The online conversation attention problem worries me more than the asynchronous nature of the conversations that do establish themselves. The very fact that they are not synchronous makes for more opportunities for others to engage don’t you think? We don’t have to all be in the same place at the same time.

Twitter and many other social media tools tend to create loosely coupled conversations. Our contributions via tweets and posts are fighting for attention in a sea of messages flooding our followers in-boxes. And now that many of us are aggregating these IMs, blog posts, Flickr feeds, YouTube subscriptions and the like via browser plug-ins or FriendFeed or GoogleBuzz the whole attention problem is compounded. It’s a miracle that useful conversations can develop in this environment at all.

As Jason touches on, the public nature of many conversations and platforms is discouraging for some potential participants who then limit their contribution, others give it no consideration and quickly pollute, dilute or devalue the conversation.

As a technologist I’ve typically shied away from the monolithic community sites (e.g. Facebook) that provide social media features, preferring to use best of breed tools (e.g. Twitter, Flickr). As an early adopter, like many of the posters on the blog post I’m picking, I enjoy interacting with the niche communities that spring up around these new tools. But as we know they are often isolated silos of activity and although the conversations are focused and seem valuable, they are limited by their accessibility, discover-ability and number of eyeballs. You cant have a conversation on your own… or can you?

I have to acknowledge though, and it saddens me a little, that these days most of my conversations tend to gravitate towards Facebook. I still use my best of breed favorites to publish content out at the edge of the network, and though I may foster conversations there my content is inevitably sucked into the FB pool via syndication feeds and snazzy social APIs.

No social media platform is the perfect place for a conversation though right?. Blogs, Twitter streams, forums, email or IM for that matter all eventually decay a conversation until its essentially impossible to follow. And though platforms like FaceBook support making connections and fostering conversations, partly due to the sheer volume of participants, but also the magic sauce behind the scenes, there still seems to be a lot of room for improvement.

I believe the “magic” that happens on or between platforms is the only way to substantially improve the quality of the conversations. We may think we are the masters of our own contributions but augmenting them mechanically is the only way to sort, filter, discover and improve them in my opinion. GoogleWave may have been a step in the right direction, but we’re still waiting for the silver bullet don’t you think?

It was to avoid paying a fine that drove me to the delightful little public Library on Masters Ave in Hillcrest just now. Its your classic suburban library, friendly staff, small enough to get around without being too overwhelmed by choice. Not only was there a possibility of me paying a fine on the book I was returning, but the book itself was lent to me by a cobber whose account the fine would then have appeared on. Fortunately I just got in ahead of the deadline, and avoided the shame of having to apologise.

After returning the book I thought Id take a wee wander about the Library to inspect the shelves. Stopped at a random row, knelt down to see what was on the bottom shelf, looked in what I thought was a random location and the following book leaps out at me:

“Dark side of the Moon”

Had a flick through it, the mystique of the actual dark-side is something that interests me but it turned out the author was talking more about the dark side of the whole space-race of the 60′s. I returned the book and wandered off to another random spot. Same routine, no scanning, just eyeball a spot and grab the first thing I see:

“The Element Encyclopedia of 5000 Spells – The Ultimate Reference Book for the Magical Arts”

Intriguing. Was a big heavy beast of a tome, had a flick through it for as long as I could muster the strength to hold the thing. Lots of interesting spells, potions and practices from all cultures and periods. This wasn’t a follow-up volume to the Harry Potter series, this is real witchcraft. Not really my thing, but fascinating none the less. Replaced the book, turned and moved to another spot in the library without consciously looking at shelf labels, stopped, chose another book:

“How to do everything with Photoshop CS”

Now this one seemed relatively innocuous judging by the spine. I’ve been dabbling with Photoshop recently so pulled it off the shelf, turned the book to face me and what do I see on the cover? A photoshopped picture of a couple of bloody Aliens, Grays nonetheless, standing under a spaceship.

Jesus, this was getting spooky. I launched the book back at the shelf, turned on my heels and scampered out the door as quickly as I could without raising the suspicion of the Library staff. That’s it, I’m handing in my library card.

What sprang to mind, especially being the first week of May, was memories of goin duck-shooting with my granddad Wilfred Stringer (or Willy as everyone knew him). When I was about ten years old I started shooting with him every season. A couple of years earlier I’d begun shooting with my Father and his brother on one of the swamps near Ohaupo but I think I turned out to be too much of a liability for them. It was a bloody dangerous access-way wading out across mud flats in the pitch black to get to their maimai, plus I’m a hopeless shot and having three guns in one posse just ain’t right.

So it was that after a year or so I was dispatched for subsequent seasons down the road a little to the convivial lake front spot that Willy shot from.

We could park the car and walk down a nice solid farm race to a paddock near the lake, duck under the electric fence and creep silently across the dry grass to the waters edge, and calmly and safely slip up the gangway and into the posse. There was no risk of falling into the water or being drowned in the mud by slipping off the make-shift death-trap manuka gang-plank down at the swamp that Dad shot at.

The thing I loved about shooting with Willy didn’t have anything to do with actually shooting ducks. It really didn’t matter too much to him or I exactly how many ducks we bagged during the day. Some days we’d shoot a few each, on others maybe none. The beauty of it was just sitting in the maimai, just me and my pop, him quietly telling me endless hard-case stories about shooting days gone by, things that happened on the farm, horses he was gonna bet on, birds and wildlife and plants we could see from the posse and me sitting there greedily taking it all in.

Some days the weather would be like it was today. Clear blue skies and a warm sun striking the cold early morning lake, steam lifting lazily off the surface of the water. Pukekos screeching at one another around the lakes edge, and the occasional plane in the distance taking off from Rukuhia airport.

On those days there wasn’t a hope in hell of shooting a Duck, but we simply didn’t care. The two of us would sit there in our warm dry socks and gumboots, sip away at the thermos of hot tea, eat the roast-beef and pickle sandwiches Nan had prepared the night before, and ponder the fortunes tomorrow’s shooting might bring.

Ahh..the simple life. Good memories

Like most lads growing up in NZ at the time I played Rugby as a kid. At primary school we charged about in bare feet all through winter skating across thick frost with feet so numb you couldn’t feel them. At intermediate age and for the 1st couple of years of high-school I played club-rugby for Ohaupo.

For one reason or another (mostly alcohol and selfish leisure time pursuits) by the time I left school I just kinda lost interest in getting up early on the weekends, practising in the dark in the cold winter, and sliding about in the mud getting dirty and injured.

And in the decades since I last played a game (actually I did play a few in London in the early 90′s) I just haven’t really felt the tug or need to identify as strongly with a sport that seems to obsess so many that don’t even play the bloody thing.

Don’t get me wrong (actually feel free if you must) but I do love to watch a good test match. I get along to a few NPC and Super-whatevers a season, and I scream and yell along with mates in sheds and lounge-rooms every month or so.

It’s just that… I honestly couldn’t give more than a couple of shits about the All Blacks losing the world cup.

I’m not disappointed in the players especially, I don’t hate the French, I don’t want to kill the ref, I don’t care whether the coaches (whoever they are) resign or get sacked, I don’t care about rotation, etc etc etc…

This now means of course that I will have to wear a titanium-strengthened cod-piece everywhere I go in Hamilton in case I get kicked in the nuts (yes Woody/Vike, I’m on to you!!!).

But so be it. Life goes on for Christ’s sake.