I was adamant to join facebook.
I previously had joined hi-5 (interesting things were happening in my life, so I was in the mood to share with friends).
I was never interested in MySpace.
By the time I had an elaborate hi-5 page, with half a dozen photos, youtube links, posts, etcetera, I learnt from my brother (who is seven years younger than I) that hi-5 was being sort of phased-out, and that he, along with other friends, were moving to facebook.
My niece had already abandoned hi-5.
I'm starting to put some stuff on a facebook page, reluctantly, since I've been kind of pressured ('socially' pressured if you would) to build a facebook presence.
By the time I established my presence, I leart that my older brother was an enthusiast of the site. He already had dozens of 'friends', 'albums' (photo albums) and youtube links. He seldom 'posts' stuff, but appears to be adding new friends and music links.
Then there is my sister-in-law. She posts by the hour (or by the minute) and my younger brother seems to post most of the time from an iPhone. My niece keeps herself busy with teen discussions and popular culture discussions.
But I am not very enthusiastic about this tool. When thinking of the Internet, people tend to forget that the Internet is a myriad of tools: it is the browser (bien sûr), the world wide web, the email, the file transfers (to avoid an obscure term like file transfer protocol), the blogs, etcetera.
Facebook is just another tool of the Internet (it is not the Internet).
It could be that I am not much of a social person (and facebook is a social environement). Or it could be that I am getting old, and I long for the days when the Internet was something exciting and new to discover. Years ago there was a thing called Mosaic, developed by the National Science Foundation. At the moment I'm not able to confirm this, but Mosaic may have been the first available browser, and later evolved into Netscape.
Apple computers were called Macintosh and were the size of a small television set (only taller). These Macintosh and Mosaic were a state-of-the-art combination.
Though it wasn't long before I discovered amazon.com, the Internet of those days wasn't much of a commercial venture. It was largely confined to universities, and was a superb research tool. I remember having suscribed to a news service (OMRI) where they posted up to date news about Eastern Europe. If a demonstration had taken place in Bulgaria, with people flooding the streets of Sofia, I'd know it immediately the next day, before the headline made new on local (or international papers).
Communiqués were simple: just a header, a date stamp, a body of text (probably in courier type) and a dozen lines of text from onsite reporters. There wasn't anything fancy, you know, today's flash animations, sounds, videos.. Personally, I find the old communiqués better than today's news pages -which can be distracting.
Radio poscasts didn't exist in the early ninetees and I'm glad we have them today.
This is why I don't like facebook, this is why I never joined the Instant messaging wave. On the Internet there are other things than facebook, messenger or twitter.
I guess our usages of the Internet reflect who we are in the physical world. For someone who avoids small conversation, instant messaging may not be his (or her) cup of tea. Someone who has many friends and is "networked" (to loan a word from the business world) is more likely to have many friends on facebook.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
"Sobre O Tempo"
I don't speak Portuguese.
In the past I used to correspond with several Brazilian colleagues, preferably in English (I avoided Portuguese). So, even though our mother languages were (are) closer, I preferred this intermediation of English.
Several communication problems appeared. First, as much as they tried, my interlocutors weren't very fluent in English. Second, a heavy accent persisted thus rendering some words, or phrases, unintelligible.
The real problem, however, was my insistence that people communicated in English. I wasn't very flexible. I remember opening an interview with the following:
"Please, no Portuguese, I don't speak Portuguese".
This, of course, wasn't very polite. Imagine a Frenchman coming to your office for a journal interview, the first thing he asks not to speak any English during half an hour, but rather Spanish -or German.
There is a whole field of management studies that deals with cultural differences (a certain Hofstede comes to mind). There's something Byzantine about these rules: whether you should do (or say) this or that (or you shouln't) whether there is a certain personal distance to respect, whether non-verbal language counts more than spoken language...
Seen in retrospect my contempt for Portuguese was insensitive, arrogant. Portuguese is the second language of Latin America. I never realised, until I visited Rio de Janeiro for a technology conference in the mid-ninetees, that there could be this other universe of music, television, literature, cinema, culture in a different language.
