Just like my first 27-inch iMac, the screen is inflicted with the yellow screen issue, a color reproduction failure that moves from cool on top to warm on the bottom. Receiving two faulty products in a row is making it hard to believe that this issue isn't every bit as common as the Apple message boards would make it seem.
I'll admit, this iMac's screen isn't nearly as bad as my first's. The warm color gradient is subtler and more localized to the center. But the naked eye can see it, especially on a big, white webpage. And there's absolutely no reason that a consumer should be paying $2000+ ($2200 in my case) on any product that's anything but perfect.

Personally speaking, this setback means I'll have gone a month after dropping a few grand from my bank account without anything to show for it. A normal person might settle with product flaw, worn down by packing, shipping and customer service. The most sane would probably just file for a return.

I have a lot of respect for this "most sane" category.

Me? I basically mail back review products for a living, and the joy of this new toy has long been spoiled. So I'm going to do my damndest to bankrupt Apple with return shipping. I will send back these iMacs as many times as it takes for them to build one correctly. And every single time that they screw it up, I'm going to air their dirty laundry here. Feel free to read it or don't. It's my opinion that Apple's cyclical production issues can't be swept under the rug any longer.

You see, I received a lot of email after my initial problem post. About 80% of it was thanking me for bringing the issue to light. But about 20% suggested that this was somehow MY fault, you know, for not waiting for Apple to work out the kinks in a new line before purchasing it. As an educated consumer, I should have known that the first X% of Apple purchasers always get screwed by manufacturing problems, and my bad fortune was the result of a sort of consumer Darwinism.

I was simply unfit to buy the "ultimate iMac" with "the ultimate display."

Because that makes sense—Apple's lack of QA is my fault. Their inability to supply a functional screen—the centerpiece of this whole freaking product—is something I should have anticipated. Seriously, can you imagine if they built anything more crucial? Airbags? Plane engines? Condoms? The world would never turn a blind eye.

Apple, it's this simple: Get your shit together.

1. Openly acknowledge the issue.
2. Apologize (mock sincerity is fine if the public doesn't notice).
3. Fix the problem, which I'm betting is the LCD itself.
4. If you can't fix the problem, then just test for it at the factory. (It takes about 2 seconds.)
5. If the computer has a yellow screen, don't ship it out.

In fact, I don't even expect steps 1 or 2. If you just did 3-5, nobody would have even cared in the first place.

It was pretty surprising to read Dr. David Anderegg's comments in the New York Times yesterday. Dr. Anderegg, who's a professor of psychology at Bennington College, is claiming that the words "nerd" and "geek" should stop being used, as they're "damaging, much like racial epithets."

Years ago, certainly before my time, the term "geek" actually meant something entirely different to what it does now. The first reference came from the 1976 version of the American Heritage Dictionary, describing a performer in a freak show who bit off the heads of chickens.

You could say the word has changed at least three times over the years, as following 1976, a geek was someone who was a heavy gamer, computer platform-agnostic, and most likely grew up to be a developer or web designer. Movies of that era portrayed geeks as being the basement-dwellers who very rarely got the girl, with films like Revenge of the Nerds and Weird Science, and even James Bond's Goldeneye, with the Boris Grishenko character perpetuating the stereotype. Even Bryce in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider is the quirky geek who just amuses everyone, but no-one would want to actually be. It just wasn't glamorous, but you could certainly say it was the most "hardcore" form of the word.

In the last couple of years though, the word has changed again. The "geek" accolade is a badge of honor, people are proud to call themselves one. It's now used to describe someone with a Twitter account, a wide selection of iPhone cases with Mario characters on, a Tumblr log-in or a penchant for ironic t-shirts. The girls read GeekSugar, the boys search eBay for old Dreamcast games, and they all think they're pretty cool—and different to everyone else.

It's become such an overused—and misused—word that it's lost its meaning along the way.

Now, a geek is just someone who's vaguely techie, knows how to use the internet properly, and has an appreciation for ironic throw-backs to their childhood. It also suggests a pride behind the intelligence one possesses, but with everyone throwing it around willy-nilly, the meaning has become extremely muddy.

Even the geeks in films have changed in the last few years. See Matt Farrell in Live Free or Die Hard, and any character Simon Pegg plays. TV shows like the The Big Bang Theory and The IT Crowd—these new geeks are being portrayed in almost every form of entertainment going.

It's become pretty frustrating watching it all, but recently I'd been feeling like the word "geek" wasn't being used quite as much—that one day it could be reclaimed, and the square-rimmed glasses-wearing brethren could go back to just being the normal people, normal for a period of time when everyone uses the internet and knows how to download iPhone apps.

Dr. Anderegg's comments show a dated view of the word "geek," similar to the geek 2.0 meaning I mentioned, when film characters leaned more towards Poindexter than to Chloe O'Brian from 24; one he feels will stop young people from studying the more "geeky" subjects, such as science and math.

On the contrary, I think they actually encourage people to take a closer interest in those fields, especially with role models like Sergey Brin and Larry Page, Evan Williams from Twitter and Stephen Fry out there today. But I do think it's time the proper geeks reclaim their word, if only to stop me from bristling every time I overhear a 14-year old girl being called "geeky" for knowing how to use BitTorrent.

With Avatar in theaters, the stakes are simply too high to risk losing a film to some pudgy frat boy film school drop out who is convinced his personal commentary is just as important as the countless hours of work that have gone into the filmmaking process.

The following are a list of rules and responses that I feel, as a society, we need to deem socially acceptable to assimilate into our communal fabric.

6-Inch Voices, Or Group Humiliation
I know I'm coming off rude already. The occasional quiet comment to the person beside you, that's totally fine by me. But If I can hear you from over two seats away, chances are, you need to shut the fuck up (throughout life, possibly, but definitely in the theater). If a person makes loud comments that a single "shhh" doesn't thwart, everyone around them should stand, point and loudly ask them to leave (with liberal use of expletives). It'll be a painful, distracting experience, but chances are, it won't be needed again.

Really, It's OK To Tell People to Shut Up
I know I just made this point, but I want to make it abundantly clear: telling talkers to shut up is OK. You are doing all of the shy, weak and first daters who want to enjoy a movie but not lose out on a potential post-film grope a huge favor. Let's just make an oath, right now, to support one another against the talkers, be they intimidatingly muscley or not. Let's acknowledge a silent brotherhood, poised to attack at the slightest breach of conduct.

