Thinking about pizza and private clouds

I must have been around 13 when I had my first pizza, courtesy of my neighbours, a warm and friendly Sephardic Jewish family; Flower Silliman, the mother of the family, was, and continues to be, an incredible cook; I took the family to India for a reunion last year, and we had Christmas lunch (!) at her home. (One of her daughters would later become my first ever girlfriend).

And what a pizza it was. The bread was flat, round and unleavened, gently golden. There was a light yet generous tomato sauce, lots of cheese, soft in the middle, a little crisping at the edge; some onion, some garlic, amazing fresh herbs. I keep imagining there was the hint of chilli, but that may just be me…. I like imagining things with chilli. And everything was cooked to perfection. Even today I salivate thinking about it.

It looked a bit like this photo from foodporndaily:

Now my memory’s not what it used to be. Perhaps there were other ingredients in the pizza. Perhaps I was 14 not 13 when it happened. Perhaps I’d already started going out with Flower’s daughter Michal. As I said, my memory’s not what it used to be.

But I still remember what a pizza was. And I still know what a pizza is.

A pizza is not a vegetable.

Apparently this is not a universal truth. According to the Huffington Post, in a story carried last Wednesday, Congress decided that pizza is a vegetable. Confused? Don’t worry. The Gothamist story illustration, reproduced below, may help you:

 

I read the story, and I was more saddened than surprised. Because I’d seen pizza masquerading as vegetable before.

The recipe seems to run a bit like this:

  1. Take a data centre.
  2. Add two spoons of tomato sauce.
  3. Decorate with the words “private” and “cloud”
  4. Serve
An organisation may want its own data centre, for a variety of reasons. There may be regulatory issues. There may be a demand for sub 30 millisecond latency. The organisation may be risk-averse enough to warrant paying a significant premium for the luxury of its own data centre. All this is possible, natural, to be expected.
But the data centre remains a data centre.
An organisation may want to move towards the cloud — the word public is, in my opinion, tautological when placed in front of cloud — but it may want to migrate slowly. Techniques to make the journey easier are also normal and to be expected. So the organisation may choose to implement public standards — public in the sense of open *and* adopted — in its infrastructure, as part of the process of moving to the cloud. The organisation may choose to adopt a hybrid environment for a period, both data centre as well as cloud, as the estate is migrated piece by piece. And as I said earlier, perhaps not everything gets migrated, constrained by regulation or the need for millisecond speed.
But the data centre remains a data centre.
One of the essences of the cloud is the scalability and flexibility engendered by the existence of fungible resources. You pay for what you need and use. For it to make economic sense, the fungibility needs to extend beyond the boundaries of the firm. Otherwise it’s a zero sum game, as I’ve written about earlier.
There’s a natural temptation to say that if your market, your internal estate, is large enough, then surely you can run your own cloud. But what happens when demand outstrips supply? You will need to acquire capacity for peak rather than average, and then to defray those peak-associated costs. Once you implement for peak, what happens when supply outstrips demand? You’ll still need to defray the peak-associated costs.
Just like when you had your own data centre.
Actually that’s not surprising. Because that’s precisely what you have: your own data centre. A pizza is not a vegetable.
Sometimes an organisation may go even further. It may build an open multitenant infrastructure on public open standards. It may ensure that all its resources are fungible, and trade its way out of peaks and troughs, selling excess capacity to the market and “bursting” excess demand in similar fashion.
Open, public standards. Fungible resources. Trading supply and demand across a host of companies in the market, not just within your corporate boundaries. Now you don’t have a data centre any more. You have a cloud.
Two spoons of tomato sauce cannot turn a pizza into a vegetable. Nor a data centre into a cloud.

Smorgasbord 2

Had a number of you ping me about my last post, when I shared the tabs I had open. So I thought I’d do it again:

1. Radiation levels in Fukushima lower than predicted. Couldn’t understand why this story didn’t receive more coverage. The levels being encountered seem remarkably low, so I wanted to look into it. I was in Japan last month, due there again next month. Love it.

2. Soccket To Me: I just love the idea of Soccket, decided I would spring for giving someone the energy-producing football. Amazing invention. Great video as well. Found via TED.

3. Sustainability, 21st century style: I’d heard that Patagonia were encouraging people to create a secondary market for their products rather than keep buying new. Now that’s a story I like. Someone at Salesforce.com gave me a Patagonia garment, so I looked into it.

