Which is basically that with the introduction of any new technology–and the disruption of the old models of monetizing whatever previous technology or methods are being displaced by the new innovations–there’s a period of openness. Experimentation prevails. There is a flourishing of creativity and of different models, different voices and so on. People can set up backyard equivalents of the new technology and put out their services or creations and reach some audience.

And then, things start to close down. The public, initially enamoured of the wide selection and the plurality of voices, starts to get drawn to something that is more mediated–and therefore of more consistent quality. And so, the entrepreneurs who manage create a model that mediates and distributes most effectively while using the new technology will prevail.

He gives example after example, from different periods, using different technologies. But ultimately, the larger pattern is the same. He argues persuasively, and points to this same pattern, as defining the shape of things to come as well.

I believe him. We’re already seeing this. A certain company whose symbol hearkens back to one of our main creation stories, and its beautiful, fun, gorgeously designed devices–alongside its draconian, litigious back end policies–blends up the precise combination of high quality of product and ruthlessness of business model that is needed to start carving up a monopoly on the market.

Most users are blinded by the colourfulness of the apps, and so enchanted with what they *can* do with the products, that they don’t notice or care about what they *can’t* do. And that’s the genius of the brand and the devices. I use them and I love them, even while I chafe and wince and the kinds of things the company that creates them does.

They have created beautiful, walled gardens with their portable devices (dare I say neo-Edenic? After all, many of us have taken a bite out of this particular fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. We are fully aware of what we’re getting, what we’re submitting to).

There are small apertures in the wall that allow individuals dwelling within the gardens of their devices to access such a dizzying array of entertainments and utilities that they forget the walls are even there–they’re too busy reading downloaded books, or playing games; revising novels, or making short films; to notice. Or if better still, even if they do, they still choose it because if they stay in the walled garden, they will have access to tools that they cannot get elsewhere, all on one device (that would be me).

This is the model that is working: devices that are so seamlessly designed, and so well-integrated that the user is guided easily and effortlessly into paying for the services and goods they seek to download. Devices on which it is easier to pay for apps and books and songs legitimately, than it is to do a hack (both on the device and the app, much of the time) and load them via indirect means. Few people will bother–it’s just too complicated, and is generally not worth the “free.”

So this is happening. The monopoly is forming–or has formed. It’s a strong one. As creators, most of us will probably have to buckle under, sooner or later. And in return, we get distribution and all that goodness. This is major–I’m not downplaying this in any way. I really do respect what The Co. Who Shall Not Be Named has done. And I actually love their devices and what they allow me to do–how much easier they make my life in so very many ways, and how they boost my productivity prodigiously.

It’s just that after a period of openness, where we’re dictating the terms, and doing things according to what we think is fair, it’s all the harder to let go of that, and allow some new giant to take control and set the terms.

Thoughts?

*I don’t believe Tim Wu is actually a doctor (though he might have a PhD in AWESOMENESS–an entirely valid proposition). This is basically just a cheap reference to a Steely Dan song (my husband is a big fan) and I kind of thought this added a cool 1960s SF movie feel to the title of the post.

**The story behind this appearance is pretty cool, and speaks to my doctorate in AWESOMENESS theory (TW has an amazing CV of course, but this doesn’t necessarily make him awesome, in itself). Basically, TW was appearing in Toronto, at a few events, all of which charged a fair bit of cashy money. One of my classmates posted on twitter, asking whether anyone knew if TW was doing any no-cost talks in town [insert comment about high law school tuition and being broke here]. TW saw the @ mention and responded that if my classmate organized an appearance, he’d come and speak. And he did, so TW did. And it was good.

The way I see it, there are a lot of different ways that a work can be used:

• “consumed” (read, listened to, etc.)
• distributed
• sold
• adapted
• sampled
• etc.

With digitization, all these uses can be appropriated by anyone with a computer and the right programs installed.

By contrast, there are many benign reasons for copying a work and making multiple reproductions of it (e.g. so you have access to it from your various devices; printing off a fresh copy if you left your printout elsewhere and need to look at the work on the page etc.)–none of which are in any way cutting into the creator/rights holder’s ability to profit from their work, but which are illegal under a regime that emphasizes the right to copy.

So Why Is This Bad?

So fine, you can copy benignly, and you’re technically breaking the law, but unlikely to be caught (let’s face it, you’re unlikely to be caught even if you’re doing a bunch of the other, less-than-benign things under the “use” list as well). So what’s the big deal?

