Mark, Steve and Bill
Reply

I finally got to watching The Social Network. It’s fun, though I think it focuses too much on the precious “idea”. The film itself even notes that Facebook-alikes existed at the time: myspace, friendster et al. The idea was far from unique.

What I’ve always respected from Facebook is that they went against the grain of thinking at the time. We’d tell clients that their users would never give up their personal details without the promise of something in return. Facebook proved us wrong – people would (and still do) happily surrender every tiny detail of their life into a website, for no good reason.

Ok, so the film focussed on the legal issues (though didn’t even touch on the privacy issues), and apparently a “legal thriller” is a legitimate film genre. The film ends just as Facebook is taking off.

Facebook’s river of success has many tributaries. The film shows how single-minded and hard working you have to be to run this sort of site – that’s important. Despite the programmer’s bravado, “I built this in a week”, we lie – successful websites require an inordinate amount of everyday work and attention to detail.

For every project I’ve ever worked on, I can look back at the core concept, the basic code at the heart of the system, and yes, that probably took a solid week of coding. It’s just the finishing touches that took the other 18 months.

Facebook’s story is also one of constant reinvention. We had the exclusive-members-club mentioned in the film, before becoming the stalker’s handbook, and then an email replacement. When they launched Apps, the world woke up. There were pirates, pokes, vampires, and all sorts. Google felt the need to launch OpenSocial to compete. Little widget apps were the future. Until Facebook decided the idea was tired, and they killed it. Suddenly the apps were hidden out of reach. Boom. And now, the timeline, the canvas, the ticker. Facebook is all about reinvention.

Speaking of which, I’ve also recently finished Steve Jobs’s official biography. For anyone who hasn’t done that yet, it turns out Jobs was an absolute arse. A complete tit. Such a pitiful waste of human life that just treated friends, family and everyone else like shit.

Until he returned to Apple, Jobs didn’t even make good business decisions. However, when he did come back, he started a massive overhaul of the company. Any every aspect of that revolution made perfect business sense.

He slimmed the range of products to something humans could comprehend. He recognised the importance of the tiny disc drive that would power the iPod, then bet the company on it. He bought a touchscreen company, then didn’t release a shitty tablet. He made the iPhone. He made products both cheap and profitable. He trusted Tim Cook. He trusted Jony Ive.

He built Pixar.

What the book doesn’t properly explain is how such a pathetic excuse for a human being could have been such a business genius, when business is often about relationships. I suspect the book is about as accurate as the Facebook film.

One person who comes across well in the book is Bill Gates. He comes across smarter, more friendly. He understands that clients wanted compatibility, and built a computer industry out of it. His only vice seems to be saying yes too often, and that’s why Windows and Office became overly complex bloatware, that have struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of online development.

Gates actually has a cameo in the Facebook film, failing to inspire a young Zuck.

Zuckerberg, Gates and Jobs. All young billionaires. but none of them lottery winners. Their core stories involve a solid education, a massive dedication to hard work (usually at the expense of personal relationships), and constant reinvention.

Now Facebook has IPO’ed, I look forward to seeing if Zuckerberg will stagnate like Gates, or simply push harder, like Jobs. And if he did push on, what would he do next?

Kindle
Reply

The Kindle is an interesting device.

I’ve had mine for a couple of years now, and I’m still happy with it. It’s everything I expected. What surprised me though, was the way it changed how I read books.

I’m not a great browser, I’ll be honest. For the nerds out there, I’d say I was the IE6 of book browsing. I tend to stick with authors I know. In a bookshop, I’ll check for the location of the Pratchetts and Palahniuks, knowing full well that I already own them all. And then I’ll cast my eye disparagingly at all the other books, and walk out.

On the Kindle it’s actually even harder. The books store simply says: Fiction (100000). Great. Thanks.

So you look up the authors you know. Maybe something, maybe nothing. Ok. What now? I look around the bus. Obviously I’m on a bus on the way to work, that’s the only chance I get to read. Unlike before, I have no idea what all the Kindle and iPad owners are reading. Bugger.

Amazon have created a chart, so I can see what the nation as a whole is reading, but I can’t get a feel for the vibe on the bus. Remember that year when everyone was reading Da Vinci code? I want that.

Maybe there could be a little screen on the back with the book title. Or maybe they should have Bluetooth, and let you sample nearby readers’ libraries.

So I found myself just flicking through the charts and I found … Asimov. I have never read Asimov. Science fiction as a whole puts me off, simply by the thickness of the volumes involved. But on a Kindle, that’s not so scary. I don’t have a heavy book, and I don’t feel like I’m embarking on another Lord of the Rings.

