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Conceived in 1977, launched in 1989, the spacecraft Galileo ends its 34th orbit exactly one hour from now, hitting the atmosphere at 48 kilometers a second. In its long history, it taught us much, despite the failure of its main antenna that left only its tiny backup to send data, but its enduring legacy will always be the discovery that Europa's icy crust hides a planetary saltwater ocean. That ocean's potential for alien life is why the craft will self-vaporize: to avoid possible terrestrial contamination. The JPL's webcast starts roughly now, and should last about two hours (light delay). Don't miss the view from the prow and impact animations. If you're into these spacecraft and the people who build them, read Journey Beyond Selene. And while we grieve for Galileo today, remember, orbital insertion for Cassini-Huygens is only 283 days away!

We ran stories about Galileo's impending incineration earlier this month and last November when the plan was decided.

Here is a typical passage from Journey Beyond Selene, about the worst glitch in Galileo's mission, and the beginnings of how it would be worked around. Failures and the engineers who salvage them are the recurring tragic, triumphant story of our missions into space. Reproduced without permission:

With such triply redundant hardware built into their spacecraft, mission planners could feel confident that they had designed a communications system that was almost completely resistant to failure, and for the first eighteen months after Galileo's 1989 launch, there was no reason to assume anything would fail. Finally, on April 11, 1991, when the ship's trajectory had spiraled out as far as the edge of the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, JPL planners decided it was at last probably safe to unlock the high-gain antenna and spread its ribs. It was only then that they'd learn if triply redundant was redundant enough.

Though the deployment of the high-gain system was not a complicated exercise, it was a critical one, and for that reason the chieftans of the Galileo project made sure they were there to watch it happen. On hand at the flight director's console that afternoon were mission director Neal Ausman, deputy mission director Matt Landanow, and project manager Bill O'Neil. O'Neil and Ausman were far and away the higher ranking of the three men, but Landanow, they all knew, was far and away the most knowledgeable. As chief engineer during the Galileo design phase, he had familiarized himself with every strut, nut and rivet of the ship, and could practically describe their placement and purpose from memory alone. If anything went wrong this afternoon, Landanow would likely be the first person to recognize it -- and the first person to come up with a way to fix it.

For the first forty minutes or so after the deployment command went up, O'Neil, Ausman and Landanow had little to do. Like so many other JPL controllers before them, they knew they would have to tolerate the nonnegotiable limits of light speed, waiting twenty minutes as their signal traveled from Pasadena to the spacecraft and then another twenty minutes as it traveled back again. For that entire time their screens told them nothing, flickering merely with the self-evident information that their command had indeed been sent. Finally, after just over the anticipated forty minutes had elapsed, a column of numbers began to blink on the glass. Landanow gave the figures a quick scan and immediately noticed something amiss. He read them again -- a bit more closely -- and this time started to feel downright queasy. The antenna, from all indications, was pulling what the engineers called stall current. The motor was drawing power, the deployment gears were engaged, but the ribs of the umbrella appeared to be going nowhere at all.

"We're stuck," Landanow said flatly.

"How can you tell?" O'Neil asked.

"The current is saturated, something is jammed," Landanow said. "In any event, the antenna's not budging."

Ausman gave the numbers on the screen a read of his own, confirmed what Landanow was saying, and immediately called out to his flight controllers, instructing them to send a second deployment command up to the ship. The engineers complied, and forty minutes later another stall signal came down. A third command yielded a third signal, and a fourth a fourth. With each new report Landanow winced. If he knew this ship -- and he surely did -- he could all but guarantee that whatever was hanging up the antenna was not much: a single too-tight fitting, perhaps, a single protruding bolt, one that was situated in just such a way that it managed to jam all eighteen ribs. If it were somehow possible to transport the Galileo spacecraft to a hangar in Pasadena, Landanow knew he could probably roll over a stepladder, climb up to the antenna, and spring it free with his hands alone. But Galileo was not in a hangar in Pasadena; it was tens of millions of miles away, at the edge of the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, and more elaborate measures would be necessary.

"It costs a record company about $250,000 just to launch a single on rock radio today. That doesn't guarantee success; it just gives the single access to the airwaves. If the song catches on and eventually crosses over to the mainstream Top-40 format, indie costs balloon to more than $1 million per song." Salon.com has a pair of articles on payola today: one on the widening scandal and one specifically on a curious Clear Channel case. For context, here's our latest payola story, or if you want the background on why the labels hate the promoters but can't shake the habit, my writeup from a year ago. (If you want some beach reading on this topic, go check out "Hit Men.")

ReadParse writes "There was a previous story about "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" being released on DVD in January. This turned out to be a Region 2 DVD, but the Region 1 DVD was released on or about April 30th. There are two discs, the first of which is the BBC Miniseries, which was adapted from the BBC radio play. It suddenly occurs to me to submit this story, because mine was just delivered within the past hour. Right now it's the 12th most popular DVD on Amazon." Several people also noted that Adams' final (I guess) book, The Salmon of Doubt, is now hitting the shelves.

David Weinberger, one of the co-authors of the Cluetrain Manifesto: The End of Business As Usual, is one of many celebrated practitioners of what loosely came to be known as cybertheory. The Manifesto began with the memorable phrase "People of Earth" and was "aimed squarely at the solar plexus of corporate America," one reviewer alleged. (You remember those days. Everything about the Net was aimed at the solar plexus of one thing or another). The book purported to show how the Internet was turning business upside down. But that, of course, was then, and this is now. Nobody seems to have noticed that if anything has been turned upside down, it's the Net. Weinberger has struck again in his new book Small Pieces Loosely Joined , (Perseus) a "unified theory of the Web." This time, the Web is changing life itself. Is he on the same Web? Mostly, what this book suggests is the end of CyberBS. And good riddance. Small Pieces Loosely Joined author David Weinberger pages 211 publisher Perseus rating 4/10 reviewer Jon Katz ISBN 0-7382-0543-5 summary the Web is changing life itself

Despite the staggering amount of hype everyone has had to endure (and some of us have contributed to), Weinberger's premise is that the Web hasn't been hyped enough. The Web, he claims, is not only altering social institutions like business and government, but transforming fundamental concepts of our culture: space, time, reality itself.

This is the sort of stuff that gets publishers, media people and academics breathing heavily, even though reality suggests that a) it simply isn't so, and b) such declarations are the intellectual equivalent of tech support: the more deeply you look, the less seems to be there. The outside world continues to see the Net as an atom-smashing alien force, when it is, in fact, a transforming technology whose future nature and impact remains unclear. There is the persistent belief out there that for the Net and the Web to be interesting, they must be portrayed as changing everything about everything, and the search for the seer who can explain how has been relentless, although not by the book-buying public. This has given rise to a whole genre of Cyber BS.

Weinberger is obviously bright and observant. And he's quite correct in suggesting that the hyperlinking era the Web begins is astounding, even revolutionary. But is it changing the nature of our lives? Decide for yourselves.

Weinberger proposes four concepts (plus the nature of life itself) that the Web is altering: he uses eBay as an illustration.

- Space. eBay is a Web space that occupies no space, whose links are based not on contiguity but on human interest. eBay demonstrates that the geography of the Web is as ephemeral as human interest iself, each of us looking across the space that is eBay and seeing vastly different landscapes -- of games, quilts, Star Wars memorabilia, battery chargers.

- Time. The real world, Weinberger says, is a series of ticks to which schedules are tied. As he investigated different kinds of eBay auctions, checking back every few hours to see if he'd been outbid on quilts, "I felt as if I were returning to a story that was in progress, waiting for me whenever I wanted. I could break off in the middle when, for example, my son came home, and go back whenever I wanted."

- Self. Buyers and sellers on eBay adopt a name by which they will be known. The real world person behind the handle firewife30 may have other eBay identities, as well. Unlike non-virtual selves, these eBay selves are intermittent and, most important, they are in writing.

- Knowledge. Weinberger began his eBay experience ignorant about quilts. But he learned by listening to other quilters and wound up knowing quite a bit.

The upshot? "If a simple auction at eBay is based on new assumptions about space, time, self and knowledge, the Web is more than a place for disturbed teen-agers to try out roles and more than a good place to buy cheap quilts."

The Web has sent an enormous jolt through our culture, he continues, zapping our economy, our ideas about the sharing of creative works, possibly even our institutions such as religion and government. Suppose that the Web is a new world we're just beginning to inhabit. We can't characterize ourselves without simultaneously drawing a picture of how the world seems to us, Weinberger says, nor can we describe our world without describing the type of people we are. If we are entering a new world, then we are also becoming new people.

Heady stuff. Weinberger, an NPR commentator and the publisher of JOHO (Journal of the Hyperlinked Organization) understands hyperlinks and their stunning impact. It isn't as if his observations are wrong. The things he sees are new, interesting and significant.

But his book also reminds us that this age of Cybertheorizing began to die with the demise of the original Wired. This is bad news for over-heated tech writers and academics feasting on cyber-culture courses. In case Weinberger hasn't noticed -- and he hasn't, if the book is any indication -- the Web these days is mostly about sex, free news, entertainment and retailing. For better or worse, we remain the same people we were. You could argue that the Web has triggered a monumental wave of hostility, self-referential blabber and commercialism. In the post dot-com era, we see that the Net and the Web aren't changing everything about the world, just taking the things people have always liked to do -- shop, read, yak, play, masturbate -- and making them easier. Business and politicians are also drearily unchanged. Even the hackers have been largely tamed by lawsuits and the numerous fences sprouting all over the cyber frontier.

