/* */ The New Normal – Vine Maple Farm

LLMs and The Dot Com Bust

The gut-wrenching catastrophe of my mid-career as a software developer, The Dot Com Bust, signaled the beginning of of the Internet and the World Wide Web as the primary communications platform of the twenty-first century. Tim Berners-Lee, a British computer expert working for CERN in Switzerland, formulated the World Wide Web: HyperText Markup Language (HTML) addressed and linked with Universal Resource Locators (URLs). In the 1990s, many people recognized its power but few had any idea how to use that power.

Nevertheless, the technical behemoths of today were born in the chaos of the Dot Com Bust.

The mountains of wealth eventually extracted from the computer network had no obvious source in the 1990s. Companies sprang up with the notion that disseminating information online, local high school sports scores for example, had value. Thousands of small and not-so-small companies were formed and attracted investors. The information on these sites was useful and people flocked to visit them. This was obviously important and world-changing, but there was no money to be gained from the sites. The boom fell flat when no return on the investments appeared and massive developer layoffs ensued.

Nevertheless, the technical behemoths of today were born in the chaos of the Dot Com Bust.

In the early two-thousands, Mark Zuckerberg sat in a Harvard dorm room, a typical undergraduate male, scheming ways to strike up relationships with girls. Colleges at that time often printed a pamphlet of photographs, mostly high school graduation portraits, of the entering class to help them get to know each other. Zuckerberg latched onto the notion that he could post those photos online and make them interactive. His classmates could introduce themselves and exchange comments from the networked computers in their dorm rooms. The same idea was popping up all over– it was an easy and natural application of the World Wide Web.

As we all know, the idea was a tremendous success. Facebook, Friendster, MySpace, Instagram, LinkedIn, and a flock of similar sites began to tie together the lonely geographic diaspora of families and social groups that has marked the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Computer screens and network connections became access ports into a society that was no longer constrained by spatial proximity and the ground-speed of tons of paper.

The fortunes of the twenty-first century were made from this new role for computers and their network, but only after the plumbing for network commerce was established.

Today’s richest man, Elon Musk, with fellow Silicon Valley mogul, Peter Thiel, began his fortune by building a tool for monetary exchange on the computer network: PayPal. Jeff Bezos developed the technology for his online store and brought retail to the network. Larry Page and Sergey Brin opened easy access to the web through their search engine and then laid the foundation for profiting from the deluge of network traffic through interactive online advertising.

The majority of projects that failed during the Dot Com Bust saw the power of the computer network but they did not use it with an effective business plan. Musk, Bezos, and many others saw the power and used it with business plans that made them tons of money.

Today, there’s something magical when ChatGPT produces a report in seconds that reads well and contains information and insights that would have taken a human hours or weeks to research and compose. The let down is that the report contains errors that take hours to find and correct. You publish a raw generative AI report at your peril. Worst, in the end, the report is lifeless and boring, lacking in human spirit, the kind of report that gives bureaucracy a bad name.

The magic is undoubtedly there, like the value of a web site in 1998, but have we found a way to effectively use the magic? I think not.

I am confident that the fortunes of the mid twenty-first century will be made from LLMs and generative AI, but not quite yet. I am prescient enough to tell you that the Elon Musks and Jeff Bezoses of of the mid-twenty-first are coming up for LLMs. Judging from the reports from the business and economic journals, still smarting twenty-five years later from Dot Com giddiness, we are on the edge of an LLM bubble burst, but I guarantee that hundreds of as-yet-unknown innovators are at work in basements, garages, and bedrooms on ideas that will establish a new set of moguls who will dominate the global economy in years to come.

And I can assure you that they will have nothing to do with tariffs or federal troops in Portland or Chicago.

The News– Continued

I participated in building the computer network we all know today and almost everyone but me calls the Internet, with or without the initial capital. However, my opinion forming habits are from the late twentieth century, which means I grew up intellectually on newspapers, periodicals, broadcasts, libraries, and classes, not computer networks. Those habits linger, but the first source of information and opinion for most people now, even septuagenarian cave dwellers such as myself, has become the computer network.

Fifty years ago, I ordered books from Blackwell’s of Oxford and was happy to get the books in a month. Today, I am upset when a computer takes more than two seconds to respond. This accelerated information cadence has changed the way everyone thinks.

The old way was question-search-ponder-respond. New question. Today it is question-response-new question-new response-new question-new-response… No more forced pondering while waiting for a response, which could take months.

Unfortunately for us today, the pondering step is the most difficult and creative step. And the most valuable because pondering accesses inner resources, not inflow from the outside. Pondering comes from us, not others. Consequently, public discourse is easier and more voluminous than ever before, but the fire of its humanity is dampened. Thoughtless blurts retweeted ad nauseum wash in tidal waves through the forum.

Today, the assassination of Charlie Kirk is pounding back and forth in the echo chamber. Any assassination is deplorable. The end of the life of a popular, eloquent and forceful personality attracts immediate and intense attention, but, today, little pondering.

The U.S. has seen many assassinations: Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, Lee Harvey Oswald, Martin Luther King come to mind.

How Kirk’s death will be judged by future generations is unknowable, but current technology means the public has read about his death more, but pondered it less, today than any of these previous deaths in the short weeks after their occurrence.

Socrates was executed 2500 years ago for corrupting the youth of Athens. The justice of his death and its effect on public discourse is still discussed in classrooms. How will Charlie Kirk’s effect on the youth of today be discussed even ten years from now?

Reading The News

This morning while scanning the list of web sites in my browser bookmark tab labelled “News.” I may have been doom-scrolling, but I soon lost interest in today’s events and opinions and began to think about what “News” was like when I was growing up on Waschke Road in the region that the denizens occasionally call “The Fourth Corner,” referring, perhaps pretentiously, to the last corner of the U.S. to be dominated by Europeans.

First, we lived in the upstairs of my grandparents’ house. When I entered the first grade, my grandparents bought the house and five acres across the road and they moved there, leaving old farmhouse to my parents.

My grandparents subscribed to the local daily newspaper, The Bellingham Herald. The Herald arrived by mail the day after it was published. No home delivery on Waschke Road back then. When my grandparents finished reading the paper, they gave it to my parents, usually just before supper at five-thirty. Thus, we read the evening newspaper about twenty-four hours after it was published.

We got a TV when I was in the first grade, but we didn’t watch the evening news much because Dad switched off the television when the news started. That was the signal to go to the barn and milk the cows, taking all our attention until eight or eight-thirty. That schedule was fixed by the sun and the cows. Bovines must be milked every twelve hours or they stop lactating. Milking had to be at six in the evening and six in the morning, or the dairy interfered with raising summer field crops.

Sometimes, we turned on the radio at noon dinner break, but more pressing farm issues often dominated the midday.

Knowledge from off our road also came from magazines: The Saturday Evening Post, Washington Farmer, Farm Journal, McCall’s, Sunset Magazine, Time, U.S. News and World Report, and Saturday Review all graced our rural mailbox  at one time or another.

No dearth of content threatened the old farmhouse, but the cadence of our news sources was far different from my sources today. Our most constant news source, the daily newspaper, had a twenty-four hour delay built in. Everything else was either weekly or monthly.

Compare that to today. I have close to twenty websites listed in my news bookmark tab. I could easily add more. These are all updated continuously and I open them several times a day. I have almost instant news from all over the globe.

Am I better informed than I was in the 1950s and 1960s? Depends on what you mean by “better.” I certainly wallow in half-baked and ill-considered data, but am I more aware of what is important in my surroundings?

I don’t know.