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Google is the Internet, Too Big to Fail

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google is the Internet, Too Big to Fail
Today, I woke up late, turned on my cellphone’s screen, and saw six new emails. I touched my fingerprint to the display, unlocked the phone, and briefly checked the messages. The contents and senders weren’t all that important though. What was striking, in this brief moment, was what I realized: Google is the Internet.

We’ve been living with the Internet as we know it for a couple decades now. Technology companies have come and gone, but the behemoths have grown to epic proportions. Amazon, Apple, Google, Facebook, and Microsoft have all become some of the largest companies in the world. But there’s a distinct difference between those other names and Google (or, Alphabet, as it’s now called).

The company launched on August 18, 2004 on the Nasdaq Stock Exchange as GOOG. The four-letter ticker symbol was met with great fanfare and excitement. People wanted in on this inventive company that was revolutionizing search, ads, and online video.

Founders, Larry Page and Sergey Brin, penned an IPO letter before the launch of the stock. They detailed how Google would be different from all the rest. Shareholders wouldn’t be given special privileges and likely wouldn’t benefit from dividends (any time soon). Their votes wouldn’t matter, as control of the company would steadfastly be kept with those in leadership. And the stock could trade wildly, as profits weren’t of utmost importance. Page and Brin wanted to, first and foremost, build great technologies.

This focus on innovation over quarterly profit gains was a winning combination. Alphabet now sits as the second largest market capitalization — to Apple — in America. From a scrappy startup to tens of thousands of employees and billions in profits, this has been a meteoric rise. But it hasn’t always been an easy ride.

Every step they took, they were met with scrutiny. Countless antitrust lawsuits suggest Google is being monopolistic or manipulating search results in their own favor. There are accusations that the company doesn’t respect user’s privacy, and can be easily compelled to hand over what they know to information-hungry government surveillance organizations. They’ve been sued for driving around neighborhoods scanning people’s wi-fi networks and locations, too.

Despite these challenges, their efforts don’t seem to be slowing. The company is creating new hubs around the country. Heck, just north of where I used to live in Colorado they’re building an extensive mini-campus for Googlers! Lest you think construction and new-hires are their only areas of growth, think again. Alphabet is branching into artificial intelligence in mind-bending ways, too. The team, aptly named Google Brain, is leading the charge to develop machines that think for themselves, learn, and become smarter. Right now, they’re capable of beating chess and go champions, moving objects more efficiently, and finding answers more rapidly. In time, it’s easy to see these technologies testing humans’ capabilities.

Amidst this rapid ascendency into artificial intelligence and machine learning is also a company with more earthly ambitions: storing the world’s data. When I get on my smartphone or computer, check my emails in Inbox by Gmail, type out a note about research in Google Drive, write new appointments in Google Calendar, conduct a Google Search to find the 2004 Founders’ IPO Letter for this article, check a stock price on Google Finance (GOOG is at $782 right now), and then wrap this all up by looking at photos from last week on Google Photos, Google is at the heart of it.

Importantly, amidst this growth is an important consideration: most everything is free. For the frugal people that follow my blog, I wouldn’t be surprised if you embraced this cost-effective solution as I do. If you use other technologies, you’ll be spending a small fortune in comparison to Google’s products. Want to get an Apple iPhone? It’ll cost you $600-800 off contract. Google’s smartphones cost about $300-400 less. Want to use a word processor? Microsoft’s will cost you about $10 per month for access. Google’s is free. Interested in getting a new laptop? A good Mac or PC could run you $800-1000. Google’s Chromebooks are about $200-500.

Yes, people will argue that you’re sacrificing your privacy. Some say, “If you use Google, you’re the product because they sell your data to advertisers!” While factually blurry, the gist is true. We’re exchanging this right to services (like the Google Doc I’m typing this into) for our data and privacy. Contrary to popular belief, no individual advertiser has my data; instead, Google aggregates the world’s data for its advertisers.

The cost savings that Google has handed to us has led to an information revolution. Schools can afford to reduce technology costs, while increasing students’ access to the Internet and productivity tools. If we want an answer to Pythagorean theorem, we just Google it. Want to take a free, online course? Google it and start watching the YouTube videos. The answers are there for the taking. Information has been democratized and it’s not because of a government agency or hardware manufacturer. It’s this one software and search company.

So here we are, with Google as the Internet. It’s everything we interact with and rely on to get things done; at least, for much of us. You might be thinking I love this progression, advancement, and technological prowess. But to be honest, I’m concerned.

Here we are in the 21st century, and one company seems to be leading everything. If there’s real competition, they either build their own competitor or swallow it up through acquisitions. People are getting rich — wealth is spilling into their coffers. Meanwhile, we place our trust, data, and reliance on this one company to handle it all.

