It’s a World War I ditty – but I’m very fond of alternate lyrics. Back in the day, in an Abnormal Psychology class far, far, away, I heard Albert Ellis lecture. He’s the Father of Rational Emotive Therapy, for anyone who doesn’t know and actually gives a durn . . .Anyway: Al was of the notion that you could think your way to emotional well-being. Depressed? Think you’re happy. I’m not entirely sure I buy into any of Al’s theory, but he had come up with some of his own lyrics to make his point – that negative thinking encourages negative behavior. (Duh?)
Sung to the tune of “Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning!” (everyone working on papers assigned in February, feel free to sing along)
Oh, how I hate to get up in the mor-ning,
Oh, how I hate to greet the day . . .
I guess I’ll just procrastinate
And always get my ass in late
And piss
The rest of my life a–way!
Catchy, huh? I’m convinced beyond all doubt that I will show up late for my own funeral because I didn’t feel like stopping for gas the night before. Or because I couldn’t decide what shoes to wear. Or because my earrings were tarnished or because I couldn’t find my yellow belt from last summer. Or my Sucrets. Or my sunglasses. At least everyone will have gone home and left me in peace
In the spirit of jest: my musical offering is a tribute to those brave historical miners who go forth into the mud to retrieve the diamonds
But it does seem to be applicable. Not that I don’t see the value in my {{{{{{BF}}}}}}} Roy’s take on preserving digital history – or in actually doing the preserving. It just seems that the “average” historian – if there is such a creature – just doesn’t have the time to do it on a day-to-day basis. I realize I am a skeptic by nature and old by misfortune, but as I learn more about digital history, I can’t help but believe strongly that it calls for its own job description – a specialty within the field of history. On a more optimistic note: I think Roy’s techniques would work great as it pertains to a specific project – writing a book or a dissertation or even a journal article – in the process of organizing, Roy’s techniques could be easily integrated into the overall plan of construction. Another thought: Roy makes a point of stressing the often-short nature of born digital media – which makes perfect sense. But are historians expected – can they, even – continually and permanently save theses enormous masses of often very disorganized data – and make them available in addition to everything else they might be presenting? After all: isn’t the point in saving this data to keep it available to those who need it – and to those who don’t know they need it, but do need it?
First (off topic): if anyone wants to see an absolutely gorgeous website check out http://www.laluzdelasimagenes.com/.
Now: down to it.
O.K. What train did Susan Chun get off of? Geez Louise! Could she make that piece any more incoherent than it already is?
First a tirade about the “keywords” the public found for the “Baroque” gold work. (Hint: it’s not true Baroque. The decoration on the stag is, but the piece does not convey motion and it’s really late Renaissance. Don’t we think that the professionals at the Met would have called it “Baroque” if it had been “Baroque”? What – they needed someone from the general public to come up with that word? Then “Oh my gosh! forgot to call that statue “Baroque”. Thank god for Suky Sue down in East Osgosh for pointing that out to us! And: the keyword “motion”: the stag does not convey motion: in fact he is standing quite still (another late Renaissance clue) If he were in motion, his left back leg would have to be moving forward – otherwise he’d land on his nose! And what brain trust came up with the keyword “horse”? I”ll tell you: I’ve had 11 horses in my life. None of them had antlers. So. Let’s add that right in to the keywords; then everyone on the internet will think the Met can’t tell the difference between a horse and a stag!!
And the bit about people logging on to their accounts and start cataloging? Does she know who she’s going to get? That’s right: Suky Sue, the insomniac in East Bumf . . . .. East Osgosh. Think about it. You have a brain. You have an education. Do you want to spend your time thinking up one-word descriptions of pre-Columbian pots? I didn’t think so.
Excuse me. But I really think this is a “fuzzy wuzzy” type deal: there has to be a better way to “get the public involved” and “make our collections more accessible”. Come on. She admitted that what they got back from their first try was junk, pure junk. “Long text narratives” that were unusable. . . .