4. Trent Reznor on TuneCore: I’m not a big fan of Nine Inch Nails, some of their music is too noir for me. But I love Trent Reznor’s attitude to the industry. So I try and keep up with what he’s saying and doing. Their latest album is, as usual, downloadable for free.

5. Brit on the PlugBug: Friend Brit Morin launches a fascinating site, I love the PlugBug and the rickshaw. And Weduary will probably make a bang not just in the US, but also in places like India. I like seeing what friends are up to.

6. Evolutionary ecology of pungency in wild chillies: I have a real passion for capsaicin, so I tend to spend some time every week trying to understand more about it.

 

That’s it for now. Tell me if you like my doing this occasionally. Tell me to stop. All feedback useful.

Smorgasbord

I happened to look at the tabs I’d got open over the past few days, stuff I was gently drifting through, stuff I intend to complete reading/experiencing later. And I realised they were sufficiently eclectic to be worth sharing, in case some of you hadn’t come across them or were interested anyway. So here goes:

1. Malaria’s Achilles Heel: Details of a recent breakthrough in understanding how the parasite gets into red blood cells, and the discovery of a single receptor without which the parasite appears to be powerless. Early days, but there is now a real possibility that an effective vaccines emerge.

2. Crowd-curating: Continuing to track what hypothes.is is doing, something I’m very excited about. “A distributed, open source platform for the collaborative evaluation of documents”.

3. Matsutake dobin mushi: Ever since I experienced this dish a month or so ago, I’ve been mesmerised. Been trying to find out everything I can about it.

4. Unintended consequences of age-based privacy laws: danah boyd, John Palfrey, Eszter Hargittai and Jason Schultz looking into Facebook ToS and age constraints and COPPA

5. Preserving the lifesaving power of antimicrobial agents: James Hughes’ seminal paper on running out of antibiotics.

6. Keeping fit in 1919: An uproariously funny booklet issued in 1919, not intended to be funny at all, brought to life by the wonderful How To Be A Retronaut. Thank you Chris Wild.

7. Serge Storms: An excerpt from Tim Dorsey’s next book. Can’t wait.

8. Wolfgang’s Vault: The best live music downloads site in the world for retired hippies like me.

 

 

Thinking about streams of information at work

At school and at university, I was reminded by teachers not to allow the knowledge I’d accumulated to constrain unduly my thinking about the future. There was something liberating about the mere process of trying to understand that knowledge could be considered a constraint, a liberation that continued throughout my life, evinced at different times and in different ways.

Early on, it was a personal fascination with the concept of time, triggered by an experience every child in India goes through: finding out that the hindi word for yesterday: “kal” was the same as that for tomorrow: “kal“. While still at school, as with most of my fellow students in the Sciences stream, the thoughts and writings of Richard Feynman entered my life. His teachings on The Character of Physical Law, more particularly the chapter on The Distinction of Past and Future, influenced my conceptions of time even further, giving me a sense of its irreversible nature. Most 13-14-year olds have a blank-slate approach when it comes to absorbing ideas, and so it was when we were first able to think about what Einstein had been saying about relativity, allowing us to view time as a dimension.

Then came university, where I read Economics, and then work, where none of this appeared to matter. The nearest I came to thinking further about all this was in my late twenties, when I went through a long period of regular dreaming, often lucid, often with repeating themes. [The commonest theme had me in flight: I’d slowly lengthen my stride and then gently take off, more gliding than flying, able to keep myself airborne for a minute or so, soaring and banking using my arms as wings, never flapping, unable to hover.].  They were dreams rather than nightmares, relaxing me, letting me feel rested and refreshed; this, coupled with their lucidity, meant that I tended to remember my dreams. And occasionally, very occasionally, I would experience something in “real life” that seemed, if I stretched it enough, to be something I’d experienced before in a dream. But I “knew” it wasn’t possible and so I dismissed it. Sort of. It didn’t stop me from reading Michio Kaku from the mid-1990s onwards, starting with Hyperspace/Parallel Universes. But the Feynman in me ruled, time continued to be seen as something irreversible.

One other principle stayed with me, influenced by some of the sayings and quotations I’d been attracted to over the years: Einstein saying that we couldn’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used to create the problems in the first place, Einstein suggesting that common sense was the collection of prejudices one has by age eighteen, someone (occasionally credited to Schopenhauer) saying that talent hits a target no one else can hit; genius hits a target no one else can see. In each case, I was reminded of what my teachers had said to me, about not allowing my “knowledge” to constrain my “thinking”. Easier said than done.

