows that, too, so he tries to find something to discuss. Unfortunately, the only thing he knows about you is that you were in the sack race at the company picnic last summer.
“So… that was you at the sack race, wasn’t it?”
“Um, yes.”
“Nice job. That was a nice day for a picnic, too. I… really thought you showed a lot of energy in that race.”
“uh huh.”
“It was a good sack, too.”
“…thanks?”
“I saw a sack like that once… do you do a lot of sack racing?”
At about this point, you’re considering how feasible it is to “remember” that you had something to do on the very next floor, and escape. Failing that, perhaps you can simply pretend to faint. Perhaps he’ll leave to get help, or else he’ll just ignore you as you lie on the floor. Either way, it’s preferable to what’s going on right now.
That’s not the most common story to prelude my experience at a folk music concert, but welcome to my evening with Gordon Lightfoot.
Before I go any further: I love Gordon Lightfoot. He’s written some incredible songs about love and nature, and also time. In fact, I’d even suggest that’s one of his defining characteristics -- his songs are about centuries. “The Canadian Railroad Trilogy” goes back to the days before human civilization. “Don Quixote” is timeless, purposefully using terms that could exist in almost any era, and using a title that alludes to a man who thinks he lives in a different time himself. Even his most well-known creation, “If You Could Read My Mind”, mentions ghosts and castles while talking about movies and drugstores.
He talks about time within a single life, as well -- his songs are full of reminisicence, even the ones he wrote in the early days. Needless to say, when he played in Medicine Hat, each of his 73 years lent an extra layer of meaning to those lyrics. He’s a treasure, a legend, and an icon. Ever since I heard he was coming, I’d known I was going to see him… but that’s not the same thing as knowing it’s going to be a good time.
After the first few numbers, I was still getting used to the difference between his recordings and his current countenance, when there was a small pause in the set.
“Medicine Hat,” he said. “I’ve never played Medicine Hat before… always wanted to. But I did see Kalan Porter play once, in Toronto, with Sass Jordan’s orchestra. He did a cover of one of Neil Young’s songs… Neil Young. Now there’s a legendary singer…”
For those unaware, Kalan Porter is a Medicine Hat native who won Canadian Idol one season.
For those unaware, there used to be a show called Canadian Idol. It was exactly what you’d think. And while there have been a few successes to come from American Idol, that’s partly because the market is so much larger, and because the American entertainment industry is so committed to producing stars from the American Idol program. Canadian Idol winners enjoy neither of those advantages… the best chance they get is basically one tribute concert in Toronto, with Sass Jordan’s band backing them up.
It’s safe to say that the audience knew this, as the applause grew slightly tense. Mister Lightfoot kept on going, though, about this concert, and Neil Young, until he concluded by saying, “The last I heard, he was trying to get a recording contract in the States. It fell through… but I’m sure we haven’t heard the last from that young man.”
He was trying to be polite, and for that, the audience was appreciative. In fact, it was a nice bonding moment…
“So, yep. Kalan Porter. He’s from Medicine Hat.”
… and then we realised that was the *only* thing he knew about the city he was in. And we started wondering if we could get off on a different floor, somehow.
After his next set, the conversation continued.
“I’ve never played Medicine Hat before… always wanted to. I… love the work, you know?”
And with that, he started another set. After that song, someone shouted out from the crowd, “We love you, Gordon!”
Applause.
He smiled graciously. “I love the work.”
Less applause.
The concert continued like this, and I spent the rest of the evening wincing whenever the music stopped, wondering what sort of rambling, dickety-six wisdom we’d hear this time.
But as awkward as it may have been, none of his words came from a hard heart. Honestly, that might have made it more awkward. But I don’t want to return his good faith with scorn, so I -- in an act of arrogance not seen since Icarus seared his wings -- shall try to guess what Gordon Lightfoot might have been trying to say.
I think the Edmund Fitzgerald just spun in its grave as I said that. But please, let me try.
* * * * *
I’ve never played here before, but I love the work.
When I was starting in Ontario, the west was just as easily on the other side of the world. That was one of its attractions, of course, knowing that such a vast land somehow connects us all. But as much as I’d like to have explored those connections, my work kept me in the east. And when I finally became popular enough to warrant a trip to Calgary, that meant I was popular enough to warrant a trip to Winnipeg the day before, and Vancouver the day after. And so, I was on the road, pulled through town after town without the chance of stopping. I've sung about carefree highways, but a destination can turn a journey into a trap if you’re not careful. Despite all the songs about the open road, those roads are closed more often than you’d think.