And after all Ms. Chun’s technical language and “models” (yes: I loved the first “model”: three bubbles; one for “us”, one for “the pubic” and one for “the collections”. And obviously that wasn’t complicated enough so they made another with arrows and bubbles and people . . . I’m starting to sound like Arlo Guthrie and “Alice’s Restaurant”) and the bright-eyed optimism, what are the recommendations?
“Obviously it is possible to simply add them to the keywords currently used in museums’ object descriptions; but it is likely that the move to add data contributed by the public will lead most museums to identify content authored by the museum and distinguish it from that from public sources.”
In other words, the museum staff has to do it. Surprise! That’s what they went to school for!
But what do I know. They’ve graduated. I sure haven’t.
If I do say so myself, I have become pretty proficient at searching JSTOR and the other subscription online databases we have available to us as students. One rather cumbersome repercussion, however, is my tendency to think I’ll need everything for whatever project or paper I’m supposed to be working on, and ending up with an EndNote file that needs it’s own hard drive. In fact, I have found a new pastime (yeah – you’d think I had time on my hands) – a substitute for cable television, actually – in finding the absolutely oldest plums (raisins?) out there. I recently came across two such gems: one from 1945; the other written in 1964. The first – The Intellectual Post-War Climate – was an opinion piece written by a University of Wisconsin sociologist, who closed with the prediction that Man must now be ever-vigilant in seeking out those who would destroy American democracy, and he closed with the prediction that we, as a society, could not afford to rest assured of our free society until a “world police organization for the enforcement of world peace had been in effect for 50 years”. (How did that work out for us?) The other was written in 1964 by a gentleman obviously completely befuddled – and enraged – at the emerging counterculture – the “dirty-lazy-spoiled hippies” theme. Reading it, I could vividly picture this guy; horn-rimmed glasses, short-sleeve white shirt and the requisite IBM pocket-protector: like the flight controllers in Apollo 13. My point here is that while these ancient pieces certainly can’t be relied upon as “sources” per se, they are history in and of themselves; reflections of the times – like reading the textbooks of eras past, not for information, but to determine what educators thought was important at the time. Not only indicative of historiography but also of sentiment. And it is only through their digital preservation that they are available.
I found Bessner and Deegan/Tanner’s pieces rather at odds. Bessner’s warnings about the cost – both in labor and intellect – of digitizing history seemed more down-to-earth than D/T’s optimistic encouragement. In fact, Bessner warns against considering potential increased use when planning digitized projects while D/T rely on that factor in the decision process. Which makes sense to me. For while I’ve got journals well-covered, I can’t say the same about primary sources. Unless I know exactly what I’m looking for and know exactly what repository will hold it, I often find myself frustrated. Deegan/Tanner’s (relative) lack of concern over the financial end of digitization makes considerably more sense in this light.
I was so very impressed by the philosophy of those responsible for the National Academies Press website – and at the scope and content of the site itself. Now that is a piece of website design! And from my own perspective, I can understand why and how it works for them. Books are expensive to produce and market. One of the reasons I will buy a book (I keep them forever: I still have cellular biology texts written before the double helix!) relates to whether or not I’ll need it in the future. The extremely limited previews on Amazon don’t always give me that information. Yes: you can search out the reviews to see what other people thought – but sometimes books have purposes other than those for which they were written. I would love to see the NAP’s ideas applied to the humanities. In fact, I’m not doing anything this weekend – and I just read this journal article from 1902 that really applies . . . . .
