History of the world: Apple Computers (5)

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Act V. Now comes the part that is omitted in all the obituaries. A few weeks later, still 1985. The Apple laser printer appears on the market. And it prints like a professional printer, plug and play, 50 different fonts, some very convincing ones. Your manuscript looks just great, your letters look just great, your writs, opinions, protestations, tables of content, graphics (Graphics), indexes, they all look great. You look great. A picture values a thousand words, a laser-printed graphic is invaluable; (in the PC-world of MS-DOS of 1985, you might, just might have been able to connect to some third party laser printer and print something in Courier font until the next software glitch put an end to your pretentiousness, but graphics where an entirely different animal and would have had to be printed separately anyhow).

My research grant applications are looking so much better than those of the competition, I'm collecting one grant after the other, until I get a Pioneer Grant from the Dutch government that allows me to start my own research institute, the Applied Logic Laboratory. I'm still convinced that my success in those years hinged on the flawless Macintosh laser print of my submissions, and in particular on the flawless laser-printed  tables of content. For example, the committee for the Pioneer grant met only once, with forty longish applications to evaluate, and only one grant to award. You can bet that the committee members, all busy, distinguished scholars, didn't start reading the stuff until they stepped on the train for their meeting in The Hague (much Dutch work gets done on trains, ask Paul Krugman), and they had barely time to read the tables of content during the journey. Mine was the best.

First Apple laser printer (plug & play)

Anyhow, the laser printer constituted a quantum leap, and many people understood, got their Macintosh laser act together, bought it together with the Macintosh, and saved the company.

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History of the world: Apple Computers (4)

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(Another) Interlude. Perry sends this picture of the Lisa:

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History of the world: Apple Computers (3)

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Interlude. A friend sends this picture and writes...

Apple Store, Palo Alto, CA.

..."did you know I hate Post-It stickers, and the people who use them, almost as much as I hate Apple?" 

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History of the world: Apple Computers (2)

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Act III. We're now at Dartmouth College, NH, and the day is Jan 16, 1984. I had become interested in computer simulations,  and was visiting Dartmouth's Research Policy Center, run by Dennis Meadows of The Limits to Growth fame, to learn more about his approach, called "System Dynamics." To repeat, the day is Jan 16, a Monday, and we all must go and have a look at the new Apple computer, the Macintosh. So we cross the icy, snowy campus, and arrive in a dedicated room of the computing center, where a passionate lady demonstrates to us what a rectangular box, white, with a small screen, and a funny little device on the desktop, called "mouse," could achieve together. There is also a small matrix printer with very ugly output. But, but, you could create sketches on the Macintosh screen by moving the mouse across the table, and then print them on the printer. Also, you could use different fonts for your text, and print them as they appeared on the screen (WYSIWYG). This led to typographic orgies of the worst kind for months on end, campuswide (don't ask), printed in very ugly ways by this matrix printer.

Apple Macintosh

Act IV.  A year and a half later. I'm returning to Dartmouth College on a regular basis for various projects, and spend a lot of time with Perry LaPotin, the polymath grad student, who has become an invaluable part of the Cold Regions Research Lab of the Corps of Engineers, conveniently located next to the college. Perry was already writing programs for the Macintosh. There was only one small problem. You could not write Macintosh programs on the Macintosh itself, its memory was too small. Apple had built another machine, the Lisa, available only to professionals, whose memory was large enough for Macintosh programming since it had a hard disk (HARD DISK) that could be made to work as virtual memory. The hard disk was really large, 10 megabytes, (MEGABYTES) but there were glitches. Lisa didn't always know when the hard disk's capacity was exhausted, which led to hard disk malfunction, which then Perry had to repair using a mix of erratic reset activities (eg. the escape button), brawn, and black arts. He spent roughly half of his working day resetting the hard disk. I still see him sitting there, patiently kicking the Lisa back to work. When we would finally go home, belatedly, exhausted, we would turn our attention to the regrettable downward spiral that constituted the Apple Computer stock price. Apple was on its way out, since the Macintosh was fairly useless.

Perry LaPotin

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History of the world: Apple Computers (I)

Act II. Somewhere in 1978 or 79, the Amsterdam department store De Bijenkorff opened a new sales corner on its 4th floor, mysteriously named "huiscomputers," which featured a new product, the Apple II home computer. At that time most people, including myself, would conceive of computers as "electronic brains" (Germans called them "Elektronengehirne" before they called them "computers" before they called them "Rechner"), all built by IBM, all infinitely expensive, large, and remote.

Standard IBM Hollerith punch card

Act I. My first contact with computers had been in 1972, when I took an algebra class at the Free University of Berlin and was tasked to program matrix inversions and some such in Algol68, the programming language du jour. This was done by (1) punching Hollerith cards in the right places, on special machines located in the university's computing center, then (2) placing the cards in the intray located in the hallway outside the main operating room where the computer was located (there was only one computer), (3) waiting for an operator to appear to empty the intray (he would open a wing door, and allow you a glimpse at the electronic brain, humming and chugging along in fluorescent light, tape decks clicking back and forth), (4) then waiting another hour or so for the operator to reappear with the "output," --- folded stacks of paper in a very large format, the name of the "job" (no pun intended) printed in very large letters on the first page. If your stack was very thin (as it usually was) this could mean only one thing: something had gone wrong. You would (5) try to find the error, or try to find some help to find the error, (6) correct it, (7) resubmit your job, and repeat the correction loop as appropriate. Usually, it would take only a few days  until a program of a few lines of code would finally run properly. 