If You Pull Out a Cellphone During a Movie, You Relinquish All Rights to It
I don't care if you have it's on vibrate or turned to silent. Any cellphone pulled from a pocket during a movie—most probably a Sidekick—that's glowing in the corner of the entire audience's eye is now communal property. It can and should be yanked from the offender's hand and chucked across the room to break against the nearest hard surface. The offender's head is one such potential surface.

Bathroom Exits, OK, Refills, Not OK
We've all overestimated the endurance of our bladders. And as you grow older, you realize that uncontrollable bodily functions are something we all just need to be adults about. If someone walks out during a pivotal scene because they NEED to go, well, that's alright. But if they take their empty popcorn bucket with them, proceed with skepticism. Do they look like they needed to use the bathroom while they were up? No? Then tripping them on the way back is totally Kosher.

Honor Those Who Watch Credits
In the theater, credits are part of the film. It's your option to watch them, but should you elect not to, do not disturb those around you who enjoy finishing a film by celebrating all those who made it possible. That means, no standing in front of someone seated to finish the credits (a quick, polite pass is OK). And maybe save that thing you NEED to say for the hallway or the parking lot, rather than voice it right as the film fades to black. Offenses in this realm will not elicit punishment, but you may be deemed "tacky."

Oh, But None Of This Applies to Kids Movies on a Tuesday Afternoon
Once again, I'm not an evil or malicious person (by nature). If you're watching some Shrek sequel, especially during a matinee, pretty much anything goes—for children. Adults who are offending any of the above rules in ways not directly resulting from or related to a child's actions are fair game for fair punishment.

And if you have any points or suggestions that I may have missed, please, please, please list them in the comments. Two people can easily drop $40 and and a free evening to see a movie. And the first time you watch something truly special can never be rekindled.

Let's band together and see to it that movie talkers STFU for good.

According to the New York Times, Shellie has 5,400 followers on Twitter. The wife of an Air Force sergeant, she uses her account to tell about her life as a mother of four.

Last monday she tweeted about her chickens and her chicken's cage at 5:22pm. At 5:38pm she called the police saying that her son Bryson was dead at the bottom of the family pool. At 6:12pm she asked her Twitter followers to pray for the life of her son. Only five hours later, she posted photos of the two-year-old Bryson along with the following message:

Remembering my million dollar baby

I don't know about you, but when I read this, something flipped inside me: I felt absolutely no sympathy for this woman. I just can't believe that this is the way you mourn the loss of your own son. The same way I just can't believe that anyone could have the cold blood to tweet about how your son is dead in the pool, just a few minutes after finding him there.

The NYT article is excusing her by saying that "it feels perfectly logical that Shellie Ross would reach out to that community with her pain." Really? How is that "logical" again? Do you mean as logical as plastering the front of your home with photos of your dead kid, and publicly declare that you are "remembering" him shouting through the window? With a bloody megaphone? And what is that community of 5,400 followers? Are they 5,400 friends? Or just 5,400 spectators? And since we are at this logical game, could we step it a little bit further and turn on the Justin.tv webcam? I want to see the tears, please. What's the difference, anyway? It's all about "reaching the community" because everyone feels isolated, after all.

But as I was thinking about this, I remembered that I tweet about personal things too.

Heck, you can tell when I'm angry, or happy, or in love just by reading my posts. So where to draw the line? Maybe each of us have to draw our own lines. I know, however, where to draw mine. Tweeting about the death of my kid—something that hopefully will never happen—or anyone else is a hundred billion miles out of that line.

At the end, the fact is that, no matter how you look at this, it's terribly sad. Sad because a kid died. Sad because something is really fucked up when a mother's first reaction is to post about the death of her son, just a few minutes after she finds him in the pool. In a bloody web page. Wrong with the mom, wrong with the whole society, wrong with whobloodydamngodfuckingever. But something here is just not working right, and no excuses on how this is a brave new world of technology can make up for this more-than-often-pathetic show we call the web.

But that's really the key here: Technology has enabled us to easily transmit our lives in real time, and many people don't have a clear idea of where their privacy or their "real" world starts or ends anymore. With our smartphones and digital cameras, with the Twitters and Facebooks of this world, we have became curators of our own digital live archives. So that's probably the answer to the first question: Why does a mom tweet her son's death In near-real time? Because now she can. [NYT]

Android's most serious problem right now is fragmentation: with each new phone, it seems, comes a different version of the OS. In theory, these differences are superficial, and come down to handset manufacturers' and carriers' custom interfaces, which sit atop a mostly unchanged Android core. In practice, it's much worse.

Just look at the current top tier of Android devices. The Motorola Droid runs Android 2.0. The HTC MyTouch 3G and G1 on T-Mobile run Android 1.6. The HTC Hero, a newer phone than the MyTouch and the G1, is still stuck on 1.5, along with the even newer Motorola Cliq, which shares one parent—Motorola—with the 2.0-loaded Droid. Why is this something to worry about? Remember Google Maps Navigation, the free turn-by-turn app for Android? It only works on Android 2.0 and 1.6. An app written by Google doesn't even work on every new Google phone. Imagine how things are with third party apps. (Spoiler: it's a shitshow.)

Google's been fairly diligent about updating the free, open-source heart of Android moving forward at a steady pace, and supplying handset manufacturers with the tools they need to keep their handsets running the latest software. That said, Google still deserves some of the blame here. That their software updates include new, exclusive functionality is fine on its own. And yeah, their eagerness to allow for Android to be skinned and deeply customized by handset manufacturers is fine on its own—in fact, it's implicit in the project's open source ethos. But mixed together, these ambitions create a gurgling software slurry of incompatibility, user experience inconsistency and general frustration. (See: Samsung Behold II) So what happened?

The problem is in the model. Android updates seed out through carriers, over the air or with special installers. This is because the updates are their responsibility: once handset manufacturers (and carriers, through handset manufacturers) have built their own version of Android, they've effectively taken it out of the development stream. Updating it is their responsibility, which they have to choose to uphold. Or not! Who cares? The phones are already sold. And there's very little to motivate a carrier or handset manufacturer to update their Android phones, because the consequences tend to fall on Google: If Android fragments, the App Market doesn't work. The public sours. Android starts to suck. This is where the Nexus One comes in.