Before I realise it, I’m almost done with Asimov. What should I read next? War and Peace? Shakespeare’s complete works? Harry Potter?

The size doesn’t bother me. The covers aren’t off-putting, and I can even read the Pornographer’s Diaries (Danny King is a favourite author) without embarrassment. The world is my oyster.

Temptation
Reply

In my mind of minds, I’m trying to talk myself into buying a Windows Phone. I know that sounds odd, but sometimes I like to get something a little different. After all, I bought the Nokia 7380, a phone with no keyboard of any kind, and in bright sunshine, no screen either.

So I’m tempted. It looks really slick.

There’s just a few things bothering me. Please bear in mind that I have done no active research. I go by twitter chit chat, billboards and window displays. I don’t watch cable tv or look at banner ads.

I’m worried about essential apps. Will gmail work? I’m not switching to hotmail. How about twitter, facebook, über, zipcar, sonos? I don’t hear people raving about windows phone clients.

I mean, I don’t need everything. Just those essentials..

Contract. The phone is cheaper, granted, but I think they’re still pushing me into a contract. But what if it’s a turkey? I don’t want to be stuck with the same turkey for two Christmases.

You know how cool it is to watch movies on your four inch phone? Honestly? It’s rubbish. Rubbish. So how about you throw me a smaller, sexier phone that fits in my pocket? Get freaky on me. I think your styles can handle it. I won’t watch more than YouTube videos of cats anyway.

Finally, my android phone. Everything about it is annoying me now. I’ve got a Nexus One, and I’m so over it. Every time I dock it, I curse the stupid delay, the lack of notifiers on the screensaver, the fact that I can’t differentiate ringtones between my wife’s urgent call and the bastard automated calls. That damnable lock screen. I hate this phone.

Ok, this is irrational, because the phone is fine, and I’m just tired of the quirks. Understood.

But to every one of those points, I look to the iPhone and sigh. How much better will life be when I have an iPhone? Maybe I just can’t possibly bear to buy anything else.

So to Microsoft/Nokia I say: reassure me. Give me billboards, give me window displays. I’m ready to take the jump.

Promise me it’ll be ok.

How to visit a friend with a baby
2

Until recently, I didn’t have much experience with babies. Even when I knew it was coming, I still stayed away from friends with babies, because I felt I wouldn’t know what to do. I was sure that when I had my own, I’d figure it out.

This is true. You do figure it out.

But, hey, it might be that you’re visiting a friend with a baby (like us for example, please come and visit), and you haven’t had your own sprog yet. How do you behave? Here is a handy guide.

Say hello to mum. If not first, then at least second. It’s easy to forget, what with the baby.

Wash your hands before touching the baby. Golden rule, no exceptions.

Don’t take the baby. Ask, if you want a hold. But not straight away. Let the baby get used to you. Babies have a phase called “stranger anxiety”. If the baby screams at you, back off and give it time.

If the baby cries, keep clear. This can be a stressful time for the parents, especially with a guest present. Don’t hover, don’t help, just stand back and amuse yourself. Maybe take a walk.

Don’t get all up in the baby’s face. You don’t shove your face into every strangers nose. He can see you. There’s really no need to be less than an inch away.

If you find yourself in the kitchen, tidy up and wash up. Observe the local practises (there may be equipment just for baby stuff). Try to find yourself in the kitchen regularly.

Finally, here’s the best point of all. It’s the best. The winner.
“How can I help?”
Simple question. Ask it often.

We parents will thank you for following these rules. If not out loud (we’re busy), then in spirit.

We thank you.

I miss running
Reply

I haven’t been running for a long time – since my baby was born. There’s just not enough time and energy for it these days. We wake up for the second or third time that night at about six am, pull the little one out of bed and try to soothe as best we can. By the time we’re all fed and watered, it’s about 8.30 and I’m rushing to the bus stop.

I don’t really miss the long run to work though. It’s a slow four miles along the coast, avoiding traffic lights and the famous San Franciscan hills. I just jog at a steady pace. The distance isn’t hard, just the boredom. Long distance running is pretty dull – you have to have a lot on your mind to be able to run without getting really bored.

It’s running fast that’s more fun.
Not a run, not full speed even.
I mean a full-on sprint.

That extra burst of energy you throw in when you’re already going full speed. When your arms are pumping as hard as your legs, reaching out to claw the air closer. When the skin on your face starts moving against the bone. When you shift your weight down and back, so your feet can make maximum contact with the ground, but it’s still not enough. When you forget about breathing because it’s just another distraction. When every muscle in your body is working maximum power, maximum speed, just to propel you forward.