IBM mainframe, system 360 (1964 - 78)

Act II, cont'd.  So far so good. Back to the department store. What could you do with a home computer, I asked the sales person. Well, he said, you could store cooking recipes and call them up when needed. I didn't buy the Apple II.

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Progress

Progressives are convinced that mankind can progress, in particular modern mankind, us. And we do, in fact, progress on many measures, such as literacy, life expectancy, technological advance, women's rights, and the spread of democratic regimes. Not so sure about other some others. Corruption? It may be getting worse. Politics? With the Tea Party as their pivotal force, the US are clearly in trouble. How about wars? We did not know:

Well, it's getting better too.

Help me, help me (washed-up script writer)

We haven't heard from the washed-up scriptwriter in quite some time. He was washed up in Kazakhstan, and wrote some poems for President Brftzerk, the guy from the rotating golden statue, and then Brftzerk got arrested or something, and Sacha, who was supposed to keep him company, is back in Europe.

Finally, finally, we have some new news from the washed up scriptwriter.

"For obvious reasons," he writes, "I am setting my next script in the realm of financial stability. And here is my first try. A brief soliloquy (we want our soliloquies short these day's, don't we), that I put into the mouth of this Trichet person, you know who I mean, the president of this European Bank:

Reporter:

What is your answer to German people and economists who want the return of the DM? Trichet: You want answers?
Reporter: I think the Germans are entitled.
Trichet: You want answers? (SHOUTING)
Reporter: Germans want the truth! (SHOUTING)
Trichet: *You can’t handle the truth!* (SHOUTING) [pauses]…
Trichet: Son, we live in a world that has prices, and those prices have to be guarded by men with bonds. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Sylvia Wadhwa? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Lehman Brothers, and you curse Ben Bernanke. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That Lehman’s collapse, while tragic, probably saved banks. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves banks. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that committee, you need me on that committee. We use words like rate, target, expectation. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a profitline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of price stability that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said congratulations and went on your way. Otherwise I suggest you pick up a Greek bond, and suffer a haircut. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to!

And you know what? I didn't make this up. Heres what Trichet really said:

“We have delivered price stability over the first 12 years and 13 years of the euro — impeccably, impeccably!” Trichet said, his voice rising. “I would like very much to hear the ‘congratulations’ for an institution that has delivered price stability in Germany for … almost 13 years at an annual inflation rate of around 1.55%. It was not by chance; it was because we decided very frequently to do things that were not recommended by the various governments. Our independence is inflexible… We are in the worst crisis since World War II. We do our job. It is not an easy job.”

The gay flight attendant (Dirk)

A friend of Dirk relates:

"My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant, who seemed to put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.

As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and said....

'Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be landing the big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put your trays up, that would be super.' On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and rather Arabic looking woman hadn't moved a muscle. 'Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines when I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.'

She calmly turned her head and said, 'In my country, I am called a Princess and I take orders from no one.'

To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied, without missing a beat, 'Well, sweet-cheeks, in my country I'm called a Queen, so I outrank you. Tray-up, Bitch'"

Seen on a Greek beach

Good Morning!

A movie script goes to see the psychiatrist...

...and says: "I have a dream."

(click on the picture for a larger image)

Egg on your face

"You are not my long-lost half-sister. No-no. Not you!"

Inappropriate same-gender or opposite-gender sexual harassment, adultery or intrusively intimate commingling among attracteds (restrooms, showers, barracks, tents, etc.)

Rick Santorum and Michele Bachmann have signed a pledge, which obliges them to monogamy and more.

Michele Bachmann (note the flag)

Rick Santorum (note the flag)

The pledge, in its preamble, carried the following statement (later removed from the website):

Slavery had a disastrous impact on African-American families, yet sadly a child born into slavery in 1860 was more likely to be raised by his mother and father in a two-parent household than was an African-American baby born after the election of the USA‟s first African-American President.

As to the pledge itself, Michele Bachmann and Rick Santorum "vow":

Support for the enactment of safeguards for all married and unmarried U.S. Military and National Guard personnel, especially our combat troops, from inappropriate same-gender or opposite-gender sexual harassment, adultery or intrusively intimate commingling among attracted (restrooms, showers, barracks, tents, etc.)

You've any idea what this could mean, "same gender commingling among attracted?"

M& is glad to help out (ranking on the scale of 1 - 10)

Same gender commingling among attracted (3)

Same gender commingling among attracted (6)

Same gender commingling among attracted (9)

Can you read this (1) (Dirk)

Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can. I cdnuolt blveiee that I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd what I was rdanieg.

The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in what oerdr the ltteres in a word are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is that the frsit and last ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can still raed it whotuit a pboerlm. This is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the word as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! If you can raed this forwrad it.