Sold without a carrier, software updates for the Nexus One will be in Google's hands. They will be able to keep it up to date as Android develops, without having to depend on some other company—or companies—not to drop the ball. Users won't have to bother learning Google's esoteric dessert-themed version codenames, and life will be better. This approach to software updates already has a case study: the iPhone. There's a good reason Apple didn't entrust AT&T with keeping the iPhone up to date, and that they didn't want the company that actually manufacturers the phone—Foxconn—to have any responsibility for its software. Smartphone software is finicky and complicated, and so is the experience of using it. It needs to be tightly controlled to remain consistent, and because apps are the most important part of a smartphone platform nowadays, consistency is life or death.

Without totally changing what the Android project is, Google can't put an absolute stop to fragmentation. What they can do is provide an example of how an Android phone should be done. With the Nexus One, Google probably isn't getting into the business of making hardware; they're just trying, in their passive, Googly way, to regain control of a project that's spiraling toward chaos.

Update: Some input from someone who works in a major carrier's device development group:

There is TONS of incentive for carriers to update their
software. Take a look at Verizon hosting the only Android 2.0 device.
Are you going to tell me that Sprint and T-Mobile wouldn't love to
have their Android devices on 2.0 yesterday?

The truth is, there's very little incentive for the Handset maker to
provide an update. All those phones are already sold and in the
carrier's inventory. Any investment in updating those models will
bring them no additional cash flow. However focusing on their next
model will.

He's partly right: carriers have a motivation to keep their software up to date, in that they are the ones who have to deal most with customers. Handset manufacturers are the one's with the least motivation, since their sale has already been made. But in branding a handset with their name, effectively selling it as their product, and assuming responsibility for seeding updates, a carrier becomes responsible for making sure their customers have up-to-date software, and exerting pressure on handset manufacturers if they don't hold up their end. —Thanks, David!

Its new privacy policy have turned the social network inside out: millions of people have signed up because Facebook offers a sense of safety. For the last five years — as long as you're relatively careful about who you accept as your friends — what you do and say on Facebook for the most part stays on Facebook. Katie Couric's daughter first posted pictures of her famous mom dancing silly in 2006, but it took three years for them to leak to us. (Thank you tipsters!) But virtually overnight and without a clear warning, Facebook has completely reversed those user expectations. Their new privacy settings amount to making anything you post on Facebook to be public, unless you go to great lengths to keep your info private.

The most insidious part of Facebook's scheme to expose user data has been how the company framed them, claiming to want to enhance privacy. In an open letter to his 350 million+ users, CEO Mark Zuckerberg claimed he believed the old privacy framework was "no longer the best way for you to control your privacy," and that the new system would give people "even more control of their information." It would be "simpler" and finer-grained.

But when the system came out a week later, it actually gave less, not more, control over information. Gone was the ability to hide your friends list, profile pictures, fan pages and network membership from all strangers; Facebook's new, formal privacy policy explicitly made this information public (despite the ability to keep some of it, like the friends list, off your profile page).

Meanwhile, the social network is pushing users hard to share their personal content with strangers. Users are being forced to update their privacy settings, with most default choices set to "Everyone" in the world or "friends of friends."

Facebook's business rationale here is clear. Rival Silicon Valley startup Twitter has grown extremely quickly in the last few years, almost entirely on the back of public content — from celebrities, people's friends and users' professional colleagues. That has brought traffic, money from search engines and a $1 billion valuation.

Facebook wants in on that kind of growth, and more public content means more traffic. But Facebook has historically been one of the most private of the social networks, functioning as a sort of safe alcove amid the chaos of MySpace and Friendster. "Privacy is a big reason Facebook users are so loyal," BusinessWeek's Sarah Lacy wrote in 2006 (via Big Money).

So Facebook needed to give users a big shove to put its business plan into play. As startup founder Jason Calacanis puts it,

Facebook is trying to dupe hundreds of millions of users they've spent years attracting into exposing their data for Facebook's personal gain: pageviews. Yes, Facebook is tricking us into exposing all our items so that those personal items get indexed in search engines–including Facebook's–in order to drive more traffic to Facebook.

But it's not just that Facebook is tricking its users; it's betraying them. It did so when it literally communalized private friend lists that people spent years accumulating, without which their accounts would be useless. It did so when it mislead them by saying it wanted to enhance their privacy, when the real goal was growth and profit. And it continues to do so every day it does not respond to the loud fedback of its users (and the implicit feedback of its own CEO).

And people increasingly know they've been betrayed. This past weekend, journalist Dan Gillmor publicly deleted his Facebook account. Heidi Moore at Slate's Big Money temporarily deactivated her account as a "conscientious objection." And look at the big-name tech journalists weighing in on all the shock and outrage on Facebook critic Calacanis' "Wall" (click to enlarge):

Facebook has been through embarrassing privacy snafus before, like the intrusive "Beacon" advertising system, which the company eventually abandoned. But this one was so pre-meditated, so pre-processed and so condescendingly hyped and spun in advance. It's obvious that Facebook is making a calculation, one that, for users, involved a lot more subtraction than addition. Barring mass defections, the difference will drop straight to Facebook's bottom line.

UPDATE: Our other coverage:
The Facebook Privacy Settings You've Lost Forever, Dec. 16
The Valleywag Guide to Restoring Your Privacy on Facebook, Dec. 15
Facebook CEO's Private Photos Exposed by the New 'Open' Facebook, Dec. 11

(Top pic: Zuckerberg, by Josh Lowensohn)

And I don't mean to say that I don't understand what the Nexus One is, or what Google's trying to do. Nor am I saying that Google plan for the Nexus One—to offer a different type of cellphone buying experience than US customers are accustomed to, and to provide a model for future Android handset—is a particularly bad one. I'm saying that I don't get the hype: Google's Nexus one is an interesting experiment, not some kind of heroically disruptive Google coup, as many people, changes everything">including us, have implied. Consider the facts:

It's an HTC Android handset. This means that on a material level, it's barely more of a Google phone than the G1—which Google passively oversaw—or the Motorola Droid—which Google actively helped design. And hey, people remember: Google still isn't a hardware company. Not even close.