Well, the digital musings from my BFFs {{{{{{{Dan and Roy}}}}}}}}} this week weren’t altogether unpalatable. The appendix was perhaps a little chewy but not entirely indigestible washed down with a little Merlot. Not that I am really all that interested in “HTML” or “XML” or any other “ML” that might be lurking out there. Besides: I suspect that reading about computer programming is on par with reading about how to play the piano. Their warnings against uploading things like “The Last Supper” at 1200 dpi and the “since-one-font-looks-great-five-will-look-awesome” philosophy are well taken. If I am going to run into a problem, I suspect it may be getting this incredibly complicated, tricked-out exhibit in my head and then finding out getting it out and onto the WEB would require enrollment in MIT. But wait! No worries: Professor Prescott will help me! (Forewarned is forearmed, Professor
Is there something I’m missing here? Because I don’t get it. Why do we talk about Wikipedia? Do we recognize some long-lost element of Jeffersonian purity? Do we see it as an acceptable triumph of socialism? I’m stumped. O.K.: it’s wholly “open source”. Anyone can download it. Anyone can print it. Anyone can distribute it. Great. But just because something is free doesn’t mean it isn’t worthless. Hardly anyone works there; at Wikipedia. But lots of people contribute to it and sometimes it’s even right. Again: hurray. Sorry, but this . . . source seems to be nothing more than a poor excuse to look no further. It’s on the internet – it must be true. Scholars don’t rely on Wikipedia: what does that tell us? Rosenzweig describes Wikipedia as “astonishingly widely read and cited”: well, may-be: but not by Stephen Hawking. I’ll admit: there was a short period of time during which I tried to make constructive contributions toward its improvement. I came across the entry on the history of Christianity in Europe – and it was just so completely and utterly . . . wrong. And I stayed up half the night reworking it. But it was like trying to clean the Aegean Stables. And why would you want to? Why would you even entertain using a questionable product when you have other easily entertained options?
And when you read Rosenzweig’s essay carefully, you see that he pretty much agrees with me; albeit in a kindlier, less inflammatory manner. He readily concedes history to be highly individualistic and “characterized by possessive individualism”. He acknowledges the cavalier attitudes on Wikipedia about attributing sources; he admits the writing tends to stress the mundane and factual at the expense of the analytical and complex and he doesn’t try and soft-pedal the blatant errors and numerous omissions. So what is Rosenzweig’s point? He seems intent on drawing parallels between the successes stemming from the cooperative nature of open-source software – specifically, Linux – and what conceivably could result from cooperative efforts of scholars and . . . Wikipedia devotees. I just cannot do that translation. Science – computer science – from its inception has lent itself to collaborative effort. History as an exercise in academia has not: does not. Even Rosenzweig – except for vague references about concerted efforts toward the continued digitization of history – doesn’t seem able to define his hopes for this . . .anonymous alliance between historians and history buffs. Maybe I’m too closed off; too pessimistic to see what others are in awe over . . . but I genuinely feel that if Wikipedia is a credible, scholastic tool, then we should look for the return of the Brittanica salesman and the Fuller Brush rep.
It took great effort to read Roy Rosenweig’s Scarcity or Abundance? Preserving the Past in a Digital Era without succumbing to a massive anxiety attack complete with hyperventilation, the requisite brown paper bag and a hefty dose of Xanax. The article brought to mind the almost incoherent but strangely poignant rationalizations voiced by the unfortunate, obsessive-compulsive individuals featured on one of A&E’s latest, tasteless offerings Hoarders. Mr. Rosenweig is obviously a very learned man. I readily admit my own scholastic inferiority. But Roy: you can’t save everything. You just can’t. No matter how little space it takes up. Ain’t gonna happen.
And he admits it: actually, over and over again. Technology changes. Hardware and software enter the short tunnel toward obsolescence the minute they are put into use. And – as strange as it may seem to those of us obsessed with the past – most of the data-creating world, isn’t.