"Once we are on the Web," Weinberger claims, "we find the ground has dropped out from beneath us. The normal constraints, on which we have built the common sense that guides us, fall away. And so we get to improvise and to invent... We are sharing this new world not because we have to but because we want to. We are sharing this world not because we find ourselves next to someone due to the inevitable accident of proximity but because we have chosen to join with someone based on the common ground of shared passions."

Is this your Net, your Web? I don't think so. The ground seems pretty solid where I go, and normal constraints are everywhere.

I'd like to get on Weinberger's Web. The one I can access is increasingly hard-headed and utilitarian, dominated by movie reservatiion sites, customized news delivery, retail ordering, and the ubiquity of digital communications -- mailing lists, e-mail, IM systems. Flamers and spammers have driven many underground, where we communicate in exclusive media more peacefully in peace, but with a less diverse and decidedly non-passionate group of people.

It's too bad, really, but it seems to be the contemporary reality of life online. Small Pieces Loosely Joined is not convincing. The age of the cyber-manifesto is ending. The Web isn't altering the nature of reality. It is, of course, only reflecting.

You can purchase Small Pieces Loosely Joined at Fatbrain. Want to see your own review here? Read the review guidelines first, then use Slashdot's webform.

Fans of Vernor Vinge know that he's a computer scientist, now retired, and science fiction writer. An interview we linked to a few months ago does a good job of discussing some of his ideas about the Singularity, the point in time when humans create a machine intelligence that is smarter than we are. Vinge's novella True Names was written in 1981, and forecast many aspects of the internet of today. True Names and The Opening of the Cyberspace Frontier is an anthology of the True Names novella and several shorter articles by other technically-inclined folk. If you haven't read the original True Names, this book is worth it for that story alone. True Names and The Opening of the Cyberspace Frontier author Vernor Vinge; ed. by James Frenkel pages 352 publisher Tor rating 8/10 reviewer michael ISBN 0-312-86207-5 summary collection of articles by computer scientists predicting the future of the network

The history of this book is a little odd. It was supposed to be published several years ago, and was delayed for some reason, unknown to me. As a result, only the introduction to the book has been written recently - even the pieces that were intended to be extremely current are now rather painfully dated.

There's an old interview with Vinge where the interviewer draws out a number of Vinge's ideas about the modern internet and the Singularity. Vinge seems to have had it in hand when writing his introduction to True Names, and you can probably got a good idea of what he tried to convey in the anthology by reading the interview. If it sounds at all interesting, read on.

Vinge's central point is that cyberspace is extremely controllable, if and only if everyone's true names are known. That's the point brought out in the essay True Names, and it's a point that the other writers featured in the anthology agree upon. It's an incredibly insightful idea, one well worth spending some time pondering.

Let's look at some of the larger pieces included in the book. Timothy May, who is perhaps best known for his ranting posts about crypto anarchy, has a lengthy and astonishingly well-written essay titled "True Nyms and Crypto Anarchy". The essay reads as if an editor with a firm hand extracted most of May's characteristic wild-eyed prose and yet kept the insightful ideas behind it - if only all of his writing was like this essay. It's a great introduction to what May means by "crypto anarchy". May is one of the most optimistic writers in the book, and he, as well as the other writers, believe that we are at a fork: either we'll move toward a surveillance state, or toward what May calls an anarcho-capitalist state, but the middle ground is unstable - we'll end up at one extreme or the other. May believes we're already firmly on the road toward anarcho-crypto-utopia.

John M. Ford, who you may recognize as a science fiction writer, has a short story wondering what the machines will think of us.

Alex Wexelblat, computer scientist, has a powerful essay looking at the internet as a tool for surveillance and control. Written only a few years ago, many of his predictions are now fact.

Richard Stallman has his essay The Right to Read. Hopefully it will reach a larger audience on dead trees than in electronic form.

Leonard Foner has an essay covering the basics of the cryptography debate. It's geared to get newcomers up to speed and should do that adequately.

Chip Morningstar and F. Randall Farmer have a couple of essays about Habitat, a very early MUD sponsored by Lucasfilm. The essays have been published online; here's one of them and there's been plenty written about Habitat if you look. Excellent reading, brings out the challenges faced by any online community and simultaneously reminds you of the "good" old days (who here is paying by the hour for internet access today?).

And finally we come to True Names itself. Should be required reading in high school, IMHO. I won't discuss it much, either you've read it or you haven't, and if you haven't I'd rather you learn about it by reading it. If you don't want to buy the book, there are unauthorized electronic versions of the text floating around, but one way or another, read it, it's worth your time.

I'm going to go back now to Vinge's introduction. It bears quoting:

"It seems to me that it's still an open question whether computers and networks will help or hurt freedom--but this is one place where the most extreme scenarios are also the most plausible. I think we could easily go in the direction Tim May indicates, perhaps ending up with a world very like the one in Neal Stephenson's Diamond Age. On the other hand, there are the "Four Horsemen" that Tim, Alan, and Lenny remark upon. All four Horsemen are good excuses for the incremental tightening of regulation and enforcement (some being more effective with one constituency than another), but I think the "Terrorist Horseman" is the one that could shift our whole society toward strict controls. Just a few really ghastly terrorist incidents would be enough to cause a sea change in public opinion. It's not hard to imagine the entire country run the way airports were run in the late twentieth century. But there are worse nightmares: Imagine a government that mandated control of some part of each communicating microchip. In that case, the computing power of the Internet could be used for much tighter control than George Orwell described." -- Vernor Vinge, August 1999

Today the "Terrorist Horseman" is in full charge, whipping us toward ever-tighter controls. And Vinge's prediction is embodied in the countless initiatives to install Digital Rights Management and government surveillance in every computing device. And that is why, in the end, I gave the anthology less than a 10/10 rating. Although I know it was written before the most recent events which proved it so accurate, it feels dated, as if we've already run at top speed down the road to a Net filled with surveillance, where the government and the MPAA know everyone's True Name, and yet Vinge is behind the times in predicting it now.

You can purchase True Names at Fatbrain. Want to see your own review here? Read the review guidelines first, then use Slashdot's webform.

Lois McMaster Bujold is known for her series of space opera novels about Miles Vorkosigan, a crippled but intelligent protagonist who has been, variously, a military officer, a secret agent, commander of a mercenary fleet, diplomat... the list goes on. The Curse of Chalion is, as far as I know, her first fantasy novel. [A reader points out that it isn't.] The crippled but intelligent protagonist is a military officer who gets employed as a diplomat, secret agent, secretary... you get the idea. A fun read, the plot isn't perfect but it's still a cut above most fantasy novels these days. At the very least, it isn't a rehash of the "small company has to get [item] to destroy [dark lord]" plot. The Curse of Chalion author Lois McMaster Bujold pages 442 publisher EOS rating 8/10 reviewer michael ISBN 0-380-97901-2 summary a solid work of fantasy from an author known for solid space opera

Cazaril has had a bit of a hard life. He's a competent military captain - perhaps too competent - who has fought in every significant war of the past 20 years. And been on the losing side each time. In his most recent campaign, he held a fortress against besiegers for many months, till he and his men were reduced to eating rats and the besieging army was thoroughly annoyed with him. At the conclusion of that campaign, he was sold off as a galley slave - chained to his oar, being whipped for the slightest disobedience. The experience has left him a bit the worse for wear, but with a selection of good stories which he recounts throughout the book. When asked if he knows the local geography, he replies, "What I haven't ridden over, I've walked, what I haven't walked, I've been dragged across. Or through. I've had geography ground into my skin. And I've rowed round half the Archipelago at least." This could have been a really good book with a few more stories from Cazaril.

There's more than a bit of humor in the book. Miles' disability was such that it couldn't be laughed at, but Cazaril has the necessary self-humor about the hard times he's had.

At a loss as to where to go after his miraculous rescue from the galley, Cazaril returns to his boyhood haunts, where he is promptly employed as a tutor to a reckless young noblewoman. They are promptly thrust into a political mess, which turns out to be deeper and darker (of course) than either suspected. Cazaril has to safeguard his charge while unraveling the mess, saving the kingdom, battling evil, and all the usual troubles that a protagonist must contend with.

One highpoint of the book is a complex yet self-consistent religious system. Most western fantasy authors tend to use poorly camouflaged versions of christianity, or gloss over religion. The religious system in Chalion is nothing like any real religion that I know of, but well done - it's probably more consistent than most real religions.

If you enjoy the Vorkosigan books, you'll probably like this one. If not, probably not. Well, I guess there are some people who adore science fiction and hate fantasy or vice-versa, but aside from them... I had solved most of the plot by about half-way through, but one key detail eluded me until the very end. Although looking back, there were enough hints for me to have gotten it.

While I'm at it, I ought to mention another Bujold "book" recently released - Miles, Mystery and Mayhem. You might expect from the title that this would be a new Vorkosigan book. You would be wrong. This is one of those sneaky publishers' tricks, a book consisting entirely of several previously published works about Miles. One novel, one novella, and one short story, if I remember the word counts correctly. All of which I've read before. There was no indication of this on the online site where I purchased this book. There is no indication of it in the brief blurb from the publisher which most places use to describe the book. There is no indication of it on the cover of the book itself - ensuring that scans of the cover won't give away the ruse. I'm sorely tempted to return it, though I probably won't - I'll just read the next few Bujold books in paperback or from the library, until my irritation with this trick fades. Bujold and/or her publisher did all her readers a great disservice with this sleazy trick.