We don’t get to vote on Google’s proceedings. They aren’t a government agency. What they choose to do with our data is their decision. And even if we used tools like Google Takeout to take everything off their servers, we’d probably end up using Google Search, YouTube, and other Google services to get through our day. We’re stuck with this Internet leader — for better and for possibly worse.

As much as I love the company and everything they’ve done to make the Internet more affordable to everyone, I wonder what it might look like if something failed, new leadership took over that wasn’t friendly to users, or if governments around the world started demanding even more from Google’s servers. Right now, Google is too big to fail. And just like banks, that’s a frightening proposition — no matter the cost savings.

What Happens To Data After Death?

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Francie and Me

I miss my grandmother. She brings tears to my eyes when I think back on our time together. She would’ve turned 98 last weekend. And while she lived a good, long life, she’s been dead for about eight years.

Sometimes I wonder what she’d say to me — what she’d think of my academic endeavors, writing, friends, and loves.

Would she be proud of her grandson? Would I be living up to her expectations? Would she understand how much I miss her?

There are times when I stare at an old photo of the two of us. There she is, in her pearl earrings — a gem from another generation. She was a product of a time when women demanded civil liberties and spoke out bravely. Individually, she was highly educated, musically gifted, crafted an alarmingly kind, talented group of friends. She attracted her equals. I admired her.

But now, as I reflect on these eight years, I long for a video, text, or email between us. Something I can click play on.

There is nothing. I can’t find any artifact nor proof of our love and affection — our bond. We only have a handful of progressively fading photographs. Burned, stained from the sun, time is making us increasingly more sepia and prone to rosy retrospection.

Towards the latter years of her life, I grabbed whatever technology I had — at the time, a Motorola Razr — and pointed the “camera” her way. She didn’t mind my intrusion. She didn’t “get” that there was a video camera on the phone. I held it up as she talked to one of her dear friends.

She was talking about me and said into the phone, “Yes, Sam’s going to Colorado University.” I chimed in, like I always had to as her memory waned, “No Francie, Colorado State University.” She quickly relayed that correction.

A few more seconds passed and I turned off the camera. Somehow I knew this would be one of the most important, last moments with her. Her hospice treatments had accelerated. She was becoming weaker, but her hands gripped firm with mine until the end. She’d pass away shortly after this call.

To have that file meant the video was mine. I’d have it as long as I’d like it. A rare glimpse, however distorted and pixelated that would take me back.

Her voice. Her demeanor. Her playfulness. For a few seconds.

It’d have to do. There wasn’t much else to cling and hold.

Maybe it was her birthday, or maybe it was my addiction to nostalgia; whatever it was, I looked for the clip the other day. I desperately wanted to relive it. To touch through time. To bridge the gap between life and death. To see the pixels dance before my eyes and make me feel… there.

Amidst gigabytes of photos and videos on my computer, the little clip was gone. I rummaged through flash drives, hard drives, cloud storage — nothing. There was no file to be found.

It was a foreign feeling — loss — amidst this digital era. We live in a time of Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, iMessage, WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger, Gmail, Google Drive, iCloud, and Dropbox. Data costs little to nothing. And the world seems settled on one major goal: saving and storing your life for eternity.

Today, it’s not uncommon for me to send hundreds of texts, emails, and tweets in a day between friends and family — many of which include photos and videos.

I’m curious what Francie would think of these advancements. As I get older, the data seems to have a redundancy and staying power — beyond anything we could’ve imagined 10 years ago. She died before we started speaking to our phones, searching for rashes on WebMD, and sharing our meals over Facebook.

A file created today may well live beyond my lifetime, and maybe even my children’s (if I’m lucky enough to have them some day). What of these things would be passed onto future generations?

There’s that photo of me crossing the marathon finish line in Houston. There’s that kiss with my love in Colombia. There’s that random photo of my cousin and I when we were four years old — grinning from ear to ear. There’s that video tour of my old, Siberian-prison inspired apartment.

They’ll outlive me.

Storage is becoming cheaper every day. Companies are propositioning themselves to be the keeper of all your photos and videos, forever — just look at Google Photos. They’re saying they have the ultimate solution. Unlike my missing video of Francie, photos and videos are now saved and backed up; then, replicated across data centers across the globe. No flood, tornado, earthquake, hurricane, or mudslide can touch these memories. No user or device error can stop us now.

Maybe she belongs in the past, but she’d be here so much more amidst this technology. I could share a video of Francie to my partner. And I could connect with the memories that my mind slowly lets drift. Nothing would pass the intense scrutiny and analysis of today’s servers. The computers might serve the memories to me when I needed them most.

