Astonishing figures from the Three blog:
On the 31st December ’10 we recorded a huge 14TBs (terabytes) of data being used on Three. In 2011, that leapt to a staggering 80TBs of data. In real terms, that’s the equivalent of almost 21 million MP3 tracks or roughly 118,000 movies being downloaded onto smartphones in the UK in just 24-hours.
And it didn’t stop there! You continued using data through to New Year’s Day, with 74TBs used compared to 14TBs the year before.
And then we’ll go through the whole “alternate-year Apple device disappoints spec-crazy nimrods” rigamarole, as if the entire class of technology pundits suffered blows to the head as small children and can’t remember anything from more than six months ago. Come to think of it, that would explain a lot.
It really would.
I've been a big fan of Skitch on the Mac for years. It's just lovely to have it on the iPad...
The deputy CTO of New York City's public school system, Tom Kambouras, has warned school principals that the widespread use of mobile devices, from iPod Touches to Android smartphones, by school employees has overrun the IT department's capabilities to the point that as of November 10th, no new devices were being allowed to register on the system-wide Wi-Fi network.
The fact that smartphones and tablets are bringing a decade's worth of infrastructure planning in large organisations to its knees is just the first indication of how much mobile is going to change the way we access information, communicate and work.
You don't need a mobile strategy; if your strategy doesn't include mobile, you're screwed.
We still are moving through the early days of this revolution, but Steve Jobs saw it coming more than a quarter of a century ago, when he was only 29-years-old. He didn't make it to see another 29 years.And it's worth noting that the first web browser was created on a Steve Jobs created machine: the NeXT cube.
The use of that last phrase, "style over substance" has always been, as Oscar Wilde observed, a marvellous and instant indicator of a fool. For those who perceive a separation between the two have either not lived, thought, read or experienced the world with any degree of insight, imagination or connective intelligence. It may have been Leclerc Buffon who first said "le style c'est l'homme - the style is the man" but it is an observation that anyone with sense had understood centuries before, Only dullards crippled into cretinism by a fear of being thought pretentious could be so dumb as to believe that there is a distinction between design and use, between form and function, between style and substance.(Although some are just baffled by the whole fuss around Apple)
I remember seeing him for the first time that summer and looking upon him with the same sense of wonder that only exists when looking at a celebrity: staring, unable to look away until you realize his gaze might be turning towards yours and then quickly turning your head as to not give the impression you were staring. For the first couple days I did that, joking with others that he literally wore the same outfit everyday: black mock turtleneck and blue jeans. I imagined him getting dressed in the morning and opening up a huge closet with rows and rows of blue jeans and black shirts hanging before him, with him carefully choosing what he would wear that day as if each shirt and pair of jeans had a special meaning to him, even though they all looked the same.
In the summer of 2010, Max was in hell. Everything was right there and now, the noises that were too scary, the smells that were too much, the lights that were overpowering. He had no way of being able to tell us, so he screamed. And screamed... and screamed. In a moment of desperation, out came Mummy's iPhone, with a Cbeebies video on of Razzle Dazzle. He instantly focussed all his attentions on that, and the meltdown just disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.Life goes on.
When the news came, years ago now, that Steve Jobs had pancreatic cancer, I felt a chill. The last time I heard that diagnosis, it was applied to my Dad. The oncologist had looked each of us in the eye, and then handed me a piece of paper with the number 3 written on it. "Years?" I asked. "Months," he replied. Dad beat the odds. He made it to 9 months.