You can purchase this book at Fatbrain. Want to see your own review here? Read the book review guidelines, then submit using Slashdot's web-submission page :)

Lois McMaster Bujold is known for her series of space opera novels about Miles Vorkosigan, a crippled but intelligent protagonist who has been, variously, a military officer, a secret agent, commander of a mercenary fleet, diplomat... the list goes on. The Curse of Chalion is, as far as I know, her first fantasy novel. [A reader points out that it isn't.] The crippled but intelligent protagonist is a military officer who gets employed as a diplomat, secret agent, secretary... you get the idea. A fun read, the plot isn't perfect but it's still a cut above most fantasy novels these days. At the very least, it isn't a rehash of the "small company has to get [item] to destroy [dark lord]" plot. The Curse of Chalion author Lois McMaster Bujold pages 442 publisher EOS rating 8/10 reviewer michael ISBN 0-380-97901-2 summary a solid work of fantasy from an author known for solid space opera

Cazaril has had a bit of a hard life. He's a competent military captain - perhaps too competent - who has fought in every significant war of the past 20 years. And been on the losing side each time. In his most recent campaign, he held a fortress against besiegers for many months, till he and his men were reduced to eating rats and the besieging army was thoroughly annoyed with him. At the conclusion of that campaign, he was sold off as a galley slave - chained to his oar, being whipped for the slightest disobedience. The experience has left him a bit the worse for wear, but with a selection of good stories which he recounts throughout the book. When asked if he knows the local geography, he replies, "What I haven't ridden over, I've walked, what I haven't walked, I've been dragged across. Or through. I've had geography ground into my skin. And I've rowed round half the Archipelago at least." This could have been a really good book with a few more stories from Cazaril.

There's more than a bit of humor in the book. Miles' disability was such that it couldn't be laughed at, but Cazaril has the necessary self-humor about the hard times he's had.

At a loss as to where to go after his miraculous rescue from the galley, Cazaril returns to his boyhood haunts, where he is promptly employed as a tutor to a reckless young noblewoman. They are promptly thrust into a political mess, which turns out to be deeper and darker (of course) than either suspected. Cazaril has to safeguard his charge while unraveling the mess, saving the kingdom, battling evil, and all the usual troubles that a protagonist must contend with.

One highpoint of the book is a complex yet self-consistent religious system. Most western fantasy authors tend to use poorly camouflaged versions of christianity, or gloss over religion. The religious system in Chalion is nothing like any real religion that I know of, but well done - it's probably more consistent than most real religions.

If you enjoy the Vorkosigan books, you'll probably like this one. If not, probably not. Well, I guess there are some people who adore science fiction and hate fantasy or vice-versa, but aside from them... I had solved most of the plot by about half-way through, but one key detail eluded me until the very end. Although looking back, there were enough hints for me to have gotten it.

While I'm at it, I ought to mention another Bujold "book" recently released - Miles, Mystery and Mayhem. You might expect from the title that this would be a new Vorkosigan book. You would be wrong. This is one of those sneaky publishers' tricks, a book consisting entirely of several previously published works about Miles. One novel, one novella, and one short story, if I remember the word counts correctly. All of which I've read before. There was no indication of this on the online site where I purchased this book. There is no indication of it in the brief blurb from the publisher which most places use to describe the book. There is no indication of it on the cover of the book itself - ensuring that scans of the cover won't give away the ruse. I'm sorely tempted to return it, though I probably won't - I'll just read the next few Bujold books in paperback or from the library, until my irritation with this trick fades. Bujold and/or her publisher did all her readers a great disservice with this sleazy trick.

You can purchase this book at Fatbrain. Want to see your own review here? Read the book review guidelines, then submit using Slashdot's web-submission page :)

Lawrence Lessig's new book, The Future of Ideas: the fate of the commons in a connected world , is strongly related to his previous book, Code and Other Laws of Cyberspace . In Code, Lessig pursued his thesis that the computer code behind all online activities functioned as a set of laws, and the impact that that has on regulation of the online world. In Ideas, Lessig explores a related concept that was hammered on heavily during the Microsoft anti-trust cases -- that holders of intellectual property (copyrights and patents) will squelch freedom and innovation online. The Future of Ideas author Lawrence Lessig pages 352 publisher Random House rating 9/10 reviewer Michael Sims ISBN 0-375-50578-4 summary Suppressive efforts by entrenched industries threaten innovation in cyberspace

Ideas has been reviewed in Salon and in the Washington Monthly; the book has a promotional website as well.

Lessig starts off by looking at the idea of a "commons," a community resource of some sort. The traditional commons is a public park or piece of land, but Lessig is more interested in looking at less-traditional commons on the 'Net and other communications systems. He moves on to examining some of the innovations that have been spurred by the recent growth of the Net -- typically startup companies that have taken advantage of the commons represented by TCP/IP and HTTP to provide a new service or product. If you follow Slashdot religiously, you probably read about most of these companies at least twice -- once when they started offering their innovative new whizbang, and again when they were sued by Megacorp, Inc., and shut down. The final part of Ideas covers the lawsuits, or more precisely the efforts by entrenched players to keep anyone else from playing. The distinction is important, because lawsuits are not the only way to keep upstarts from being able to participate: control of the code is also an important tool. For every control through lawsuits story that Slashdot runs, there's an equivalent story about control through code.

Just as in Code, Lessig is not optimistic about the future. Why should he be? So far, despite every warning, every attempt to sound the alarm, the forces trying to shut down innovation are winning in an utterly convincing fashion. A blurb compares the book to Silent Spring, the famous book about the environmental effects of DDT. Silent Spring was more or less successful -- DDT is now banned for most uses in the U.S., and the book had great effect in raising environmental awareness, but overall, environmental quality has continued to suffer. Lessig's book is not likely to be as successful. Attacking DDT was relatively easy compared to attacking the unlimited expansion of intellectual property, which has many multi-billion dollar companies willing to fight to defend their continued erosion of the public commons.

This should suffice to summarize Lessig's book. The ideas in it should not be unfamiliar -- Lessig is hardly the only one espousing this point of view today, though he is one of the most articulate. The final chapters have Lessig's suggestions for ways to reverse this trend of quashing innovation -- different ways of managing the electromagnetic spectrum to produce a better wireless commons (it's worth noting that the unlicensed 2.4 Ghz band has been the source of most recent wireless innovation), ways to create an Internet commons on the wired network (some municipalities are already doing this, laying municipal fiber to the home and following an open access policy), changing copyright law and patent law to put more code in the public domain, changing contract law so that end-users can't be forced to sign away their rights. All are good suggestions. Despite the hopeful notes in parentheses just above, most of these suggestions stand little chance of being adopted any time soon. But perhaps Rachel Carson was looking at much the same uphill battle against DDT.

Ideas is most comparable to The Control Revolution by Andrew Shapiro, an earlier effort to explore the changing dynamics of control on the net. Shapiro was much more optimistic, and writing without much of the recent evidence that Lessig uses to make his point that innovation is being squashed thoroughly. If you will, there is an optimism scale -- John Perry Barlow defines one end of the scale, Shapiro is in the middle, and Lessig occupies the pessimistic side. Smart money is on Lessig.

All in all, it's a fine book. I think I prefer Code though, for a variety of reasons -- I find the central premise of Code to be less obvious, more ground-breaking. Or perhaps I've just read so much about "innovation" during the Microsoft trials that I can never again read the word without wincing. As with Code, Lessig has extensive footnotes, making this a scholarly work (for the scholars) but a perfectly readable book even for non-scholars. In any case, it's strongly recommended.

You can purchase this book at Fatbrain. Want to see your own review here? Read the book review guidelines, then submit using Slashdot's web-submission page :)

We're living in the era where bands are prepackaged for our convenience, and then the packaging itself is repackaged as a serial documercial and sandwiched between paid ads. The kids whose billions pay for this machine are not only fully aware it's a sham, they embrace the cynicism and still manage to enjoy the show. So I'm guessing nobody will be stunned to learn that, a week ago, the L.A. Times uncovered documents showing that record labels are still buying radio airplay, at some stations, the same quasi-legal way they've been buying it for twenty years. But it's an interesting story, and it's as good a launching point as any for thinking about the next twenty years. ("Payola" is the first of three Slashdot features on music distribution. Parts two and three run tomorrow and Thursday.)

Pink Floyd's The Wall set the standard for amazing stage shows. It was the kind of thing that makes me wish I'd lived in L.A. or New York in 1980 (and been out of grade school, I guess). In February 1980, they played five sold-out L.A. shows, inflatable pig, airplane and all, the epicenter of cool. The double album was number one and would stay there for four months.

But although you can hear "Another Brick in the Wall, Part Two" played on L.A. oldie stations today, at the time, you wouldn't have heard it on any station in the city. Total blackout. The record labels used a network (creatively called The Network) through which they exerted control over which songs got on the air.

But in 1980, The Network was in revolt.

To understand why it even existed, we have to go back to Alan Freed's Rock and Roll Show in 1960. One of the first rock'n'roll DJs, Freed was busted in 1960 for taking $2,500 in bribes to play records. He claimed the money was just a thank-you with no influence, but he still went down. He only paid a small fine, but his career was ruined and he died soon after.

As a result of the scandal, Congress passed a law against "payola" in 1960. We'll get into fine ethical distinctions later, but basically a radio station that secretly takes money to spin a song is guilty of payola.

Note that just coming out and admitting a spin was bought is perfectly legal: if that Limp Bizkit play was paid for, just say so and your station is home-free.

Break the law and you might be fined up to $10,000. Payola is a misdemeanor. Theoretically, someone might spend up to a year in jail, but according to Hit Men , published in 1990, nobody has ever spent a single day behind bars.

There have been convictions, yes. Last year, after the L.A. Times turned up some evidence, Clear Channel Communications paid an $8,000 fine for promoting a Bryan Adams single and billing his label. The bill, by way of comparison, was for $237,000.

