evan zimmerman

Now that Panther is out, I’ve been perusing some of the reports of speed increases and ruminating on the ages old Mac vs. Win showdown. It’s tired, I know, but I wanted to report my own experience because…well, really for no reason at all other than to state a real-world experience. There’s a test I want to see that I proffer will be more accurate than any benchmarks or “Application Showdowns”.I drove an HP Omnibook 800mhz earlier this year before I switched and took on the lovely 12 inch powerbook at a comparable 867mhz. This is a close comparison on paper, but before that I used Macs running much slower than comparable Intel machines on average in terms of clock speed.So we constantly see benchmarked tests and speed tests of applications, which give varying reports. That’s fine, but when I read these I always want to ask, “is that really how anyone’s machine is configured?”. What I would like to see is a test of Bob the realtor’s home office machine running WinXP Home after one year of use, vs. Jim the journalist’s machine running OS X Jaguar after a year.Why? Here’s the thing—Macs usually are installed with two basic groups of software, the OS, and the Apps. That’s it, generally speaking. Windows boxes are usually installed with three groups of software – the OS, the Apps, and the Utitlities. By Utilities, I mean all the little crap applications that are required to make it work with each piece of extraneous hardware (even OEM installed), each potential virus, and each potential hacker. When I was running the two laptops side by side, HP and Apple, I had massive speed differences in the Mac. Very noticeable, far beyond the clock speed differences. Why? The system tray and registry attrition.After a year of use almost any Windows user will have a system tray full of little apps and crap, some that are useful, some that are not. It’s these that i’m referring to. Yes, the Mac has little background apps too – but I’m referring to the class of application more than the visual location. Utilities that do virus scans; utilities that scan for spyware; utilities that operate a firewall; reminders to do this or that or the other thing that Windows thinks you should. After a year with each OS, with the additional detritus that accumulates invisibly in the registry as well, you have a slower computer on Windows than you do on OS X in my experience. This is despite even major clock hurdles. That’s the test I want to see PC World do – Bob the Realtor vs. Jim the Journalist, one year later.

Update: I just stumbled upon this article, which we wouldn’t have seen a few years ago from so many esteemed security professionals I doubt. I lays out the case against MS as a secure platform, and it pertains to my comments insomuch as I think this is one of the reasons MS will start to fade in coming years.It’s becoming increasingly apparent to some that Microsoft has reached the saturation point, and is going to begin a slow retraction in the operating system market of the future. The most recent attack and other news point toward a shift in both attitude at MS and perception from outside. They’ve long been victims of their own policies and software, for better and worse, and have been derided popularly as a result of some of those policies, yet lately it seems to be reaching critical mass.I’m sure this has been said many times in the past, just as Apple is so often declared dead, but something has changed.Recent surveys suggest MS is holding at 90% and up in OS market share, with *nix and Mac OS following way behind. It’s unlikely that Mac will make up much ground for a few years, though they’ll likely grow a little, but Linux is steadily taking over the types of contract which are the core of MS’s dominance, the government and enterprise business customers. Every week or two lately a high profile case crops up, and each time it’s covered less like a shock by mainstream media, and more like “another victory for underdog Linux”. This won’t continue forever, and eventually it will likely shift to a expectant “what will MS do now?” attitude as the inevitable happens and MS market share contracts. This doesn’t mean the end for MS – that won’t happen – but it means the company will begin to further it’s ongoing shift toward other markets, and soften it’s approach publicly in those it dominates, in hopes of lessening the trapped feelings of IT managers, faced with budgets that don’t jibe with MS lock-in policies.It’s fascinating to watch – I imagine it’s much like what was experienced watching the Bells be torn apart and Standard Oil be broken up, only in this case, it won’t be the government that does it. The government failed, and while MS was concentrating on winning that war with lobbyists and Washington attorneys, the gnats that were buzzing around in the OSS community grew up and faced the fact that no one was going to serve the beat down for them. Now, faced with the reality that Linux and other options are ready for prime-time in the enterprise, and close to it on the desktop, MS is sweating it and looking for other avenues to expand. It’ll be fierce in coming years, but my guess is that with hooks now laid in congress and a war chest the likes of which the world hasn’t seen, MS will just buy new markets as it perceives them (consoles and cellphones, anyone?) and legislate against competitors in the US. But eventually, the international market for the OS will largely be lost to Microsoft, and US businesses will begin to see more clearly the future of computing. I’m looking forward to a market that competes on the basis of ideas and enthusiasm, rather than FUD and manipulation.