In my mind there are images of Brazil that have stood the test of time. I remember a very rapid, elevated highway in Rio. The whole delegation would criss-cross the city unperturbed by the traffic below. There was also a drive Between São Paulo and Campos do Jordão. While our air-conditioned van moved at fast speed, on both sides of the road factories kept appearing and reappering. At the time, the Rio highway seemed to me a more 'European' solution to traffic (as opposed to a 'North American' approach). On the other hand, the industrial corridor in São Paulo reminded me more of Asia's economic might than of Latin America's industrial stagnation of the eighties.
In the past I used to correspond with several Brazilian colleagues, preferably in English (I avoided Portuguese). So, even though our mother languages were (are) closer, I preferred this intermediation of English.
Several communication problems appeared. First, as much as they tried, my interlocutors weren't very fluent in English. Second, a heavy accent persisted thus rendering some words, or phrases, unintelligible.
The real problem, however, was my insistence that people communicated in English. I wasn't very flexible. I remember opening an interview with the following:
"Please, no Portuguese, I don't speak Portuguese".
This, of course, wasn't very polite. Imagine a Frenchman coming to your office for a journal interview, the first thing he asks not to speak any English during half an hour, but rather Spanish -or German.
There is a whole field of management studies that deals with cultural differences (a certain Hofstede comes to mind). There's something Byzantine about these rules: whether you should do (or say) this or that (or you shouln't) whether there is a certain personal distance to respect, whether non-verbal language counts more than spoken language...
Seen in retrospect my contempt for Portuguese was insensitive, arrogant. Portuguese is the second language of Latin America. I never realised, until I visited Rio de Janeiro for a technology conference in the mid-ninetees, that there could be this other universe of music, television, literature, cinema, culture in a different language.
In my mind there are images of Brazil that have stood the test of time. I remember a very rapid, elevated highway in Rio. The whole delegation would criss-cross the city unperturbed by the traffic below. There was also a drive Between São Paulo and Campos do Jordão. While our air-conditioned van moved at fast speed, on both sides of the road factories kept appearing and reappering. At the time, the Rio highway seemed to me a more 'European' solution to traffic (as opposed to a 'North American' approach). On the other hand, the industrial corridor in São Paulo reminded me more of Asia's economic might than of Latin America's industrial stagnation of the eighties.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Hamlet's setting
I've never read Hamlet -nor seen the movie. In fact, I don't think it's something I'll be reading in the near future (my apologies to Shakespeare readers).
The truth is I am more of a non-fiction guy. I've read only a few novels, for very practical reasons. For instance, I read Maria Chapdelaine (in French) a few weeks before I moved to Québec. I read a Serbian novel, by Milorad Pavic, because I have an academic interest in the Balkan war. (Pavic, who died last November, wrote in a Borgesian style).
I'd normally pick a history book over a fiction work. My brother, on the contrary, keeps an entire collection of Latin American literature and may have read some Shakespeare already.
Of the history books I've read I keep fresh memories of a few. A couple of Geoffrey Parker books deal with the reign of Philip II: the fate of his Armada, his administrative style (highly bureaucratic) and his endless campaigns in the Netherlands where a certain Duke of Alba was a key personage. Did you know that letters exchanged between the armies of Spain in the XVI century at times traveled so fast that they almost "flew"? (of course, other mail never reached destination or was late).
In the early to mid ninetees, two BBC correspondents wrote a highly detailed account of the Yugoslav war; later, David Rohde from The New York Times witnessed the tragic events of Srebrenica and published a book which, ten years later, is out of print.
So, why would I mention Hamlet, a book that I haven't read (nor have any intention to read, my excuses)?
The reason is I wanted to describe the town of Helsingor in Denmark, seat of the castle which reportedly inspired Shakespeare. That's going to require another post, for I have deviated a lot from the desired subject. The castle is imposing, certainly, and on the other side of the Strait one can see the coast of Sweden.
The truth is I am more of a non-fiction guy. I've read only a few novels, for very practical reasons. For instance, I read Maria Chapdelaine (in French) a few weeks before I moved to Québec. I read a Serbian novel, by Milorad Pavic, because I have an academic interest in the Balkan war. (Pavic, who died last November, wrote in a Borgesian style).
I'd normally pick a history book over a fiction work. My brother, on the contrary, keeps an entire collection of Latin American literature and may have read some Shakespeare already.