Clear Channel did well over $1 billion in revenue last quarter and has almost $50 billion in assets. "During the first quarter of 2001, we acquired 126 radio stations in 36 markets...."

But convictions are few and far between, partly because of the layers created between the labels and the stations. Post-Freed, a niche job was created to, essentially, be the go-between from the labels to the radio stations.

The job title is "independent promoter."

The promoters work for the labels. Each week, they talk to the program directors of radio stations in their region, and try to convince the stations' program directors [PDs] to add the labels' songs to the playlist.

And competition is fierce. There are only about 30 slots that get heavily played on any given station, and most of them carry songs over week-to-week. Ten new songs in a week would be heavy turnover; usually it's much fewer, and all the labels are fighting for those slots.

The question is how the promoters "convince" the program directors. By building a relationship with each PD, based on trust and knowledge of each station's market? Or by bribes, paid in dollars or some other currency?

The Network, a small cabal of promoters working together, became famous in the early 1980s for making or breaking songs, depending on how well they were paid. That's where "Another Brick in the Wall" comes into the story. After years of lean revenue, combined with rising costs in fees paid to the Network, CBS experimented with cutting them off.

And CBS got burned. The hit single from the number-one album in the country, in a market of three million, was blacked out. While the band was playing sold-out shows, not one of the city's four big Top-40 stations would play the 45.

Shortly after Pink Floyd's last show, the promoters were rehired, and within hours the song was back on the radio (top of the charts for weeks). It was pretty clear who owned the air.

How much money was CBS trying to save? Here's a quote from 1983, which I find amusing because the speaker is John Gotti's second-in-command -- a mob underboss who can appreciate a good racket when he sees it:

"That kid in California came in to see me, said ... they give him fifty thousand to a hundred thousand to push a record. The company, they pay you, just to make a record on the air, you know..."

A lot of money. This explains why CBS wanted to try it again, testing the promoters the next year as well. In early 1981, the company's labels boycotted them entirely. In retaliation, The Network targeted "Turn Me Loose," the first single by the new band Loverboy. After breaking into the Billboard charts with a star, it rose quickly, but peaked only at number 37 before falling off the bottom.

The next target was The Who's "You Better You Bet." Its appearance was even more promising, appearing at number 63 with a superstar. But it peaked at 18 and fell off the charts quickly.

CBS was convinced. Its boycott began to crack, and within months it ended.

By 1986 the abuses had grown serious enough to merit an investigative report by NBC. Calling the indie system "The New Payola," they uncovered evidence of The Network bribing DJs with cash and cocaine, and threatening them with violence. Senator Al Gore launched a Senate probe. And the RIAA quickly issued a short statement announcing that they would not tolerate illegal activity, but denying any wrongdoing (and reminding everyone that they had done Live Aid the year before).

In reality, the labels were glad for the coverage. It gave them the chance they needed to take the promoters down a few pegs, saving them all a great deal of money. In a few weeks, all the labels had joined in a boycott. Nobody knows real dollar amounts, but The Network's income, probably measured in the tens of millions, dropped drastically.

And since 1986, things have been different. But are we right back now where we started? The president of RCA Records claimed in 1987 that his industry had paid $50 to $60 million a year to the promoters. Last week's L.A. Times story (go read it) claims it's now a "$100-million-a-year trade."

We've come a long way since Alan Freed and his twenty five hundred bucks.

I talked last week with Woody Houston, a PD for the market leader Top-40 station in my hometown. (Disclosure: the company that owns his station competes with Clear Channel.)

Woody has seen examples of corruption, but nothing like some of the abuses of the 1980s -- maybe because we're not in a big city. He's had promoters offer to pay his way to conferences, but he's turned them down. Company policy is to fire anyone who takes such an offer, even though that's pretty small-time compared to some of what's been documented.

I described the L.A. Times story to him, and asked him to try to clarify where the line gets drawn, ethically:

"If Clear Channel is using those dollars for promotional support -- let's say Interscope wanted to put $2500 behind Smashmouth -- if they're buying T-shirts that have my call letters on the front, I don't see a problem.

"There's a fine line between buying airplay and promotion. If they're taking the thousand dollars that they got for 25 spins and not using it to support the record, that's wrong. If they just give the money away on the air, that's wrong -- that's the ethics of it."

When the system works, it does its job. You may or may not like the results -- Top-40 can't please everybody of course -- but the radio airwaves are a limited public medium that should be accountable to its listeners and advertisers, not the companies that make the product. Radio stations' PDs compete by doing their research, making the judgement calls they get paid to make, and seeing their Arbitron ratings, and advertising rates, rise or fall accordingly.

When it doesn't work, it's -- well -- it's a Wall, a barrier of moneyed inertia between new artists who want to be heard and the audience who wants to hear them.

Music has been an industry for the last hundred years, so we've never known what it might be like to strip out some of those barriers. In the next two installments, I'll throw out some ideas to kick around.

Tomorrow: part two, a look back at music distribution technology of the last 200 years.

(I mentioned Hit Men earlier. Most of my sources for the industry's history come from this 1990 book by Fredric Dannen. Its research is thorough, heavy on names, dates and places; Dannen talked to just about everybody and had a good nose for what was credible. Highly recommended if this subject interests you. He's got another book that looks good, too, with an inside story on the Hong Kong film industry.)

Update, 10:45 AM EDT: Salon ran a story on payola today too, a good one. Deja vu to 1980/81, but this time, Destiny's Child's label is not even trying to boycott the promoters, they're just scaling back how much they're paying them -- even this is considered risky.

We're living in the era where bands are prepackaged for our convenience, and then the packaging itself is repackaged as a serial documercial and sandwiched between paid ads. The kids whose billions pay for this machine are not only fully aware it's a sham, they embrace the cynicism and still manage to enjoy the show. So I'm guessing nobody will be stunned to learn that, a week ago, the L.A. Times uncovered documents showing that record labels are still buying radio airplay, at some stations, the same quasi-legal way they've been buying it for twenty years. But it's an interesting story, and it's as good a launching point as any for thinking about the next twenty years. ("Payola" is the first of three Slashdot features on music distribution. Parts two and three run tomorrow and Thursday.)

Pink Floyd's The Wall set the standard for amazing stage shows. It was the kind of thing that makes me wish I'd lived in L.A. or New York in 1980 (and been out of grade school, I guess). In February 1980, they played five sold-out L.A. shows, inflatable pig, airplane and all, the epicenter of cool. The double album was number one and would stay there for four months.

But although you can hear "Another Brick in the Wall, Part Two" played on L.A. oldie stations today, at the time, you wouldn't have heard it on any station in the city. Total blackout. The record labels used a network (creatively called The Network) through which they exerted control over which songs got on the air.

But in 1980, The Network was in revolt.

To understand why it even existed, we have to go back to Alan Freed's Rock and Roll Show in 1960. One of the first rock'n'roll DJs, Freed was busted in 1960 for taking $2,500 in bribes to play records. He claimed the money was just a thank-you with no influence, but he still went down. He only paid a small fine, but his career was ruined and he died soon after.

As a result of the scandal, Congress passed a law against "payola" in 1960. We'll get into fine ethical distinctions later, but basically a radio station that secretly takes money to spin a song is guilty of payola.

Note that just coming out and admitting a spin was bought is perfectly legal: if that Limp Bizkit play was paid for, just say so and your station is home-free.

Break the law and you might be fined up to $10,000. Payola is a misdemeanor. Theoretically, someone might spend up to a year in jail, but according to Hit Men , published in 1990, nobody has ever spent a single day behind bars.

There have been convictions, yes. Last year, after the L.A. Times turned up some evidence, Clear Channel Communications paid an $8,000 fine for promoting a Bryan Adams single and billing his label. The bill, by way of comparison, was for $237,000.

Clear Channel did well over $1 billion in revenue last quarter and has almost $50 billion in assets. "During the first quarter of 2001, we acquired 126 radio stations in 36 markets...."

But convictions are few and far between, partly because of the layers created between the labels and the stations. Post-Freed, a niche job was created to, essentially, be the go-between from the labels to the radio stations.

The job title is "independent promoter."

The promoters work for the labels. Each week, they talk to the program directors of radio stations in their region, and try to convince the stations' program directors [PDs] to add the labels' songs to the playlist.

And competition is fierce. There are only about 30 slots that get heavily played on any given station, and most of them carry songs over week-to-week. Ten new songs in a week would be heavy turnover; usually it's much fewer, and all the labels are fighting for those slots.

The question is how the promoters "convince" the program directors. By building a relationship with each PD, based on trust and knowledge of each station's market? Or by bribes, paid in dollars or some other currency?

The Network, a small cabal of promoters working together, became famous in the early 1980s for making or breaking songs, depending on how well they were paid. That's where "Another Brick in the Wall" comes into the story. After years of lean revenue, combined with rising costs in fees paid to the Network, CBS experimented with cutting them off.

And CBS got burned. The hit single from the number-one album in the country, in a market of three million, was blacked out. While the band was playing sold-out shows, not one of the city's four big Top-40 stations would play the 45.

Shortly after Pink Floyd's last show, the promoters were rehired, and within hours the song was back on the radio (top of the charts for weeks). It was pretty clear who owned the air.

How much money was CBS trying to save? Here's a quote from 1983, which I find amusing because the speaker is John Gotti's second-in-command -- a mob underboss who can appreciate a good racket when he sees it:

"That kid in California came in to see me, said ... they give him fifty thousand to a hundred thousand to push a record. The company, they pay you, just to make a record on the air, you know..."

