Zach Beauvais

I WANT MY FACEBOOKS BACK NOW PLZ!!!1!

// 15th February, 2010 // Comments // perspective

Following a tweeted link to “the funniest comment thread ever”, I spent a few minutes laughing at the expense of hundreds of confused Facebookers. They had been leaving comments on a ReadWriteWeb blog post about a recent venture with AOL to share login access. It took me a few seconds to get the joke: there were scores of comments like:

The new facebook sucks> NOW LET ME IN.

and

please give me back the old facebook login this is crazy……………..

and

All I want to do is log in, this sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

One of the RWW team confirmed in the comment thread that these were genuine: that the traffic was coming from Google referrals using search terms like “facebook login”.

Hundreds of Facebook users googled for the Facebook login page and, landing on RWW’s post, left comments expressing how frustrated they were with the new layout and their inability to login.

Even after RWW put up the following message in the post, people continued to complain:

Dear visitors from Google. This site is not Facebook. This is a website called ReadWriteWeb that reports on news about Facebook and other Internet services. You can however click here and become a Fan of ReadWriteWeb on Facebook, to receive our updates and learn more about the Internet. To access Facebook right now, click here. For future reference, type “facebook.com” into your browser address bar or enter “facebook” into Google and click on the first result. We recommend that you then save Facebook as a bookmark in your browser.

This is hugely funny, until it becomes sad.

After a few pages of befuddled (and often abusive) lost Facebookers, the comments started to contain more genuine commenters observing their enjoyment of the confusion, trollbaiting, and teasing the confused crowd. Some were genuinely clever (*likes*), but many followed the basic forum trajectory of ridicule.

What struck me, however, was my own ignorance in this. I had no idea just how many people rely on services like Facebook who don’t have even a basic grasp of how they’re doing it. The fundamental “browser” metaphor makes it pretty clear that you need to “be” a certain place in order for things to work the way you expect them to. Even without some form of teaching, that level seems too obvious not to get.

But it clearly isn’t. The implications are potentially worrying. Hundreds of people were able to leave comments on a site that wasn’t their destination stating their outrage and confusion. One commentator made a good point about them being lucky that ReadWriteWeb is a relatively benign place to accidentally land; but what if this were a post about Wells Fargo or a health insurance company?

Like many near-geeks, I’ve helped friends and family on technical issues in the past, and there is a level of assessment involved: Where do I need to start to get them using this? But nothing prepared me for this.

This may be hilariously funny, and it might be disconcerting, but it’s most definitely a lesson.

Image “Noob” by @keeg via flickr, Creative Commons By, Non-Commercial license

church 2.0: a sound

// 12th February, 2010 // Comments // emergent, perspective

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ 38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” Matthew 22:37-40

I have been struck, at various times over the years, that the Church isn’t all it’s cut out to be. I mean this almost literally. I’m thinking of the “church” as a pattern—like a tailor uses—of how to live, just now. It’s not that it can’t be altered, embellished, customised, and stretched—these are right and useful. It’s more that the pattern itself is often distorted, or badly copied.

What we know of Jesus’ life is full of relationships, and the “Kingdom of God” he talks about is built through the interactions of parts of his “body”—the people of the church. There are whole bunches of metaphors around who we are and what we’re called, but the prime message is about getting along and looking after one another. His definition of who’s in, and who’s out isn’t particularly clear—something I’m sure will raise some eyebrows—and included prostitutes, dodgy businessmen, lawyers and murderers. The only group he seems to have no time for are the religious.

Holding a weekly service has been the definition of church for a very long time, especially among protestant Christians and especially in the West.  It seems that often church means attendance at a weekly service. It has become part of our language:

ʻI have church on a Sunday,ʼ
ʼIʼm off to church,ʼ
ʻWeʼll have a big roast after church,ʼ

In the new Testament, the word most commonly used for church is ecclesia, which means: ʻa called-out company’—but for what have we been called out?