And now, here I am, with the freedom of not being obligated to visit only the largest audiences. I don’t know how much I’ll learn about every stop I make along the way this time. I certainly know I won’t remember it all.
But it’s not the learning I want. It’s the chance to stop. It’s the chance to prove, finally, after all these years, that I would have stopped, if I could have. And I’m glad that I’ve still got a way to earn these stops. I’m finally connecting to this country the way that I thought was possible when I was just starting out, by playing town to town, and being a part of this world for a little while.
And I love the work.
* * * * *
And we love you, Gordon.
1.12.11
21.10.11
Lapin du monde.
According to Harold Camping, today (Oct. 21, 2011) is the end of the world.
He started out with a hook to get people's attention - after all, it's an interesting concept, right? It also didn't hurt that he also started out with his own mass media entertainment network. He then presented a very selective interpretation of the established literature, which conveniently mirrored his own theories.
It didn't matter that existing experts on that literature found his claims ridiculous -- Camping's claims were aimed to attract people with very little education in that area, but paradoxically still believed the literature in question to be so authoritative that they readily accepted that it must have secrets that no other experts had revealed yet. The experts tried to refute his claims with proof, but the believers had already convinced themselves that...
Ugh. Okay, it's getting painful for me to keep on writing this little parable without naming names, but you get the picture. Find people who want to believe that the whole story is wrong, tell them they're right, and get them to mistrust anyone who claims to understand the issue better than you. The tricky part, of course, is getting them to accept your word as so final on the subject that they don't have to look into the matter themselves.
It's easy to observe these people from a distance, and easier still to laugh at them behind their backs. But these theories are harmful. First of all, they're harmful to their followers. When the world doesn't end tomorrow, wising up to this sort of con game will be unbearably painful. Who wants to talk to their family the next day, and admit that they were wrong in a fundamental way about so many things? Who wants to hear an "I told you so" from everyone in their life? More likely, they'll find some other interpretation and some other crowds, just to avoid such a horrible moment. It's a net loss for society.
It's harmful to non-believers, too. Leading questions like this trick you into answering on their terms. It's like asking if Barack Obama was really born in the United States. The very act of answering forces you to treat it like a real question, which plants the idea in your head that it is a real question. And the flip side, of course, is that refusing to answer gives the question legitimacy it doesn't deserve.
And finally, it's harmful to our news media. They demean themselves by reporting it, and that's a high price to pay for ratings.
It's becoming apparent that in today's superheated media, we're going to have to come up with a better way to stop people from making other people stupider. I just wish I knew what that was.
He started out with a hook to get people's attention - after all, it's an interesting concept, right? It also didn't hurt that he also started out with his own mass media entertainment network. He then presented a very selective interpretation of the established literature, which conveniently mirrored his own theories.
It didn't matter that existing experts on that literature found his claims ridiculous -- Camping's claims were aimed to attract people with very little education in that area, but paradoxically still believed the literature in question to be so authoritative that they readily accepted that it must have secrets that no other experts had revealed yet. The experts tried to refute his claims with proof, but the believers had already convinced themselves that...
Ugh. Okay, it's getting painful for me to keep on writing this little parable without naming names, but you get the picture. Find people who want to believe that the whole story is wrong, tell them they're right, and get them to mistrust anyone who claims to understand the issue better than you. The tricky part, of course, is getting them to accept your word as so final on the subject that they don't have to look into the matter themselves.
It's easy to observe these people from a distance, and easier still to laugh at them behind their backs. But these theories are harmful. First of all, they're harmful to their followers. When the world doesn't end tomorrow, wising up to this sort of con game will be unbearably painful. Who wants to talk to their family the next day, and admit that they were wrong in a fundamental way about so many things? Who wants to hear an "I told you so" from everyone in their life? More likely, they'll find some other interpretation and some other crowds, just to avoid such a horrible moment. It's a net loss for society.
It's harmful to non-believers, too. Leading questions like this trick you into answering on their terms. It's like asking if Barack Obama was really born in the United States. The very act of answering forces you to treat it like a real question, which plants the idea in your head that it is a real question. And the flip side, of course, is that refusing to answer gives the question legitimacy it doesn't deserve.
And finally, it's harmful to our news media. They demean themselves by reporting it, and that's a high price to pay for ratings.
It's becoming apparent that in today's superheated media, we're going to have to come up with a better way to stop people from making other people stupider. I just wish I knew what that was.