The hardware isn't revolutionary. It's the third (at least) Snapdragon-powered Android phone we've heard about. It's got a 5-megapixel camera. It's got dual microphones, to help with noise reduction. It's fairly thin. These are nice features for a new phone, but they're more or less exactly what we'd expect HTC to be working on next.

It's pretty much running Android 2.0. People are talking a lot about how Google had full control over the Nexus One user experience, and how it's going to be unlike any other Android we've ever seen before. But we've seen other builds of 2.1, albiet covered in the Sense UI, leaked for the HTC Hero (spoiler: not that impressive), and combined with the early glimpses we've caught from spy shots, they give the feeling that 2.1 isn't much of a step up from 2.0, which is what the Droid ships with, which, mind you, Motorola doesn't seem to have touched almost at all. As far as I can tell, the Nexus One will have some pretty new UI flourishes, and maybe a few UX changes. Again: this is typical, paced progress, not a drastic overhaul.

The new business model isn't really new. Even the most breathless commentary on the Nexus One admits that what it means is more important than what's on its spec sheet. And yeah, it'll be the first phone marketed as the Google phone, and Google's sales strategy—to offer the device without contract first, and probably unlocked, with a (hardware limited—possibly just to T-Mobile, if you care about 3G) choice of carriers—is foreign to the US market. But it's far from unheard of—you can buy unlocked phones at Best Buy, for God's sake. Oh, and Nokia's been handling their US smartphone releases like this for years. It hasn't gone well.

Google doesn't have superpowers. Using their unmatched internet superpowers, Google can do more to convince the general public that an expensive, unsubsidized phone is a good idea than Nokia, whose marketing efforts have been wimpy and ineffective. But they can't do anything crazy, like give this thing away. They can sell it for cheap by relying on their own advertising network—or hell, their homepage—for advertising, as well as the massive press coverage they're already getting, and selling it at little to no profit. To be able to match carriers' prices, though, will be a stretch: A Verizon or a T-Mobile can absorb the cost of a phone in month-to-month fees and overage charges. What does Google have? Theoretical future Adsense revenue?

Even if what we see now is exactly what we're going to get, the Nexus One is something worth paying attention to—it will be a way for Google to demonstrate what their vision for Android is without carrier interference. They'll control the software experience on the phone; they'll control how it's updated; they'll control what software is and isn't allowed on it. And they could use it to convey an vision for Google Voice, in which Google supplies your number, your nonstandard calling rates and your texting allowance, while carriers simply supply a neutral, dumb and ultimately out-of-sight cellular connection. But even if that is what they're doing—we don't know!—the Nexus One is a first step. It'll be an early product to guide the progress of an industry, not the product that'll define it.

Whenever we talk about Google, we need to factor in a little windage. They're buzzy, they're huge, and they've thrown plenty of other industries curveballs before. This phone sits at the hype nexus (for lack of a better word) of Google Voice, Android, Google's online services and HTC. For now, to say that the Nexus One has somehow changed everything is to buy into these company's hype too earnestly, to ascribe to Google mystical qualities, and to take for granted a series of future actions that Google hasn't even hinted at fulfilling yet. Apple isn't the only company tech watchers recklessly project onto.

Or, to compress it to 140 characters or less: "The Google phone matters as much as Google makes it matter." For now, people, calm down.

"Apple has launched a beautiful phone with a fantastic user interface that has had a number of technological shortcomings that many iPhone users have accepted and defended, despite those shortcomings resulting in limitations in iPhone users' daily lives."

"When we examine the iPhone users' arguments defending the iPhone, it reminds us of the famous Stockholm Syndrome - a term that was invented by psychologists after a hostage drama in Stockholm. Here hostages reacted to the psychological pressure they were experiencing, by defending the people that had held them hostage for 6 days,"

Jesus Christ, it's called being a fanboy you morons—and it happens with every major product, not just with the iPhone. Despite its shortcomings, the mere mention of Windows Mobile in a negative light produces the same wave of irrational fanboy rage, as does arguments between PCs vs Macs, Xbox vs PS3...hell, even Firefox vs Chrome. It's not about defending products really, it's about one-upsmanship, insecurity and defending a nerdly pride. [9to5Mac Image via Joy of Tech]

Disney, who is probably the most IP-protective company in the entertainment industry, realizes that I'm a lot more likely to buy their Monsters, Inc. Blu-ray for a small price premium if it includes every other format I could possibly want.

So why isn't the video games industry offering me the same choice with multi-platform titles like Call of Duty? Or, put differently, why is it that buying Call of Duty on the 360 doesn't give me a portable version for the DS or my iPhone?

I know, how ignorant of me to ask such a question! Porting a Call of Duty title from the Xbox 360 to PS3 is an expensive endeavor—we're talking huge development teams costing millions of dollars. For the DS or Wii, it's likely that game is designed again from the ground up to accommodate the unique hardware and lower processor specs. If I own an Xbox and a DS, they can't just give me the DS version for cheap or free!

Or could they?

Let's use Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2's numbers as an example. According to data from VGChartz, 4,890,348 discs sold of Xbox 360 version alone in the first week. Imagine, for a moment, that $5 extra would buy you Modern Warfare 2 on Xbox 360 alongside a bonus version for the DS. If only 10% of buyers were tempted into this upsell, that's 489,000 additional DS version sold, or an extra $2,445,170 in DS-related revenue for Activision.

And for all of you think this would just cannibalize DS sales, I respond, what sales? Only 12,000 units of the DS's Modern Warfare 2 sold over the same period of time. (More figures on Kotaku.) Plus, by using digital downloads tied to existing PSN, Xbox Live and Nintendo accounts, software companies could greatly limit sharing/resale of these extra versions.

Assuming my rough numbers aren't too nuts (actually, I believe they are quite conservative), why isn't the games industry following the movie industry's lead? Why can't buying a game on one platform allow you to play it on many?

The real limitation isn't development costs, it's that the video games industry is fundamentally designed to ignore competing formats and charge developers licensing fees that would cripple such a model. Nintendo doesn't want to acknowledge that a gamer might want to play Call of Duty on the Wii for motion controls, on Xbox 360 for networking and on an iPhone for the road. Nintendo wants Nintendo gamers to live in a digital bubble. And the same can be said for Sony and Microsoft.