That’s the kind of running I miss.

Space is really boring
Reply

I’m planning to live for about 80 years.
In that time, the Earth will orbit the Sun 80 times.

In turn, the Sun will orbit the centre of the Milky Way (our galaxy).
This will take 230,000,000 years.
About three million lifetimes. Nine million generations.
In the entire history of modern man, we’ve barely started an orbit.

Our galaxy doesn’t orbit anything. But then, the Universe is only 13,700,000,000 years old. Maybe we just haven’t had a chance to get started.

The atoms in our bodies are elements that can only be created in supernovae – exploding stars. Going by the quantities we have available, we’ve probably been through two supernovae.

Hot gas gathers into a ball of fire, nuclear explosion, drifts apart, gathers into clouds, collects into ball of fire, nuclear explosion, drifts apart, gathers into clouds, collects into ball of fire. Our solar system.

Our sun is about 5,000,000,000 years old. The previous stars from which we’re made were bigger, and the universe was smaller and hotter, so they didn’t last as long. We can last another 5,000,000,000 years before we have to start looking for a new one. Our sun won’t explode – it will just fizzle out.

The heavens move, but our lifetimes are just a beat of the hummingbird’s wing.

Our nearest neighbour is 4 light years away. Not so far, at the speed of light. Of course, we can’t travel at the speed of light. We can mathematically prove that we’ll never be able to come close. One light year is 6,000,000,000,000 miles.

The stars are unreachable.

Despite all our advances in science and technology over the last century, it still takes an immense amount of power to lift anything into orbit. And mere words can’t convey the scale of the power required. These are the biggest machines mankind has ever created. They burn simple chemical fuels; no atomic power is used.

The problem of getting into orbit is still an engineering challenge, not a scientific challenge.

From orbit, where can we go? The moon is nearby, for want of a better word. It’s a rock.

Venus and mercury burn so hot, they’re unapproachable. Mars is an arid desert. We can no more populate that than we can the heart of the Sahara.

The gas giants are so distant that they’d take years to reach, and are incredibly dangerous. Jupiter’s magnetic field is so huge that it’s tearing the moons apart. The winds of Saturn orbit once every ten hours – that’s thousands of miles an hour,

There is nowhere for us to go.

Space is a beautiful, fascinating light show, forever beyond our reach.
Tragically boring.

–

If you’re interested in space, you should sponsor my friend Chris’s project for Astronomers Without Borders: reach for the stars.

What is the problem you’re trying to solve?
Reply

This is about the most useful question in engineering. I ask it a lot.
“how do I get to this private method?”
“hmm, you shouldn’t really do that. What is the problem you’re trying to solve?”
“I’m trying to find the tweet id”
“oh that’s easy, we have a method for that…”

I think it’s a common question at Apple too.
Their UI design is full of it.

Sometimes for the good:
“how do I get rid of this virus?”
“virus? why do you have a virus?”
“I downloaded this software…”
“ah, let me build you an app store”

Sometimes for the bad:
“why doesn’t this green button work?”
“what is the problem you’re trying to solve?”
“I want to maximise the window”
“ah, let me build you Spaces, a whole new way to…”
“just make the fucking button work”

Icebreaker
1

This was my first ToastMasters speech at Twitter. I ran over time a bit – I took 20 seconds over my limit of 7 minutes, and would’ve liked to have gone on a bit longer. I ad-libbed a fair bit. It was good fun. Not sure what to talk about for the next one.

—

Hello.

This is my icebreaker, so I get the chance to introduce myself.

My name is Kenneth Kufluk. I am one hundred and five years old, and Dick Costolo hasn’t spoken to me in six months.

But let me start with the name…

My surname is Kufluk, something I’ve always had trouble with. It’s unusual, even in Poland, where it came from. At school I’d get endless taunts of “toughluck kufluk”, and all sorts of mispronounciations.
One person says “Kufluk”, the next says “Kuflux”, the next says “Kooflux”.
For five years of high school, I had half the school laughing at me for being called “Cuthbert”.
But it’s Kufluk. It’s always been Kufluk.

Or so I thought.
Last year I published by Grandparent’s memoirs, and right there, buried in his stories of soviet invasion, cattle trucks and labour camps, and all the horrors of those times, he says that it was originally pronounced “Kooflook”. So now we know. I still prefer Kufluk, but I’m more relaxed about it now.

There’s nothing relaxed about my first name. It’s Kenneth. Nobody calls me Ken. Or at least, not twice.

I’ve been Kenneth my whole life, from when I was born until my 105th birthday this year.

