TheLen

I started to correct the very flawed Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl entry in Wikipedia, but decided not to since I didn’t want my edits to somehow influence the plagarism investigation into one of my students. But, let it be know that it is a terrible entry! instead, I added a brief overview of Project Renew to the Unexploded U.S. Explosives section of the Wikipedia entry on the Vietnam War.

With some hesitation, I do appreciate Wikipedia for what it is. I agree with Rosenzweig that it is a useful research starting point, but I will probably tell my students not to quote/cite it for research papers. Of course, I am still quite suspicious on online research, so my objections to Wikipedia are not personal, per se. However, it is frustrating to me that so many students see Wikipedia as the final arbiter of history — or maybe they’re just lazy?

Rosenzweig’s article convinced me that my innate distrust of Wikipedia is a bit of an overreaction and misplaced as the online encyclopedia compares quite favorably with professional publications such as Encarta and the American National Biography Online. Additionally, the ability to track changes and respond to errors/vandalism is a clear strength of Wikipedia. (see an earlier post about politics and Wikipedia here)

This week’s readings have given me an idea for a potentially interesting assignment for the class I’m teaching this summer: either in class or an outside paper, I will have students critically evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of a Wikipedia entry. I have to think about this a bit more, but it might be a very useful way to convince students to question all sources, particularly unauthored, internet sources. What do you think about this potential assignment? Would you, if you were a freshman or sophomore at AU, take away something useful from such a project or would you feel insulted and belittled?

I sincerely enjoyed poking around the blogs and carnivals, but had to cut myself off because the midterms refused to grade themselves. I thought Mark Grimsley made a number of excellent points about the potential usefulness of blogging for academics — I particularly like the idea of making my work into a form of procrastination! What did you find most useful/interesting in the readings for this week?

I still don’t really understand the details of copyright, but I don’t plan to stress about it since the bulk of my website will be original analysis by me — and I doubt I’m going to send myself a cease and desist letter. Also, the Owning the Past? chapter (rightly or wrongly) left me with the impression that as long as I’m (1) not making money (nor plan to make money in the future) and (2) willing to remove the offending object, I shouldn’t get into too much trouble. Am I the only one foolish enough to be so relaxed? How concerned are you with copyright in the grand scheme of things?
Of course, the “Creative Commons” described in the readings would be an ideal arrangement for historians — particularly the potential access to multimedia sources. Would such a creative commons change your plans for your website and/or future research? Would it even make a differnece since Microsoft and others charge a fee to access public domain images? (The references to Corbis throughout the reading were shocking reminders of the serious flaws in the copyright system — not to mention the potential challenge to fair use created by profit-making shcemes based on public domain images).

One of the reasons the Vietnam: Yesterday and Today website forced me to come up with a new project is its excellent design. The timeline was exactly what I had hoped to create content-wise and the clean lines and uncluttered page made the information very easy to identify and access. The rest of the site (bibliographies, student information, etc.) is just as well-organized and the continuity of color and organization makes the site very easy to navigate. Visually, I would prefer the main page to be centered on the screen, but justifying it to the left and top ensures that technological differences do not obscure parts of the page. Because the content of this site is its primary appeal, the visual aspects of design (while pleasing) are less important than how the design facilitates access to the site’s content.

Also, in a completely different vein, I really like the design for the Book of Ratings, Lore Brand Comics, and McSweeneys websites. Although the content of each site is unique, these sites have many design similarities.  The organization of these sites actually facilitates both return visits (as new content is highly visible while archives provide access to past material) and first time visits (as visitors get an immediate sense of the content).  Additionally, since these sites are interested in enteratining — rather than informing — their audience, the rather circuitous organization of the archives and other content encourages visitors to not only look around the site, but to get lost.

When discussing web design, it’s hard not to echo Justice Stewart’s famous “I know it when I see it” definition of obscenity. The readings for this week highlight the potential confusion inherent in web design as different monitors, computers, and browsers display websites differently. Ten Reasons to Learn and Use Web Standards is an excellent overview of the logic behind web standards, but I preferred Cohen and Rozenzweig’s discussion of design — primarily because their chapter, “Designing for the History Web”, discusses how web design influences historical arguments and websites.

