Thursday, February 21, 2008

albatross

In my home office I have four cardboard boxes packed tight with books. Ninety-percent of them are related to programming: languages, frameworks, best practices, and so on. Some of them are life-changing tomes (Design and Evolution of C++ and Effective C++, to name a few) while others are glorified API documentation, but all have one thing in common: they have not been opened in over four years. The Internet has made them irrelevant.

I still appreciate physical books - the remaining ten percent of my books are focused on consitutional law and American history, and it would not have been nearly as enjoyable to read them had they been e-books[1]. But the fact that I these extracurricular books are packed away just as tightly as their technology counterparts makes it clear that I have little use for books even when they provide content that isn't available on the Internet; the additional books that I've collected since my last move now sit on top of the boxes and will likely be packed away one weekend when I happen to have an extra cardboard box. Having contemplated this situation for a couple of days, I eventually found enlightenment in an old episode of Seinfeld:
Jerry: So that's it? You're out?

George: Except for one small problem. I left some books in her apartment.

Jerry: So, go get them.

George: Oh, no. No, I can't go back there. Jerry, it's so awkward and, you know, it could be dangerous... sexually. Something could happen, I'd be right back where I started.

Jerry: So forget about the books. Did you read them?

George: Well, yeah.

Jerry: What do you need them for?

George: I don't know. They're books.

Jerry: What is this obsession people have with books? They put them in their houses like they're trophies. What do you need it for after you've read it?
The books that I own were indispensable during my college years. They drenched my insatiable thirst for knowledge and helped me create the kind of software that was being churned out by real programmers, not just the toy projects that we got for homework. Each semester I would buy my textbooks early, read them, and then spend the rest of the semester learning about the things that weren't covered by RPI's curriculum but seemed really exciting, eventually putting those things to work in side projects that I never seemed to finish. This has led to a situation where all of my books are filled with knowledge that could be considered the foundation of my career or tragically antiquated[2]; either way, these books are just trophies that represent my ability to learn the basic skills required of a professional programmer. All of the new and advanced skills that I use in my day job have been gleaned from the countless tutorials and source code repositories scattered across the Internet.

And they're heavy trophies. When I look back on the last three or four moves I've made, the heaviest and most cumbersome thing to move was always my book collection. It's a chronic back problem waiting to happen, and now that I'm approaching my late twenties, I have to consider these things. The only reason I've looked through my books post-graduation was to find and ship two of them to a friend who was unfortunate enough to be working on a project full of old Win32 code.

Is that what my book collection has become? A used book depository for the handful of programmers that I know? It all seems so wasteful[3]. I think the time has come to get rid of my book collection; as anyone who has visited my past apartments will tell you, I've always been kind of a minimalist, and these books are doing more harm than good here in my office. I will try to give them away to college students and other aspiring programmers, but I have a feeling that many of them will go unclaimed, doomed to the recyling bin.

Of course, I don't think it will matter if I toss all of my books and then forget the ins and outs of the Win32 thread API, but it will matter if I can't articulate why I vote the way that I do or learn from past mistakes; for this reason, the lessons of American history will still have a physical presence in my life. So long as they fit in one box.

[1] I'm not saying that e-books are bad or that they will never be popular - they're just not my cup of tea.

[2] It's sad to look back on all of the books that I had to read just to realize that MFC was a disaster.

[3] And heavy - did I mention that?

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Tuesday, July 17, 2007

reasonable

Sun CEO Jonathan Schwartz has posted a commentary on the behavior of corporate bloggers, and everyone should read it. Plenty of A-List bloggers and technical leaders have posted their thoughts on effective blogging ad nauseum, but Jonathan's post touches on an area that still leaves many corporations confused and afraid: personal responsibility.

I think the matter of personal responsibility is much simpler than most corporations make it out to be: you wouldn't spill corporate secrets in a crowded bar or insult a competitor at a professional conference, so why would you do these things in a blog or forum? Usually when people get themselves into trouble it's because they've decided to say unsavory things over the Internet despite the fact that their online persona is tied heavily to their job; for some reason, these people believe the Internet is still some magical playground that only geeks know about, a place where they can post clammy, mustard-stained rants without ever being held accountable for their words. This may be true if you're using an online persona like joecool997 and writing on your MySpace blog, but the minute you start using your real name and real background data, you should realize that anything you write can and will be associated with you later on. Just like in real life!

When we were about to go live with Zero, a number of IBMers who had not previously engaged any open source communities expressed concern over what would happen if one of them said The Wrong Thing on our forum. Again, this seems to be a pervasive feeling throughout big corporations, but when you apply common sense to the situation, the paranoia starts to cool off. It's not as though our employees were going to turn into misogynistic hatemongers with Tourette's just because we flipped the switch and opened Zero to the public; in fact, their forum posts are exactly the same as if the site was still internal. There are rare exceptions in the case of IBM confidential material, but for the most part it's just a discussion between people, some of whom are IBMers and some of whom are not. The rules of reasonable discussion are the same for both sets of humans.

Anyway.

Using common sense during public discourse is not a unique suggestion. What is unique is Jonathan's last paragraph, where he predicts a shift in the way people refer to bloggers or blogging:
But I'd love it if we one day eliminated the term "blogging" from the web lexicon (and that we stopped pursuing "CEO's who blog."). CEO's who have cell phones aren't "cell-phoners," those who have email accounts arent "emailers," those who give interviews on television aren't "TV'ers" - they're all leaders using technology to communicate.
This is a fantastic point. An aside from the populist, feel-good nature of his explanation, removing blogging from the lexicon would also free us from one of the ugliest and cringe-inducing words ever added to the English language. I hate this word, and it bothers me that I've relented and used it in my own posts.

blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog

Terrible word. Just terrible.

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