Hand-forged posts since 2002
For a project I’m working on (not MediaBugs but another effort in the media realm that’s a collaboration with Dan Gillmor and Bill Gannon):
We have some work for a designer who’s got lots of experience with Drupal to help us finish up a partially implemented design. This is a short-term gig that, we think, should be straightforward for someone who already knows Drupal well.
If you or someone you know might fit that bill, do be in touch with me at scottr /at/ this domain (wordyard.com). Thanks!
Say Everything is getting around. Here’s some links to recent coverage and related stuff:
My two favorite speaking gigs about the book are now both online. Fora.tv was there at the Hillside Club in Berkeley a couple of weeks ago. Here’s the video, in which you can, among other things, hear my “Top Ten Myths About Blogging”:
Also online now is a slightly different version of the same talk, which I gave at Microsoft Research earlier in July. Microsoft does a neat trick with timing the video and the presentation slides — but, warning, it will only work in IE.
Todd Bishop of Seattle’s TechFlash did a nice in-depth Q&A with me:
Q: What have blogs meant in the evolution of the Internet?
Rosenberg: I identify blogging as the first mass experience of having a read-write web or a two-way web or a user-generated web – all these terms mean the same thing. They mean a web that we create ourselves. 1994, 1995 was when people first saw browsers and got excited, and it took a good five, seven, eight years from that point for blogs to show people, this is what that vision is about – this is what it looks like when anyone can contribute..
Other Q&As are at Time.com, by Dan Fletcher. (But, hey, Time, what’s with the little red links every couple of paragraphs? Pretty crude.) And over at the NewsHour’s Art Beat blog, by Chris Amico. Also in Reason, by Jesse Walker:
Reason: Of the ’90s pioneers you write about in the first section of the book, are there any that you feel haven’t really gotten their due?
Rosenberg: In a way, that whole era is unjustly forgotten. The tech industry and indeed the online world have very little memory of history. One of my purposes in writing the book was to get it down while it’s still fresh in my mind, everyone’s still around to interview, and the pages can still be hauled out of the Internet Archive.
The Web moves really quickly, and we’ve had several generations of excitement. Today we have Twitter and Facebook and all of that, and people are having experiences in which they feel that they’re doing things for the first time. But nearly all of these experiences are things that people went through in the ’90s or the early part of the 2000s, whether it was revealing too much of your life and getting in trouble, or dreaming of some sort of utopia where we can all express ourselves and never get into fights. Telling those stories just seemed important.
On the review front, we’ve been in Business Week (“Gracefully written and well researched, Say Everything captures the drama of blogging’s rapid-fire rise”), the Seattle Times, the Christian Science Monitor and the Wall St. Journal.
Then there is Andrew Keen’s review, in the Barnes and Noble Review:
Rosenberg criticizes mogul Barry Diller for suggesting that talent remains the one scarcity in today’s media. But this book is a glitteringly subversive argument against Rosenberg’s own thesis. It’s a beautifully written and meticulously fair narrative about the past, present, and future of the blog. Only somebody with Rosenberg’s incomparable ability could have written Say Everything. We are lucky to have his unique talent.
My point about Diller, of course, was never meant to suggest that talent is or has become widespread or universal. Rather, I took issue with the media exec’s smug attitude that the old world he inhabits already does a thorough job of locating and rewarding talent. But, er, I’d be foolish to argue too strenuously here!
I’m also grateful to all the bloggers who’ve posted about the book so far, including, but certainly not limited to, J.D. Lasica, Peter Merholz, Rafe Colburn, Paul Kedrosky (“funny, authoritative, full of great-great stories and anecdotes, and admirably even-handed”), Rogers Cadenhead, Ed Cone, Marylene Delbourg-Delphis, John McDaid, and Scott Carpenter (“An amazing job… It is a real joy to find a book like this one, where I can fall under its spell as I increasingly trust the author to tell a good tale”).
Last Thursday I had the pleasure of talking about Say Everything with Michael Krasny on KQED’s Forum. I don’t think I fully infected Michael with my enthusiasm for bloggers and their place in our culture, but I was grateful for the rare opportunity this show (and host) provides to dig really deeply into a subject over the course of an hour.
One of my arguments is that blogs — so long derided as trivial — are actually the format we employ today when we want to go deep into any subject or topic. Forum and blogs: separated at birth?
Here’s the audio from the show:
Just a note to let you all know that I’m in Seattle for Say Everything-related events.
If you’re around these parts, come on down to the University Bookstore at 7 p.m. Wednesday for my talk and booksigning. Would love to see you there.
Seattle is in sunny glory tonight. What a place when the gloom clears!
I’m in NY attending the Personal Democracy Forum, an annual gathering where political geeks (from both ends of the partisan spectrum) meet geeky politicos. It’s got a great lineup of speakers and events.
