Medfield-Hampden-Woodberry, July 30

Something of a trenchantly elegiac mood this time, I fear. Medfield, where I’ve made my home over the past couple of decades, is being changed in ways I do not love – I keep wanting to say not “changed” but “replaced”, and while I’m not sure that is fair, I’m not sure it is not fair, too.

Of course this is the way of the world. Nothing stays the same for long. But I am having some trouble reconciling myself to it this time.

Next time:

Medfield, February 17

My camera arrived on February 16; I unpacked it, set it up, and spent a while familiarizing myself with its controls – it’s not the first SLR I’ve ever used, but it is the first digital one and the first in many years, and that took a bit of getting used to.

I get up early on weekdays, so that I can spend some time every morning doing something I enjoy – usually one of a broad variety of projects, but on the morning of Friday the 17th, I was of course playing with my new camera, aiming it out my living room window to shoot a rather lovely sunrise. Glancing at the winter-bare trees between the buildings opposite, I saw the instantly familiar silhouette of a bird of prey. Thirty seconds later, with my feet stuffed into my boots and the 70-300 kit tele hastily mounted on my camera, I was downstairs and out the door.

Even zoomed all the way in on what was very clearly a sizable specimen even of the generally large Cooper’s hawk, I could scarcely believe my good fortune. Cooper’s hawks are hardly uncommon in these parts, but even here in Medfield, where foxes haunt the verges and whitetail graze unconcerned behind the row of apartment buildings in which I live, one doesn’t often see hawks just casually hanging out in the tree opposite one’s home!

But even at 300mm, I couldn’t get a very detailed shot from across the street, so I approached until I was about twenty feet out from the base of the tree in which this hawk had settled. By the tilt of her head I could see I had her attention, but she wasn’t terribly concerned, and I was able to obtain a couple of reasonably good exposures – good enough, at any rate, to show her plumage in considerable detail.

At this point, I had a choice to make. I wanted to get a closer shot, ideally from an angle where the hawk’s head would be properly visible. But in order to do so from where I was, I’d have to climb a short hill covered in frozen stubble, which would be quick and easy, but also very noisy. The other possible alternative would be to go up to the next street and behind the buildings there, which would put me on the other side of the completely pointless fence which tops the hill – an angle from which I’d be easily able to get very good shots, but a longer distance to travel, and more time in which my subject might decide to go somewhere else entirely.

I chose the hill. In retrospect, this was foolish, because of course making that much noise would unsettle a hawk enough to fly away, and indeed that’s exactly what happened. Seeing she’d gone in a southerly direction, I ran back down and out into the street again, in time to see her land in one of the larger trees down thataway – not only that, but land alongside another bird about her size but somewhat smaller, which I took to be the male to whom she’s mated. They didn’t stay very long – but long enough, at least, for me to get in another couple of quick shots, the better of which is included here, before they flew further south and were lost to further pursuit on my part.

Then, quite belatedly, I realized I’d been running around outside at seven o’clock on a February morning, in mid-twenty-degree temperatures, in a T-shirt, lounge pants, and untied boots with no socks on. So I went inside and shivered a bit, while reviewing the photos I’d just taken in frank astonishment at the degree to which some of them didn’t suck.

Before I bought my D5300, I’d briefly had a point-and-shoot, a Coolpix A900 – a very competent camera, but one which in the end I found unsatisfactory, and thus returned in favor of a full-on DSLR. I’d be lying to say that I didn’t suspect myself of extravagance in so doing – surely, the thought ran, I could take perfectly satisfactory pictures with a P&S, and replacing it with a camera twice as expensive, and capable of accepting interchangeable lenses more expensive still, was just pure wank, an example of improving one’s tools rather than one’s skills, of trying to buy one’s way into a hobby rather than invest the time and effort to get good at it.