A couple years ago, I was thinking of a project our “church” had been involved in: the Noise. The Noise is an annual event which brings together literally scores of villagers to help one another out in practical ways. Over the past years, it’s tackled elderly folks’ gardens, public paths, school buildings, and family’s houses.

As something to look forward to each year, it’s hard to beat. I cannot think of a single place where I’ve seen young people and very old people and everyone in between helping out and simply sharing a common love. Needs are met, relationships forged (and mended) and people of all ages work, and laugh, and eat together. It’s a picture, to me, of what I think I mean by “community”.

But, what struck me was the idea that a noise only lasts for a moment and quickly fades. It also lead me to think that the church wasn’t being church, except at this time of year. Please understand, I don’t mean that nothing good happened all year, but that something of the essence of a love-driven community was only really experienced during these few, summer days.

Eventually, I started thinking that instead of a “project”, perhaps we should think in terms of a framework, or a network, or another platform for experiencing and sharing this love actively. I called the initiative “resound”—a noise that keeps going.

What follows are some of my thoughts, slightly updated, from the time.

Resound’s principles include:

• Worship of God through works of service
• Active Love
• Network of Relationships / Community
• Every-member ministry
• Church outside of church.

Worship often takes the form of singing or declaring love and worth to God. I believe that all our actions can be worship. We have been called to be “living sacrifices” in Romans 12. Hebrews 13:15-16 ties the sacrifice of praise from out mouths with doing good:

ʼ15 Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that confess his name. 16 And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.ʼ

Active love or ʻlove in actionʼ is a primary facet of Christianity itself. Jesus repeatedly challenged lip-service and religiosity and his teachings are littered with examples of a love so deeply held that it motivates action. We read (1 John 3:17-18):

ʻ17 This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? 18 Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.ʼ

We are also told that if someone needs food and we say: ʻBe blessed with food,ʼ but do not feed him, we are uncharitable. Relationships form the basis of our faith in Jesus.

Christianity is described as a relationship with God through Jesus. Fellowship plays a vital role in humanity. We use language to interact, we are capable of loving without reward, and we are born into families which (ideally) teach us to get along. I do not believe that all of this charity, love, and fellowship is to be a reward for ʻbecoming a Christian,ʼ. It should, rather, be a consequence of the Love God has so freely given us.

I believe that the Church is present and active in the community, and that its ʻneighboursʼ are a huge part of its life. In traditional weekly services, there are several members whose roles are obvious (preacher, singers, musicians, and—unfortunately —the technical team) and those whose role is needed but less obvious (deacons, elders, and those who count offerings). For the most part, however, the church comprises people whose role is not so much unobvious as undefined. There is no precedent in the Bible for people to have no active role in the church. If this means that there is only so much that can be done in a Sunday service, perhaps there may be more outside this which requires their attention. Many people who cannot preach can paint. Many who cannot sing can scrape old paint off an elderly ladyʼs house. Resound offers a framework for more peopleʼs ministry. It should offer support to natural village networkers as well as to handy(wo)men.

As part of being ʻin ministryʼ through doing practical needs and building relationships, Church is taken outside the church. I believe that our acts of worshipful service are as spiritually significant as the songs sung and prayers proclaimed within the walls of a special building. Without discounting the need and importance of worshipping and gathering together, Resound offers a chance to put principles into action and let the Spirit free to minister. If we find our neighbours difficult to love and serve, surely we will not find anyone easier.

Talis: We’re Excited

// 1st February, 2010 // Comments // Semantic Web, emergent, interesting, tech

This post was originally published on Nodalities Blog.
The Talis offices, for the past few weeks, have been awash with geeky excitement—that kind of near giddy excitement that comes with eager expectation. We’ve all been waiting for something important.

For some, this was no doubt augmented with the announcement of Steve’s new iPad; but that’s not what’s gotten us all worked up.

