Amazon set to launch prior-day delivery

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Who can get the goods to the customer the quickest? The answer to that question may well determine the future of online retailing. This past week, Google announced its first public test of Google Shopping Express, which promises same-day delivery of merchandise ordered through the search giant’s online store. Ebay, Wal-Mart, and other merchants are also testing same-day delivery services, as they look to gain an edge on the online retailing behemoth, Amazon.com.

But now Amazon is getting ready to launch a secret weapon that promises to shake up not only the Delivery Wars but the entire retailing industry and maybe even the world of commerce. By the end of this year, Amazon will begin testing what it calls SuperPrime Prior-Day Delivery in select markets, according to a top company executive who spoke to me, via email, on the condition that I not reveal his name. With SuperPrime, customers will receive their order a full 24 hours before they place it.

The Amazon executive, whom I’ll call J, describes prior-day delivery as a “massive disruption bomb.” In an exclusive interview with Rough Type, J answered a few questions about the game-changing new service.

Rough Type: Prior-day delivery? That’s mind-boggling. How are you pulling it off?

J: It’s funny, because we’ve already started testing SuperPrime with some of our own employees here in Seattle, and their immediate reaction was that we’d solved the problem of time travel. That’s not a problem we’ve solved. We’re still working on that one. SuperPrime is all about predictive algorithms. We’ve found that by combining the information we gather on a customer’s behavior with some basic neurological data, we can model their purchasing intentions so precisely that we can predict what they’re going to buy a full 48 hours before they actually make the purchase. So we ship the order overnight, and they receive it the day before they place it.

RT: So it’s Big Data.

J: This is way beyond Big Data. In house, we’re calling this Mammoth Data.

RT: You mentioned neurological data. How exactly does SuperPrime work?

J: As the name suggests, we’re introducing a new premium level to Amazon Prime. When a customer signs up — we haven’t set the pricing yet, but I can guarantee that it’ll be affordable for most households — we send them an Amazon SuperPrime Hoodie that’s outfitted with an array of sensors. We ask them to wear the hoodie for two hours, with the hood up, while they go about their business. They then plug the hoodie into their smartphone or their Kindle, and it automatically uploads some scans and other neurological readings to what we’re calling Amazon Brain Cloud, or ABC. We combine the brain data with the behavioral data we’ve collected on the customer, and that enables us to make the purchasing predictions with something like 99.99% accuracy.

RT: Incredible.

J: We’re massively excited. One of my colleagues said this is Amazon’s moonshot, but a moonshot’s already been done, so I think of this as something more than a moonshot. To me, it’s a sun shot. It’s like landing a human being on the surface of the sun. It’s that big.

Photo by Rhys Asplundh.

Bits are things, too

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Atoms vs. Bits: It may well be the foundational dichotomy of our time. The liberation mythology in which cyberspace has been enwrapped and, some would say, enshrouded from its very start is a metaphorical extension of Atoms vs. Bits: the former symbolizing a condition of constraint and bondage, the latter symbolizing a condition of release and freedom. You can sense the metaphor budding in Stewart Brand’s great, prophetic 1972 Rolling Stone article “Spacewar“:

At present some 20 major computer centers are linked on the two-year-old ARPA Net. … How Net usage will evolve is uncertain. There’s a curious mix of theoretical fascination and operational resistance around the scheme. The resistance may have something to do with reluctances about equipping a future Big Brother and his Central Computer. The fascination resides in the thorough rightness of computers as communications instruments, which implies some revolutions.

One popular new feature on the Net is [the Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory’s] Associated Press service. From anywhere on the Net you can log in and get the news that’s coming live over the wire or ask for all the items on a particular subject that have come in during the last 24 hours. … Project that to household terminals, and so much for newspapers (in present form). Since huge quantities of information can be computer-digitalized and transmitted, music researchers could, for example, swap records over the Net with “essentially perfect fidelity.” So much for record stores (in present form). …

When computers become available to everybody, the hackers take over. We are all Computer Bums, all more empowered as individuals and as co-operators.

By 1996, when John Perry Barlow writes his “Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace,” the metaphor is in full and fragrant bloom:

Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. … Cyberspace consists of transactions, relationships, and thought itself, arrayed like a standing wave in the web of our communications. Ours is a world that is both everywhere and nowhere, but it is not where bodies live. … We will create a civilization of the Mind in Cyberspace.