The big deal is right in the formulation of the issue, above: namely, that you’re breaking the law but don’t care. That kind of devaluation of a legal regime is deeply problematic because of what it means for the relevance of the law. If otherwise law-abiding citizens are breaking the law and don’t give a crap, then what kind of desensitization might that lead to?

I’m not crying anarchy or anything even close. But, within the context of copyright, if you’re breaking the law to even commit these harmless acts of copying, then that desensitization to the boundaries between legal and illegal in the context of copying is going to have an effect on the culture (and indeed, as is obvious to anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock, it already has) and how it views copyright in general. It will ultimately render much of it meaningless, except in cases where there’s some chance of being caught.

There’s a profound tension between the valuing of the creativity, craft and hard work of the artist (which we generally like to insist that we value deeply) and the desire to get something for nothing. The latter seems to prevail, making the former seem like so much lip service. Sure, we value artists, but if we can get their work for free, then let’s do it.

The Indie v. Studio Dynamic

There’s also another factor in the mix. Though many of us will, if we know there’s an indie artist involved, pay for the consumption of the work we’ve acquired, we also have an intuitive sense that the artist is a little more distanced from the revenue stream when there are large publishers/producers/film studios/etc. involved.

Though the artist ultimately suffers, at some level as a culture, I think we believe that they’re already being exploited and robbed by the savvy “money guys” in the big corporations, so we’re happy to steal from the money guys. It’s our small way of stickin’ it to the man.

I am ambivalent about this.

Ultimately, the money guys are generally there when they are needed. The old structures and models may be losing relevance with the new technologies and the emergent, evolving culture that comes with them, but if there are gaps and needs within the new methods and models of distribution, the business people who love the arts and want to get them “out there” and make a living at it, if possible, find those gaps, and will make themselves necessary once again by facilitating the process.

Let’s face it–only a small subset of creative types are into the number crunching and marketing side of things. If possible, many of us will leave that stuff to someone else. And so, between that simple fact, and the fact that there is almost always a challenge associated with bridging the gap between creation and intended audience, the business people will have an essential place, filling an important gap, in facilitating the connection between creator and audience. And quite frankly, I’m all for them. They’re the ones who have brought my attention to many a great book, film and musical work, over the years.

*Again, I’m going with Drassinower’s conception of the use v. copying distinction, though I cannot promise that I am correctly representing his arguments. I find his distinctions between the two concepts key to understanding more than just fair dealing and so I have followed them. They also speak to interesting potential directions to take in the area of (c) reform. That said, those ideas have now been processed through my particular set of interests and issues on the subject, and might not conform precisely with what he is arguing.

From what I can tell, in order to get a functional legal regime in place, you have to strike the right balance between culture and law. Right now, the two are widely divergent. We have laws that say: don’t copy. It’s illegal. It’s not your right.

And we have a culture–and supporting technology–that makes it absurdly easy to copy and ridiculously difficult to catch infringers and enforce any restrictions on copying, without raising privacy and security issues (e.g. once there’s a gap created to monitor copying, others can also exploit said gaps).

So, why are we so big on protecting the right to copy? There are a lot of stakeholders in the current regime–people who have business models built around protecting the right to copy. And that right goes back a bit.

A Very Narrow Slice of (relevant) History

So, back in the day, the magical combination of technology, culture and law worked well enough together. In order to copy, you had to have training and equipment: a printing press, typesetting skills etc. Even with the advent of photocopying, it was time-consuming to copy a book. The cost of the materials and time, the loss of quality, and the fact that you ended up with a stack of papers–a far less convenient form factor–rather than a bound book, meant that it just wasn’t worth it.

Back then, it made sense to protect the right to copy. The people who invested in technology were those who were in the business of piracy for profit–and the technology was big enough, and the infringement on a sufficiently large scale, that it was easier to enforce.

Today

But today, as mentioned, copying is easier than it ever has been. Digital locks are limited, and those who care to break them will break them–indeed, for some, it’s an invitation. A subset of those people will propagate the hacked content, and that’s the end of the digital lock.

So where do we go from here?

Perhaps we shouldn’t be looking at protecting the right to copy. Perhaps that’s where we’ve got it wrong. Perhaps it should be more about use (for a fascinating and readable academic paper on the subject, check this out. Drassinower presents an elegant, compelling conception, and one that I tend to lean towards. It has shaped and influenced my position). The paper argues–and I would agree–that copying for personal use (to have a version on your laptop, on your phone, as a printout here or somewhere else) should not be an issue. The focus should be on commercial exploitation–on the people who are undercutting the rights holders, who are simply seeking recompense for the effort and creativity they have put into the products of their art. So maybe it’s time to reframe. Let’s talk about the right to use works in different ways–as consumer, as distributor, and so on–not the right to copy.

