Something for the weekend: gwap.com

Compelling yet one can't quite escape the nagging feeling of contributing to a sentient super-comput

In an effort to moderate your productivity, every Friday morning NS CultureTech offers a gentle diversion from the important things you really should be doing. Something for the weekend selects pearls from the deep mire of digital tat that fills your browser, bringing you distractions of only the highest quality.

GWAP.COM

Some more curious and charitable readers may remember installing the SETI software at some point in the last few years. By simply downloading an innocuous piece of code, you could personally participate in the search for extra-terrestrial life by donating your unused computer-processing power to the analysis of incoming radio telescope data. Whilst the romantic sensation of hunting E.T. was considerably more engaging than the reality (watching a screensaver do maths), this proved to be a hugely popular application. 

Since then, researchers looking to harvest the power of the network have upped the ante considerably, for whilst computers are very efficient at crunching large amounts of data, they are rather less skilled at subjective analysis. Thus were born applications created to tap a new resource, skipping over the processing power of the computer to get straight to the brains of their owners. 

Games With a Purpose is one such project, recently launched from Carnegie Mellon University. It's a refined extension of the google image labeller project from 2007, and is built by some of the same team. Essentially, GWAP squats your brain's processing power by engaging you in playing a game against another anonymous online player; the results of which go towards refining the artificial intelligence of an unidentified computer. For example, we both see an image and try and guess the words each other would use to describe it. For each word that matches, we win points, and an un-identified mainframe learns something about how humans describe images. It's a compelling experience, cognitive research wrapped in the polished visual language of a casual game. Unusually for academic projects such as this, real care has been taken in the production values rendering it indistinguishable from other commercial browser games and an easily accessible experience.

Whilst engaging however, one can't quite escape the nagging feeling of contributing to the development of a sentient super-computer that will someday enslave us. Or, perhaps even more likely, that the whole thing is linked to our Tesco loyalty card profile. 

We, Robot?

www.gwap.com

google image labeller

Iain Simons writes, talks and tweets about videogames and technology. His new book, Play Britannia, is to be published in 2009. He is the director of the GameCity festival at Nottingham Trent University.
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Just you wait – soon fake news will come to football

No point putting out a story saying that Chelsea got stuffed 19-1 by Spurs. Who would believe it, even if Donald Trump tweeted it?

So it is all settled: Cristiano Ronaldo will be arriving at Carlisle United at the end of the month, just before deadline day. It all makes sense. He has fallen in love with a Herdwick sheep, just as Beatrix Potter did, and like her, he is putting his money and energy into helping Cumbria, the land of the Herdwick.

He fell out with his lover in Morocco, despite having a private plane to take him straight from every Real Madrid game to their weekly assignation, the moment this particular Herdwick came into his life. His mother will be coming with him, as well as his son, Cristiano Ronaldo, Jr. They want to bring the boy
up communing with nature, able to roam free, walking among the lakes and fells.

Behind the scenes, his agent has bought up CUFC and half of Cumbria on his behalf, including Sellafield, so it is a wise investment. Clearly CUFC will be promoted this year – just look where they are in the table – then zoom-zoom, up they go, back in the top league, at which point his agent hopes they will be offered megabucks by some half-witted Chinese/Russian/Arab moneybags.

Do you believe all that? It is what we now call in the trade fake news, or post-truth – or, to keep it simple, a total lie, or, to be vulgar, complete bollocks. (I made it up, although a pundit on French TV hinted that he thought the bit about Ronaldo’s friend in Morocco might not be too far-fetched. The stuff about Beatrix Potter loving Herdwicks is kosher.)

Fake news is already the number-one topic in 2017. Just think about all those round robins you got with Christmas cards, filled with fake news, such as grandchildren doing brilliantly at school, Dad’s dahlias winning prizes, while we have just bought a gem in Broadstairs for peanuts.

Fake news is everywhere in the world of politics and economics, business and celebrity gossip, because all the people who really care about such topics are sitting all day on Facebook making it up. And if they can’t be arsed to make it up, they pass on rubbish they know is made up.

Fake news has long been with us. Instead of dropping stuff on the internet, they used to drop it from the skies. I have a copy of a leaflet that the German propaganda machine dropped over our brave lads on the front line during the war. It shows what was happening back in Blighty – handsome US soldiers in bed with the wives and girlfriends of our Tommies stuck at the front.

So does it happen in football? At this time of the year, the tabloids and Sky are obsessed by transfer rumours, or rumours of transfer rumours, working themselves into a frenzy of self-perpetuating excitement, until the final minute of deadline day, when the climax comes at last, uh hum – all over the studio, what a mess.

In Reality, which is where I live, just off the North Circular – no, down a bit, move left, got it – there is no such thing as fake news in football. We are immune from fantasy facts. OK, there is gossip about the main players – will they move or will they not, will they be sued/prosecuted/dropped?

Football is concerned with facts. You have to get more goals than the other team, then you win the game. Fact. Because all the Prem games are live on telly, we millions of supplicant fans can see with our eyes who won. No point putting out a story saying that Chelsea got stuffed 19-1 by Spurs. Who would believe it, even if Donald Trump tweeted it?

I suppose the Russkis could hack into the Sky transmissions, making the ball bounce back out of the goal again, or manipulating the replay so goals get scored from impossible angles, or fiddling the electronic scoreboards.

Hmm, now I think about it, all facts can be fiddled, in this electronic age. The Premier League table could be total fiction. Bring back pigeons. You could trust them for the latest news. Oh, one has just arrived. Ronaldo’s romance  with the Herdwick is off! And so am I. Off to Barbados and Bequia
for two weeks.

Hunter Davies’s latest book is “The Biscuit Girls” (Ebury Press, £6.99)

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge