Second Life Sketches: Random Grid Failures
By Warren Ellis
The following is an independent opinion column, and is not connected with Reuters News. The opinions and views expressed herein are those of the author and are not endorsed by Reuters.
So a software client with Voice was apparently released into the wild this past week. I know this because I logged in one mid-week morning to find notices waiting from those groups I belong to that hold public events. And all of them were papering their members with stern and frequently angry admonishments to the effect that Voice was not for loudly abusing large groups of people in new and interesting ways and that people should cut that out. Checking back, I found that said software client had been in the field for less than eighteen hours. Basically, it took a single evening for Voice to be put to use as a way to inform large crowds of people about the provenance of their conception, the friendly welcomes their mothers allegedly give to passing tradesmen, and, indeed, their pokemans and their willingness to show you them.
(Let’s face it: if there’s not already a SLmacros, then there should be a LOLavies within the day. Anything else just breaks The Laws Of The Intertubes.)
* * * * *
So I got sent an invite to this Secondfest thing that happened last weekend. An attempt, organised, I believe, by the Guardian newspaper here in Britain, to emulate a summer festival on Second Life. I looked at the listings, and I’m not averse to a drop of New Young Pony Club or Cinematic Orchestra (Simian Mobile Disco, although clearly having one of the best band names ever, otherwise kind of escape me), so I thought I’d take advantage of the VIP access I was being offered - I am, of course, extremely important like that - and go along. Well, maybe it got better. If my visits were any indication, however… let’s all hope no-one’s job was riding on Secondfest.
Now, I wasn’t expecting some huge heaving Summer Festival experience, complete with mud, overflowing portable toilets and someone using Voice to warn people off the brown acid. I was, however, expecting to see some people, and maybe a band. What I found was six avatars sitting down in front of the stage at the appointed time. I tried speaking to a few, but the operators appeared to have fallen into comas at their keyboards. I moved along to the VIP area, which was deserted, and really kind of sad - an empty tent laid out with plates of virtual hors d’oeuvres and a bar with mimicked bottles and pumps, and not a body in the place. From there, I wandered around to the back of the stage. Where I found three likeness-avatars of New Young Pony Club, hidden behind the wings and timed out. I debated doing something despicable to them for a good few minutes. Even virtual gigs should have security to deal with the likes of me. And, my God, what if it’d been a real bunch of freaks, like the Something Awful crowd, instead of me?
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So every day or two I check back in on my “home base,” on an island run by a mad person called Monkey. Monkey is extremely organised, and is surrounded by a mini-corporation of associates and cronies. So I was mildly surprised to find the island Not Actually There one day. It came back next time I visited. But two hours later it was gone again. This has been going on all week. Today, it transpires that, through a process I do not completely understand, some ill-wisher is remotely switching the island on and off at his whim. How does that happen? In a period where Second Life is trying to sell virtual land as useful pixel-turf to businesses - and, heh, newspapers holding festivals - should the wiring and clockworks really be so easily accessible that one guy with a grudge and some free time can get into it and just turn land on and off at random? Bricks and mortar may be more expensive than renting an island, but it has the distinct advantage of some wandering idiot being unable to make it vanish at the flick of a switch.