And let’s go from there.

The beauty of winter is simultaneously more subtle and more dramatically stark than that of the other seasons. I came upon this vista while walking home after a few hours’ work at a cafe last week. I loved the stratified, layered colours of the sky.

Susan

Sent from my mobile, so please pardon any typos!

The streetcar. An elderly man, spouting prophetic eschatologies about God’s judgment, climbed on. He had a red, construction-paper heart pinned to his jacket that bore the handwritten words “happy valentine’s day, sweetheart”. I thought [hoped] it was because someone cared enough to make the gesture, and not an act of mockery.

He spoke in a loud, strained and reedy voice about God and judgment. Giggling girls replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day”. He continued his cautionary, end of the world monologue.

When he made to disembark, some Young Turks from the back shouted, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart”, and the giggling girls, still giggling, echoed the sentiment. He left the streetcar and slowly shuffled across the street to the sidewalk, while the cars idled, waiting for him to pass.

My dad had an assortment of stories he used to tell my brother and me when we were kids. There was one about a king and a magician, which recently found its way into my current work in progress:

One of the stories his sister had always loved best had been about a proud king, who had summoned a magician to his court. When the sorcerer and his assistant arrived, the king led them to a stable, where a magnificent black stallion was kept.

“You are the fifth magician I have brought here,” he said. “I command you to make this horse fly.”

The magician was all too aware that the other four magicians had failed—just as he was aware that what the king asked was impossible.

“I will give you a year and a day,” the king continued. “If you succeed, I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

“And if I fail?”

“Well then, I will have you decapitated.”

“I see.” The magician paused. “And what if I refuse the commission?”

“Then I shall have you killed immediately.”

The magician nodded. “In that case, I accept. I will work my magic on this horse, and in a year and a day, God willing, he will fly.”

Once the king had taken his leave, the magician’s assistant shook his head. “How could you say that, master? You know the task is impossible!”

The magician shrugged. “Many things can happen in a year and a day. I could die. The king could die. And who knows? The horse may even learn to fly.”

* * *

One of the things I always liked about this story was that to me at least, there’s no obvious lesson to be learned. It’s somewhat oblique. It could speak to the idea that anything can happen, even the seemingly impossible. Or it could speak to the fact that sometimes we’re not given a choice, and we just have to do what we have to do under difficult circumstances.

There are other readings, as well. I don’t know where it came from–it has an Arabian Nights feel to it, but the versions of the Nights that I’ve read do not feature this particular tale. Regardless of the origin, however, I’ve always been rather fond of it.

This struck me last year in class, as I sat near the front of the room and turned to see which computers people were using. A lot of apples, with single bites taken out of them, glowing back at me: yea, for I have partaken of the fruit of the tree of knowledge.  Delicious.

The circle is complete.

I really loved the way they incorporated the Queen Subway tiles into the display of the poster itself. Northbound features the White Queen and southbound features the Red Queen. Clevah!

I love Tim Burton–and visuals go a long way for me, at least with regard to his work. I’m generally willing to forgive much, because I love his creative vision.

It will be a nice mid-semester escape from the madness of the 1L experience of running madly to stay in place while finding myself slipping inexorably behind. Though, in some ways, my encounters with the law are something of an Alice in Wonderland experience in themselves. While it’s never quite “off with her head” (since we don’t have the death penalty–though I sometimes have the uncomfortable sense that I’m on the verge of losing *my* head), some of the judgments do seem rather arbitrary, and decided based on some peculiar and well-concealed motives. You sometimes really do have to read between the lines to figure out why the case law suddenly takes some unexpected and inexplicable turn. And indeed, one could say that I’m wandering through the realms of Easements, Covenants, Negligence and Federal Enclaves with an Alice-like bemusement at the wonders and the mysteries of it all.

But the often-puzzling and generally fascinating Wonderland of Law isn’t nearly as pretty as the Wonderland born of a collaboration between the likes of Lewis Carroll and Tim Burton–of that I am certain. I look forward to checking it out.

Sent from my iPod, so please pardon any typos!