15.9.11
By any other name.
I finally saw a Rose today.
Not a rose, mind you. I've seen enough of those in parks and gardens, and floral arrangements. But until today, I've never seen what made a Rose so legendary.
This was not a flower, but a part of the wall itself. At its base, the stalk was as thick as an axehandle, and the thorns protruded everywhere, threatening passersby on one side, and digging into the ancient plaster on the other.
And yes, in the middle of these savage leaves, there were some very nice and fragrant blossoms.
And once again, the gap between worlds is revealed. The old world and the new world, but also the real world and the literary world. Metaphors about roses are redundant to the point of cliché, but it's not until I saw this rose today that I realised just how domesticated the roses were that I'd seen until now. There's nothing in those bushes at City Hall that can accurately represent beauty and power by themselves, without relying on hundreds of years of reputation. Not compared to the real thing, at any rate.
I must admit, it leaves me a little bit irked, in that way familiar to Generation X, told implicitly and continually by society that they'll never be as good. But in much the same manner, it lets one abandon such hopeless expectations, and set out on their own.
Mind you, there's still another set of expectations hindering me: this strange notion that things I plant in the ground will grow and be healthy. I'll have to put off my xeriscaping revolution until I get a handle on that.
Not a rose, mind you. I've seen enough of those in parks and gardens, and floral arrangements. But until today, I've never seen what made a Rose so legendary.
This was not a flower, but a part of the wall itself. At its base, the stalk was as thick as an axehandle, and the thorns protruded everywhere, threatening passersby on one side, and digging into the ancient plaster on the other.
And yes, in the middle of these savage leaves, there were some very nice and fragrant blossoms.
And once again, the gap between worlds is revealed. The old world and the new world, but also the real world and the literary world. Metaphors about roses are redundant to the point of cliché, but it's not until I saw this rose today that I realised just how domesticated the roses were that I'd seen until now. There's nothing in those bushes at City Hall that can accurately represent beauty and power by themselves, without relying on hundreds of years of reputation. Not compared to the real thing, at any rate.
I must admit, it leaves me a little bit irked, in that way familiar to Generation X, told implicitly and continually by society that they'll never be as good. But in much the same manner, it lets one abandon such hopeless expectations, and set out on their own.
Mind you, there's still another set of expectations hindering me: this strange notion that things I plant in the ground will grow and be healthy. I'll have to put off my xeriscaping revolution until I get a handle on that.
12.9.11
Zwielicht.
Jet lag might not be the debilitating affliction of comic proportions that I feared it would for this trip, but nonetheless it's 5AM, and I'm in a hotel room in Frankfurt. The twilight is fighting the morning, but already hues of orange can be counted among the colours visible in the dim light of the room. The battle is nearly over.
It's a modest hotel by most accounts - a room with a bed. A bathroom with a shower, which I always forget isn't modest as I think it is. What it lacks in opulence, it makes up for in a different sort of elegance. The minimalist design of the hallways gives even the room numbers a certain cheerfulness. The modern angles of the furniture would be reduced by chintz and ornamentation. The door to the balcony is marvelous in all the different ways the hinges conform to the desire of the user. Not even a full morning have I spent in this country, and already I'm relying upon the stereotypes. Efficiency.
There's a balcony barely large enough for a pigeon, overlooking the loading dock of the hotel. Directly across form the balcony in all directions are various apartment buildings, every one sporting a different style of architecture, none of which are any younger than forty years. Below our room, I can see the roof of another building, flat and topped with mosses, ferns, flowers, and chimneys. I can't quite see any access to this roof, nor can I see any pathways, by which someone might walk by those flowers. I suppose flowers have as much right to choose their location as mosses do.
The real charm of the hotel, though, is the location. Only a few blocks away is the Main River, the defining characteristic of the city, which has the full name of Frankfurt-am-Main. Cobblestones line the bank, walking paths are shaded by trees and lit by streetlights, and the skyline of the city is nestled peacefully behind the view of the trees.
And people I've talked to commonly say Frankfurt is one of their least favourite cities in Germany? It makes me wonder what's in store, because this trip was already worth it.
It's a modest hotel by most accounts - a room with a bed. A bathroom with a shower, which I always forget isn't modest as I think it is. What it lacks in opulence, it makes up for in a different sort of elegance. The minimalist design of the hallways gives even the room numbers a certain cheerfulness. The modern angles of the furniture would be reduced by chintz and ornamentation. The door to the balcony is marvelous in all the different ways the hinges conform to the desire of the user. Not even a full morning have I spent in this country, and already I'm relying upon the stereotypes. Efficiency.