Choose Your Own AdventureIn elementary school I used to sneak into the office behind the stacks of the school library where the new books were kept. My mother was the principal, and each day I would wait after school, digging through the piles, casting each book aside looking for the new Choose Your Own Adventures. Once found, I would take them to a bean bag in the reading area and read them each straight through, marking different places with as many as four fingers at a time so that if I made a wrong choice, I could return and continue forward. Too bad that life doesn�t work that way.The Three InvestigatorsMy neighbor Paul had them all and I remember thinking how impossible it was that he was a year younger, yet had more books than I did. There was no other reason – I simply thought he should have less, since for a kid, age is the ultimate currency. They were great little stories and my first experience with character development. The characters didn�t seem to change much over each book, but they acquired new interests (usually devices pertinent to the story at hand) and that was enough. My favorite was the third in the series, though I forget the title. I recall a thrilling segment on a paddle-wheel riverboat and bullets imbedded in a tree. I remember thinking I could really feel that fear of being shot as I sympathized so completely with that detective. I�ve felt those emotions when reading many times since, but I suspect only as a kid can you actually confuse yourself with a book character and so completely share the emotions provided them by the author.Lloyd AlexanderThe first in the Prydain Chronicles was given to me by a friend in what would become a recurring theme – he would give me something he thought was uncool or useless, and I�d run with it and discover the wonder that those who�d given it to him had intended for him. More often than not, he would then claim credit when he realized it wasn�t so uncool after all, but that�s kids for you.I loved the series and remember also wanting so badly to see the cartoon movie that was made for the second in the series, The Black Cauldron, but never finding a way to see it. I don�t think I ever did actually, even now.The third chapter in the series made me feel extremely mature as I recall. I felt I�d come so far from the first one, and perhaps by the intention of the author I had grown up with the main character. I�d learned what he�d learned, and when it came time to notice that he�d become more mature I realized that I could too – and felt I should.

It’s not easy to see a country in weeks or years, and even more difficult to see it in days. When planning our trip to Athens we had to make sacrifices and find ways to fit all that we wanted to see into a short span of time, and one of the ways we managed this was to cram sights in on some days and wander on others. One of those days we spent touring islands on the worst sort of packaged cruise, the type of service you see advertised and you just know it’s going to be filled with screaming kids, grouchy suckers and at best, other folks like us, doing it on the cheap. It’s a trade off—see three gorgeous Greek islands in one day, but lose any sense of independence. We decided to treat it as an adventure. We saw the sights and found the inspiration for one of the best days of our lives later that week, but we also had to face the reality of world politics unexpectedly.This trip took place in July, soon after the end of what was termed major conflict in Iraq, and more particularly during the time that the world was increasingly angry at U.S. behavior. Greece is a bridge in the world, in that it resides in some ways in what would be considered the west, and in other ways in the Middle East. It is a part of Europe, close to Italy but bordering Turkey, just south of the Balkans and not far from Syria, Israel and Africa. The culture that I experienced seemed to reflect the idea that it exists in a nexus of conflicting cultures and philosophies, and was at the same time a unique culture all to its own.On the ship we spent much of our time watching the people interact, trying to determine the countries of origin and the corresponding behaviors, doing our best to offset the behavior of other Americans aboard. As people watching goes, it was certainly not a representative sample for any given place, but was wildly entertaining nevertheless. The first stop, Poros, was a small Greek isle populated on one side with aggressive magnet and postcard saleswomen, and on the other, steep climbing staircases flanked with quaint homes painted white to deflect the sun and vibrant pinks and blues to enhance the sky’s beauty. We were only allowed about 45 minutes on the island, having fallen behind at the dock in Athens, so we experienced more sales pitches than beauty. Anyone visiting would be well advised to head opposite any direction that the ships crew might direct you, should you seek calm more than commerce.As we boarded the ship to leave Poros we were confronted by a steward who demanded to see the color of our ship passes. We’d known that a meal would be provided, but had yet to see any real hint at how or where. The steward noted our pass color and physically directed us toward a lower deck cabin. Once there we saw our meals laid out—pasta with tomato sauce, basmati rice and a selection of well-soaked sliced fruit. A suitibly generic world-meal, one might suppose, but we were disappointed. We had hoped we might come to the Greek isles and eat Greek food, but it was not to be on the ship.We seated ourselves across from a young couple, both perhaps 35 with olive skin and festive vacation shirts suggesting a recent trip to Ibiza, Spain. I’d initially thought them Israeli, but decided it would be politic not to make assumptions, given my naivete and the likelihood that a non-Israeli Arab might not take such an assumption amicably. We sat, the four of us, in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until the young woman spoke up, asking if we were on honeymoon. We weren’t, but it turned out that they were and were on their way next to Rhodes. They pronounced it ro-das, probably the correct pronounciation but not the way of my 3rd grade world history teacher, so it took a few moments to catch up. This was the way for much of the conversation—they spoke three languages each while I, stereotypically, struggle with one and Michelle makes do with one and a half.The man sat quietly across from me as Michelle and his wife discussed marriages, the size of their wedding and cultural differences as they pertained to weddings. Now that I think of it, we both sat silently while they did this. When the subject of Greece arose, he said that he was raised in Greece or had relatives in Athens, hence their visit. He kept his eyes down or to the side, never meeting mine. I realize American mores differ, but I still felt a compulsion to try to make conversation, which clearly was not interesting him. Then Michelle asked where they were from, and there was a pause, as if for consideration.