Of the history books I've read I keep fresh memories of a few. A couple of Geoffrey Parker books deal with the reign of Philip II: the fate of his Armada, his administrative style (highly bureaucratic) and his endless campaigns in the Netherlands where a certain Duke of Alba was a key personage. Did you know that letters exchanged between the armies of Spain in the XVI century at times traveled so fast that they almost "flew"? (of course, other mail never reached destination or was late).
In the early to mid ninetees, two BBC correspondents wrote a highly detailed account of the Yugoslav war; later, David Rohde from The New York Times witnessed the tragic events of Srebrenica and published a book which, ten years later, is out of print.
So, why would I mention Hamlet, a book that I haven't read (nor have any intention to read, my excuses)?
The reason is I wanted to describe the town of Helsingor in Denmark, seat of the castle which reportedly inspired Shakespeare. That's going to require another post, for I have deviated a lot from the desired subject. The castle is imposing, certainly, and on the other side of the Strait one can see the coast of Sweden.
A rainy day in Brussels
I remember that a little rain started while I was walking central Brussels.
Some people carried umbrellas (which they put to use immediately) some didn't. It was, after all, a rainy month where neighbouring France, that same June, had nearly Apocalyptic rains that crippled the Southern Var department.
I didn't carry an umbrella -just a small video camera. I made a short video of the scene in front of me: young Bruxellois surprised by the rain, running to the sidewalk to keep from the rain under a balcony, a cornice, a storefront...
I found refuge under the arches of a building. The place had glass windows and the interior looked like a customer service office. It had a large counter and I imagined people joining a queue prior to being served.
Inside there were 5 giant letters (it read "visit"). Each of the letter was tapestried with images of medieval towns, forests, cycling roads... I realised this was no 'customer service' -it was a Flanders Tourism office.
The man on the street may (or may not) know that Belgium isn't a country (though it is) but actually two: the Flemish speaking Flanders and the French speaking Wallonia. (The reader be advised that, for the purpose of blog readability I am being very simplistic here).
There is a divide between Flanders and Wallonia, one that goes beyond language. In fact, that same day, not very far away, I found Wallonia's own tourism office.
Many of the photographs in the Flanders' office showed cycling scenes. Nowhere in Europe had I seen so many people cycling than in Belgium. Indeed, I would say that bycicles are a more common sight in Bruges than its canals.
The rain didn't last long. People closed their umbrellas, kept moving on. I had a few more days to spend in Belgium. I took a train deep inside Wallonia. Forests, cities, parishes appeared in front of my eyes. Some train stations looked very state of the art, others very run down. It was like witnessing Belgium's gulfes and contrasts through its train stations.
It's been almost a month since I returned from a 15 day Europe trip. I'll be posing some of my experiences in this blog.
Some people carried umbrellas (which they put to use immediately) some didn't. It was, after all, a rainy month where neighbouring France, that same June, had nearly Apocalyptic rains that crippled the Southern Var department.
I didn't carry an umbrella -just a small video camera. I made a short video of the scene in front of me: young Bruxellois surprised by the rain, running to the sidewalk to keep from the rain under a balcony, a cornice, a storefront...
I found refuge under the arches of a building. The place had glass windows and the interior looked like a customer service office. It had a large counter and I imagined people joining a queue prior to being served.
Inside there were 5 giant letters (it read "visit"). Each of the letter was tapestried with images of medieval towns, forests, cycling roads... I realised this was no 'customer service' -it was a Flanders Tourism office.
The man on the street may (or may not) know that Belgium isn't a country (though it is) but actually two: the Flemish speaking Flanders and the French speaking Wallonia. (The reader be advised that, for the purpose of blog readability I am being very simplistic here).
There is a divide between Flanders and Wallonia, one that goes beyond language. In fact, that same day, not very far away, I found Wallonia's own tourism office.
Many of the photographs in the Flanders' office showed cycling scenes. Nowhere in Europe had I seen so many people cycling than in Belgium. Indeed, I would say that bycicles are a more common sight in Bruges than its canals.
The rain didn't last long. People closed their umbrellas, kept moving on. I had a few more days to spend in Belgium. I took a train deep inside Wallonia. Forests, cities, parishes appeared in front of my eyes. Some train stations looked very state of the art, others very run down. It was like witnessing Belgium's gulfes and contrasts through its train stations.
It's been almost a month since I returned from a 15 day Europe trip. I'll be posing some of my experiences in this blog.
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