We're not supposed to want to play games on more systems than one. But you know what? We already do. According to the NPD, 42% of Xbox 360 and PS3 owners also own a Wii. And if those same numbers were run in relation to mobile devices, including cellphones, the number would skyrocket to nearly 100%.

Nintendo, with the Wii and DS, and Sony, with the PS3 and PSP, are both advantageously positioned to make such a model work. But ideally, software companies and retailers could take such promotions cross-platform, cross-company.

I don't live in a Utopian dream state, believing that the next generation of games will play on one uniform platform. And in fact, I think diversity and competition within the market is key to innovation. So let's leverage these differences to a more consumer-centric model that will probably, ultimately, make all involved companies more money while offering shoppers more choice.

Books, in the paper and ink form, have been around for over a thousand years. You can bet your prized copy of Cloud Computing For Dummies that when the first book, the Diamond Sutra, was finished, those still chipping their chisels into stone, or carving papyrus downed their tools and said something along the lines of "thank the lord, reading's become even easier now!" It was a much-needed change, unlike the electronic books manufacturers like Sony and Amazon have been trying to flog.

A few ereaders existed before Sony swaggered onto the playing field, but it wasn't until 2004's DRM-riddled Librie (upon hearing of the Librie, Boing Boing's ever-militant Mark Frauenfelder exclaimed "This self-destruct feature is sickening. Who would buy a Librie with this deadly defect built in?") that they came into prominence, much like a curried egg sandwich on a humid day. In a rainforest. In Indonesia. With a placard saying ‘SMELL ME' and a marketing budget backing it up the size of, well, Sony's.

A handful of people since then have invested the amount they could've spent on a couple of phones on one of these devices, but that's not the last time they've had to dig deep in their pockets, ignoring the loose change they'd normally spend on a paperback, searching instead for their credit card or Amazon gift vouchers.

With ebooks costing between $10 - $15, you're forced into continually feeding your Kindle/Reader/Nook/Other-warm-and-nurturing-sounding-device with cash, and as the ereaders are so physically large you also need to invest in a manbag just to avoid being mugged. Did we say mugged? We meant "laughed at." There's a reason why you don't see people using them on public transport.

They're impractical and expensive. It's such a Sony trait, to reinvent the wheel when the current model is still going ‘round perfectly. While Blu-ray may've eclipsed the deceased HD DVD (RIP), barely anyone uses an SACD player anymore (disclosure: except, err, me. But only with one album – Dire Straits' Brothers In Arms. Cough.) Even less people than that still use Betamax and MiniDisc. They, like the ereader, are futile exercises in trying to create a market for something that has little demand.

That's the crux of my argument. Any company that attempts to own market share in that area is fighting a losing battle. Consumers won't buy an electronic book when they can get a paperback for the same price or even less, and when they can lend it to friends, read it in the bathtub or even sell it on and make a percentage of their money back.

Our grandchildren won't be housing first edition ebook copies of War and Peace in an antiquated Kindle, passed down from generation to generation. There's no opportunity to get sentimental over an e-book, and when it comes to works of fiction and non, which have had thousands of man-hours injected into them, surely that's the reason people read them? To escape for a few hours turning some pages, and then eventually handing it to a friend with a glowing recommendation to read it from cover to cover?

Instead, we're now encouraged to send links to one another or rely on Amazon to recommend titles, and to poke a button to turn the pages. I imagine the writer of Diamond Sutra never would've put up with e-ink page lag, nor been too impressed with having to charge the device after only a few days' worth of pressing a button repeatedly, trying to turn the bloody page.

I have no beef with reading ebooks on a mobile phone or tablet, however.

During September of this year, there were more ebooks added to Apple's App Store than there were games, according to San Francisco-based analysts Flurry. There's an obvious advantage to reading an ebook on an iPhone, as chances are you already own one. You don't have to fork out several hundred dollars on a new device that just displays lines of e-ink. iPhones are devices which serve more than one purpose, and while some ereaders allow for music playback and even gaming, you'd never buy one just to play MP3s on.

Same story with tablets—whether you've got an Archos, ASUS or a secret Apple tablet no-one knows about. Provided the cost of the ebooks doesn't outweigh the cost of a paperback, it's an extra bonus for anyone who owns one of these multi-purpose devices.

Not even the comments of Nintendo President Satoru Iwata bothered me, when he told the Financial Times that they're considering equipping the next version of the DSi with 3G connectivity to download ebooks on. At its heart, any Nintendo product will always be bought for gaming, and if it offers other features such as ebooks, then that's a nice extra. But it won't be bought for the ability to read books on.

While analysts Forrester Research claim that 3 million e-readers will be sold in the US during 2009, it seems even Amazon and Barnes & Noble aren't too confident of the lasting power of their devices. Both companies have launched apps for the iPhone, which give close to 40m users access to hundreds of thousands of books on devices they already owned. Is this a case of Amazon and Barnes & Noble shooting themselves in the foot, or safeguarding themselves over what they know will be a short-lived industry? My money's on the latter, but tell me your thoughts.

When you buy a PC, the most important decision you make is selecting its OS. Do you want Windows 7, for a modern Windows machine-slash-media center? Are you a little more conservative, hanging back with Windows XP? Do you want a lightweight Linux OS on your netbook so you don't have to worry about viruses, or slowdown? Are you a Gentoo purist, building your OS flag by flag, penguin shirt moist from excitement? Or, god forbid, are you a hackintosher? Whatever choice you make, you're making a choice. You're selecting the interface with which you interact with your computer, and by extension, the entire digital world. This makes sense.

But this just isn't how things work in the mobile world. If you want Windows Mobile, you need to buy a Windows Phone, complete with a dedicated Start button. If you want Google's Android, you've got a narrow selection of handsets from a handful of manufacturers, many of which, at least for now, don't even support the same version of the OS. If you think webOS looks cool, buy a Pre. If you like Symbian, import a Nokia or settle for a Samsung. And most predictably, if you like the App Store, Apple—and only Apple—is ready to process your credit card. Like the Touch HD2's obscenely hot hardware, but don't care for Windows Mobile? Tough luck. Think the Droid is a perfect piece of machinery, but don't understand what all this Android hubbub is about? Shut up.