There's a balcony barely large enough for a pigeon, overlooking the loading dock of the hotel. Directly across form the balcony in all directions are various apartment buildings, every one sporting a different style of architecture, none of which are any younger than forty years. Below our room, I can see the roof of another building, flat and topped with mosses, ferns, flowers, and chimneys. I can't quite see any access to this roof, nor can I see any pathways, by which someone might walk by those flowers. I suppose flowers have as much right to choose their location as mosses do.
The real charm of the hotel, though, is the location. Only a few blocks away is the Main River, the defining characteristic of the city, which has the full name of Frankfurt-am-Main. Cobblestones line the bank, walking paths are shaded by trees and lit by streetlights, and the skyline of the city is nestled peacefully behind the view of the trees.
And people I've talked to commonly say Frankfurt is one of their least favourite cities in Germany? It makes me wonder what's in store, because this trip was already worth it.
7.9.11
Bwah ha ha!
I believe I was whining on Google+ just a few weeks ago about how Marvel has loads and loads of Canadian superheroes, and DC has barely any. Then, I read the new "Justice League International", and I'm somewhat mollified by the fact that it could be worse. I'm continually wincing at how brutally forced it feels every time someone's nationality is referenced. Here's a direct quote from the first issue:
"As long as Russian sinew and glory are represented, I vote yes. Da!"
You'll notice that he says "yes" twice, but perhaps the writer thinks that "Da" is just something Russians add to the end of all their sentences, like Canadians and "Eh".
Which brings us back to my initial point...
Apparently, they've taken Booster Gold, a character who's been in the DC Universe 25 years (and who's always been a part of my favourite comics), and announced that he's a Canadian.
Whaaaaaat?!?
He doesn't have cold-based powers, he doesn't have a red-and-white costume, he doesn't wield a cosmic hockey stick... he's not half-French, he's not a Mountie, nor is he excessively apologetic.
And, he's got a distinct personality.
It's almost like they took a football-playing, overconfident, attention-starved, likable and laughable guy (who happened to be Canadian) and made him a superhero.
It's all too perfect! I'm not even sure how to describe this feeling... It's like a cool kid in high school just walked up to me and said that he likes playing Dungeons and Dragons, too. I can't believe how wonderful this news is, yet I'm still suspicious that something's going to go horribly wrong with this. I'm already regretting the mean things I thought about him when he was popular, and I'm newly terrified that this might backfire, and he too might become unpopular and blame it on me.
This development may embarrass me yet like "drunken Russian bear as they say in Russia, da." But until that happens, I'm going to be buying a new copy of Justice League International every month, poring over his dialogue looking for little acknowledgements, and hoping against hope the writing (for all characters) improves.
I'm sorry to admit that my fandom can be bought so easily, but this is one of the best moments of my comic-reading life.
(What makes it even better, though, is the fact that Booster Gold is a time traveler from the 35th century. That means that in the DC Universe, Canada will survive the next 1400 years. Honestly, that's better odds than some Canadians are willing to give!)
"As long as Russian sinew and glory are represented, I vote yes. Da!"
You'll notice that he says "yes" twice, but perhaps the writer thinks that "Da" is just something Russians add to the end of all their sentences, like Canadians and "Eh".
Which brings us back to my initial point...
Apparently, they've taken Booster Gold, a character who's been in the DC Universe 25 years (and who's always been a part of my favourite comics), and announced that he's a Canadian.
Whaaaaaat?!?
He doesn't have cold-based powers, he doesn't have a red-and-white costume, he doesn't wield a cosmic hockey stick... he's not half-French, he's not a Mountie, nor is he excessively apologetic.
And, he's got a distinct personality.
It's almost like they took a football-playing, overconfident, attention-starved, likable and laughable guy (who happened to be Canadian) and made him a superhero.
It's all too perfect! I'm not even sure how to describe this feeling... It's like a cool kid in high school just walked up to me and said that he likes playing Dungeons and Dragons, too. I can't believe how wonderful this news is, yet I'm still suspicious that something's going to go horribly wrong with this. I'm already regretting the mean things I thought about him when he was popular, and I'm newly terrified that this might backfire, and he too might become unpopular and blame it on me.
This development may embarrass me yet like "drunken Russian bear as they say in Russia, da." But until that happens, I'm going to be buying a new copy of Justice League International every month, poring over his dialogue looking for little acknowledgements, and hoping against hope the writing (for all characters) improves.