In university (the first time), I wrote an essay about the ways in which technological devices enhance and extend our abilities. In the context of books like Neuromancer and Microserfs, I postulated that as our self-images are increasingly integrated with our virtual selves and the presences we create in the online world, those hybrid, virtual selves are, in fact, cyborgs of a sort.

Further down the line, as we ourselves are changed by our virtual identities, and we grow increasingly dependent on our connection with the interwebs–and the time we invest in that presence and those interactions–we become more and more like cyborgs ourselves.

I was reminded of this today, as I reflected on this mobile device I’ve been using, to update my blog, and the way it pulls my connection with the cyberworld into the everyday to a greater degree than ever before.

It made me think of the broader connections involved. The way that our facebook profiles are extensions of ourselves–and how our interactions there extend our social spheres into the virtual world, while bridging extraordinary distances and expanding our presences, via its incursions into different points in all corners of the Real World. Cyberspace elides distances because it is Random Acces, and our real world notion of spatiality is no longer meaningful–for all that we continue to cling to it in interpolating our conception of cyberspace.

I don’t feel like a cyborg. But am I? Is the person who walks the everyday world a cyborg at this point–someone who would feel reduced without acess to her virtual presence and contacts (email, skype, facebook, news and information, maps, instant answers to most questions that arise)? Or, is it *this* virtual self–the voice behind the blog post, the facebooker and email correspondent, the inextricable blend of my organic self and the electronic technologies I use to project myself into the online spaces–that is the cyborg? In other words: is it the picture and the words, and all the other fragments of myself that are online which are, compositely, the cyborg, or is the cyborg actually the person who created and uploaded them?

What do you think?

Sent from my iPod, so please pardon any typos!

I love these promo videos (click the link above to check it out, if you’re curious). I love the look of dewy-eyed wonder that all of the Apple people have in them. The one designer guy, Jony Ive, looks like he’s just made contact with an intelligent, alien life form or something–and he has the best lines, too. Like…

“When something exceeds your ability to understand how it works, it sort of becomes magical. And that’s *exactly* what the iPad is.” -Designer Guy

…and here I thought it was just a giant iPod? Is it really all that wondrous that it can support the same apps that the iPod supports? That it allows you to do the same stuff as the Touch? Admittedly, that technology did feel pretty magical when the Touch et al. came out–and it’s still a gold standard. But all this “the iPad is magic and I just created life from inanimate matter” stuff seems a bit much.

“There’s no up, there’s no down, there’s no right or wrong way of holding it. I don’t have to change myself to fit the product… it fits me.” -Designer Guy

… in the way that a rectangular product with a flat, interactive surface (which is admittedly cool, but not particularly new), that can operate in either portrait or landscape orientation “fits me”? I mean, it’s neat that it flips (what was that? Oh yes–just like the iPod), but I don’t really know how he manages to deliver these lines with a straight face–leave alone with that ardent look of love in his eyes. (And, for the record, there are many wrong ways to hold it. Fact.)

Of course, he’s not the only person with great lines:

“Its going to change the way we do things every day.” -Marketing Guy

… I really don’t understand what he means by this. We’re still going to surf the web, watch videos and read email. We do that on our laptops or on our ipods, while sitting on the couch, the bus, etc. already.

Anyway, it’s a cheesy video. I suppose they have to make it seem like it can walk on water–and turn said water into wine in the process–but I find it both funny and slightly offputting. It makes me wonder who exactly they think they’re kidding.

I wonder–are they trying to over-hype it, knowing that as savvy viewers, we’ll parse out what’s actually kind of different & cool from the (admittedly cool) stuff that’s basically imported/recycled from other products? Or, do they really think we’re going to swallow this nonsense, hook, like and sinker? Most of it is simply not new. It really isn’t. The iPod was a revolution. This is an evolution–but I also question whether or not it will be a particularly viable one.

I fail to see the use of it–at least for me. I already carry around my Macbook Air, and have to baby that. I already have an iPod that I use on the bus and for quick email checks etc. I have a book reading program loaded on it, which I use with some regularity. So why would I need a third product–particularly one that I can’t easily type on, without getting out a little keyboard and special stand? I might as well use my laptop instead. If I’m going to get something for reading all my books on, I’d prefer something like the Kindle because the screen is easier on my eyes.

Now, if they had law books available on it, I might, admittedly, be tempted–and that’s about the ONLY reason I’d be tempted (I’m fine watching videos on my laptop, or on t.v.. Or on my iPod). But, if they somehow artificially prevented those books from being accessible on the iPod simply because they want people to shell out for the iPad, then I’d probably be too irritated to bother.