It seems that the best we can do, is the best we can do. Historians, librarians, archivists: all are traditionally tasked with preserving as much of the past as possible in forms accessible to those in the future. Whoever was supposed to put the Rosetta Stone in long-term storage really fell down on the job . . . but we got there. Eventually. The Fire Marshall in Alexandria should have been hung . . . but it’s an imperfect world. Right now we have this marvelous technology capable of bringing lots and lots of our past alive to so many who otherwise might never be perturbed or excited or angry or shocked or awed at its triumphs and failures. And in the process, we’ll strive to preserve. But in the end, posterity will have to do its share of legwork and interpretation. We’ll just have to gamble that the future of mankind does not hinge on every email from the Clinton Administration
I usually refrain from reading any federal legislation promoted by those who, at any time, demonstrated a penchant for goat leggings. But given its significance to the creation of our digital heritage, I felt obligated to acquaint myself with the Sonny Bono Copyright Extension Act. Not surprisingly – given its name – it smacks of the careless hubris intrinsic to special interests (ya think?). Apparently it was no secret that the now departed Mr. Cher (Rest in Peace) had ambitions toward preserving his rights to “I’ve Got You Babe” long before he became the darling of those politically savvy folks in Palm Springs. Anyway, the legislation is couched in the contention that its creation satisfies some universal injustice. Truth is though, the CEA as it stands will sadly impact our historical cyberinfrastructure. O.K. Maybe there are aging artists out there; destitute except for the pennies earned when WOLD plays “Red Rubber Ball” or “The Shoop Shoop Song”. Our digital history can probably wait for that audio, right? But it’s the scope of the Extension that really frosts me.
O.K. We’ve got “Private Property”, “Public Property”, “Intellectual Property” . . . all kinds of property. We also have ABANDONED PROPERTY! The culmination of my daughter’s high school drama career was her direction of a one-act play in her senior year and, completely in character, she chose some old, obtuse work; last performed during the Eisenhower administration. When the school neglected to obtain performance permission a week before curtain, the task fell to me. Endless phone calls; hours on the internet. Finally I tracked down the then-80 year-old playwright. In Belgium. He could not have cared less about who performed the 30-minute play he had essentially forgotten about. On went the show.
The first – and only – research devoted solely to the political history of Connecticut during the Civil War is contained within a dissertation done at American Catholic University in . . . . 1941. It isn’t on Google Books or in any of the dissertation databases – heck, even American Catholic University doesn’t have a copy. The subject obviously hasn’t been of overwhelming concern, I guess. But I needed it last semester. Four copies in the entire world and one is in Canberra, Australia. Talk about an orphan work – and what the heck is going on in Canberra?
These examples don’t intrude on Chris Anderson’s Long Tail Model. When Jon Krakauer wrote Into Thin Air thereby prompting new demand for Joe Simpson’s erstwhile saga, Touching the Void was still well within its “legitimate” – non-Bono-ized – copyright period. I suppose there is a small possibility that a New York theater agent could have been sitting in the audience at Norwich Free Academy when my daughter presented her incarnation of whatever-the-name-of-that-play-was. And that the Bono Extension would have protected the expatriate playwright – or his estate – when the big bucks started rolling in from the revival. But there’s just no scenario for the 1941 bestseller.
Heck: I have copyrighted semi-intellectual property. I doubt it’ll ever make me rich. Let my kids have a shot at it but let the grandchildren fend for themselves
Just doesn’t convey the same longing for a cottage by the sea . . .
Still: I love Google Books. It’s rather like a digital museum itself. All that’s missing is that musty smell which emanates from really old stacks. The out-of-print/ public domain works by first-generation historians – espousing the theories that became the basis for all subsequent historiography – make for fascinating reading and comparative study.
The “Interchange” interview was an excellent example of academic historians preoccupied with peer review, publishing, promotion and tenure: and only one “in-passing” reference to Masters-prepared historians. The debate over the degree to which digital historians are / should / will be responsible for the technology required to produce digital history was thought-provoking. Will the curator of a small museum or historic mansion be able to produce web content that draws browsers? The software applications to include audio / video content and photography editing programs: they require a degree themselves. As internet connections become universally faster and web pages more complex, the “simple-yet-elegant” format may not be enough to draw an audience . . .
The Cohen and Rosenzweig chapter was inspiring but not a little daunting. The advice given, however, to simply sit down and see what is already out there is right on-point. But while such a survey provides a glimpse at what is conducive to digital history, I would be interested in learning just what isn’t . . .