“Lebanon”, he said, still avoiding eye contact.Michelle and his wife went on, but I found myself locked in thought as he and I sat, face to face, eating our pasta. I know little about Lebanon as such, but I do know that the U.S. has not had friendly relations there for years, and that we have recently invaded and deposed a dictator in a nearby Arab country, Iraq, one which was ostensibly allied with his until recently. I know that at best he looks uncomfortable, and at worst, angry. About that time the conversation moved toward politics, to my horror:“What do you think of your government,” Michelle asked. My heart stopped briefly until I realized that we were at sea, travelling between Greek isles, two couples on vacation—why worry? She and I had been discussing the ongoing war in light of our location and travel in general earlier in the day.They paused again, and again he answered for them both,”Well… it is a Syrian government… you know.” I had not known that, but it didn’t make me feel better. The week before we left North Carolina President Bush had strongly suggested we might be invading Syria. Soon.Clearly they assumed we understood more than we did about their perspective, but the conversation was quickly illustrating to me how uninformed we really were. My nervousness rose, and I looked at him again: tall and fit with a tight clipped haircut. My paranoia asked, could he be Lebanese Army? No, he’d said they were, “in the banking sector…you know”. He consistently assumed us knowledgable when we were not about this part of the world, but while we are educated and more informed than the majority of Americans, neither of us knew much about the political climate of the Middle East. I calmed a bit and thought it through: upper-class Lebanese bankers on holiday in Greece. Surely this won’t be a problem.“What do you think of the war?” Michelle asked. A fair question, but come on, cut me a break, I thought.“No one likes war,” he said quietly, looking up for the first time. Our eyes met briefly, and from the look I saw there, I began to realize I had misjudged the situation entirely. “The Muslims, they breed in the streets”, he said, suddenly angry as his wife nodded beside him, “and we Christians are slowly forced out of government as they have five children to our one or two.”Ten even,” his wife said.I wasn’t enjoying this change of tide one bit.“If you want to come for us,” he says, more firmly, “we are ready.” As he says this he looks directly in my eyes for the first time. I got a chill.“We don’t agree with what’s happening either,” Michelle says, hoping to allay their concerns.“But we want Bush to help us, help us get rid of some of the Arabs in our country and let us keep our power. We can help you, we want business, just as you do.”We had all misjudged one another. They clearly thought that Americans simply didn’t like Muslims, being a largely Christian country, and would be happy to be rid of them at any time. They were Christians as well as Arabs, and so they felt this to be not only right, but thought we would agree. It was a frightening misconception and stunned me so thoroughly that I didn’t know where to take the conversation or how to repair it without conflict. We sat in silence for awhile, and eventually wound back around to travel and Rhodes to escape the tension. Apparently it’s a great place to party.When finally Michelle and I made our leave from lunch, it was clear that they were disappointed. We saw them several times that afternoon, both on Aegina and Hydra, and while they seemed inclined to have us tour with them, we managed to find reasons to go in a different direction each time. It took the rest of the afternoon, too, to think the conversations through.Of course they would feel threatened—they were part of the ruling minority and should there be a transition in goverment, it would be difficult for them. They looked down on the poorer parts of their society apparently, relating them to rats in exactly those words, and yet wrongly believed that we too felt this way. These realizations were what it took for me to realize how destructive our country’s behavior can be to world perception. Simply by being Americans it was assumed that we were racist, destructive, and money-hungry. They thought it perfecty natural to discuss the possiblity of our President coming into their country to do business and put down a Muslim population over lunch at sea. Then the question hit me: Why shouldn’t they think these things? We do invade and put down populations. We do use our military power to generate business opportunity. Our President is a member of a a priviledged, elite, moneyed class, and uses his power to assist those like him and to further the distance from those unlike him.It felt truly disconcerting. I wanted to tell them, and I did tell them, that most Americans didn’t agree with the way things were going in Iraq. Many in the U.S. didn’t want us to invade, and many more had supported the war based solely on the idea that they can trust the person who leads them, not expecting that trust to be abused. It turned out not to be within our power to stop. It was a harsh reality to face away from home, at sea on vacation. I thought initially we would struggle to connect, that this was someone else’s enemy, Bush’s enemy, not mine, but it turns out that as Americans sometimes we are simply our own worst enemy.