For months, we’ve been looking forward to the launch of data.gov.uk; and last week, the wraps finally came off. The official press release put it:

A major new website has been launched to the public which gives anyone who wants to use it unprecedented and free access to government data in one place.

This doesn’t quite capture the coolness of the launch, for me. Yes, it’s a major new website, and it’s point is to publish information. But, the exciting thing is that this information is being published as data: data that can be used, reused, remixed and enriched. Sir Tim Berners-Lee’s perspective was more exciting:

Making public data available for re-use is about increasing accountability and transparency and letting people create new, innovative ways of using it. Government data should be a public resource. By releasing it, we can unlock new ideas for delivering public services, help communities and society work better, and let talented entrepreneurs and engineers create new businesses and services.

The point is that this public resource is finally getting a home on the web, and an infrastructure to make it not just available, but useful.

The exceptional team behind data.gov.uk have striven to adhere to web standards in its production: including Linked Data as a priority, as Professor Nigel Shadbolt explained:

We are also going to increase the use of ‘Linked Data’ standards, which allows people to provide data in a way that is as flexible and easy-to-use as possible.

Back in November, Leigh Dodds wrote a post explaining how we’ve been involved, and there’s an official Talis Platform press release too. Basically, we’ve been working with the data.gov.uk team to help with the Linked Data part of the site—hosting the SPARQL endpoints and providing consultancy and training, for example.

I can confidently say that we’re very proud of data.gov.uk, the team behind it, and our involvement with it. We’re excited by the prospect of this data being used as raw material for clever people to make interesting, useful, even world-changing things with it. We’ve seen the beginnings and proof-of-concept projects already.

Now comes the really exciting stuff. What are you going to build?

Image: “Yay for happy days!” by le vent le cri via flickr (CC: By)

Opening Up: A quick note from Matt McAlister

// 25th November, 2009 // Comments // perspective

Matt McAlister, over at the Guardian, wrote a fantastic piece earlier today about the way the Semantic Web has panned out; and you should definitely read it (http://www.mattmcalister.com/blog/2009/11/25/508/socially-linked-data/). I just wanted to snip out a simple quote from his post:

“Openness makes you more relevant. It creates opportunity. It’s a way into people’s hearts and minds. It’s empowering. It’s not hard to do. And once it starts happening it becomes apparent that it mustn’t and often can’t stop happening.”

What do you think?

Posted via email from beauvais’s posterous

How long ago were the ’90s?

// 4th November, 2009 // Comments // perspective

I’m sat downstairs in my house in Shropshire, sipping Rioja and listening to Green Day and trying to imagine music which more resonates with the decade in which we of Orwell’s blight came of age. This is the last year of the ’90s being only last decade. Everyone born in the ’70s will soon be at least 30, and everyone in the 80’s will be in their 20’s; and a generation of kids is already asking: “Pearl Jam?” Another turning point, another fork stuck in the road…

So, was the decade before last good riddance? Was it worth all the while? I need to change the song, hang on…

I did most of my conscious growing up in the decade between shoulder-pads and Thundercats and the WWW. But has much changed? Am I too young to be talking nostalgically about 1990, or are you (if you thought that) getting older than you’d care to admit?

It may be lazy thinking, but I seem to picture the 1990’s as a decade of lasts. It was the last decade in which one could smoke in restaurants, and I am of the last generation which will remember hazy rooms filled with acrid plumes. I’ve lived my whole life thinking of the 1960’s as being the last decade of innocence—as the countless documentaries have explored—but I’m not convinced. Partly, I suppose, because everyone who can remember anything of significance from that period is middle-aged, and it’s difficult to imagine anyone over 45 being all that innocent. But I think something has changed since the 90’s. The ever-shrinking world of the 20th century seems to have expanded once again. Surely, the fallen towers in New York have become a gateway to a time before the Patriot Act and general fear and doubt; but I feel I’ve watched the country of my birth becoming less and less sure of itself and more terrified and confused since the end of the 90’s. Ah, maybe that’s it?

