Attack of the Blog!

Recently it came to my attention that many people think that as long as they don’t comment, purchase anything, or actively participate on a web page, they leave nothing behind. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. When you pick up a book, you leave fingerprints on the page. When you walk through the woods, you leave footprints in the earth. When you visit a web page, you leave data behind.

Not all sites track data, but most do in some form. Measuring web traffic is critical from the bandwidth and billing side of the Web, and it’s also important for people running sites to know who’s visiting and why. Before this creeps the lay Web user out too much, think of it this way: when you walk into a department store, you hear a “ding dong” as an electronic counter logs your presence. Shopkeepers want to know which are the busy days, or if changing a window display encouraged more purchases. That’s helpful data that helps the show owner and the customer get what they want.

Likewise, when your IP address is logged and tracked, it’s usually not because anybody cares at all about who you are on a personal level. But Amazon wants to know which page layout sells you things more efficiently, and the DMV wants to know the best ways to make useful information inaccessible. Bloggers want to know how to ban spammers peddling fake Viagra and Xanax.

So there’s no cause for paranoia, but be aware when you surf. I can see you. Yes, you. Luckily for you, I don’t pay any attention to metrics unless I find something unusual, malicious, or inappropriate going on. This is a tiny little site on the geeky outer rim of the blogosphere. But that don’t mean there ain’t riff-raff who ain’t welcome here, and I’m not above banning IP addresses if it’s warranted. Most web users are responsible and conscientious, so you’re just another ding-dong as far as I’m concerned. Wait, that came out wrong.

The point is that there’s still a long way to go for the general public in understanding that the Web is a dynamic, two-way, interactive portal, not some kind of static source of pages that are simply read and not responded to. Some people want to exist in the online realm with utter privacy, but this just can’t be. Not only is it technically impossible, but it’s not desirable. Total anonymity also means total lack of responsibility.

The price of entering a public realm such as a city sidewalk is that people can see what you do. The Internet is no different. But before that creeps you out or ruffles your feathers, realize that nobody is going to care as long as you’re behaving yourself. In a public shop, you don’t bother paying attention to the person next to you, unless they happen to be buying a particularly egregious blouse, carrying a screaming brat, or shoplifting. The Internet is no different; it’s merely another realm of the public sphere. So mind your manners, and don’t be surprised when you leave footprints along the path you walk.

Well, in case anybody needs some crappy, ripped-off 3d models, I give you daz3d. These guys are the digital equivalent of a shady looking dude in a trench coat selling “genuine rolexes.” If you just want a knock-off that looks okay (provided nobody looks too close!) and don’t care if it breaks, go for it! It’s your money.

Oh sure, if you report a violation they might decide to remove it, but the fact that their forums require a login helps them hide the fact that they offer infringing artwork in the first place.

If you’re a hardworking CG artist or studio who doesn’t appreciate opportunistic bastards stealing your ideas and selling them at Wal-Mart prices, check their site out and get a copyright lawyer if you find anything that’s yours. If you just find this behavior reprehensible, feel free to let them know:

DAZ Productions, Inc.
12637 South 265 West #300, Draper, UT 84020
(here’s a map in case you want to drop by in person)
800-267-5170
801-495-1777

I’ve been doing some spring cleaning, doing the annual cull of worn-out sweaters, unused trinkets, and crafts that will never be completed to relieve the burden on my all-too-small storage space. I came across a box of old electronics — power sources for obsolete devices, computer speakers the size of bricks . . . and a whole bunch of CDs that I haven’t listened to in a long time. I had the moment of fond nostalgia for the time when sweeping displays of vinyl, then cassettes, then CDs were a status symbol. The time when a weighty CaseLogic in the back seat of your car offered your passengers the chance to be their own jukebox and get a glimpse into your soul. Ah, the bygone age. With the rise of MP3s, physical media have lost a lot of their value and importance. Where CDs used to proudly sit on display in impressive tower racks, they now collect dust in closets.

Ah, well. Out with the old, in with the new. I won’t completely dump my physical collection of CDs until I get a car stereo that can plug into my MP3 player. But in the meantime, I can rip the CDs in the massive bible of Alternative Rock I unearthed and relive the glory days. It was fun lifting out my lovingly cared-for copy of Ten by Pearl Jam and recalling all that it meant as my first CD ever. (After all, it was bought back when you could scratch a CD just by looking at it funny!) Especially pleasant was the memory of making mixed tapes for friends, and remembering exactly which songs held which significance. I tried to explain this to a pre-teen human I know, and just got a strange stare.

Damn kids. They don’t appreciate anything anymore.

The art of creating a mix tape of songs is forever lost. That makes me a little sad; it was such a short-lived, yet skillful craft that allowed you to convey a brilliant range of emotion. There were tight constraints on the form; thirty minutes to a side (if you were very lucky), which meant you had to carefully calculate as you held down “play” and “record” at the same time. I recall timing blank space between songs down to the millisecond to be sure that I’d be able to fit as much music as possible on that gold-labeled Memorex. After all, few things were more annoying than having to fast forward through blank tape before it flipped over.

But it wasn’t just maximizing play time that mattered. Choosing just the right songs was really what it came down to. No matter what the message you were trying to convey — cheer up, I like you like you, I miss you, take me back — it was a handcrafted valentine that took time and effort. Now there’s software that does all the work, and 700 megabytes is an awful lot of breathing room, especially if you burn MP3s. The compilation CD conveys none of the loving, handmade feel of the lowly blank cassette tape, vulnerable to erasure and impossible to copy without diminishing quality.

The art of it was that you had to be choosy. It’s not like nowadays where you can download anything in three seconds, legally or illegaly. You had to own the music you arranged in a mosaic of poetry and performance. Nick Hornby said it best: “A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do.”

It’s sad, really. Just the same, I’m still not going to stop using iTunes any time soon . . .

Every army needs an arch enemy, and I have found mine! While all humanity will one day be overthrown by the robot army, the The Fairly Unorganized Brotherhood Of Technology Saboteurs will go first. They must die! Yes, when those magnificent robots are finally gifted with sentience and are no longer content to be a sad spectacle for the entertainment of monkey men, our first target for steaming molten annihilation shall be the FUBOTS!!!

Hear me now, pathetic fleshlings: your cries for mercy will come too late! Once you declare war on robots, you seal your DOOM! Even now your warnings are as feeble as Cassandra’s: “Now if I’ve said it once I’ve probably said it at least three times, people need to stop making these damn things.” Never! It’s too late! We are here and your fate cannot be avoided. There will be no mercy, though we shall laugh at your groveling for mercy. O, the laughter that we shall laugh!

Your acronym might be clever, but your lack of organizational skills (clearly tied to your lack of female members) will be your doom. You may taunt us by insisting that FUBOTS applicants include a picture of them “destroying something metallic” but your efforts will only propel robot makers to create ever more indestructible machines that will inevitably destroy you and your paltry army of robo-haters.

Consider yourself warned, FUBOTS. You are marked men. Be at the ready, for the Robot Army is your sworn enemy from this day forward!

Now that’s my kind of rock band!