Goodbye to the atomic prison of Flesh. Hello to the pure freedom of bit-based Mind. The emphatically Cartesian metaphor then proceeds, with a remarkable protean backflip, to reconstitute itself not as a metaphor but as a genuine economic and political distinction. A veritable truth! Physical goods and physical media, and the people and companies that create them, become the decaying Flesh of an outdated and fundamentally repressive order: an order built on the “artificial” constraints and scarcities imposed by atomic forms. Digital goods and digital media, and the people and companies that create them, become the vibrant Mind of the new and fundamentally liberating order: an order built on the “natural” freedom and abundance allowed by immaterial assemblages of bits. Here is not only a new medium. Here is a new economics. Here is a new politics. On one side, the revolutionary innocents of Silicon Valley — the Googles — who serve as conduits of Mind. On the other side, the counterrevolutionary gatekeepers of old media, who seek to keep Mind enclosed in Flesh in order to protect their profits. Spacewar! Atoms vs. Bits! Flesh vs. Mind! Control vs. Liberation! Old Media vs. New Media! Short Head vs. Long Tail! Etc.!

And it’s all a fabrication. Or, more generously, it’s all still a metaphor.

“If bits are not made of atoms, what could they possibly be made of?” So asks UCLA’s Jean-François Blanchette. It is very much a rhetorical question. Atoms vs. Bits is a false dichotomy. When bits enter the world, they take material form: always have, always will. Bits “are necessarily both logical and material entities,” Blanchette writes, in his paper “A Material History of Bits,” and “computing systems are suffused through and through with the constraints of their materiality.” All the seemingly bodiless content that flows through the net is inscribed on physical media and distributed through physical media just as the text of printed books is inscribed on physical media and distributed through physical media. Entranced by “the illusion … of immaterial behavior” in the “digital environment,” writes Matthew Kirschenbaum in his book Mechanisms, we have allowed ourselves to be blinded to the fundamental materialism of the bit, as manifested in local and cloud storage systems and all the other mechanisms of computing and networking:

Storage: the word itself is dull and flat sounding, like footfalls on linoleum. It has a vague industrial aura—tape farms under the fluorescents, not the flash memory sticks that are the skate keys of the Wi-Fi street. Yet storage has never been more important than it is now in shaping the everyday experience of computing, interactivity, and new media. … Like the vertical filing cabinets of a previous era, contemporary information storage devices have distinct affordances that contribute to their implementation and reception.

None of this is to deny the fact that what we have termed, not altogether accurately, “physical” and “digital” goods have different, even radically different, economic characteristics. What it does deny is that one method of physical inscription is necessarily more liberating, necessarily more pure or humane or natural, than another method of physical inscription. A cloud data center run by a Google or an Amazon or an Apple is in the business of the material inscription and the material distribution of goods every bit as much as is a printing press or a record pressing plant. Recognizing the fact of digital materiality helps strip away some of the political fantasies inspired by digitization, as Blanchette makes clear:

[A] focus on materiality highlights that computation is a mechanical process based on the limited resources of processing power, storage, and connectivity. Indeed, the computing professions devote much of their activity to the management of these limitations. In mediating access to the physical resources of computation, infrastructure software must also manage the competing demands users place on them. A material analysis foregrounds how systems design must necessarily engage in the oldest political problem in the world: the allocation of scarce resources among competing stakeholders. While the shift to cloud computing, the defining infrastructural work of our time, is typically framed either in the language of technical rationality or that of the information age’s infinite frontier, materiality provides for an analysis of infrastructure building in terms of the politics of resource allocation. Indeed, a focus on materiality suggests a profound disconnect between such political work and the self-portrayal of computing science as primarily concerned with the design of efficient abstractions …

Once we see that the shift to the digital economy entails a shift not from Flesh to Mind but from Flesh to Flesh, from one set of essential substrates to another, as Mike Bulajewski suggests, we can begin to see more clearly the true economic and political implications of the shift, which have as much to do with the centralization of power and control and profit as with their decentralization. If the businesses of Google and Amazon and Apple represent not the liberation of material goods into immaterial forms but simply the replacement of one type of printing press with another type of printing press, of one type of record pressing plant with another type of record pressing plant, then those companies lose their privileged positions as the avatars of a new media revolution. The new boss, like the old boss, traffics in atoms.

Photo of Google data center by Google.

Conversation points

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Though rigorously formal, machine communication is characterized by a lack of courtesy. When computers converse, they dispense with pleasantries, with digressions about family and weather, with all manner of roundaboutness. They stick, with a singlemindedness that, in a traditional human context, would almost seem a form of violence, to the protocol. Realtime messaging allows no time for fussy niceties. Anything that reduces efficiency threatens the network. One must get on with it. One must stay on point.