Rosenzweig and Cohen effectively highlight the dangers of the too much or too little web design, but I would have liked more discussion of the shared qualities of well-constructed sites in the middle ground between extreme usability and aesthetics.

Although history websites do risk losing visitors because of the large blocks of text and complex reasoning central to high-quality historical argument and analysis, Cohen and Rosenzweig’s discussion of Text points out that “good writing produces willing readers, regardless of the medium” and that historians should not compromise their arguments to reach a click-happy reading public — after all, if the argument is interesting enough and the site easy to navigate (see: Putting it All Together), a well-designed and well-argued history website should be able to reach its intended audience.

So, how much simplification is too much? And, can hypretexts correct the danger of simplification? Lastly, how much should a website cater to its intended audience? How well do the image concerns of Ten Reasons to Learn and Use Web Standards apply to historical websites?

Although relatively few people quibble about the basic facts of the Vietnam War – locations and dates of major battles, the details of coups and US military operations, domestic dissent and politics, diplomatic conferences and negotiations, etc. – I doubt people will ever agree on the meanings and interpretations of those facts. When debating the rights and wrongs of the Vietnam War and other topics, it can be very useful to have a user-friendly source of basic information easily accessible. Before the internet, people turned to encyclopedias and paper reference books (or, if a student at Bowling Green State University, called the FactLine) to settle disagreements on basic questions of fact: when was the coup that toppled Ngo Dinh Diem? how many advisors were in Vietnam before the Gulf of Tonkin incident? what exactly did Nixon promise the South Vietnamese government? With the internet, such questions are now answered through a quick Google or Wikipedia search. Such searches tend to turn up two types of website: overviews and timelines. (more…)

The theoretical and practical readings for this week dovetailed quite nicely as the authors in the theory section (particularly David A. Bell) addressed many of my concerns with the examples and discussions in the “practice” section. I appreciate the convenience, efficiency and potential environmental advantages of digital books, but I share many of the concerns Bell discussed — particularly eyestrain, searching instead of reading, distractions, and the different processes of reading digital versus paper books.

Technological advances (such as “LIBRIe” and “electronic ink”) should be able to better reproduce the traditional reading experience without the costs of paper books, but are still a distant solution. There is great potential for the future digitization of libraries and scholarships, but given how much we have discussed the issue, I was surprised to see that no one (please point me to the articles/quotes if I’m wrong) discussed the archival dangers of the “inevitable” shift away from paper books and journals.

So, do we have to re-train ourselves to read digital scholarship? How will we adjust our reading habits to the ever-changing formats and conventions of online scholarship? Will we have to learn to ignore hyperlinks (as we must ignore some footnotes) to better follow an author’s argument? Or, will arguments themselves transform to reflect the fragmentation of reading as hyperlinks, images, and the like pull readers away from the traditional argumentation structure?

David Westbrook’s, “From Hogan’s Alley to Coconino County: Three Narratives of the Early Comic Strip”, and James Castonguay’s “The Spanish-American War in US Media Culture” highlight the many advantages and disadvantages of online scholarship. Both authors have well-reasoned and -supported arguments, but while reading their articles, I found myself almost obsessively clicking the links, images, movies, etc. and drifting away from the core of the article. Although these tangents were very interesting and informative, when I finished “reading,” I wasn’t completely sure of what I had read — what were they arguing? what were the articles about? how do they relate to other scholarship? — and this disjointed, often over-stimulating, reading experience is the primary flaw of such digital scholarship. However, with more discipline, I could have followed both the tangents and the argument (opening links, etc. in different windows or tabs) and this ability to control the reading experience is a tremendous advantage of digital scholarship. If I read either of these articles in a paper journal, I would not have seen the rich layers of primary sources and scholarly debate conveyed through the hyperlinks.