I’m sitting here on the front steps of my home, increasingly convinced that yard sales are the most awkward form of human interaction possible. Maybe not the absolute worst, but close.Here I am, asking people to come to my house and buy (or just take, for that matter) the things that I no longer want. My crap. Not just crap that’s laying around, but the crap thats been laying around and has simply polluted our space. Now it must be sold to the first bidder because we’ve become so overwhelmingly irritated of moving it around from unused corner to unused corner that we now are willing to give it away to passersby with pocket change. Negotiating a sale in such circumstances is tricky. There are all breeds of yard salers I’m beginning to realize. This only the 3rd event I’ve hosted so I’m still learning.First, we have those that won’t buy anything unless they can negotiate, the Competitive Buyers:“How much?”“Three dollars”“Will you take fifty cents?”Now here you have to stop and think. Is this crap worth more satisfaction to me if I throw it away and tell this person to piss off (it’s just a dollar!), or do I mark it for 1/50th of what it cost and then let it be bartered down from there?Next, there those who won’t barter, the Timid Buyer – just tell them how much, and it’s either too much or too little. Except you only know they’re the type who won’t barter after you’ve stated a price. Too late.“How much?”“Three dollars”, but I’m thinking I’ll take a dollar if they offer.“Oh”, he says, figuratively kicking the dirt. I can see the annoyance in his eyes—he wants it, but he doesn’t like the feel of cheapness that comes from bartering. Maybe someone told him he was cheap once, and he’s spent years trying to prove he’s not (knowing deep inside that he is…)Now I wonder, should I offer to take less? But then if I do, I lose the buyer’s respect. “He’s just desperate”, the buyer thinks, writing me off. Do I care enough about this crap – and lets remember, this is the crap that I cleaned cobwebs off of at 6am this morning – to swallow my pride for a dollar?There exists too a creature for whom the item is not the point, the Bottom-dollar Buyer. This person cares nothing for what they’re purchasing, but rather, feels so powerless in their own life that they must try to get one over on a stranger at a yard sale to compensate.“How much?”“Three dollars”“Would you take a quarter?”“Mmm, well no, but I’ll take a dollar”“Would you take a quarter?”“I’ll take a dollar”“Oh. Ok. But would you take a quarter?”“No, but I can give you a swift kick in the ass for free”. Smile.Not really, but you get the point. No satisfaction unless the absolute smallest amount is accepted. I’m not sure exactly what the feeling is that this brings – superiority, perhaps? Well being? Regardless, it’s enough to piss me off, and I’m really easy-going.Now, should you be wary of this line of thought, please understand: I have sold a lot of crap this morning. I’ve also bought a lot of crap, much of it on my lawn for sale right now, at other folks’ yard sales. The crap just goes around and around. Perhaps there is a certain category of crap that is attractive until it hits artificial light and then the sheen washes away. I don’t know.The cast…The Talker wants to get their social interaction out of this event for the week. Or maybe they’re just friendly. Either way, they’re the ones you want, because their purchase decisions are driven by the person doing the selling, any salesman’s dream. If you’re nice, they’ll buy your crap.The Quiet Person walks around your piles, holding his or her hands clasped tightly at their chest, peering about. This buyer will get something sometimes, but they won’t negotiate usually. That’s asking too much. I try to give them a low price just to move my crap into their house. If you have a quiet person in your office, expect some of my crap to be your Christmas gift this year, ‘cause that’s about right.Interspersed throughout the morning you’ll see the two most annoying species of yard saler, the drive-bys. There is the first type, the Ego, and the second, the SuperEgo. The Ego simply drives by, judging you and your crap and feigning little interest. As they pass – it’s usually a couple – you see their searching, squinted eyes as they scan for worthy items. Usually you won’t want them to stop because should they deign, they’ll transform quickly into the bottom-dollar buyer. For them it’s a power-trip, a hobby to see the hoi-polloi on a Saturday morning, scavenging and scraping the bottom. Until they see a deal, then it’s all smiles.The SuperEgo is usually single and extremely self-aware. He might drive by and feign interest, but will never stop at first. He scans the lawn, knowing full well he wants to stop, but for reasons he cannot understand, he won’t. A few minutes later you’ll see a person walking up the street, car nowhere to be seen. He looks, never making eye contact no matter how pleasantly you say “Good Morning”. If he purchases something, he won’t bargain because that would