Over time, I understood more about cognitive biases and anchors and frames, a learning that was accelerated by conversations with colleagues like Sean Park, Malcolm Dick and James Montier while at Dresdner Kleinwort. So it should come as no surprise that in my roles as deputy CIO and CIO, and as chief scientist, in multiple organisations, I kept taking the “don’t let the past predict the future” tablets, religiously, systematically, every day. That didn’t always endear me to everyone, but it helped me keep my thinking fresh. It was the reason I kept wanting to connect with people outside the organisation at least as much as I spoke with people within the organisation. It was the reason that I’ve always tried to support a graduate intake program in firms I’ve worked in, one way of ensuring that fresh thinking is allowed to enter an organisation.

Which is why I loved the Wayne Gretzky quote about playing where the puck is going to be, not where the puck is or was. Which is why I loved the Steve Jobs quote, in his Stanford Commencement Address in June 2005:

Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

In the words of Stephen Stills: Don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now. [That’s taken from my all-time number one favourite song, Suite: Judy Blue Eyes. You can hear a sample, containing the quote, here…. and even buy the MP3 download if you so wish.

It is with all this in mind that I spend time thinking about streams of information. For most of my adult life, these streams have been about the past. Transactions that had already happened. We spent a long time studying the fossil remains of human activity in order to try and predict what the future would look like, a mongrel form halfway between scatology and eschatology.

More recently, we’ve been able to “life-stream”, sharing our current activities and our “status” with others, aided and abetted by near-ubiquitous connectivity, ever-smarter devices and digital frameworks that support the social networks. In the past, we were only able to capture things that had happened. We were used to calling things that had happened “transactions” and so we called the analysis of those records “transaction processing”. We’re able to look now at what people are doing, within “activity streams”, and, because we share our activity streams within social networks, we call the study of this “social media monitoring”.

But we’re on the cusp of something way way more exciting, in a classic William Gibson future-is-here-but-unevenly-distributed kind of way: we’re beginning to what we intend to do.

Doc Searls, a good friend, was the first person I heard using the term “Intention Economy” to describe this. And I’ve signalled my intention to him, by pre-ordering his book on the subject, due May next year.

Esther Dyson, another good friend, when talking about the future of internet search, complimented Bill Gates on saying “the future of search is verbs”….. now that gets interesting, really interesting, when you consider verbs as having tenses. Tenses that help segment the continuum of time. Past. Present. And future.

The future.

When I was at university, one of the things I studied in classical economics was the works of Jean-Baptiste Say. And one of the ways in which his “Law” was paraphrased, originally by John Maynard Keynes, was as follows: Supply creates its own demand.

We’re soon going to be able to signal our intentions in ways that we could never have done before.

Over time, those signals will become more sophisticated, more evolved, more nuanced.  Social norms will be formed, telling us what we can or can’t do with our signalling of intent. The semaphoring of intent will slowly come to include disinformation, the false-carding,  feints and dummies, elaborate ways of disguising intent in order to further some other intent. With that will come the need to watch for, and to recognise, the digital “tells” in the world of supply-and-demand poker. On both sides.

And over time, the systems and processes required to interpret and assimilate those signals into actionable information, this too will evolve.

I cannot wait.

Of private clouds and zero-sum games

If I interpret the comments on my last post correctly, both online and offline, a small number of you felt that I’d been unduly strong in my bias against the “private cloud”; it sounded like you thought I’d been drinking too much of the Kool-Aid since joining Salesforce.com a year ago this weekend.

Actually, my bias against the private cloud is around a decade old. And it stems from experiences I had during my six-plus years as CIO of Dresdner Kleinwort.

First and foremost, I think of the cloud as consisting of three types of innovation: technology, “business model” and culture. Far too often, I get the sense that people concentrate on the technology innovation and miss out on the remarkable value offered by the other two types of innovation. In this particular post I want to concentrate on the business model innovation aspect.