I’m talking tomorrow on a panel titled “Why Blogging Still Matters,” with Dan Froomkin, whose recent unceremonious booting by the Washington Post has occasioned much justifiable outrage; Eric Boehlert, who’s got a new book out titled “The Bloggers on the Bus” tracing the impact of the Web on the 2008 election; and conservative blogger Jon Henke. It’s moderated by Ana Marie Cox and should be fun. I’ll link to coverage later.
Ten years ago today, Salon.com, the website I helped found in 1995 along with a group of colleagues from the San Francisco Examiner under the leadership of David Talbot, went public. We raised $25 million in an IPO that, from the vantage of a decade later, looks mirage-like in its improbability.
Today, of course, a Web company with little to offer besides some (extremely good) original content could never raise $25 million from investors, right? Actually, it seems to happen again and again. Strangely, this is a road that others continue to charge down with, apparently, only a vague sense of the history or the pitfalls.
One of the things we were proudest of about Salon’s IPO was the open, Dutch-auction style approach taken by our lead investment bank, W.R. Hambrecht & Co. (Jim Surowiecki wrote about the approach in Slate.) Hambrecht’s idea was to make the entire IPO process more fair and transparent by allowing investors to participate in setting the opening price in public through a novel auction approach. Our choice of this model was later vindicated when another little Silicon Valley company named Google adopted it for its own IPO in 2004.
Other things about that era are, certainly, painful to contemplate from this distance. The idea of using the IPO proceeds to go on a hiring binge looks insane, in retrospect — even though it was “what everyone else was doing” and it was what the company had explicitly promised investors it was going to do with their money. Almost precisely one year after the IPO, Salon, having grown to roughly 140 employees, would begin the first of several rounds of layoffs that eventually returned the company to the rational size it has remained at, roughly, to this day. (Read Gary Kamiya’s piece on Salon history from the site’s tenth anniversary in 2005 for more on all this.)
As I’ve written, during the dotcom bubble I was a father of newborn twins, and I spent much of the era in a haze of caffeine and adrenaline. Meanwhile, the pace of decision-making at Salon at the time was crazy — we were one small precinct of an entire industrial outbreak of madness. One conclusion I’ve drawn from that experience for myself is: never rely on a vehicle that’s moving too fast to steer. (And no, to answer a question some will probably have, I never made a cent on the offering myself: insiders weren’t allowed to sell stock at first, and by the time we were allowed to, the price had already begun to plummet. Besides, I really did believe in the company’s future.)
Salon survived, against the predictions of a chorus of schadenfreude-driven critics, and found its place as the Web resumed its growth from the post-bust rubble. I left the company two years ago to work on Say Everything, but I’m proud of the project I conceived and developed in my final year there, Open Salon. Under Kerry Lauerman’s leadership it has emerged as a true community of writers and readers — in some ways, fulfilling the original concept of Salon that David Talbot articulated in 1995 even more fully than the old-school Salon site.
Every post I’m writing here at Wordyard these days is mirrored over at my Open Salon blog (as well as on Facebook and other services). Write once, publish everywhere, talk with people anywhere they want to engage with you: not a concept that would have made it into a 1999 IPO prospectus, but one that makes a lot of simple Web sense today.
This qualifies as “woohoo!” level news: my entry in the Knight News Challenge is one of the winners this year (announced today).
The project is called MediaBugs. The plan is to build a Web service that’s like an open-source project’s bug tracker, but aimed at correcting errors and resolving problems with media coverage. You can read an FAQ about MediaBugs here.
It’s an idea I’ve been talking about for a long time. (I posted briefly about my application last fall.) I’m grateful to the Knight Foundation for giving us a chance to see how the idea will actually pan out. It’s a two-year grant; we’ll be starting a pilot project in the San Francisco Bay Area later this year.
I’m at Knight’s Future of News and Civic Media conference now and for the rest of this week. Much more on this before long. With this grant and the July 7 release date of Say Everything, this is turning out to be a very busy — and happy — time indeed.
I’m at the Oakland Airport waiting for a flight. They’re rebuilding the terminal here to accommodate fancier and doubtless more expensive concessions. The seating area near the gate for my flight was crowded, and I was early, so I moved to a less crowded area down the hall. Twenty minutes later, I looked up and saw that the flight’s gate had been changed: I was now sitting five feet from my plane’s departure doorway. I’d been stationary; the situation had just moved in my direction.
When I was studying software development, I learned that smart developers build products not for the market as it exists at the time but for where they think the market is going to be in the future. This wisdom recalls the famous hockey saying about skating not to where the puck is but where it’s going to be.
I’ve been thinking about these ideas as I watch the news industry struggle with changes that it could have (and should have) foreseen years ago. For me, making the transition from newsprint to digital in 1995 looked like the obvious thing to do — surely that was where the puck was heading, right? What surprises me today is not that the media-industry meltdown is happening but that it has taken so long to happen.
I recently discovered the wonderful game Fluxx, which I’ve been playing with my kids. It’s a simple card game with one profound concept: the rules and goals of the game are constantly shifting; the cards you play frequently alter both the process and the winning conditions.
