Zach Beauvais

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(Update: Youtube clip added at bottom of post)

This morning, after switching on the kettle, I set my laptop on the kitchen counter and shuffled through the BBC iPlayer’s “Factual” category—looking for something interesting to keep me company as I made my porridge and coffee. I stumbled across Question Time, and noticed that this special edition was being broadcast from the United States—something to do with an election? I was more thrilled that the entire panel was American, with the notable exception of a personal hero of mine, British professor of history at Columbia University Simon Schama.

Things, however, did not go according to plan, and I was very soon restraining myself from damaging my employers’ Macbook with the wooden spoon I’d shortly before been using to stir my porridge. After realising that unless I switched off the iPlayer in short order, I’d either have to remove the spoon from the screen or my clenched teeth.

I took a minute to reflect at my reaction.

I had lasted through only a few answers to the first question.

As a quick introduction to Question Time, for my American readers—clearly something the audience at this recording had been denied—the format of the programme is straightforward and effective. David Dimbleby chairs a panel of note-worthies, and selects from a series of questions submitted by the audience for the panel to answer one by one. It is a political programme which has featured many of the most important British figures including Tony Blair—while still Prime Minister.

So, the web is full of interesting stuff, right? Gadgets, people, blogs, books, tips, wine—all good things. At least, the web is full of interesting pages about these things. In a single session, you might read a mate’s blog (maybe about wine), then browse a retail site for a book that that mate recommended and stumble across a brilliant gadget. That’s five good things in the space of a few minutes. Here they are, in case you missed them: your mate’s a person (good), and he’s got a blog (debatable, but there you go). He’s talking about wine (which is definitely good), and he happens to recommend a book (great). In the process, you stumble across a gadget (brilliant!).

The problem with all that is that you didn’t instantly recognise all the good things in that very brief narrative sentence. The web is an interconnected bunch of arbitrarily-related pages, like a catalogue of (often good) stuff, without an index. It’s arbitrary, because the pages only exist when it’s linked to; and the stuff can be anything from a purchasable item to an innovative idea. This network is mind-numbingly huge and even the most versatile of polymaths can’t be interested in all of it. So, what we want is all the good stuff, and we want it with all the flexibility an arbitrary system can offer (I like this, this and this… are they related in any way?)

Well, when I look at them, I can see that they’re related; and not just because I happen to have chosen three things I like.

Ever had a superficial conversation suddenly run your blood cold?

On the short cab-ride to my hotel following FOWA (more to follow), the cab driver was explaining the extension of the conference venue. This is not usually the preamble to a conversation that changes your perspectives, except maybe on the architectural uses of steel spider’s legs and concrete. However, he was saying that the folks that bought Manchester United (actually, he should have said City), bought the Excel centre for a $1billion.

“Apparently,” said the cabby, “they do a lot of, you know, ‘God conferences’, evangelical like, yeah?”

“Oh?” I enquired—shocked because I’d been greeted by some charismatics in red teeshirts on my first visit to FOWA, and they’d been there every morning, greeting folks entering the conference and—strangely—leaving the toilets.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of money in it over in the States. Folks that run ‘em want to come to England, and get some British God-money, I guess. Problem for them is: there aren’t any places big enough! So, they buy it, and are building a bigger place. Lots of dosh!”

What?

I had cynically been thinking to myself that the red-tee-shirted cohort of pentecostals greeting me by name (no, nothing spiritual—we all wear name-tags!) had been selected for their good looks and ethnic diversity. But I thought I was being cynical.

But here’s the thing: I overheard maybe ten conversations between geeks (It was a web conference, after all) about the “religious people/ god-folk/ Christian nutters”, and my heart sank. One or two said that a cheery greeting first thing in the morning is quite nice.