A lot of money. This explains why CBS wanted to try it again, testing the promoters the next year as well. In early 1981, the company's labels boycotted them entirely. In retaliation, The Network targeted "Turn Me Loose," the first single by the new band Loverboy. After breaking into the Billboard charts with a star, it rose quickly, but peaked only at number 37 before falling off the bottom.

The next target was The Who's "You Better You Bet." Its appearance was even more promising, appearing at number 63 with a superstar. But it peaked at 18 and fell off the charts quickly.

CBS was convinced. Its boycott began to crack, and within months it ended.

By 1986 the abuses had grown serious enough to merit an investigative report by NBC. Calling the indie system "The New Payola," they uncovered evidence of The Network bribing DJs with cash and cocaine, and threatening them with violence. Senator Al Gore launched a Senate probe. And the RIAA quickly issued a short statement announcing that they would not tolerate illegal activity, but denying any wrongdoing (and reminding everyone that they had done Live Aid the year before).

In reality, the labels were glad for the coverage. It gave them the chance they needed to take the promoters down a few pegs, saving them all a great deal of money. In a few weeks, all the labels had joined in a boycott. Nobody knows real dollar amounts, but The Network's income, probably measured in the tens of millions, dropped drastically.

And since 1986, things have been different. But are we right back now where we started? The president of RCA Records claimed in 1987 that his industry had paid $50 to $60 million a year to the promoters. Last week's L.A. Times story (go read it) claims it's now a "$100-million-a-year trade."

We've come a long way since Alan Freed and his twenty five hundred bucks.

I talked last week with Woody Houston, a PD for the market leader Top-40 station in my hometown. (Disclosure: the company that owns his station competes with Clear Channel.)

Woody has seen examples of corruption, but nothing like some of the abuses of the 1980s -- maybe because we're not in a big city. He's had promoters offer to pay his way to conferences, but he's turned them down. Company policy is to fire anyone who takes such an offer, even though that's pretty small-time compared to some of what's been documented.

I described the L.A. Times story to him, and asked him to try to clarify where the line gets drawn, ethically:

"If Clear Channel is using those dollars for promotional support -- let's say Interscope wanted to put $2500 behind Smashmouth -- if they're buying T-shirts that have my call letters on the front, I don't see a problem.

"There's a fine line between buying airplay and promotion. If they're taking the thousand dollars that they got for 25 spins and not using it to support the record, that's wrong. If they just give the money away on the air, that's wrong -- that's the ethics of it."

When the system works, it does its job. You may or may not like the results -- Top-40 can't please everybody of course -- but the radio airwaves are a limited public medium that should be accountable to its listeners and advertisers, not the companies that make the product. Radio stations' PDs compete by doing their research, making the judgement calls they get paid to make, and seeing their Arbitron ratings, and advertising rates, rise or fall accordingly.

When it doesn't work, it's -- well -- it's a Wall, a barrier of moneyed inertia between new artists who want to be heard and the audience who wants to hear them.

Music has been an industry for the last hundred years, so we've never known what it might be like to strip out some of those barriers. In the next two installments, I'll throw out some ideas to kick around.

Tomorrow: part two, a look back at music distribution technology of the last 200 years.

(I mentioned Hit Men earlier. Most of my sources for the industry's history come from this 1990 book by Fredric Dannen. Its research is thorough, heavy on names, dates and places; Dannen talked to just about everybody and had a good nose for what was credible. Highly recommended if this subject interests you. He's got another book that looks good, too, with an inside story on the Hong Kong film industry.)

Update, 10:45 AM EDT: Salon ran a story on payola today too, a good one. Deja vu to 1980/81, but this time, Destiny's Child's label is not even trying to boycott the promoters, they're just scaling back how much they're paying them -- even this is considered risky.

We're living in the era where bands are prepackaged for our convenience, and then the packaging itself is repackaged as a serial documercial and sandwiched between paid ads. The kids whose billions pay for this machine are not only fully aware it's a sham, they embrace the cynicism and still manage to enjoy the show. So I'm guessing nobody will be stunned to learn that, a week ago, the L.A. Times uncovered documents showing that record labels are still buying radio airplay, at some stations, the same quasi-legal way they've been buying it for twenty years. But it's an interesting story, and it's as good a launching point as any for thinking about the next twenty years. ("Payola" is the first of three Slashdot features on music distribution. Parts two and three run tomorrow and Thursday.)

Pink Floyd's The Wall set the standard for amazing stage shows. It was the kind of thing that makes me wish I'd lived in L.A. or New York in 1980 (and been out of grade school, I guess). In February 1980, they played five sold-out L.A. shows, inflatable pig, airplane and all, the epicenter of cool. The double album was number one and would stay there for four months.

But although you can hear "Another Brick in the Wall, Part Two" played on L.A. oldie stations today, at the time, you wouldn't have heard it on any station in the city. Total blackout. The record labels used a network (creatively called The Network) through which they exerted control over which songs got on the air.

But in 1980, The Network was in revolt.

To understand why it even existed, we have to go back to Alan Freed's Rock and Roll Show in 1960. One of the first rock'n'roll DJs, Freed was busted in 1960 for taking $2,500 in bribes to play records. He claimed the money was just a thank-you with no influence, but he still went down. He only paid a small fine, but his career was ruined and he died soon after.

As a result of the scandal, Congress passed a law against "payola" in 1960. We'll get into fine ethical distinctions later, but basically a radio station that secretly takes money to spin a song is guilty of payola.

Note that just coming out and admitting a spin was bought is perfectly legal: if that Limp Bizkit play was paid for, just say so and your station is home-free.

Break the law and you might be fined up to $10,000. Payola is a misdemeanor. Theoretically, someone might spend up to a year in jail, but according to Hit Men , published in 1990, nobody has ever spent a single day behind bars.

There have been convictions, yes. Last year, after the L.A. Times turned up some evidence, Clear Channel Communications paid an $8,000 fine for promoting a Bryan Adams single and billing his label. The bill, by way of comparison, was for $237,000.

Clear Channel did well over $1 billion in revenue last quarter and has almost $50 billion in assets. "During the first quarter of 2001, we acquired 126 radio stations in 36 markets...."

But convictions are few and far between, partly because of the layers created between the labels and the stations. Post-Freed, a niche job was created to, essentially, be the go-between from the labels to the radio stations.

The job title is "independent promoter."

The promoters work for the labels. Each week, they talk to the program directors of radio stations in their region, and try to convince the stations' program directors [PDs] to add the labels' songs to the playlist.

And competition is fierce. There are only about 30 slots that get heavily played on any given station, and most of them carry songs over week-to-week. Ten new songs in a week would be heavy turnover; usually it's much fewer, and all the labels are fighting for those slots.

The question is how the promoters "convince" the program directors. By building a relationship with each PD, based on trust and knowledge of each station's market? Or by bribes, paid in dollars or some other currency?

The Network, a small cabal of promoters working together, became famous in the early 1980s for making or breaking songs, depending on how well they were paid. That's where "Another Brick in the Wall" comes into the story. After years of lean revenue, combined with rising costs in fees paid to the Network, CBS experimented with cutting them off.

And CBS got burned. The hit single from the number-one album in the country, in a market of three million, was blacked out. While the band was playing sold-out shows, not one of the city's four big Top-40 stations would play the 45.

Shortly after Pink Floyd's last show, the promoters were rehired, and within hours the song was back on the radio (top of the charts for weeks). It was pretty clear who owned the air.

How much money was CBS trying to save? Here's a quote from 1983, which I find amusing because the speaker is John Gotti's second-in-command -- a mob underboss who can appreciate a good racket when he sees it:

"That kid in California came in to see me, said ... they give him fifty thousand to a hundred thousand to push a record. The company, they pay you, just to make a record on the air, you know..."

A lot of money. This explains why CBS wanted to try it again, testing the promoters the next year as well. In early 1981, the company's labels boycotted them entirely. In retaliation, The Network targeted "Turn Me Loose," the first single by the new band Loverboy. After breaking into the Billboard charts with a star, it rose quickly, but peaked only at number 37 before falling off the bottom.

The next target was The Who's "You Better You Bet." Its appearance was even more promising, appearing at number 63 with a superstar. But it peaked at 18 and fell off the charts quickly.

CBS was convinced. Its boycott began to crack, and within months it ended.

By 1986 the abuses had grown serious enough to merit an investigative report by NBC. Calling the indie system "The New Payola," they uncovered evidence of The Network bribing DJs with cash and cocaine, and threatening them with violence. Senator Al Gore launched a Senate probe. And the RIAA quickly issued a short statement announcing that they would not tolerate illegal activity, but denying any wrongdoing (and reminding everyone that they had done Live Aid the year before).

In reality, the labels were glad for the coverage. It gave them the chance they needed to take the promoters down a few pegs, saving them all a great deal of money. In a few weeks, all the labels had joined in a boycott. Nobody knows real dollar amounts, but The Network's income, probably measured in the tens of millions, dropped drastically.

And since 1986, things have been different. But are we right back now where we started? The president of RCA Records claimed in 1987 that his industry had paid $50 to $60 million a year to the promoters. Last week's L.A. Times story (go read it) claims it's now a "$100-million-a-year trade."

We've come a long way since Alan Freed and his twenty five hundred bucks.

I talked last week with Woody Houston, a PD for the market leader Top-40 station in my hometown. (Disclosure: the company that owns his station competes with Clear Channel.)

Woody has seen examples of corruption, but nothing like some of the abuses of the 1980s -- maybe because we're not in a big city. He's had promoters offer to pay his way to conferences, but he's turned them down. Company policy is to fire anyone who takes such an offer, even though that's pretty small-time compared to some of what's been documented.