Fluxx is enormously fun and entirely unpredictable. It’s also, I think, excellent training for life. It’s a crash-course in flexibility and agility. It teaches you to plan for change — but also to not get too attached to your plans.
Perhaps the next time news executives gather to ponder their options they should set aside a session for a few games.
As a young man in love with the nuts and bolts of publishing, beginning in high school in the 1970s, I spent a lot of time in print shops. The industry had just undergone a wrenching transition from “hot type” to “cold type” — abandoning a venerable technology involving hulking machines and heavy metal slugs in favor of phototypesetting systems that input text digitally (usually clumsily, via paper-tape rolls) and churned out fast-drying galleys on thick paper. Many print shops of the time existed, like those used by both my high school and college papers, as small offices carved out of much-larger spaces that had been used for the hot-type machinery. Often, the big old rooms were dark and still littered with debris — linotype detritus, boxes of metal slugs. The homes for the cold-type machines were comparative oases, well-lit and air-conditioned to keep the expensive new equipment happy.
This technological transition seemed momentous for the newspaper industry at the time; it rendered an entire tradition of printing skills obsolete and led to wrenching labor battles. But of course it was only a preface.
I was cleaning out my garage recently, combing through some old files, and stumbled on a research paper I wrote in 1981 as a senior in college. The title was “The Electronic Newsroom and the Video Display Terminal.” I was writing about the moment that the digital transition rolled out from the back shop to engulf the newsroom, as — almost overnight — the typewriters were put out to pasture and a generation of journalists learned to love cut/paste and the “delete” key. What would that mean for the future of news?
The paper isn’t a big deal; it was written for a course I’d taken mostly for its reputation as an easy way for humanities types like me to fulfill the science requirement. But I’d spent enough time as both a student journalist and a computer enthusiast to know that the changes taking place wouldn’t stop at the newsroom door. Here’s what I wrote:
In trailblazing information delivery uses for electronic technology, the newspapers have in a way introduced a Trojan horse into their midst: for in the coming decades newspapers may well find themselves supplanted by a combination of home video terminals, central information computers, and entrepreneurs in specialized information delivery systems.
Let’s see: “Home video terminals”? Check: that would be your PC. “Central information computers”? Check: the vast network of web servers that feed you your Google, YouTube and so on. “Entrepreneurs in specialized information delivery systems”? That would be your blogging multitude.
I make no claim for great prescience — quite the reverse. I was a college kid who had no particular inside knowledge or knack for future-gazing. Even so, it wasn’t hard to see where things were leading.
I’ll think of my little paper every time I hear news execs making the excuse that “no one could see” how things were going to play out between print and the online world. If a kid could see it nearly 30 years ago, maybe they should have tried a little harder.
Besides Ecco, Quicken is really the last app that I still need Windows for. (Quicken for the Mac is way inferior.) So I thought I’d finally figure out which of the Mac personal-finance contenders would best suit my needs: simple budget and expense tracking on several checking accounts and a credit card or two. All evidence pointed to iBank. I downloaded the program on free trial and checked it out. The register worked nicely, the interface was smooth, and it seemed like importing my 12 years’ worth of Quicken data could be accomplished. So I plunked down the not inconsiderable charge for the program, spent an hour or two figuring out how to avoid having transfers appear twice after the import, and thought I’d solved my problem.
Then I tried to create a report. And the program that had until that moment seemed well-built and -designed turned to sand between my fingers. Report? iBank basically says. What’s that? Oh, you have to create a chart and then you can generate a report? That seems silly — I don’t need a pie chart, it doesn’t tell me what I need to know, but if I have to pay the pie chart tax before I can get to my report, OK! I’ll make some pies! So finally I click the button to make a report and wait for the program to ask me some questions about, you know, which categories and dates and accounts I want to include in the report. But there is no dialogue box. The program grinds through its data and a minute later it spits out a clumsily formatted PDF. Wait a minute; I can customize the chart, and that should then change the report, right? But no, that would be too logical. Whatever I do to the chart, the report is still the same useless, largely unreadable junk.
This is a problem, because, really, the only point to the tedium of entering all these transactions is that at the end of the labor you can click a few buttons and actually gain some insight into where and how you are spending your money. iBank is like a financial-software roach motel: you can get your data in easily enough, but just try getting useful information out the other side!
My guess is that coding up a useful report generator must’ve fallen off the developers’ feature list somewhere along the way and keeps dropping off the upgrades list. Obviously I’m hugely disappointed, particularly since the trial version of iBank doesn’t let you enter more than a handful of transactions, so you never really have the chance to test out the report quality.
I think the next step is to give up on this category altogether and experiment with the online/cloud-based alternatives. Of the available choices, Wesabe, which I’ve begun playing with, and Mint appear to be the likeliest contenders. I’ll let you know how it goes, and welcome any tips and experiences you may have.