That line of thinking didn’t last very long after my camera arrived. I was taught to use a single-lens reflex camera in early childhood, and the thing I’d forgotten about it was the immediacy it provides, in a way that nothing with an electronic screen instead of an optical viewfinder can replicate – looking down the finder, I get a sense of image that I’ve never found any display able to give me, including the one on my D5300 in live view mode. There’s a physicality to it that you just don’t get any other way; it’s hard to describe, and it may well rely on having been taught the proper way to shoot a film SLR in early childhood, but there’s just something about the way your hands settle on the grip and the lens, the eyepiece against your brow and your visual field full of the scene through the lens, that nothing else can offer. I won’t sit here and pretend that makes me take better pictures – but it’s the only style of photography I’ve ever found in which I feel as though I’m working with my camera, instead of against it.

Whatever vestigial doubt remained in my mind, as to whether getting a DSLR was a good idea, these Friday morning hawks laid permanently to rest. With my phone, I’d have had no hope whatsoever of getting any worthwhile photographs. With the Coolpix A900, full of bells and whistles though it was, it would’ve been a fiddly, finicky process of slowly pushing out a tiny lens and fumbling with tiny buttons and dials and wheels on something the size of a pack of cards, and maybe getting a shot or two in which it was possible to tell what you were looking at. With my D5300 – totally unpracticed, having been in possession of the camera at all for less than twenty-four hours, I was nonetheless able to achieve results which, while not up to the standard I’d set for myself given the same opportunity now, certainly are meritable enough in their own right that I’m not ashamed to post them here.

On Kaczynski

In a discussion on Hacker News over the sustainability of Silicon Valley-style urban development, 'minikites said:

I agree with the following quote:

A technological advance that appears not to threaten freedom often turns out to threaten it very seriously later on. For example, consider motorized transport. A walking man formerly could go where he pleased, go at his own pace without observing any traffic regulations, and was independent of technological support-systems. When motor vehicles were introduced they appeared to increase man’s freedom. They took no freedom away from the walking man, no one had to have an automobile if he didn’t want one, and anyone who did choose to buy an automobile could travel much faster and farther than a walking man. But the introduction of motorized transport soon changed society in such a way as to restrict greatly man’s freedom of locomotion. When automobiles became numerous, it became necessary to regulate their use extensively. In a car, especially in densely populated areas, one cannot just go where one likes at one’s own pace one’s movement is governed by the flow of traffic and by various traffic laws. One is tied down by various obligations: license requirements, driver test, renewing registration, insurance, maintenance required for safety, monthly payments on purchase price. Moreover, the use of motorized transport is no longer optional. Since the introduction of motorized transport the arrangement of our cities has changed in such a way that the majority of people no longer live within walking distance of their place of employment, shopping areas and recreational opportunities, so that they HAVE TO depend on the automobile for transportation. Or else they must use public transportation, in which case they have even less control over their own movement than when driving a car. Even the walker’s freedom is now greatly restricted. In the city he continually has to stop to wait for traffic lights that are designed mainly to serve auto traffic. In the country, motor traffic makes it dangerous and unpleasant to walk along the highway. (Note this important point that we have just illustrated with the case of motorized transport: When a new item of technology is introduced as an option that an individual can accept or not as he chooses, it does not necessarily REMAIN optional. In many cases the new technology changes society in such a way that people eventually find themselves FORCED to use it.)

'minikites opted not to cite the source of this quote, but the style is instantly recognizable to anyone who has even a passing familiarity with the writings of Theodore Kaczynski; indeed, the quoted passage is paragraph 127 of Industrial Society and its Future, also known as “The Unabomber Manifesto”.

Given this provenance, it’s not necessarily surprising that the citation was elided; on the other hand, for all that Jamie Zawinski is not at all wrong in regarding Hacker News as “a DDoS made of finance-obsessed brogrammers and manchildren”, and n-gate’s more recent take on the site is trenchantly on point, these are not all that are to be found on Hacker News. For whatever reason, some remarkably insightful people tend to cluster there as well, and the discussions which take place do so under a broad general assumption of civility and charity which is, in my experience at least, rarely to be found anywhere else on the Internet. I mention this to note that, had the quote been given in the context of its author, that would not necessarily have caused anyone to disregard it out of hand.