Now I know what you’re thinking. 105? Is that his real hair? What’s his secret?
Well, yes, the hair is real. But there’s a story.

About six years ago I was a different man. Young, full of energy.
I’d been round the world twice.
I’d played in unicycle hockey world championships in japan, china and switzerland.
I’d sprint any distance.
I’d be out every night at the bar, picking up … well, picking up pints of beer, if I’m honest.
I’d actually been described as “a coiled spring”.

And then one summer, I found myself waking up at night with pain in my legs. I’d just walk it off and go back to bed. I assumed it was too much running.
But then it got worse.
Before long, a three block walk to the shops felt like miles. I’d come home and lie face-down on the bed, not asleep, but just exhausted.
No more running.
I’d find myself stopping on the way home from work, unable to go any further, but unable to think of any other way to get home.
This was chronic fatigue, something my “pull yourself together” upbringing had never really believed in.

Life got really hard.
I cancelled my first marathon, gave up on buying a house, and postponed my part-time degree.
But I still went to work.

And that was difficult too – not for exhaustion, but the constant questions “what did you do last night”, “how was your weekend”. I was face-down in bed at home, thanks for asking.

Little by little, month by month, I got better.
I learned to push through it.
Sometimes it got worse again, but overall I improved.

By the following year, I could get around.
I found that running was somehow easier than walking, and much easier than standing around.
So I entered the marathon again.

It was 26 miles of hard work. But I used what I’d learned – that you can push through exhaustion.
And I finished.
And I bought that house, finished that degree, and even proposed to my girlfriend.
But somewhere I’d still lost about a third of my life.

Five years on, and I’m cured. I still don’t like standing up for long stretches, or walking a long way. It’s like someone has turned up the gravity.
Some days are better than others. But I’m ok.
I’d say it’s made me feel about five years older.

Which, ok, only makes me about 40.
The real reason I feel 105 is because I have a six month old baby, which means I haven’t slept properly for, oh, about a year.

And why hasn’t Dick spoken to me?
Well, maybe it’s because I named my baby [REACTED].

Or maybe it’s because we’ve never actually really met.
One of those. I’ll never be sure.

Step lightly
Reply

At the centre of my childhood home was a staircase. Not one of the elaborate kind, just a brown, carpet-covered, twelve step staircase, with a hallway on each end.

We’d play on it for hours. Jumping off higher and higher points. My older brother could leap the entire distance – I don’t think I ever managed that. We’d slide down face-first, face-down, we’d vault the bannisters.

My father taught me two valuable lessons. One, he said I should climb the stairs in twos. I’m not sure why this was important, but I’ve done this ever since. From a couple of steps run-up, I can easily fly up in twos, threes, or even fours.

I take the London Underground escalator in twos as well, enjoying that satisfying moment of airtime the additional speed of the escalator gives you when you hit the peak.

The other lesson was that you should tread lightly. Even when hitting the stairs to climb four in one go, your step should be virtually undetectable. I can imagine why he thought this important (probably not the noise, actually, he was always just worried about us destroying his house).

I love moving without making a sound. To this day, I take my shoes off at the door, and move soundlessly around my apartment in socks. I avoid the squeaky floorboards. I step with the ball of my foot first. My heel touches the ground, but doesn’t take my weight.

Try it now, it’s actually quite fun. And harder than you’d think.

You have to walk confidently – no tiptoeing around the place. Learn your floorboards, your squeaky steps, and like an obsessive-compulsive approaching a crack, you go around.

I do the same outside the house. My shoes are Nike Frees. Maximum comfort, minimum noise. It’s a different walk, the placement of your foot is quite different. I stroll silently around the office, while others rattle the furniture as they stomp past.

Of course, it’s not without problems. At home, I scare the living daylights out of my wife on a regular basis. I now have to announce my presence as I approach: “I’m about to come into the kitchen”, “coming around the corner now”. I wonder what our neighbours think of it.

It’s harmless fun, I enjoy it, and it makes me more of a ninja than all you JavaScripters out there.

2011: This year I have…
Reply

My annual End of Year update. See previous years: 2010, 2009 and 2008.

Last year I said I’d:

  • Run another marathon.
  • Write some more.
  • Enjoy my new job and life in SF.

Well, I’ll score that a two out of three. Yes, I ran the marathon, but I stopped halfway (oh, the hills!); I didn’t really blog any more; but yes I enjoyed life in SF. Sometimes life makes things difficult, but my amazing wife and I got through it together.

We started the year in an empty apartment, sleeping on the floor, not knowing anyone in the city. By the end, I feel we’ve settled in and started to make friends.

This year I have: Continue reading →