I described the L.A. Times story to him, and asked him to try to clarify where the line gets drawn, ethically:

"If Clear Channel is using those dollars for promotional support -- let's say Interscope wanted to put $2500 behind Smashmouth -- if they're buying T-shirts that have my call letters on the front, I don't see a problem.

"There's a fine line between buying airplay and promotion. If they're taking the thousand dollars that they got for 25 spins and not using it to support the record, that's wrong. If they just give the money away on the air, that's wrong -- that's the ethics of it."

When the system works, it does its job. You may or may not like the results -- Top-40 can't please everybody of course -- but the radio airwaves are a limited public medium that should be accountable to its listeners and advertisers, not the companies that make the product. Radio stations' PDs compete by doing their research, making the judgement calls they get paid to make, and seeing their Arbitron ratings, and advertising rates, rise or fall accordingly.

When it doesn't work, it's -- well -- it's a Wall, a barrier of moneyed inertia between new artists who want to be heard and the audience who wants to hear them.

Music has been an industry for the last hundred years, so we've never known what it might be like to strip out some of those barriers. In the next two installments, I'll throw out some ideas to kick around.

Tomorrow: part two, a look back at music distribution technology of the last 200 years.

(I mentioned Hit Men earlier. Most of my sources for the industry's history come from this 1990 book by Fredric Dannen. Its research is thorough, heavy on names, dates and places; Dannen talked to just about everybody and had a good nose for what was credible. Highly recommended if this subject interests you. He's got another book that looks good, too, with an inside story on the Hong Kong film industry.)

Update, 10:45 AM EDT: Salon ran a story on payola today too, a good one. Deja vu to 1980/81, but this time, Destiny's Child's label is not even trying to boycott the promoters, they're just scaling back how much they're paying them -- even this is considered risky.

One year ago, we ran a story about the effects of Napster on the RIAA's 1999 profits, which Michael gave the great title: "Pirates Steal Negative $1,400,000,000 from Music Industry." It's a year later, the new numbers are out, and the RIAA is lying through their pointy little teeth about them. The AP wire story's second paragraph says "Sales of music compact discs fell by 39% last year," which they would have quickly seen was a blatant lie if they'd bothered to look at the numbers. Fortunately, Slashdot is here to bust up the spin. Keep reading, if you aren't afraid of numbers.

(Update one hour later by J : The story was on the AP wire, e.g. here, so it's not the BBC's fault. It was unfair of me to single out the Beeb when they just happened to be the source the submittor submitted this morning.)

The RIAA's figures were released last week, but the AP story was delayed until Monday, when the story would get the most exposure.

CD sales plummeted last year in the U.S. and record industry officials say the figures prove that Napster, the Internet music-sharing service, has harmed their business.

Sales of music compact discs fell by 39% last year according to the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA).

"Napster hurt record sales," said RIAA president Hilary Rosen.

This article reads like it might have been ghost-written by someone from the record industry. It isn't until paragraph ten that journalistic integrity kicks in enough for the AP to quietly mention what they're actually talking about:

Some experts say [sic] the drop of CD singles as being part of an industry-wide slump, due to economic factors and a weak year musically. (Emphasis mine.)

That's right, CD singles. Unit sales for the singles were down 39%, revenue down 36% (they raised prices, of course).

And CD singles account for how much of the RIAA's profits?

Not quite one percent.

Yes, that's right: they lost 36% of 1% of their profits.

And the news media is reporting it as a 39% loss.

The facts are that their "CD sales" are up this year, even over last year's stunning performance. The RIAA increased the average price of a full-length CD from $13.65 to $14.02, and still managed to sell 3,600,000 more of them.

Total profit increase on this, the core of their business, was 3.1%, or just shy of an extra $400,000,000.

But full-length CDs only account for 92% of the RIAA's revenue. They did have weak performance in the other 8%. CD singles, as already noted, dropped revenue by 36%. But the real casualty percentage-wise was cassingles, which lost over 90% of its revenue from last year.

Gee, why could that be? Maybe because nobody wants them?

In fact, the RIAA's only real money-losing format of any significance was cassettes, which, along with music videos, were the only format actually cut in price. Cassette revenue dropped $436 million.

Wait a minute, what am I saying? "Money-losing"? They aren't losing money on cassettes -- they're just not raking it in this year as fast as last year. And gee, why might that be? Again, because nobody wants them?

And it's not like the RIAA is struggling to get by on slim profits. The big picture is that, in the last nine years, they have tripled their annual income.

But they are desperate to spin this as a loss. The actual fact is that their total revenue is down 1.8% from 1999. Last year, they made $14,584,500,000. This year, they made $14,323,000,000.

But how could they blame Napster if they told the truth? What would they say? "Napster is killing us! Our income is down almost two whole percent! We are only pulling in $14,323,000,000 this year!"

That probably wouldn't fly.

Especially because in the three categories which Napster has precisely zero effect on -- cassettes, vinyl, and music videos -- their combined year-to-year loss was $579.5 million.

That's right. In the digital formats which Napster can trade, they are making more money: $318,500,000 more revenue. In the analog and video formats where Napster is irrelevant, they are making less money: $579,500,000 less revenue.

That's the real story here.

But don't trust the press to report this one fairly. Don't trust the RIAA's press release. Go read the RIAA's numbers yourself.

(Hell, don't even trust those numbers -- they don't add up. I was silly enough to type them into a spreadsheet, and someone over there has some problems doing simple arithmetic. Their 1998 total revenue includes the DVDs twice.)

The RIAA is desperately trying to spin this so that they won't look like greedy bastards for turning down Napster's offer of a billion dollars over the next five years.

If they just took that generous offer, then -- in a year that the AP wire suggests might be an "industry-wide slump, due to economic factors and a weak year musically," and in a year for which Bertlesmann admits "we didn't put that much good stuff out" -- their revenue would only be down $111,000,000 from last year. And that would have been $750,000,000 more than they made in 1998.

But that isn't enough for them.

Why would anyone think the RIAA is greedy? They just want what's coming to them.

(Update one hour later by J : Mea culpa. Three paragraphs up, I originally calculated the numbers as if the billion dollars was all applied in one year; that isn't so. The billion would have been applied equally over the next five years. Actually it probably wouldn't have been applied to year-2000 revenue at all, so it's more of a rhetorical point than anything. Thanks to dachshund for pointing out that it wasn't a lump-sum payment.)

(Update four hours later by J : The AP wire seems to have updated its story, now stating explicitly that it's CD singles, not "CDs," which dropped 39%. I see factually correct versions now at CNN, Salon, Yahoo, and wire.ap.org (search on Napster). The BBC version is still incorrect. In my opinion, the new versions are still misleading. Focusing on a large percentage drop within a subcategory which is a tiny percentage of the whole is a classic example of how to lie with statistics. But compare this to the RIAA's press release, claiming that CD singles had "flat growth in '98 and '99," though 1998 revenue actually dropped 22% -- that's just plain lying.)

StoryMan and a lot of other people found this interesting: "Okay, here's a weird one. This is the first I've heard of it. A long article on MSNBC describes this new 'thing' called 'IT'. Apparently it can be assembled from a bunch of parts. Jobs loves it. Bezos loves it. But what is it? Anyone have any ideas? Is this for real?" I think it's an A-driven experimental swibble.

From "Service Call," a short story by Philip K. Dick:

The young man flushed, swallowed noisily, tried to grin, and then hurried on huskily, "Sir, I'm the repairman you asked for; I'm here to fix your swibble."

The facetious retort that came to Courtland's mind was one that later on he wished he had used. "Maybe," he wished he had said, "I don't want my swibble fixed. Maybe I like my swibble the way it is." But he didn't say that. Instead, he blinked, pulled the door in slightly, and said, "My what?"

"Yes, sir," the young man persisted. "The record of your swibble installation came to us as a matter of course. Usually we make an automatic adjustment inquiry, but your call preceded that -- so I'm here with complete service equipment. Now, as to the nature of your particular complaint..." Furiously, the young man pawed through the sheaf of papers on his clipboard. "Well, there's no point in looking for that; you can tell me orally. As you probably know, sir, we're not officially part of the vending corporation ... we have what is called an insurance-type coverage that comes into existence automatically, when your purchase is made. Of course, you can cancel the arrangement with us." Feebly, he tried a joke. "I have heard there're a couple of competitors in the service business."

Stern morality replaced humor. Pulling his lank body upright, he finished, "But let me say that we've been in the swibble repair business ever since old R.J. Wright introduced the first A-driven experimental model."

For a time, Courtland said nothing. Phantasmagoria swirled through his head: random quasi-technological thoughts, reflex evaluations and notations of no importance. So swibbles broke down, did they? Big-time business operations ... send out a repairman as soon as the deal is closed. Monopoly tactics ... squeeze out the competition before they have a chance. Kickback to the parent company, probably. Interwoven books.

[...]

A swibble. What the hell was a swibble? And he was on the in, industrially speaking. He read U.S. News, the Wall Street Journal. If there was a swibble he would have heard about it -- unless a swibble was some pip-squeak gadget for the home. Maybe that was it.

You can find this story in The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick, Volume 4: The Minority Report.