Which is not to say that anyone would take it at face value, either. In this example, Kaczynski ignores the fact that, while a walking man may indeed go at his own pace, that pace is strictly limited by his muscle power and endurance, and the distance of his travel likewise limited. This omission is no accident; Kaczynski’s entire chain of reasoning originates from the axiom that the past, where the consequences of technological advancement do not exist, is strictly preferable to the present, where they do. It is of no interest to him to acknowledge that those consequences are not entirely negative; the closest thing approaching such a concession is an offhand gesture in paragraph 1, and throughout the rest of the essay he proceeds on the assumption that modern technological society is iniquitous in its entirety, without so much as a glimmer of any sort of offsetting virtue.

In my youth, having first read Kaczynski’s manifesto not long after its initial publication, I considered the man to be an acute observer and reasoner, parting ways with him only as he reached the point of saying, in paraphrase, “and that’s why we have to start blowing shit up and killing people”. I labored under the misapprehension that only here did Kaczynski’s previously acute reasoning fail. Where I erred was in myself failing to realize that “and that’s why we have to start blowing shit up and killing people” was no error in reasoning, but rather a necessary consequence of the postulates from which that reasoning proceeds. If technological development continues indefinitely absent intervention, and if the increase in technological attainment incurs a monotonically increasing level of alienation from everything which makes human life meaningful and worthwhile and satisfactory, then of course any enormity is justified to exactly that extent in which it slows, stops, or reverses the present course of technological increase unbounded by any constraint save those imposed by physical and economic reality. No matter how grievous the action, no matter how high its short-term cost in mutilation, murder, destroyed livelihoods, wrecked families, smashed infrastructure, wounded souls, and disrupted lives – that short-term cost is bounded, and the indefinite lifetime of our species means that, once the counter-technological utopia has been achieved, the long-term payoff bought at that cost is effectively unbounded – however long the species should endure in this utopian state where technology is forbidden and ingenuity viewed with suspicion at best, every day of that time is a brand new victory.

This is hardly a line of reasoning unique to Kaczynski. Revolutionaries around the world have shared it, and we may if we so choose find here an example of the perceptual distortion imposed by a certain strain of politics: that, for so many people, “revolutionary” bears such a strongly positive connotation. One wonders how long such noble connotations might endure in, say, the heyday of Strychnine Hill – which is, make no mistake, exactly the kind of place that this sort of “revolutionary” thought, implemented assiduously enough, necessarily produces: a machine, one among many, for the systematic destruction of human beings at industrial scale and in fashions as grossly horrific as their ingenious implementors could achieve.

Had Kaczynski’s ideas achieved the broad adoption he sought for them, there is no reason to doubt that they would have produced exactly such machines. People will want to keep their cars and their iPhones, and eventually what else is there to do with those so obdurate in their heresy save consign them to the flames? Of course, six hundred years on, we can do so much better than mere fire – just as in so many other realms where ingenuity and industrialization have enabled enormous advances in process efficiency and throughput, the annihilation of insufficiently satisfactory human beings is no different. For all that the previous century saw vast advancements in this monstrous field, no doubt there’s much further still to go; had Kaczynski’s manifesto been broadly adopted, we’d have gone there and would be there even now, and our machines of human slaughter would be the horror and pity of the world. There is a hideous sort of irony here, and I’m glad it’s not one we have had occasion to explore in reality.

It’s not at all wrong to say that the recent and historically unprecedented rate of technological attainment, which we as a species have achieved, has had many deleterious effects which we do not yet know well how to prevent. No doubt it will continue to do so for a while yet. Such an environment makes it even easier to romanticize the past than usual – after all, we don’t live there any more, and our memory of whatever pains it brought us is not equal to the experience of those we suffer in the present.

We therefore face, now and always, a critical choice. On the one hand, we may decide that our necessarily romanticized recollection of the past offers more joy, more hope of human fulfillment, than any possible future. On the other hand, we may decide that, for all the manifold and grievous flaws our present world entails, we nonetheless possess the capacity, individually and in the large, to build for ourselves a future in which tomorrow really does present a reasonable prospect of being better than today – a future in which human fulfillment not only grows more possible of attainment than the past has ever seen, but indeed encompasses possibilities not only unknown to our forebears but entirely outside the scope of what our forebears could imagine. Whether Silicon Valley, at least as commonly conceived, has any critical role in so doing, I cannot say – I tend not to think so, but Scott Alexander has had some interesting points to make in this connection which give me to suspect I fail to fully encompass the reality of the situation. But we have the possibility before us, Silicon Valley or no.