In the last half-decade, we've become acutely aware of what goes into our smartphones. New phones get a spec rundown that mirrors a PC's: Qualcomm processor X! RAM speed Y! Screen technology Z! It fosters a climate ripe for PC-style hardware wars, with new processor architectures competing head to head, an ongoing—and fruitful—resolution race, and each new phone edging out its predecessors with even more onboard storage, or support for a new input or output cable. It's fascinating to watch the competition unfold, but it's even more fascinating to see how tightly grouped development is. These are ARM-based phones, for the most part. They share memory types, display types, cameras, chipsets, processors and often, original device manufacturers. They're the same thing.

When you buy a smartphone, you're stuck with its OS. Your carrier might toss you a few software updates, and if you're particularly gutsy, you might install some custom-baked software of your own, though you're generally stuck with slight variations on and customizations of the handet's default OS. It's as if everyone in the mobile world is emulating what Apple does in the computer space, except worse: at least Macs have Boot Camp, for fuck's sake. (And before they did, they had the PowerPC excuse.)

I know something like this is miles over the horizon—you can't just will new hardware support into existence, and the entire industry is currently built around the bound relationship between software and hardware—and that some hardware (guess which!) is probably doomed to live out its entire life in a hollow monogamous relationship, but it's time for handset manufacturers, along with Google, Microsoft, the Symbian Foundation, and Palm, maybe, to start setting goals. Or at minimum, it's time for us to start asking them to.

For the companies, this would mean working on driver support for common componentry, opening up to the enthusiast communities who already do so much amazing software work on their own, and agreeing on some kind of common bootloader, from which users can choose to install their operating system.

For users, this would mean freedom. Going into 2010, our smartphones are more central to our lives than ever, and it's time to acknowledge that. Consumers treat smartphones like computers. The people who make them, though, treat them like dumbphones; prepackaged products, artificially limited for no good reason—at least, no good reason to the people who buy them.

People from the 80s. All the five who survived wearing their hair spray and shoulder pads and striped shirts and silk undapants. You know, the kind that get inside your buttcrack and itch, which is precisely the sensation I get from Schonfeld's description of Time Inc's project:

The demo was shown on an HP table computer with a touchscreen [...] The cover takes up the full screen and you tap it to show a table of contents with thumbnails of the actual layout, which you can rearrange to read in any order you like. To flip through the pages you swipe with two fingers, and you can also tap to get a navigational timeline at the bottom. There is also a navigation wheel which lets you share stories via email, Facebook, or Twitter, favorite a story, go to related videos or photos interviews, other articles, or stats such as live scores.

Holy fuck! Live scores! Score for you, Time Inc! And share stories via email and Facebook and Twitter. Please keep on talking, because you are getting me wet. But please, satisfy my curiosity before I get on my knees and bow down before your genius: How is this different from a web page? Other than costing ten times as much to produce, that is.

Never mind, I will tell you how: It's a lot worse. It's just pasting an old medium into a new one, painting the resulting clusterfuck with two layers of thick varnish. This effort to cling to the past may look pretty, but no matter how much eye candy Time Inc. throws at this, it would still feel stale and dead.

I'm sorry, Time Inc. and Condé Nast and Murdochs of the world, but magazines are not dying because they are printed on paper. They are going under because many other factors. Here are some of them: Reduced attention spans, reader's demand for instant satisfaction, and a general change in visual culture and codes that have rendered the page concept obsolete in favor of more anarchic, time-organized information structures, as well as non-linear ones.

So get over this phase, this desperation of yours to keep the old into the new. That's not how innovation happens. Don't try to translate pages into a tablet format by just adding multitouch, animation, and Twitter links. Instead, think about how the new medium can deliver content in a truly different way, rather than just putting pages together into glorified PDFs. If you can live up to the promise some people believe in, you may succeed. But until you really nail it down, you'll keep reducing staffs and closing publications, no matter how many Apple Tablets are sold. [TechCrunch]

There's a whole bunch of greedy "artists"—represented by the SGAE, the Spanish version of the RIAA, and some cinema associations—who most of the times are used by the Spanish socialist government to support their political agenda. I say greedy because, in Spain, there's an "artist tax" on everything that can be used to record something. You buy a CD to do data backup at work? Doesn't matter, the government's friends assume you are a thief copying stuff, and charge you an extra for it. Maybe you want a new camera to record your newborn baby? Well, that's more expensive too because of the "artistic" tax. Want an iPod? Pay extra. A DVD-R unit? Give them more money.

Their argument for that tax was that, since people were pirating music and movies using the internet, the artistic associations should get a cut of all media and gadgets that could be used to copy music and movies. I can argue that I don't give a rat's ass about the mostly lousy music produced in Spain, not to talk about their craptastic movies, but it's ok. Let's say that I accept that premise and gladly pay the extra, even while it destroys the presumption of innocence. P2P was legal in Spain—and still is—and everyone was happy.

Everyone but them. They wanted more, and they got it as an obvious favor, returned by the socialist government now in power. After passing the law hidden in another law, the artist associations can now close any web site they want, without a court order. They only have to argue that the site may be used to share media, and the Minister of Culture will have to the power to close the site without any judge giving the go ahead, a true "Cultural Police." Goodbye democracy, hello National Socialism. What's more, they also want to be able to close the Internet connection of any user who uses the internet for P2P sharing, also without any due process.

This leaves everyone without any defense. The artists associations and the Minister of Culture can shut down a business that can be perfectly legal, without having to answer to anyone. Just because they say so. Or they can close the internet connection of someone who wasn't doing anything wrong. All without confronting any judge with any solid evidence. This means that the business or user would have to go to court to defend themselves after the damage is done, something that requires money.

In other words, no due process, no presumption of innocence, just shutting down web sites because someone with no judicial power says so.

They want to get their money from the artist tax and destroy P2P at the same time, demolishing some Spanish Constitutional rights in the process. Needless to say, this has originated a huge response by Internet users, Human Rights activists, journalists, and bloggers, who have signed a manifesto against it. Also needless to say, nobody in the government will do anything about it, which is one of the reasons why I don't live in my home country anymore. [MuyComputer—Google Translation]

This morning, the latest Fring update brought videochat to the iPhone. It only works in one direction, from a computer to your iPhone. It uses Wi-Fi instead of the 3G connection, even while 3G is capable of supporting videoconferencing (in fact, it was one of its major selling points, back in the day of its introduction). The only reason for not having bi-directional chat is simple: The iPhone doesn't have a front camera.