Wow. Here’s a website about hot glass — really hot glass.

By the way, does anyone know how link to a specific spot on a page?

Wow. And I thought I hated PowerPoint! My dislike of PowerPoint as a presentation tool is nothing compared to Tufte’s. Although I felt he was a little too vitriolic at points, most of his arguments about PowerPoint’s failures, weaknesses, and flaws are dead on. Too many presenters rely on PowerPoint to give their representation rather than using PowerPoint to complement or enhance their presentation. Chartjunk and PowerPointPhluff are both very real dangers to any PowerPoint presentation and the examples Tufte uses highlight these dangers with a very real sense of humor. I particularly liked the Gettysburg Address as PowerPoint example.

As I read the article, I kept trying to figure out how I would use PowerPoint for a presentation later this semester. My research does not rely on images, but I think PowerPoint presentations are part of the tool of research requirement, so I need to think of something. Perhaps make a couple PowerPoint presentations for the class I’m teaching this summer? Regardless of the topic, the discussion at Tufte’s and the Presentation Zen websites have some great ideas about presentation styles, habits, etc. that I will certainly be returning to before my next presentation.

I didn’t have any particularly pressing questions from this reading, but I am curious to know how many people use/enjoy/appreciate/tolerate/despise PowerPoint and how they plan to deal with it and similar programs in the future? Also, if you have a primarily word-based presentation, but must use PowerPoint, how would you reconcile the “dumbing down” effect of PowerPoint with your presentation needs? I think I would use PowerPoint to give my audience an outline of my presentation — while providing a more substantice paper handout. But, I may very well find a picture of Nixon doing the chicken dance when I go to the Archives on Wednesday, so maybe I will have pictures for my presentation. Of course, I could always weave images (of people, places, documents) and sounds (from the Nixon tapes) into my presentation.

The Getting Started chapter of Digital History pointed me to a number of things that I hadn’t seriously considered when thinking about my final project. I know I want to do a timeline with layers of information, but I still don’t know how I’m going to do that.

Based on the Thinking about Your Website’s Genres and Features section, it seems I’m on the right track since I’m still focused on content and what I want the site to accomplish. I can definitely see how technology can become a distraction when creating websites. Is everyone else starting with the content for their site and then seeking out the technology that will make the site work? Or is anyone (with far more technological knowledge than I) thinking about the technology first? I can see the advantages of spending at least a few hours thinking and learning about technology before planning the conceptual side of a website. If I know that databases take too long to program or are simply more complicated than I can manage on my own, I know to plan a site that doesn’t rely on a database — or, I know to find someone to help me before I get too caught up in my project. However, the authors’ view that historians should be the archetechs of websites rather than the plumbers is very important. After all, I know I can find someone who understands the technology if I decide that the only way to make my site work is through a database.

I also appreciated the parallels between the process of researching/writing history and designing websites. Presenting a website as another form of publishing helped shake me out of the mindset that I must do all of the work on my website myself. Granted, I will probably do most of the work on this website myself (since it’s basically a paper ), but in the future when I want to construct a website more on the scale of a book, I will quickly turn to the experts. After all, I certainly wouldn’t invest in printing equipment to publish my books, so why should I obsess over production details for my website?

Naming Your Site and Presenting it to the World again speaks to the question of credibility. Even though private websites can have perfectly valid and useful information, I still tend to trust .org and .edu websites more than .com sites. Ignoring my biases, how important do you see the domain of a website in establishing credibility? Of course, the authors and sources of any pages/sites should be clear, but if they are is there any quanlitative difference between domains? I don’t think so, but at the same time, perceptions are central to evaluation. After all, if every book published by Harvard University Press had advertisements at the top and bottom of the page (as do many websites), I would probably start to view that press differently. Thoughts?

I copied a story from the Washington Post with my digital camera as a test run to see if I can really count on the camera when I do research in the archives. I used a Nikon E 3200 and it’s a bit blurry since I don’t own a tripod yet.