I'm sorry to admit that my fandom can be bought so easily, but this is one of the best moments of my comic-reading life.
(What makes it even better, though, is the fact that Booster Gold is a time traveler from the 35th century. That means that in the DC Universe, Canada will survive the next 1400 years. Honestly, that's better odds than some Canadians are willing to give!)
1.9.11
Staying Power.
It was another poetry meeting tonight, and I think I managed to hold my own. Today's poem is inspired partially by my last blog post, actually: "Words That Stay" is still resonating with me, and encouraged me to try getting a bit fancier in my philosophizing about paper. I really like "rubber scars" when talking about eraser marks, even if the phrase "don't hide any lies" is a bit clunky.
But hey - if I can like two words in an eighteen-line poem, I'm probably doing better than most poets. : )
But hey - if I can like two words in an eighteen-line poem, I'm probably doing better than most poets. : )
A split down the spine and two volumes are born
multiplication from division
another clean canvas with every leaf torn
previous chapters are forgiven
pore over the pages left scattered behind
evidence of an early edition
the scars of rubber don't hide any lies
subtraction now becomes addition
The threatening cast of a permanent record
clouds over confidence and heightens the risk
feed its existence into a shredder
end its reality, set it adrift
at the cellular level a problem is found
the grain is a network of splinters and chips
the might of a forest, internally bound
shredders will choke, they will jam, they will spit.
It's a curse and a blessing for novels and plays:
The essence of writing is words that will stay.
26.8.11
Words that stay.
Man, if I'd posted my thoughts on Apple last week like I originally planned, I would have been on the cutting edge of tech punditry. Ah, well.
A few weeks ago, I read an article explaining why we might not be seeing any new products from Apple. It's a good argument, and mercifully free of the life-without-Steve-Jobs rhetoric that's filled your news for the last few days.
Here's a key idea from that article:
It's Lesson #2 of economics: find a niche and fill it. Is there anything that sucks today, something that's been crying out for a solution for so long that we can barely notice it anymore?
My initial response would be printers. They jam, they dry out, they disappear from the network, they jam, they insist on running their own proprietary software, they jam, they require at least a few re-alignments every time you want to print in a different format, and they jam. Also, they're bulky, and since they have to at least be the size of their paper tray, they're never going to take up a smaller footprint. Printers, simply put, are awful.
But building a better printer isn't going to solve the problem. People have been building better printers for decades, and it hasn't helped so far. That's because the problem is one of a slightly larger scope: it's not printers, it's paper itself. People have held up "the paperless office" as an ideal for as long as computers have been around, and it hasn't happened yet.
But it's true: office paper sucks as much as office printers do. Ask anyone who's ever moved - nothing is denser than a box of papers. Three-ring binders break down, desks get buried, filing cabinets overflow with ancient folders that will never be needed -- and that's on top of the problems with printers. And perhaps the worst thing about paper is that it's cheap. If your signature isn't as nice as you'd like, print out another form and re-sign it. If there are eight people at your meeting, print out eight copies of the minutes. If you want to read a .pdf away from your desk, you hit the print button before checking how many pages it is. This is more than just wasteful behaviour; it's behaviour that makes paper so ubiquitous that it becomes harder and harder to imagine its removal from the workplace. And just as importantly, our predisposition to treat paper as a cheap resource means that we continually push our printers more than necessary, and that we notice is more acutely when the overworked printers break down. That's why building a better printer isn't the answer.
So how do we replace it? Why hasn't it caught on in the past? What are the strengths of paper?
One strength of paper is, of course, the same weakness I already mentioned: it's cheap. You can give a paper to someone else without a second thought. The fact that this is a strength is particularly frustrating, since electronic documents are even cheaper -- virtually free. However, they still require time to transfer. You can e-mail attachments, or transfer USB drives, or place files on shared network directories, but it's still not as seamless as it could be.
Another bug that became a feature is that all writing is additive. When notes are made on a printout, it's instantly obvious what's the original document, and what's a side comment. There are ways to record version histories and append notes for a file, but there's still a way to go before electronic edits are as transparent as they are on paper.
But I think the best answer to that is found in "The Dark Crystal". Kira asks Jin at one point what writing is. He replies, "words that stay". Not only does paper have permanence, but it's a homogenous permanence. Tear a page in half, and both halves still function. Some meaning might be lost, but they still serve as proof that the whole page existed at some point. One of the reasons we need paper has nothing to do with the information on it, but simply the proof that the information exists.