Of course it’s possible that, in seeking to build such a future, we may fail in ways that do more harm than good. Indeed, I suspect it’s inevitable. But history also tells us of the consequences should we decide in failing that the attempt is not worthwhile, that we must instead give up trying for a future and instead make for ourselves a home in our halcyon imagination of the past – and the lesson of history on this point is anything but savory. We can hope to build ourselves a better future; our forebears, after all, have many times done exactly that. We cannot reasonably hope to build ourselves a better past.

SAME encoder example

A brief example of the Javascript SAME encoder I wrote a while back.

• Message object

• Audio player:

• Save as WAV: output.wav

Bonus shots, July 4

Shortly before the show, a seller of blinky LED necklaces passed along the Federal Hill trail, halfway down the hill from my own position. I was already set up for long exposure, and had a few minutes yet before any fireworks would be happening, so:

In a somewhat similar vein, the Baltimore skyline:

The streak in the top of the shot was made by the running lights of a quadcopter drone. Considering that two police helicopters were already occupying the airspace, this seemed like something of a bold move, but whoever was flying the drone landed it at his own position just north of Rash Field, picked it up, and as far as I could tell headed off entirely unmolested.

Earlier, someone was flying a rather handsome kite from Federal Hill Park.

Finally, and earlier still – in the shadow of the Baltimore World Trade Center, the harbor is dotted with “artificial wetland” platforms, which attract shorebirds otherwise not seen in the close vicinity. Perhaps oddly for having lived so long in a coastal state, I’m rather poor with shorebirds, and had to get my Sibley down to identify this as a juvenile black-crowned night heron.

Hampden, March 19

Near my home is a metalworking shop which, like many such, collects scrap for repurposing. I’m not sure what they intend to do with a giant hydraulic press – but on the other hand, given that it’s been where it is long enough to be visible in commercially available satellite imagery, I suppose they’re not sure what they intend to do with it, either. If they can restore it to working order, perhaps they can start a YouTube channel…

Welcome to Barbizon

I visited Manhattan last year, and stayed in the Hotel Pennsylvania.

I can’t recommend it unreservedly, I’m afraid. The room I’d rented struck me as the sort of place you’d see in an old noir flick, probably with a suicide dangling from the ceiling:

But I came to appreciate the place as we grew to know one another. Did you know the Hotel Pennsylvania has at least one abandoned floor? It’s true! I got on an elevator at one point, somewhat the worse for drink – it was that kind of weekend – and pressed ‘1’, thinking that would take me to the mezzanine or the lobby or something. Instead, the doors opened on a strange and ominous slice of hotel space, all cheap cracked white paint and stained linoleum and buzzing, flickering fluorescent fixtures – the sort of place that’s less old noir flick, and more the fourth act of one of those cheesy thriller-horror films which nonetheless manage a scene or two that inexplicably stays with you long after the rest is forgotten.

So, of course, I got off the elevator and started wandering. What else can you do with something like that? Just forget about it and go back to the nice, normal, ordinary world where nothing unexpected really happens and when it does there’s Cigna and Citibank and Geico and H&R Block to put between yourself and it?

Well, maybe so. But I can’t. Sooner or later, I’m sure, it’s going to cost me. But this time, after a half hour or so, I happened across Barbizon. And I knew this was the point where I could no longer adequately describe the strangeness of the place I had found – my command of metaphor just wouldn’t suffice. And so I pulled out my phone. And so:

Then I went back down to the hotel bar and let the bartender pour another three or five free shots down me, the way he’d been doing all night. Perhaps there was more to it than neighborliness; in retrospect he did seem a touch fey, but I’ve always been poor at noticing such things, and Barbizon had left me in something of a state regardless.

The next day, I called out Richard Stallman in front of three hundred or so fanatic devotees of the FSF party line. He swore at me, and one of his minions cut the mic I was using. Then, a few hours later, I got him to sign my Emacs manual. It was a good weekend.