Claude Shannon and His Ultimate Machine….
It sounds like a rip-off of a Tom Swift novel — half adventure story, half science fiction, half detective yarn, more halves than you could stuff into Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout (1910), one of the first of more than 100 books in which Tom and various gizmos, plots, and places have figured over the past 100 years. Picture him as the boy-scientist tinkerer of a bygone era, with elements of MacGyver, Indiana Jones, and Harry Potter thrown in. As famous in his day as any of those three in recent times, probably with the Swiss army knife, but no bullwhip and certainly no wand.
So what about Claude Shannon and His Ultimate Machine? Should you just wait for the movie? Definitely not, since Claude Shannon was a very real person, and the Ultimate Machine (UM) was a working device on his desk. The concept for the Ultimate Machine was dreamt up by Marvin Minsky. Just to be sure you understand the importance of this co-paternity for the UM, here are thumbnails of their credentials (go to the Wikipedia links for the full details):
So, this Ultimate Machine must be a big deal, for two guys of their stature to have been involved, right? Right. Simply stated, it is a machine whose sole purpose is to turn itself off. Here, taken from what is presumably an official biography of Shannon on the AT&T Website, is a description from Arthur C. Clarke, inventor of the communications satellite and famed science fiction author:
Nothing could be simpler. It is merely a small wooden casket, the size and shape of a cigar box, with a single switch on one face. When you throw the switch, there is an angry, purposeful buzzing. The lid slowly rises, and from beneath it emerges a hand. The hand reaches down, turns the switch off and retreats into the box. With the finality of a closing coffin, the lid snaps shut, the buzzing ceases and peace reigns once more. The psychological effect, if you do not know what to expect, is devastating. There is something unspeakably sinister about a machine that does nothing — absolutely nothing — except switch itself off.
I beg to differ with Mr. Clarke. I do not find either the concept or its various manifestations “unspeakably sinister.” Rather, I find it existentially stimulating and wonderfully amusing. But that’s just me. You decide for yourself. Here are some links on which you can see comments about the past 50+ years of such devices and video clips of a variety of reconstructions:
What I find puzzling about all of this is its currency: the oldest of the links above is from March 2008, and much of the material is less than six months old. The same seems to be true for many sources on the Web. Whatever the reason for this upwelling of interest, there are now two versions of the UM for the iPhone and iPod touch that could reach a much larger audience than any of the foregoing — The Most Useless Machine (MUM) and The Most Useless Machine Ever (MUME). With his entire career spent working for AT&T, Claude Shannon would surely appreciate the delicious irony of a UM available on a telephone, even if he could only imperfectly imagine our technology from his own childhood reading, say, Tom Swift and His Photo Telephone (1914).
In fact, I have both of these apps on my 32GB iPod touch. I have been using MUM from Nagi Software for about six months, and MUME from One Week Apps for about three months. This expertise qualifies me to offer a comparative review in the same spirit of uselessness in which Shannon and Minsky created the UM itself.
The following table compares 19 of the most objective metrics of the two products. (Let’s be honest: They are pretty much the only objective metrics, but I was astonished to see how many I could identify. I mean, it’s almost like this is a real review!!!)
|Release/Update||2-Jul-10 (U)||11-Mar-10 (R)|
|Memory||3.8 MB||3.4 MB|
|Theme negator||Fixed||Variable (random)|
|iOS||4.0 or later||3.0 or later|
|Distributor||Nagi Software||One Week Apps|
|Website as of 31-Jul-10||Inaccessible||Under development|
Ease of use is comparable for both apps. If you can flick your finger up the touchscreen, then you can turn the switch to its “On” position. The rest follows automatically.
The biggest distinction is in some of the visual features. MUM offers five different themes — wood, metal (above-upper), icy world, chocolate, and soccer — whereas MUME has only wood (above-lower). The latter seems fairly close to what Arthur C. Clarke described, so if historical fidelity is important in your apps, then that might tilt you toward MUME. For myself, I like the industrial brushed-metal finish in MUM, a holdover from version 2.0.
On the other hand, I find that the option of either the clock or counter in the lower right-hand side of MUM can be distracting to its serious, focused use. I have similar hesitation because of the photorealistic toggle switch on the wooden surface of MUME, which is the only feature initially visible. There is something a bit jarring about its appearance atop the wood-grain finish. (A clock is promised for a future version on the iTunes page for the app.) Rather than issue a spoiler alert in the tradition of film reviews, I will simply refrain from commenting on the nature of the Theme negator, the “device” that emerges from under the lid to turn the switch off, in each of the apps. Suffice to say that they are quite varied within the five themes of MUM (although no negator appears at all in the Soccer theme, the only obvious bug in either app); within the single theme for MUME, you should expect some surprises! Support for both apps is minimal.
Finally, there is the matter of price. MUM is free, but with occasional pop-up ads on the bottom of the screen (new to version 3.0). MUME is 99 cents, but no ads. If this trade-off makes the decision for you, then you were probably appalled at the thought of $150 for a hand-made mahogany UM. That also means that this review could actually have been useful for you, my facetious disclaimer notwithstanding. But for me, as long as my wife never reads this post, I will happily use both MUM and MUME while awaiting Tyler’s return to his workshop in October and the chance for a certain mouse-click in PayPal.