Shared-service models have been around for some time now, they’re not new per se. At Dresdner Kleinwort, we implemented shared-service models wherever relevant, sometimes within a business unit, sometimes across business units within a business line, and sometimes across the whole company. The principle was simple: investment and operating costs (the “capex” and “opex”) for the shared service would be distributed across all the consumers of the shared service according to some agreed allocation key. Sometimes it was a simple key, like headcount. Sometimes it was predefined each year at a central level, as was the practice with “budget” foreign exchange rates. Sometimes it was hand-crafted by service, involving long hours of painful negotiation. Sometimes it wasn’t even agreed, just mandated from above. One way or the other, there was an allocation key for the shared service.

Dresdner Kleinwort was part of Dresdner Bank, and Dresdner Bank was wholly owned by Allianz. There were shared services at the Dresdner level, and at the Allianz level. So there was a whole juggernaut of allocations going on, at multiple levels.

And God was in His Heaven, All was Well With the World.

Until someone wanted to leave the sharing arrangement.

At which point all hell broke loose.

Because the capex had been spent, and the depreciation tail had to be allocated to someone. If the number of someones grew smaller, the amount allocated grew larger. This wasn’t just about capex; not all of opex was adequately volume-sensitive, so similar effects could be observed.

“Private” models of shared services were fundamentally zero-sum games: the institution coughed up all the capex and opex, and the institution had to allocate all of it. Regardless of the number of participants. Sometimes there was scope for some obfuscation: there was a central pot for “restructuring”, and all the shared-service units ran like hell to reserve as much of it as possible every time the window opened for such a central pot. If you were lucky, you could dump the trailing costs left by the exiting business into the restructuring pool, thereby avoiding the screams of the survivor units. But it was an artificial relief: the truth was that the company bore all the costs.

A zero-sum game.

Shared resources have costs that have to be shared as well. If the only people you can share it with are the people in the company, then the zero-sum is unavoidable. Things are made more complicated by using terms like capex and opex, by choosing to “capitalise” some expenditures and not others, by having complex rules for such capitalisation. Such worlds were designed for steady-state, not for change.

We’re in a business environment where change is a constant, and where the pace of change is accelerating. So there’s always something changing in the systems landscape. Business units come and go; products and services offered come and go; locations and even lines of business come and go; and entire businesses also come and go within the larger holding company structure.

Change is a constant.

So with the change comes even more pain. Lists of “capitalised” assets have to be checked and cross-checked regularly, to validate that the assets are still in use; at Dresdner these were called impairment reviews. If not, the remaining depreciation tail of the “impaired” asset has to be absorbed in the next accounting period.

What joy. [Yes, dear reader, the life of a CIO is deeply intertwined with the life of a spreadsheet jock].

In many respects, the technology innovation inherent in the cloud was foreseeable and predictable. Compute, storage and bandwidth were all going down paths of standardisation, to a point where abstract mathematical models could be used to describe them. As the level of standardisation and abstractability increased, the resources became more fungible. That fungibility could be exploited to change the way systems were architected, higher cohesion, looser coupling, better and more dynamic allocation and orchestration of the resources.

The business innovation in the cloud was, similarly, also foreseeable and predictable. The disaggregation and reaggregation made possible by the standardisation and virtualisation would allow for different opportunities for investment and for risk transfer.

Now it was no longer a zero-sum game. The company that spent the capex and opex took the risk that there would be entrants and exits, high volumes and low; the technology innovations were used to balance loads and fine-tune performance; the multitenant approach often led to lower licence costs, and these could be exploited to defray some of the continuing investments needed in the balancing/tuning technologies.

Individual business units and lines and even entire companies no longer had to carry out impairment reviews for such assets. Because they didn’t “own” the assets: the heart of the cultural innovation was the change in attitudes to ownership.

The private cloud proponents have sought to blur the lines by bringing in arguments to do with data residency.

Data.

Not code.

Data will reside where it most makes sense. Sometimes there are regulatory reasons to hold the data in a particular jurisdiction. Sometimes there are latency reasons to hold data within a particular distance limit. Sometimes there are cultural reservations that take time to overcome. The rest of the time, data can be held wherever it makes economic sense.

Serious cloud computing companies have known this, have been working on it, and will continue to work on it. The market sets the standard.

Code, on the other hand, particularly multitenant code, has no such residency requirement. Unless you happen to ask someone whose business model is to charge licences connected to on-premise processors.

Change is a constant in business life. The cloud is about change. The business model of the public cloud is designed to make that change possible, without the palaver of impairment reviews and capex writeoffs and renegotiation of allocation keys and and and

Which is why, in principle, the private cloud makes no sense to me.

Views?