I left only a year after Y2K and the Millennium Bug ruined civilisation, and have been observing the US with the eyes of the 1990’s. My world has been getting bigger, and possibly less scary in comparison. The more people I meet and the more I hear their stories, the more I feel the world isn’t as scary nor as closed-off. Different has become less frightening to me.

What has this got to do with the 1990’s? I’m not sure, really. It was the last decade in which I called myself an American without having to think twice. It was the decade before I started to watch the US turn in on itself from outside its—increasingly armed—borders.

I wonder whether out parents would think of the 90’s as a decade of lasts? Would it be a decade of middles?

A bad year for hearts…

// 25th September, 2009 // Comments // perspective

I’ve always found it difficult to blog about truly emotive things. I might get worked up over a technological failing or annoyed about a political situation, but these things are abstractions: I can hold them out and have a look at them. Something held close to my chest, though? Well, it’s too close for comfort—too close to see very well myself—and I feel a bit like I’ve let people down by not writing about them.

I also use this blog for a combination of personal publishing and work-scribbling. It’s been a place where I publish thoughts which aren’t quite right for a work post or for a mainstream article, but help me on my way toward either. This leaves me slightly divided as to what I’d include here. But, this is my place, and I feel like it should contain some of my recent thoughts. Besides, a wise friend once told me that life’s not really easily divided into groups, so why split up your own thoughts?

Back in February, I received a short message from my brother: “Call me, Grandpa’s not well.” What followed were dozens of difficult phone conversations with family over in Colorado as I patched together exactly what was going on. From what I worked out Grandpa had been helping a neighbour split wood for their fire when he collapsed and was taken to hospital. For a couple days, I was awake at odd hours working out what time I could phone without waking family in the middle of the night to find out more. The outlook wasn’t good, and a sort of pathetic play-by-play followed as the doctors’ diagnoses, plans, and prospects were relayed through three or four people before reaching me. Late one evening, I heard he hadn’t made it. He seemed to have had a good morning, for a Grandpa. He’d already had a breakfast party with his closest friends, driven out to his beloved house in the hills to wade through his collection of tools and his last conscious act on earth was helping his elderly neighbour.

As the patriarch of our huge family, the loss was stunning. Life has a Grandpa in it, and he lives in an amazing cabin in the hills. He cooks barbecues, and he threatens to cut your hair if you don’t behave. His bear-hugs are both welcome and terrifying, but he protects you from the real bears and I still can’t quite imagine a life without a Grandpa.

Last week, I received a short message: “Call me, it’s important.”

What followed was another surreal conversation, from which I learned that a good friend of mine would no longer be sharing banter about code and beer. A year ago, I’d met Leu when I sent out a call to any geeks and techies in Shropshire. Together we began the Shropshire Geek Society, which has been a monthly gathering at pubs to celebrate all things geeky. Many times, when stuck with a problem, Leu would have a solution or work-round for me before I’d even framed the question. He was a brilliant coder, and always good for an anecdote at geeky get-togethers. But more than that, Leu seemed to really get people. His concern was staggering, and I have rarely met a kinder person. After dropping him at his house after a particularly late geek night, he said: “Make sure you let me know when you get home [an hour away], I’ll be awake.”

It’s been a week since the phone call, and at least three times I’ve gone to share a story with Leu and stopped at the send button.

The thing Leu and my Grandpa had in common was a special heart.

Grandpa was always there, looking after me and my many cousins: compassionate and stern. Solid.

Leu was a fast and fierce friend, who—though I’d only known him for a year or so—felt like someone I’d grown up with.

A heart is something we don’t consider often, unless we’re reminded. From the top of the Shropshire hills, my own heart often reminds me it’s there. This year, it’s percussive reminder has taken on a special meaning.

British Heart Foundation