I suppose I should begin with a spoiler alert. If you haven't seen the finale of Doctor Who, well, then you're going to be just as frustrated as I was when I received the following text message a couple of weekends ago.
I liken Google Glass to Nintendo's "Virtual Boy," which was rolled out in 1995. We were promised the first 3-D, virtual-reality game system, but when I visited Blockbuster Video to try out a pair, I was unimpressed.
I love public records laws like a firefighter loves his ax. I love the heft of the federal Freedom of Information Act (or the California Public Records Act) when I slam it into the door of the establishment. And I love it when it gets sharpened.
I'm so furious with Google for killing off Reader that it borders on hatred. I feel the raw grief of an 8-year-old whose parents euthanized the family dog because he's the only one of the children who plays with it.
I've retired my Twitter account. As you may be aware, I leftSan Diego CityBeatthree weeks ago to take a job with theElectronic Frontier Foundation, a San Francisco-based nonprofit that stands up for civil liberties in the increasingly digital world.
Pornography has long been at the forefront of online culture. Porn distributors have been the first to develop and experiment with new ways of media distribution, from streaming video to secure transactions.
I hand over about 10 times more of my money to headphones manufacturers, Apple and data-plan providers and the corpo-rations that produce the technology that allows me to listen to music than I do the artists who make music worth listening to.
Those who say dead-tree books are dead have not considered the longevity of the coffee-table book. Coffee, as a beverage, is in no danger of obsolescence, and a virtual coffee table is totally useless in supporting the weight of the new novelty mug you also received for Christmas.
Not too long ago, I saw a local journalist on Twitter defend U-T San Diego’s new pay wall with the following argument: Plumbers get paid for their work, so should reporters. Now, don’t get me wrong—I believe I’m worth paying. But that analogy is worth about as much as a flattened novelty penny from the Museum of Modern Irrelevancy.