-"Apparently, word order doesn't really matter either."
-"Which brings us one step closer to the fulfillment of the Philosopher's Dream: a sentence that says it all." 

Bible studies (intermezzo)

Hat tip: Andrew Sullivan

Bible Studies (3)

We find ourselves in the hospital with a broken leg, it’s Saturday night, and the surgeon on duty, Dr. Eva Ursprung, is tired after an emergency operation. We joke about her name (“origin”). Her face darkens --- such were the dire specs of our second Bible Studies cliff hanger.

Dr. Ursprung, entourage, patient, on a Saturday night

Relax. Dr. Ursprung keeps her cool and tweaks my hurt leg with her professional fingers. “It’s very swollen, your foot,” she remarks with her perfect Polish accent. “We can’t do much until the swelling recedes.”

My world falls apart. My brain, still awash in the stress hormones triggered by the accident, had floated in the delusion (this is so overwritten, sorry) that the man in the white coats would coat my broken parts in plaster stante pede and send me back to the Black Run Café, where my loutish friends are already waiting with highballs in one hand and ballpoints in the other, eager to leave obscene messages on the freshly paved landscape of my stricken parts. I explain myself to Dr. Ursprung and entourage. They keep their professional cool. “We rarely plaster these days,” her assistant replies, “98 point five percent of leg fractures receive surgery now.” Dr. Ursprung tweaks my foot some more, shakes her head, waves a good-bye with the x-ray pictures, and leaves. “We’ll have to find you a room,” Nurse Ernst remarks, while pushing my bed towards the elevator. Two minutes later I’ll find myself in a dark hospital room with another man who watches TV. We waive to each other. “Make yourself comfortable,” Ernst remarks helpfully.

I can’t sleep, I know. Ernst has left, and I inspect the night table next to the bed. There’s a copy of the New Testament in the top drawer, compliments of the Gideons. It’s in German, of course (we’re in the German speaking part of the Valais (“Wallis”)), in a modernized Luther translation.

Stay Tuned.

Let's bring back the gold standard (Dirk) (reposted)

Bible studies (2)

Lying on the ground with a broken leg in the pouring rain, crying for help while the Swiss Frank keeps co-tourists out of the country --- such were the dire specs of our first Bible Studies cliff hanger.

Relax. Arch Angel Gabriel hears our call, and appears in the emanation of Linda, the girl next door. She calls the ambulance (# 144, Swiss-wide,  they would also know your location if you call from a cell-phone),  while we find shelter under the roof of a neighboring chalet. The sun breaks through the clouds, we sit down in a plastic garden chair. Our tired, broken legs are now dangling in the late-afternoon sunshine. We think philosophical thoughts but feel no pain.  Linda prepares a cup of hot peppermint tea. It’s the first time we break something, the first time we will be doing some time in a hospital. Our life will never be the same.

The ambulance is delayed, delayed, but two sturdy men finally arrive and put me on a walking chair and heave me up the slippery, treacherous path towards the rescue vehicle. Rich, antique Romans were carried that way by their slaves, and we feel the fun.

At the hospital (“Spital Visp”) the reception nurse makes reassuring noises. The spital does the ski resorts of Zermatt and Saas Fee, she informs us, and broken legs are their specialty. An X-ray confirms the break. It’s the fibula --- if Google Translate is correct (“Wadenbein” in German). Now what? The Upper Surgeon (our translation of “Oberarzt”) is stuck in emergency surgery. She will decide. We will wait. (Perhaps we forgot to mention that all this is happening on a Saturday night?)

Dr. Ursprung (with colleagues), shortly before we drop the bomb

The Oberarzt, a petite blonde, arrives 2 hours later, around 9pm. She speaks perfect German with a perfect Polish accent, and she’s tired. A tag on her left bosom features her picture and her name: Dr. Eva Ursprung. Ursprung --- that means “origin” in English. “Ursprung,” I say to her in German, perhaps not fully cognizant of the situation, “Ursprung, that would be a nice name for a philosopher.” Her face darkens. Her mouth drops. Her eyes close. The end of the world is near.

Stay tuned.

Bible Studies (1)

We wear hiking boots and sticks and are well-prepared for our walk along the squirrel path here in Bürchen, where the life of the squirrel is explained on educative tableaux, while little man-made squirrel nests are invitingly set next to the path every hundred meters or so. Occasionally, a real squirrel shows up. Almost back home in the chalet zone, we have to descend a steep trail, the Oberer Eggaweg. It rains, we slip, we lie on the ground. Something is amiss. It must be the right foot. We can still move it, though. So we should be OK. We’re trying to get back up, but a sudden pain sets our sensitive nerves alight. We’re hurt. Hit. We’ve broken something. We’re lying on the ground in the pouring rain. We're not feeling well, not at all. Chang cries out aloud, in the middle of all these chalets, "HELP, HELP." But the Swiss Frank is too strong,   the chalets are empty (Switzerland has become too expensive for tourists), nobody comes to help us, and we will die. 

Stay tuned.

Always true

(Hat tip: Andrew Sullivan)