Resolved to The Best Resolution

A while back, a pretty smart fellow developed some extremely innovative technology.  It provided the fastest information processing power of its day.  It was able to transmit information at speeds never before seen.  It made obsolete a previous technology that had existed for centuries and relegated it to an obsolete art form.

Like most new technologies, it was perfected over time.  Its speed of manufacture increased.  More and more individuals were able to provide content to the technology, thus supplying exponentially more information.  It's capacity improved so that the amount of information available within a fixed space increased by an order of magnitude over time.

Finally, the technology had become so effective and so efficient, it cost pennies to make and was available to every soul in the world.  Today, it still contains more information in one square inch than any other technology on earth.

photo credit: jm3

If you haven't guessed, I'm describing the printed word using the technology of movable type, invented by Johannes Gutenberg.  What Gutenberg started was a technological revolution the bounties of which we still enjoy today.  Books, magazines, and newspapers are read on every continent and in every country, and in every language.  And the technology of the printed word still surpasses the technologies we use every day, namely computer interfaces, operating systems, browsers, mobile devices, etc.

Despite what your computer manufacturer tells you, most computer interfaces we interact with have a low visual resolution (i.e., dots per inch).  A book can fit more dots in an inch than all but a few very powerful computer monitors.  Until recently, a book was more portable than most computers.  A book requires no power source.  Books are far less expensive than any other image processing technology.  Sharing a book with a friend is the oldest form of social media.

In addition, a book has a higher information resolution.  That is, more relevant information is available in a smaller space or a shorter period of time.  Start interfacing with computers and you have an operating system interface with all its cutesy icons and widgets between you and the information needed.  Start surfing with a browser and you have the browser interface, access to the networks, and a search engine interface to navigate before you get to your desired information (if you do at all).  (see Edward Tufte's books for more on this.)

Next time you're struggling to communicate with PowerPoint, or with a web page that won't load right, take a break.  Open a book or newspaper or magazine and enjoy the highest visual and informational resolution of any device extant.  You're eyes will thank you.  Someday, e-books and advanced displays may surpass the printed word's advantages.  For now, I'm shutting off my monitor to enjoy a good book.

Unknowingly Suspending Disbelief Or Why Can't Wizards Have Cell Phones

Humans' ability to process fiction can be described as a willingness to suspend disbelief.  In other words, for a period of time your brain is instructed to turn off the belief widget so the rest of the brain can enjoy a film where zombies roam the earth.

The concept was developed by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the author of the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Aside from being a poor speller, Coleridge was a pretty good philosopher--which meant he was able to render most commoners unconscious when reciting his philosophical precepts.  In a nutshell, this is what Wikipedia has to say about the concept:

Coleridge wished to revive the use of fantastic elements in poetry. The concept of "willing suspension of disbelief" explained how a modern, enlightened audience might continue to enjoy such types of story. (Wikipedia, Suspension of Disbelief)

And the concept has been with us ever since.  In almost any movie, book, TV show, we are asked to suspend our disbelief at some point.

This brings me to the quandary I frequently experience.  After a period of time I start to loosen my suspension of disbelief.  It's like I've used a rope to suspend my disbelief and, over time, the rope starts to stretch and the disbelief is not so suspended anymore.

Now, for a specific example: Harry Potter.

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The Medieval Suburbs: Gates and Lawns

In addition to enough fence to resemble Berlin, my neighborhood includes some other progressive community features.  A gated community is nestled into our subdivision between a lovely stream, a hiking trail, and a big fence to keep out the marauders.  Homes inside this little enclave are more than 5000 square feet, feature 10 foot ceilings, granite counter tops and enough taupe paint to make an actuarial accountant hurl.  When I was 12, roaming the backyards around my home,  I had never heard of a "gated community."  Even now, the phrase reminds me of the homey euphemisms we had for mental institutions: funny farm, booby hatch, loony bin.  (Of course, such nicknames can really stigmatize the mentally ill.  I'll stop now before I embarrass myself.)  Notwithstanding the loonies, gated communities are here to stay.

Over time, the shape and style of castles started to evolve and the lawn was born.

One smart fellow noticed how the invading marauders could sneak up pretty quickly on the castle since they were hiding in the forest at the castle's doorstep.  That smart fellow had a eureka moment: cut down the forest so we can see our enemy approaching from a long way off.

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