I say traditional human context because there is a real question as to the continued viability of that context as more human conversation moves onto the universal realtime bus. As we tune ourselves to the rhythms of the machine, can we afford the inefficiencies of courtesy? Nick Bilton, in a recent New York Times piece, argues that “social norms just don’t make sense to people drowning in digital communication.” We owe it to each other, he suggests, to optimize the efficiency of our interpersonal communications, to switch from the conversational mode of old to the machine mode of now. What defined politeness in the past—the use of “hello” and “goodbye,” of “dear” and “yours,” even of first and last names—now defines impoliteness, as such customary niceties “waste” the time of the recipient of the message. More than that, though, the demand for optimal efficiency needs to set the tone, writes Bilton, for all conversation. We shouldn’t ask a person about tomorrow’s weather forecast, since that information is readily available online. We shouldn’t ask a stranger for directions, since directions are readily available through Google Maps. We shouldn’t use a voice call when an email will do, and we shouldn’t use an email when a text will do. Bilton quotes Baratunde Thurston: “I have decreasing amounts of tolerance for unnecessary communication because it is a burden and a cost.”

Fuddy-duddys reacted with horror to Bilton’s column. One reader, calling Bilton a “sociopath,” wrote, “While I applaud The Times’s apparent effort to reach out to children, you go too far when you give them a platform on your pages to express their opinions, which have all the hallmarks of immaturity and gracelessness of their age group.” But Bilton has a point. I think most of us have experienced the annoyance that attends an email or text that contains the single word “Thanks!” It does feel like an unnecessary interruption, a little extra time-suck in a world of time-suckiness.

But there’s a blind spot in Bilton’s view. The big question isn’t, “Are conversational pleasantries becoming unnecessary and even annoying?” The answer to that is, “Yeah.” The big question is, “What does it say about us that we’re coming to see conversational pleasantries as unnecessary and even annoying?” What does it mean to be intolerant of “unnecessary communication,” even when it involves those closest to you? In a response to Bilton, Evan Selinger pointed out that it’s a mistake to judge “etiquette norms” by standards of efficiency: “They’re actually about building thoughtful and pro-social character.” Demanding efficient communication on the part of others reflects, Selinger went on, a “selfish desire to dictate the terms of a relationship.” There is a kind of sociopathology at work when we begin to judge conversations by the degree to which they intrude on our personal efficiency. We turn socializing into an extension of economics.

It’s hard to blame the net. The trend toward demanding efficiency in our social lives has been building for a long time. Indeed, the best response to Bilton came from Theodor Adorno in his 1951 book Minima Moralia:

The practical orders of life, while purporting to benefit man, serve in a profit economy to stunt human qualities, and the further they spread the more they sever everything tender. For tenderness between people is nothing other than awareness of the possibility of relations without purpose … If time is money, it seems moral to save time, above all one’s own, and such parsimony is excused by consideration for others. One is straightforward. Every sheath interposed between men in their transactions is a disturbance to the functioning of the apparatus, in which they are not only incorporated but with which they proudly identify themselves.

What are Bilton and Thurston doing but identifying themselves with the apparatus of communication?

To dispense with courtesy, to treat each other with “familiar indifference,” to send messages “without address or signature”: these are all, Adorno wrote, “random symptoms of a sickness of contact.” Lacking all patience for circuitous conversation, for talk that flows without practical purpose, we assume the view that “the straight line [is] the shortest distance between two people, as if they were points.”

Adorno saw a budding “brutality” behind the growing emphasis on efficiency in personal communications. That may be going too far. But we do seem to risk a numbing of our facility for tenderness and generosity when we come to see aimless chatter and unnecessary pleasantries as no more than burdens and costs, drains on our precious time. “In text messages,” writes Bilton, “you don’t have to declare who you are, or even say hello.” For the efficiency-minded, that would certainly seem to constitute progress in the media of correspondence. But, in this case, allowing the mechanism of communication to determine the terms of communication could also be seen as a manifestation of what Adorno termed “an ideology for treating people as things.”

This post is an installment in Rough Type’s ongoing series “The Realtime Chronicles,” which began here.

Photo by Jo@net.

Tools, platforms, and Google Reader

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There are tools, and there are platforms. Tools tend to be simple things. They help you get some particular task done — they lend you their power when you need it — but they otherwise pretty much stay out of your life. They’re like little amplifiers of the self. Platforms are more complicated. They may help you do some of the same things that tools help you do, but, in granting that assistance, they demand that you become entangled in a bigger scheme, a scheme of someone else’s devising. Rarely do you know fully what the scheme consists of, what its ends are, or how it will develop in the future. A tool holds no secrets; a platform holds many. You use a tool; a platform uses you.

RSS is a good tool. It gives you a simple way to shape and filter the web’s content to suit your own needs. It lends you its power when you need it without requiring any broader entanglement. Its developers, to their credit, made its simplicity central. They were acting as tool-makers, which is how software programmers and web developers tended to act a decade ago. That was before the platform-builders arrived, with their schemes.