The main thing is that it works. A third-party has created a videoconferencing app for the iPhone that communicates with desktop computers, just using Apple's standard iPhone programming toolbox. The question now is: If it's that easy, why don't we have a camera and iChat AV on the iPhone?

Could it be because AT&T is fearing that videoconferencing on the iPhone would bring their already overloaded 3G network to a total collapse? That's a valid reason. But if that's the case, just enable the videoconferencing under Wi-Fi, and be done with it.

Maybe the iPhone doesn't have enough processing power to do bidirectional videochat? Nonsense. The processor in the iPhone is plenty fast to handle simultaneous H.264 encoding and decoding for videoconferencing applications. In fact, the iPhone 3GS' PowerVR SGX processor has dedicated pipes to encode and decode H.264 in real time. And even Apple highlights the use of H.264 for videoconferencing applications in other 3G mobile devices, most of them a lot less capable than the iPhone.

Perhaps the VGA camera required to capture the video is too expensive or too big? That doesn't make any sense either. Not only do other phones have these cameras, but the latest generation is so tiny and inexpensive that I wouldn't be surprised if they gave one away integrated in every Corn Flakes box soon.

If there's no technical reason for not having videoconference in the iPhone, then why oh why Apple doesn't give us an iChat AV client and an iPhone that doesn't require an stupid contraption to use it? After all, they were the first company to push videoconferencing across their whole product line, and they keep working on it actively. The latest generation of iChat AV—rolled out with Snow Leopard—has more efficient codecs than the previous version.

My only guess: They just want to milk the hell out of their user base. They know their game, these Cupertino boys and girls. They know they have the market by the balls. They know they can keep churning out marginal upgrades because, like Tim Cook said: "frankly, I think people are still just trying to catch up with the first iPhone 2 years ago." And people will keep sinking dollars in the marginal upgrades like there's no tomorrow, as shown by the iPhone 3GS.

Why release an iPhone with AV conferencing now when they can hold it for a little longer, as they wait for the rest of the market to catch up? Exactly: There's no need. And that's why we will have to wait. Wait until they smell that Google is about to release a phone that supports Gtalk with videoconferencing. Or until whenever they have it planned in their roadmap. Yes, that private roadmap that already has three or four generations of this thing ready to launch.

In other words: Prepare to wait, and keep sucking hard on the Apple Kool-aid, because this is not happening until they feel a real threat from someone else.

Stuff like this is indicative of the problems with the Blu-ray format. Not only did they launch the format with players not fully supporting basic stuff like Ethernet ports for over-the-internet updates, it took them almost two years to get suppliers onto the Blu-ray 2.0 format, which more or less made them catch up with HD DVD's feature set. Blu-ray didn't just put the cart before the horse, they rolled the cart down a hill, waited a year, and asked the horse politely if it could go find the cart.

I don't want this post to be just a chance to re-hash all the old issues with Blu-ray, but really. Three years. It took three years for you guys to get your act together and realize most of the people—the mainstream, not Gizmodo readers—now don't really see the need to buy new players, new discs and new TVs just to watch movies in high def. Hell, one in five people can't tell the difference between SD and HD.

Don't get me wrong; this is a wonderful idea. With combo discs you can eliminate the need for standalone DVD releases, thereby saving shelf space AND putting Blu-ray discs in the hands of people that wouldn't necessarily have purchased Blu-ray. Once these unwitting customers collect enough Blu-ray combo discs, they just might buy a cheap BD player and convert. Really, it's a great sales tactic and something that will ease the transition for the less technologically inclined.

But answer me this, Blu-ray consortium: why did it take you three extra years to pull this off?

The typical TiVo user is a person who just wants their TV recordings to work, regardless of the monthly fee. They may or may not be tech savvy, but chances are TiVo was their first DVR—since we've found, anecdotally, people gravitate back to the first DVR interface they use. So why is their marketshare down to 2004 levels? The answer is simple: cheap DVRs from providers are eating TiVo from the low end, and everyone else can now use Windows 7 and a tuner to act as a DVR just fine.

Cheap DVRs from Comcast, or Time Warner or your satellite provider have gotten good—or rather, less shitty—enough to make them actually viable options for home recording. Even I couldn't turn down only paying an extra $5 per month to have a recorder that works well enough to watch stuff with, even if you don't have show recommendations, and fast forwarding barely functions well enough to stop where you want. But it's $5. $5. Five. Dollars. And that's without having to pay upfront for the box. You can rent three of these for the price of one TiVo subscription.

As for the big reason why you don't need a TiVo anymore, in the future, you can thank Microsoft and Windows 7. Just take a look at that Windows 7 PC you have. Yeah, the one in your office. That can be your DVR. CableLabs finally took off their ridiculous OEM restriction on who can install CableCARD tuners—the device that actually takes a digital cable signal and turns it into something your computer can understand and record—so you can go and get one of these yourself for about $200. So for $200, with no future fees except for your normal cable bill, you can have yourself a home DVR that's arguably as good as TiVo. And, much easier to expand and augment, both storage and functionality-wise, than a set top box.

And if you don't want a computer in your living room (you need that thing in your office anyway), all you have to do is get an Xbox 360 and extend it. Multiple Xboxes mean streaming to multiple rooms, something that's not even possible on a TiVo.

Of course there's going to be a core group of TiVo users who really enjoy TiVo functionality, really appreciate their interface and can't imagine using something else. But is that enough to sustain a business when so many other options are cheaper and just as good? The numbers say no.

And I'm not sure that the solution is just a refresh away.

The Mac Pro was once the only viable option for a OS X lover in need of serious horsepower for tasks like editing media. Now, with the new iMac? I think it's straight up stupid to buy a Mac Pro.

The $2,500 Mac Pro, desperately in need of a refresh, gives you a 2.66GHz Quad-Core Xeon (essentially an i7), 3GB of RAM (triple channel, but seriously?), 640GB hard drive (again, seriously?) and a nominal graphics card. Spend $800 more and you'll get a another processor and 3GB more RAM.