suggest he can’t afford any price you might set. As he walks away you’ll notice the car he gets into down the street. It’s the same drive-by who didn’t stop just a short while before, only he’s parked where he thinks you won’t see his car and recognize him. What am I gonna do, tell him off for driving by? Don’t hide man, it just makes you look pathetic.Finally, there’s the Stable Personality. Thank them when they show up, because they’re the saving grace, though sadly in the minority. This buyer will talk to you, but not about uncomfortable topics like their grandson’s goiter. And not too much or not at all. They buy if the deal is right, and usually if you’re honest they can tell and will trust you. Give five of these each with a twenty in their pocket, and I’ll give them my entire inventory of crap. Take it away.Here’s the way it usually goes: you (hopefully remember to) place the ad. You carefully mention the time, it starts, 8am is good if you want any sleep, and make the effort to actually note “no early birds”. You pull all of your crap out from where it’s been carefully hidden and blended into the home, so as not to stand out when near the less crappy items. If you’re a student you may not have any of those yet.You get up that morning, shower, and that’s about the time someone will be clomping around in the bushes, knocking on your bathroom window, wondering where your crap is. It’s 6am. You freak, thinking it’s later or knowing it’s not, but either way struggle to get whatever crap didn’t sit out over night, onto the lawn. The Early Bird is there, following you around, looking in your boxes while you’re carrying them, hoping to get one over on the pathetically courteous folks who actually obey requests and rules. These are the people who drive to the front of the line in traffic on the shoulder, then expect someone to let them in. Bastards. If you don’t have you’re crap out fast enough, the early bird will also criticize you for being lazy. If you tell them you set a time and they’re early, they’ll tell you the paper didn’t print that part.By the time you’ve got your crap arrayed in a semi-pleasant manner, the drive-bys have begun. A few Egos will probably pass you by before the first buyer has arrived. Ignore them. (note: if you want to irritate them, pay the extra 25 cents a word and add “Antiques” to your ad, and watch them accelerate off when they see your actual crap).Soon the buyers will begin to trickle in. It’s a good idea to have a few signs up at least a day before to draw word of mouth from your neighbors, too. You’ll likely get a mix of Quiet and Talkers early on after you’ve beaten back the Early Birds. As you burn on into real daylight, you may see a few Stable Personalities show up. Try to unload as much as you can with them, because they’re your gems. Just like seeing a puppy go to a good home, offloading crap to nice people is a good feeling. You may see a few SuperEgo’s wander in, but just let them come to you and pretend you don’t see them. It makes them feel better. You’ll have at least a few check writers among your personalities, but don’t let them talk you into it. Ditto for the Big Bill carriers, unless you keep your ultraviolet light handy. I usually have a local store in mind that’ll be open, just in case they actually want to cash that stuff. “Sure I’ll hold it for you”. For ten minutes, that is.By 10am it’s time to swallow your pride. If someone glances at your crap, offer it to them. Let them name their price – Sold! If you have items you’re uncertain about and can’t part with for a 10th of what they’re worth, they shouldn’t be on your lawn anyway.Results may vary. In my case, by noon I’m hauling out the dumpster to see how much crap I can fit in it. If I’ve got items that’ll fit in boxes and won’t “infect” my vehicle, either with spiders (from the shed) or just dust, then they go to Goodwill. Furniture is tough – too expensive to give away, too big for easy passage to Goodwill – try to get rid of that early. Collectibles go slow sometimes, but they always go. You may want to have a big box in your storage space of choice for yard sale crap to save time next time.Why do we do this if it’s such a nightmare? Well, personally I’d love to just trash all of this stuff, but my conscience won’t let me. Too much waste. But I’m too lazy to actually cart it all to Goodwill, though that will be what happens with whatever is left over. They’ll charge you more for it than I will. So it’s that, and it’s the single item quest – the desire to purchase something that’s just a little too indulgent or unnecessary but “wouldn’t that be nice to have”. For me, maybe an iPod or anything else with firmware; for Michelle, art supplies more than likely. Next time, when we’ve forgotten this time we’ll think,”maybe we can sell some of this shit lying around to buy something we don’t really need but really do want…”In case you’re wondering, I’m an Ego yard-saler, semi-retired. Yes, I understand the hypocrisy, but I don’t care. My crap deserves better.