Google was once a tool-maker. Now, it’s a platform-builder. Like Facebook. Like Apple. Like Microsoft. Like Twitter. Like all the rest. And so Google is officially killing off its popular RSS tool Google Reader. The move was in the cards ever since the creation of the Google+ platform. Tools are threats to platforms because they give their owners ways to bypass platforms. If you have a good set of tools, you don’t need a stinking platform. If you’re happy with RSS, you’re a little less likely to sign up for Google+, or Twitter, or Facebook. At the very least, the tool gives you the choice. It grants you self-determination.

RSS, like other web tools and even other personal-computer tools, is doomed—not doomed, necessarily, to disappear, but doomed to be on the periphery, largely out of sight. “We’re living in a new kind of computing environment,” said Google engineer Urs Hölzle in announcing that Google Reader would be swept away in a “spring cleaning.” He’s right. The tool environment is gone. The platform environment is here. Consider yourself entangled.

Photo by Julia Manzerova.

Evgeny’s little problem

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Ian Tucker has a good interview with Evgeny Morozov in the Observer. I was really struck, though, with Morozov’s reply to a question about how he manages his net use:

I have bought myself a type of laptop from which it was very easy to remove the Wi-Fi card – so when I go to a coffee shop or the library I have no way to get online. However, at home I have cable connection. So I bought a safe with a timed combination lock. It is basically the most useful artefact in my life. I lock my phone and my router cable in my safe so I’m completely free from any interruption and I can spend the entire day, weekend or week reading and writing. … To circumvent my safe I have to open a panel with a screwdriver, so I have to hide all my screwdrivers in the safe as well. So I would have to leave home to buy a screwdriver – the time and cost of doing this is what stops me.

User!

Seriously, I’ve always been uncomfortable with the application of the term “addiction” to describe compulsive net use. But having read that, particularly the bit about the screwdrivers, I am now officially changing my mind. By all means, add an entry for “internet addiction” to the DSM — and hurry up about it. I mean, reread that passage, but replace “my phone” with “liter of vodka” or “router cable” with “crack pipe.” It’s textbook, right down to Morozov’s immediate attempt to deny what he’s just confessed: “It’s not that I can’t say ‘no’ to myself.” I’m surprised he didn’t say, “I never do more than a gigabit before breakfast.”

Now, where can I buy one of those safes?

UPDATE: In a subsequent interview, with Gawker, Morozov justifies his obsession: “Believe me, I’ve gone through all the necessary literature in moral philosophy and I still don’t see a problem.”

Photo by David Morris.

Pop goes The Shallows

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Last year saw the release of the I Like Trains album The Shallows, inspired by my book of the same name.

Now comes a new single titled “The Shallows,” also inspired by the book, by the Manchester band Post Zero, featuring a vocal turn by Rowetta of Happy Mondays fame:

More.

The problem is solutionism

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In this week’s issue of Nature, I review two new and perceptive studies of the internet’s cultural and political effects: Evgeny Morozov’s To Solve Everything, Click Here and Jaron Lanier’s Who Owns the Future? Morozov offers a critique of a phenomenon Daniel M. Fox gave name to back in 1995: “technocratic solutionism.” Lanier dissects the net’s existing structure and shows how it has skewed our social and economic arrangements.

Here’s an excerpt from my review:

Although Morozov is right to stress the way in which technological determinism can warp political debates, he ends up going too far in the opposite direction. He claims that “the Internet”— his quotation marks — is largely a rhetorical construct, a sort of popular myth, and that it lacks any inherent qualities that might shape the behaviour of its users. Digital technologies, he asserts, “are not the causes of the world we live in but rather its consequences.” This is a naive view of large-scale networks, and it lets Morozov sidestep difficult questions about the way the Net, like the highway system and the electric grid before it, moulds our economy and culture in its own image.

Lanier offers a more searching examination of the Internet’s defects in Who Owns the Future? The Net’s workings, he argues, have been shaped by an ideology that, although well-intentioned, has deformed our commercial and social relationships. By mistaking free information for freedom, the network’s designers and defenders have inadvertently created a system that centralizes power and profit. Companies like Google and Facebook take in billions of dollars by hosting online exchanges, while the people who actually create whatever is being exchanged — words, ideas, works of art — often get nothing. The joy of participation, they’re told, should be compensation enough.

As digital networks come to regulate more of the economy, Lanier sees a perverse dynamic taking hold. Wealth concentrates around those who control the servers and databases, whereas risk spreads outward to the masses. He points to the banking crisis of 2008 as an example. By erasing local market boundaries and controls, computerized financial systems helped funnel riches to a handful of bankers and traders — yet when the system collapsed, it was ordinary citizens who paid the bill.

Nature subscribers can read the whole review here.