The $2200, 27-inch iMac obviously includes a screen, plus you get a 2.8GHz Quad-Core (i7), 1TB drive, 4GB of RAM and a nominal graphics card.

But beyond those clock speeds, the Mac Pro's i7 processor is the more premium Bloomfield edition, while the iMac uses the Lynnfield. (More on those differences here.)

Still, the bottom line is that the iMac's Lynnfield processor is newer, and it shows in performance.

Macworld benched the new iMacs against the latest Mac Pros. And, you know what? The i7 iMac more than held its own. It basically defeated the 4-core Mac Pro across the board.

And other than a few specific tasks in which the most expensive Mac Pro's 8 cores proved beneficial (Handbrake, Cinebench, etc), the iMac outperformed the competition or kept things close enough not to be relevant, plus it straight-up won in the eyes of Speedmark 6.

Performance-wise, the base Mac Pro makes no sense at all. The 8-core Mac Pro offers a touch more power, sometimes, and other times (in many day to day tasks) even it is outgunned.

Of course, any Mac Pro still allows multiple internal hard drives, three PCI slots, more FireWire ports (four vs one) and more room for RAM expansion (32GB vs 16GB). But once again, even in the worlds of professional media creation, that's a pretty questionable upsell, especially with external storage solutions and the fact that most high, high end media pros (like special effects artists) turn to dedicated render farms to do their heavy number crunching anyway.

With the new iMac, Apple has shrunk the Mac-Pro-needing niche even smaller. And I can't tell anyone with a straight face that a handful of expandability is worth $300-$1100 with no monitor, no matter how deep their pockets are.

Apple needs to reexamine their pricing model. Even with an inevitable processor refresh (i9, anyone?), it's time for a price drop and/or some free with purchase displays. Just because you're a pro doesn't mean you're a sucker.

The original Peek, which just runs email, is something I would never buy in a million years. But I could understand why some people might like it. It's simple, its inexpensive, and it lets you run email without paying for a fancy smartphone plan. That's fine. Email is important and universally useful.

But this? Twitter only? Twitter is something that you can do easily on a smartphone, yes, but it's also something you can use easily on any phone. It's a service based on text messaging, for god's sake! In practice, you could use Twitter on your phone no matter what phone you have. Hell, even StarTacs supported SMS and could use Twitter, if you happen to still be using one.

Maybe they expect this to be used by people without cellphones at all? Why would anyone carry a device that does only Twitter instead of getting a basic free cellphone that can call friends and restaurants and companies with phones (all of them)?

And really, if you're so hooked on Twitter than you want to have it on you at all times, the chances are good that you're also hooked on email, IM, texts and probably the services that a few other apps would provide. This is a device built around an app, basically. The iPhone, BlackBerry, Pre, Windows Mobile, Symbian and Android all have great Twitter apps. But do they deserve their own devices? What's next, a dedicated Fieldrunners or Yelp device? How about a batman utility belt full of like 20 devices each doing the equivalent of one app, for seven bucks a month, each?

Sure, one could argue that it chooses to do one thing and to do it well, with simplicity and affordability. You could compare it to the Flip, for example, which makes shooting video easy and cheap. But the Flip does far more, for the money, and decent video isn't something you find on most smartphones. The Flip beats camcorders by doing 90% of what they do for 20% of the cost. This does 1% of what smartphones can do for 25% of the cost. It's just not a good value, despite it being cheap.

The real kicker? This thing has one single function, and it can't even do that very well. PC Mag just gave it 1.5 stars! This is totally damning:

But as soon as I started handling the TwitterPeek, I knew something was wrong. This handheld is painfully slow. Scrolling through button selections or on-screen lists, the cursor is always a bit behind your trackwheel.

TwitterPeek also fails at the most basic function: reading tweets. The main list of tweets only shows the first three and a half words of each message; to read more, you have to dig down by hitting the 'return' key. Then you can step through tweets, slowly, one by one, with the 'n' (for next) and 'p' (for previous) keys, or jump back up to the unreadable full list of truncated messages. The whole process is slow and annoying.

Not everybody wants or needs a smartphone, such as the iPhone or Droid. They're relatively expensive and cost more per month than a dumbphone. But the fact of the matter is, if you're looking to have a lot of mobile functionality, it makes way more sense to consolidate your needs on one well-designed product than to clutter up your pockets with a dumbphone, a TwitterPeek, a digital camera and a GPS unit. This is a device that is built on flawed logic and executed poorly. I can't think of a single person in a single situation where this would make sense.

I just can't believe this thing exists.

The first was the Apple Pro Mouse. I got one free at the July 2000 Macworld Conference & Expo in New York City. After taking tons of crap for the original iMac's hamburger mouse, Steve Jobs conceded and happily presented the insanely great Apple Pro Mouse. So insanely great it was that he gave one free to every person in the audience. I got two, because I'm greedy like that (and my first wife was with me at the time).

It's still my favorite Apple mouse ever. It was sleek, all in black, with two layers of polycarbonate: One transparent outside, the other translucent black inside. It felt like it was made out of mercury, with its circuitry glowing in laser red. Like the Apple Magic Mouse, it also clicked, with a crunchabolous clickity-clack noise more satisfying than biting a five-Pringles stack.

Sure, it only had one button. I didn't care. I would rather have one button that works every single time, than two fake buttons that work so-so, two side-buttons that I had to deactivate because they were driving me crazy, and a nipple that gets dirty quicker than a Bangkok brothel, except that this whiskered hooker never works. That's the Apple Mighty Mouse. One lousy mouse that will not be missed.

Click through the gallery for a blow-by-blow of e-ink's strengths and failures:

E-ink is a great digital tool for emulating what books were. But a horse with rollershoes can't keep up with the automobile, so why should we expect a digital book to keep up with modern media habits?

I fell in love with the Kindle last year, but I think you're a fool to buy one now—let alone any of its lesser competitors—when so much new technology is about to hit over the next six months. I'm giving up on it. I am waiting for a tablet. Same size, different priorities. And unless you love novels and non-fiction more than TV, movies, cookbooks and glossy magazines all together, you should, too. [Fantastic rendering above by Rob Beschizza]