Thoughtfully, he added, "In fact I'd say the real war was a war over swibbles. I mean, it was the last war. It was the war between the people who wanted swibbles and those who didn't." Complacently, he finished, "Needless to say, we won."

owillis writes "Space.com is reporting that Titan (moon of Saturn)" (and also the setting of a classic sf trilogy) "has mountains, a sea, and rain showers." Details apparently in the latest issue of Science. Cassini will parachute a probe into its atmosphere in 2004, but unfortunately may not be able to retrieve all its data. Let's hope they figure out a fix in the next four years; Titan's on the short-list of plausible environments in our solar system that could harbor life.

cecil36 writes "Visitors to F*cked Company (FC) were greeted with a cease and desist letter from Idealab!. Apparently, Idealab! is suing FC over the use of the logos of the companies that they own. FC is countering with fair use, stating that these companies have a bad financial record, and FC is making humor out of their situation." Whatever. Wake me when this one is over. Oh, and a caution to sensitive readers: click any nearby links and you will be forced to read the most foul of the foul words (you can't tell what I'm talking about, can you?, because I have cleverly inserted an asterisk to disguise the actual word).

Brian De Palma can direct fun movies, even good movies, but never go into one of his movies expecting too much. Written by the brothers who gave us Predator and Wild Wild West, his awful latest Mission to Mars opened this weekend. YRO authors Michael and Jamie were so appalled by this piece of work that they insisted on panning it together, and Jon Katz added his own, slightly hopeful voice to the flaying. Read more for serious spoilers ...

Review 1: Jamie and Michael

Michael: I don't want to keep you in suspense here: movies just don't get much worse than this. And I've seen both Waterworld and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes , so I think I know what I'm talking about. When Brian De Palma says on the movie's official site, "I tried to avoid all the cliches of science fiction movies and to give a whole new look and approach to this fantastic story," all I can think of is that someone needs to call the FBI because the movie he made was obviously switched with someone else's fifth or sixth-rate NYU-film-school production before it reached the theaters.

Jamie: People are going to say we're taking this too seriously, and maybe I did expect too much going in. But I really hate seeing wasted potential.

Michael: The whole premise of the film is based upon a scene where one astronaut makes a zero-gee sculpture of M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies rotating freely and circularly in the shape of a DNA helix. Newton's first law? Anyone? Anyone? Brian De Palma was a physics major? I can see why he switched careers.

Jamie: Thanks for pointing out that URL, Michael. When I read this, I don't feel so bad for slamming the film:

"The various things that happen to the Mars One and Two crews in this film all come out of the physics of what could happen in the situations presented in the story. So, it is realistic and extremely authentic."

Ha. The scriptwriters must have had a quota of a scientific impossibility every ten minutes, and they made their quota easily. Spacesuit thrust jets at shoulder-level. A plot device that depends on the concept of inertia, followed by an attempted rescue that defies the law of inertia.

This was kind of like watching The Poseidon Adventure, and then suddenly halfway through the movie everyone discovers that they can breathe water and eat plankton. No explanation, that's just the way it is. They all swim out of the ship into the Pacific and then climb ashore, wading up onto the Chicago beach.

Michael: We are of course treated to many close-up shots of M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies along the way, including several gratuitous close-up and pan shots where we focus in on the "m"'s and the bag to make sure that we do, indeed, realize that these are M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies and not some inferior brand X chocolate candies, but real, honest-to-god, M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies. If you didn't realize they were M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies, we'll later spill them all over the floor and stare at them for about 20 seconds straight, with a statistically unlikely distribution where the vast majority of the candies land with the "m" up, just to make sure that we notice that these are M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies.

Also plugged: Isuzu, Pennzoil, SGI, Barq's Root Beer, Dr. Pepper, several others that I don't recall just now. The product placement was offensive enough that if I was writing this review I'd make a really big deal of it. Oh, I guess I am. Like watching two hours of commercials.

The "plot," if one must call it that, was as exciting as watching paint dry. Or maybe watching a "cinematic blend of texture and movement" as your clothes whirl around in the dryer. There's a lot of stilted acting, some manufactured crises, and a mysterious alien thing. "Hey look! I can spin the camera around so it looks like I'm in a rotating ring! Let's just spin! For about 3 minutes! We're spinning! Whoo-hoo! Just like a dryer!"

Jamie: Yes; there's homage to 2001 , and then there's a dull recycling of a special effect that was cool 30 years ago.

Michael: Finally we meet an alien. It's glowing, it's got baby blue eyes, it smiles at us, some beatific music swells, and then it hands us some M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies to munch on while it explains, with a handy diorama, just why it has been living in a big human face on Mars for the last few hundred million years.

Jamie: Don't forget the tear. The big sad crystal tear dangling sadly from the sad, sad alien eye. Did I mention it was sad? It was crying, it was so sad. You could tell it was sad because it was crying a big crystal tear. Also the fact that we'd just watched its entire planet destroyed in a fiery cataclysm. So there were two ways you could tell the alien was sad: the tear, and the incineration of its homeworld.

I had thought at first that the alien was a hologram, but later, it takes the humans' hands and it looks awfully real. Except for the fact that it looks awfully fake and computer-generated. Or maybe this alien race just happens to look like big nine-foot fake computer-generated holograms.

Inside, by the way, the Cydonia "face on Mars." This is the structure photographed in 1976 by the Viking probe, which caused wild speculation that it was an artificial construct. Unfortunately for De Palma, it was almost two years ago that high-resolution photos from the Mars Global Surveyor showed it was just another rocky plateau.

Let me spoil the big secret: the aliens are us. We're them. Obviously the scriptwriters graduated from a Kansas high school, because it turns out that the Precambrian explosion was actually seeded by DNA from Mars, thereby producing fish, alligators, brontosauruses, woolly mammoths, and (six hundred million years later) humans. But meanwhile, apparently, the Martians are us. We're them.

So there's a big weird mystery that the astronauts have to solve, which they do by looking at a rotating computerized graphic of a DNA molecule on a spacecraft that can't take off because all its computers are fried.

Michael: The electromagnetic pulse was selective, you see. Important things like wave analyzers and radar guns and remote-controlled toy cars were EMP-protected, while unimportant things like navigation computers were not.

Jamie: Right. Anyway, in the future, all astronauts are required to memorize the entire human genome, because they can look at the graphic which shows human DNA at the atomic level, recognize that two chromosomes [sic] are missing, and (I'm not making this up) enter the missing atomic structure of the chromosomes that were left out. They complete the graphic picture and open up the door to the giant white room which ripped off both 2001 and THX-1138 .

How did the Martians know what the proper DNA sequencing for those two chromosomes were? How did they know how many chromosomes humans have?

Because they're us, we're them. They created multicellular life, and apparently evolution is not random natural selection at all because this weird holographic Martian DNA doesn't change in 600 million years.

I can't stand movies that go back and forth between hard science and the worst kind of pseudoscience. Give me one or the other, OK? But don't base the plot around science and then expect me to suspend scientific disbelief every ten minutes.

One more example. There's a tense moment inside the THX-1138-style white room where Gary Sinese takes off his spacesuit. But he knows it's OK because he watched the air pressure rise: 6psi, 7psi, etc., and as he cracks his gloves off, another character is saying excitedly "12psi, 13psi." So they know that 14psi is Earth normal and we're expected to keep in mind the difference between Mars air pressure and Earth air pressure.

But for the last hour, the plot has hinged on this guy stranded on Mars for a year, who has stayed alive and healthy by growing plants in a canvas greenhouse.

OK, forget the fact that there's no water in the Martian atmosphere - none. Forget the sunlight being half Earth's and filtered through canvas. Forget canvas not producing a greenhouse effect by any stretch of the imagination. Forget all that; he has some magic beans that let him grow a splashy leafy warm wet jungle inside a canvas greenhouse. OK.

This canvas greenhouse is tethered to the Martian dirt by ropes. It flaps in the Martian wind. It looks about as airtight as, well, a Boy Scout tent. And everyone inside it gets to take their helmets off because it is an Earth-pressure atmosphere. Inside the canvas tent. Mars-pressure outside. Earth-pressure inside. Pressure differential between the two: one ton per square foot. Canvas and rope are going to (a) hold down a thousand tons of force and (b) flap in the breeze. Right!

Michael: Don't forget the temperature differential: Mars' average temperature is something like -70 Fahrenheit. Much colder at night, of course. But I guess the magic greenhouse can fend off -70 degree temperatures too. I wish my military-issue shelter half had been made of that material!

Jamie: And finally, at the end of the film, the astronauts climb into the return vehicle and blast off for Earth. As the credits roll they begin starving to death, because it's a six-month minimum journey and it's already been established they have no food. What a happy ending.

Robert Zubrin, co-author of The Case for Mars , was an advisor to this film and he must have held his nose all the way through it. Zubrin is a rocket scientist who has spent the last ten years telling anyone who would listen about a very realistic, practical system for getting people to Mars within ten years. I know he must have had his reasons for signing on but he must be a little embarrassed now that he's seen the finished product.

The reason this movie offends me so much is because it treats the red planet, and space travel in general, with disrespect. It tries to be realistic, but whenever the science gets in the way of Hollywood, Hollywood wins. It did have some powerful moments, true, and they were especially moving if you believe (as I do) that space exploration is important. But when a science-fiction film jettisons the science, it turns into campy space opera - which makes the good parts just that much harder to take.

Michael: This movie looks like it was stitched together from a couple of thoughts the director had and thought were cool. (The studio probably thought they were being slick, capitalizing on Mars enthusiasm generated by NASA missions, so they rushed it through production, never figuring NASA would just hurl probes at the planet like a bunch of lawn darts.) There's zero consistency between those parts, not even hand-waving, you just jump from one to the next with no explanation whatsoever.

Maybe you could justify spending $2 on a non-new-release movie rental of Mission to Mars, assuming it's even released on video, which I honestly think would be a sick joke. But $30, which is what it costs for two people to attend a movie and buy a soda in Manhattan? I'd rather gouge my eyes out. This one definitely gets two thumbs down, and if I had more thumbs, they'd be down too, unless they were holding a bag of M&M (tm) brand chocolate candies.