In other words, receipts and records. If you buy a vacuum cleaner with cash, you have to prove you bought it if you need warranty repairs. (On a slightly more insidious note, that might be a reason some business will insist paper -- because it's *less* convenient than a modern alternative.) Tax records are another issue - in the event of an audit, proving the existence of your deductible claim isn't yet (to the best of my knowledge) manageable through electronic records.
So, there's the challenge. Find a legally admissible way to safely record the purchase of a vacuum cleaner, paid for in cash. Then, find a way to convince either customers, vendors, or financial institutions that your system should be adopted. It's a big challenge, but I think that a future without people printing out every page of their Powerpoint presentations is one worth fighting for.
A few weeks ago, I read an article explaining why we might not be seeing any new products from Apple. It's a good argument, and mercifully free of the life-without-Steve-Jobs rhetoric that's filled your news for the last few days.
Here's a key idea from that article:
Apparently Apple noticed in 1997 that nearly all the ways that people consumed content sucked. Hard.
It's Lesson #2 of economics: find a niche and fill it. Is there anything that sucks today, something that's been crying out for a solution for so long that we can barely notice it anymore?
My initial response would be printers. They jam, they dry out, they disappear from the network, they jam, they insist on running their own proprietary software, they jam, they require at least a few re-alignments every time you want to print in a different format, and they jam. Also, they're bulky, and since they have to at least be the size of their paper tray, they're never going to take up a smaller footprint. Printers, simply put, are awful.
But building a better printer isn't going to solve the problem. People have been building better printers for decades, and it hasn't helped so far. That's because the problem is one of a slightly larger scope: it's not printers, it's paper itself. People have held up "the paperless office" as an ideal for as long as computers have been around, and it hasn't happened yet.
But it's true: office paper sucks as much as office printers do. Ask anyone who's ever moved - nothing is denser than a box of papers. Three-ring binders break down, desks get buried, filing cabinets overflow with ancient folders that will never be needed -- and that's on top of the problems with printers. And perhaps the worst thing about paper is that it's cheap. If your signature isn't as nice as you'd like, print out another form and re-sign it. If there are eight people at your meeting, print out eight copies of the minutes. If you want to read a .pdf away from your desk, you hit the print button before checking how many pages it is. This is more than just wasteful behaviour; it's behaviour that makes paper so ubiquitous that it becomes harder and harder to imagine its removal from the workplace. And just as importantly, our predisposition to treat paper as a cheap resource means that we continually push our printers more than necessary, and that we notice is more acutely when the overworked printers break down. That's why building a better printer isn't the answer.
So how do we replace it? Why hasn't it caught on in the past? What are the strengths of paper?
One strength of paper is, of course, the same weakness I already mentioned: it's cheap. You can give a paper to someone else without a second thought. The fact that this is a strength is particularly frustrating, since electronic documents are even cheaper -- virtually free. However, they still require time to transfer. You can e-mail attachments, or transfer USB drives, or place files on shared network directories, but it's still not as seamless as it could be.
Another bug that became a feature is that all writing is additive. When notes are made on a printout, it's instantly obvious what's the original document, and what's a side comment. There are ways to record version histories and append notes for a file, but there's still a way to go before electronic edits are as transparent as they are on paper.
But I think the best answer to that is found in "The Dark Crystal". Kira asks Jin at one point what writing is. He replies, "words that stay". Not only does paper have permanence, but it's a homogenous permanence. Tear a page in half, and both halves still function. Some meaning might be lost, but they still serve as proof that the whole page existed at some point. One of the reasons we need paper has nothing to do with the information on it, but simply the proof that the information exists.
In other words, receipts and records. If you buy a vacuum cleaner with cash, you have to prove you bought it if you need warranty repairs. (On a slightly more insidious note, that might be a reason some business will insist paper -- because it's *less* convenient than a modern alternative.) Tax records are another issue - in the event of an audit, proving the existence of your deductible claim isn't yet (to the best of my knowledge) manageable through electronic records.
So, there's the challenge. Find a legally admissible way to safely record the purchase of a vacuum cleaner, paid for in cash. Then, find a way to convince either customers, vendors, or financial institutions that your system should be adopted. It's a big challenge, but I think that a future without people printing out every page of their Powerpoint presentations is one worth fighting for.
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About The Author
- Denton
- Hi. I'm a scientist-poet living on the Canadian Prairies. A job like that requires a lot of paperwork, and this blog is how I fill out half of it.