Other Reviews:

• Salon: Disney, We Have a Problem
• Rotten Tomatoes has a great pick of choice quotes from dozens of reviewers around the U.S.

Review 2: JonKatz

I had two primary responses to Mission. The first was disbelief that Brian De Palma -- the same man who made Wiseguy, and Scarface, among others -- could have made it. The second was awe at the impact of sophisticated animation on movies. It's now possible for a movie to be beautiful, even awe-inspiring and touching at times, and still be a lousy movie. To me, that was the real fate of Mission To Mars.

The characters were so noble, self-sacrificing and one-dimensional, they were practically cartoons. And what Kubrick and Lucas have done so brilliantly -- remember that space and sci-fi ultimately revolve around very human people and stories -- DePalma forgot. He was so busy evoking awe that any sense of humanity was drowned out.

In fact, DePalma's efforts made me appreciate Lucas especially, who I was beginning to resent for all of his mega-hyping. Whatever Lucas's failings, in all of his movies, you're occasionally blown away by the idea of what might be out there, while still identifying with the hapless humans who are trying to sort it out. DePalma gives us instead some God-like alien life force powerful enough to run the universe, but too dumb to figure out the motives of the encroaching humans. And not a single line of dialogue uttered by any star in this movie made them appear real or relevant. Still, the movie was gorgeous, which is why it will sharply disappoint some people. Three or four space scenes, and some of the scenes on Mars, were really jaw-dropping, and made the movie quite worth seeing.

But DePalma seemed way over his head with the subject matter. High-class science fiction isn't all that easily to replicate, it turns out. In terms of character and narrative, Mission to Mars was a stinker. But I won't be surprised if people with imagination and heart will go see it and be touched.

I'm halfway through Susan Blackmore's book "The Meme Machine," and it's rekindled my interest in meme dispersal. In a memetic sense, the battle over filters in the Holland library is just one of implanting the right ideas in enough people's minds by the day of the vote. Here's a look at one of the more annoying memes the opposition is using: a lie about the results of my very own organization. Click for more.

Everyone's familiar with the term "meme" by now, so I don't have to explain that it's the unit of idea transmission. The struggle over Internet filters, or any other conflict where ideas, facts, opinions, and outlooks collide, is memetic in nature: it's memetic warfare.

All's fair in war, supposedly, but I'm someone who has been infected by the meme that we should all fight fair, even - especially - in the war of ideas.

Will the "fight fair" meme become popular in the long run? I hope so. But the way I see it, that will only happen if it is more successful at reproducing than its alternative: "fight dirty." In the long run, it doesn't matter what's right, or what's good, or what benefits us humans the most. The memes just spread because they're good at spreading.

In early 1999, my friend (now Slashdot writer) Michael Sims started a long process to obtain some Web logs from the state of Utah. Internet access for schools and libraries across the state was provided by a single network, and all their Web traffic went through proxies that had the same blocking software running. Their Web logs were a gold mine of data, showing both blocked and unblocked accesses. When users were blocked from something, the logs showed what category it was blocked in.

Our group, the Censorware Project, had been looking for a real-world test case of this software. Michael did a tremendous amount of work to file the papers, get permission to get the logs, have them delivered, gather them, and analyze them. He then wrote a brilliant report (the rest of us helped too).

What this let us do was see how blocking software's errors show up in the real world. We had known for years that the software has many mistakes in its blacklists, in every product we'd studied. But we had no data on how that affected users.

When all the data was crunched, two numbers surprised us. First, the amount of material blocked was quite small: about 0.6%. People were interested in things besides pornography on the internet. Who would have thought.

Second, just looking at the wrong blocks that we were able to find, the proportion was quite high: about one block in every 20 was Constitutionally protected material. That's a minimum - the minimum we were able to confirm. All in all, we identified over 5,000 occasions when people were blocked from reading protected material (totalling 300 unique Web sites).

Most measures of blocking software effectiveness focus on how much pornography it blocks. We weren't able to test that because we couldn't look through the 99.4% of unblocked material - over 53million URLs. Just too much data. But we did learn that, in Utah, 5% of the time, when the software said "you can't look at that," it was just plain wrong.

Ninety-five percent accuracy might sound like a nice high figure to base a good meme around. Who could argue with a number like 95%? But consider what this means for the 300 Web sites in question: each of them was blocked from being read by a great many public institutions in the state of Utah.

And the First Amendment protects publishers, not readers: it's freedom of the press, not freedom to read the press. When you're blocked from reading your favorite author, you might be annoyed, but if the censor were taken to court, the injured party would be the author.

This is exactly what we fought against the Communications Decency Act for. Except, in many ways, censorware is worse. If your site is one of the 5% that's wrongly blocked, you won't know it. Our government will stop people from reading what you have to say even if your site is completely innocent (like the Candy Land website), and nobody will bother to notify you. You won't ever know.

At least with the CDA, you'd have gotten a letter from the prosecutor telling you your site was censored - and nobody, but nobody, would ever have been censored for publishing the Bible.

(Yes, the Bible was one of the banned books we found in Utah, along with the Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, etc. That kind of thing makes good memes.)

Michael put a lot of work into our report, and I even contributed a little, so I'm a little protective of that 5% meme. Which is why it was so jarring to open up a press kit distributed by the Family Research Council, last week, and find our work, cited in black and white, as support for the figure: "one in a million."

That's right, the exact same report which found one bad block in every twenty is now being cited as proving that Web sites are misblocked "one time in a million."

Now that's a good meme. "One in a million" sticks with you. It isn't backed up by any of the facts, but despite that handicap - or perhaps partly because of it - it has thrived.

It was first invented by a fellow named David Burt, who read our report not very carefully, and then decided he was going to do a little numerology of his own.

The first thing he did was ignore all the bad blocks we'd found that he thought were perfectly appropriate. For example, we'd found that the homepage of the band "The Offspring" was wrongly blocked - you may remember their songs from the fall of 1998. "I'm just a sucker with no self-esteem," and so on. (You're humming it now. Catchymeme.)

David Burt decided that The Offspring deserved to be blocked, and to illustrate why, quoted nine words from their Web site:

"These songs have ideas PLUS drugs, sex and ass-kicking"

He also decided it was OK to block BaywatchTV.com, BirthControl.com, the Starr Report, the Yahoo category "Society and Culture: Romance," and Glamour magazine. It was OK to block a page on the NASA Web site about a crackdown on hackers, because it "discusses hacking techniques." Both takedown.com and 2600.com should be blocked, he says, for the same reason. A fellow whose homepage includes a link to a PGP FAQ - no code or binaries - should be blocked for containing "cryptographic software."

Did I mention this man is a librarian?

After trimming out all the fat from our list, he got it down from over 300 sites to just 64. Of course, this was the list of unique sites. If he'd had all our numbers, he would have known that his changes affected our 5% figure by about 0.1% - this because the large majority of blocked sites are blocked few times.

There's some other nonsense he tried, like saying that we were deceitful to ignore blocked banner ads because they were surely all pornographic. In fact, four of the five top blocked ad sites were perfectly ordinary, and counting ads would have made our numbers more impressive, not less.

But his main meme was the number. Armed with his new figure "64", he performed a division by the largest number in our report, which was 54,000,000. Kind of like dividing apples by hydrogen. Of the 54,000,000 URLs, only 29% were page views; only 0.56% of those were blocked; and the previously-mentioned 5% of those were blocked incorrectly. From there he switched from blocks to unique blocks, cutting the actual figure of 5,000 down to his list of 64.

Then, dividing 64 by the original 54,000,000, he got 1 in 1.18... well, for the meme's sake he got one in a million.

Publishing this in April of 1999, David Burt ignored our corrections. Despite our offering all the raw data on CD-ROM, for the cost of the media, he just accused us of lying.

You can't say anything to that, without getting into a yes-you-are no-we're-not. We'd put out two press releases about this already. We told him to order the CD-ROMs and check for himself. Then we moved on.

But his meme began to spread. In June, the company that made the blocking software pulled the same trick, reported the results to Sen. John McCain - and then issued a press release about it. Our group was now cited as supporting their software by proving its accuracy. Since the numbers were so big anyway, they just used the 300 figure and called it an "accuracy rate of 99.9994%."

A group I've never heard of, the American Decency Association, now points to our study and says: "Filters Work!" They source is another group I've never heard of, the Michigan Decency Action Council. Word gets around.

So when I opened up the report "Internet Filtering and Blocking Technology," published by the Family Research Council and distributed at their Holland presentations, I was not surprised when I found the same meme on pages 9 and 14. (I was surprised to see them divide 64 into 54,000,000 and get 6 parts per million. But as long as they've blown the numbers so badly, a little botched division doesn't make any difference.)

I talked to two of the FRC techies about this and tried to explain what was wrong with the numbers. I got some mild interest. Will the FRC correct and reprint this report? Of course not. Admitting that DavidBurt fudges numbers might be a bad tactical move. The concluding two sections of the report have 31 footnotes, 28 of which reference no one but Mr.Burt.

I choose to be an optimist about the marketplace of ideas. I believe that truthful memes will proliferate in the long run, because enough people's brains select for truth.

But in the meantime, it's frustrating when my team takes below-the-belt punches from the guys who don't care about what's true.

I don't expect everyone reading this to share my memeplex on this issue. I know from reading the comments that many Slashdot readers think censorware in libraries is a good thing, and that's fine. In fact, I'll bet many of you are grinding your teeth that I keep using the word "meme" so damn much. That's fine too.

All I ask is that, when your memes start arguing with my memes, you make them fight fair. It's only right.