But what happens now? What will happen to our memories as they pass from generation to generation in this increasingly connected and backed up society? What will companies keep of us? What will our loved ones hold on to? What will they look to for connection with their pasts?

What will happen to our data after death?

Do I Regret Deleting My Facebook?

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I joined Facebook when it was limited to college students. I remember that scary moment when the company allowed others to join (i.e., older adults and high school students). I remember when things you liked could be shared with other friends, and you could see what others were interested in. I remember when status updates were framed in third-person thoughts (“Sam is…”). It was my home away from home, and a bastion for friends and family to connect. And then, one year ago, I deleted it all.

When I joined in 2007, Facebook was a select, elite social network. Everyone I knew wanted an account. Eventually, they all got one. Where once, my friends would’ve texted or emailed to update me, they “Facebooked.” Their messages and updates became broadcasts — written on semi-public “walls.” Others could contribute and participate. Moments were shared — online.

It was a pure experience and I never really noticed advertising. There was an undercurrent of concern about Facebook’s privacy policy and habit of defaulting to public profiles. But I stayed informed and on top of it, always making my profile more private. Facebook was a safe place to share my thoughts and memorable moments.

There was that first party, first relationship, first love, and first adult vacation. All was captured and curated. Others could peruse and get to know me; albeit, in a detached, digital sense. And that feeling grew and grew, as I realized that my ballooning friend network wasn’t about friendship.

In college, I was frequently in the public eye and had built a large professional network. Facebook served as a hub for connecting with those people — a nascent LinkedIn. But I embraced the opportunity to stay in contact with important people. That networking and messaging led me to meet the Governor of Colorado a couple times and enabled me to fundraise thousands of dollars. It was wonderful.

But it was also the home of my first breakup, the next breakup, and then the few after that. Facebook showed my hurt. The site featured a fractured post-breakup silence and photo-less few months. It ebbed and flowed, as did my emotions. Facebook was stirring powerful emotions in me. Oftentimes, these weren’t positive and supportive.

I was surrounded by people I didn’t really recognize, and bombarded with more advertising than ever. Facebook, the personal social network, had become another rehashed home for brooding, breeding, and time-wasting.

Last November, I evaluated whether Facebook was still important. The things I shared were no longer liked by the people I was supposedly closest to, and that hurt. A relationship I was in was about to collapse, and I hardly wanted to share that with this disconnected, jumbled group of “friends.”

Hovering over the delete link, I contemplated life without Facebook. There were photos, videos, and status updates. But more than anything, there were moments I was saying goodbye to — exceptional and horrific.

I clicked delete, and the stream went black. Digitally done, my home away from home was burned. All those years spent networking and adding friends were gone. I felt a pain of uncertainty and unknown. Had I made a mistake?

It’s been about one year since I deleted my Facebook, and I can tell it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made. My communication mediums regressed to text messages, emails, and — gasp! — phone calls. Slowly, friends reached out and mentioned that they noticed I was no longer online. Some kept in touch and others disappeared.

Now, I have time. Instead of incessantly swiping through news feeds and liking incessantly, I read, write, and connect (in-person) more often. I’m more informed about world politics and news. I’m more concerned with helping others and making a difference. I’m not as interested in my next profile picture. I don’t care as much about taking a group photo (for others to see). I’m not as concerned about new clothing and products that’ll make me look affluent and connected.

Embarrassingly, I used to look through my photos, clicking infinitely — circling through them over and over again. Facebook held on to me — aching for me to relive my past and share every moment. There was an emotional high and low to look back on what I’ve done, where I’ve been, and who I was with. But that is largely gone. In its place is a powerful present-focus and interest in what my future holds.

Done with the ads. Done with shared walls. Done with that time-wasting.

One year down, infinite more to go.

Entrepreneurial Secrets That Turn Side Jobs Into Main Incomes

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Entrepreneurial Google Founders Wikipedia Photo
The Google Founders. Photo: Wikipedia

My first year of writing is nearly complete. In starting my own online site and business, I realized a few entrepreneurial secrets that aided in the success and development of Frugaling.org. Hopefully, some of these ideas inspire you to make more and take advantage of any downtime you have to achieve your own entrepreneurial dreams!

A fun alternative to a temp job

Finding time for extra income opportunities was daunting last year. I wanted to make and save more money to pay off an overwhelming amount of student loans. I was rapidly approaching $40,000 in total debt last May. I thought about getting a menial job that paid me about $8 an hour after taxes. I scoured Craigslist for random temp jobs, but grew hopeless as the opportunities didn’t often fit within the parameters of my challenging semesters. The debt was unmanageable.

Sometime in mid-July, Frugaling.org became a real second income for me. My advertising revenue and traffic skyrocketed. I felt a rush when I published articles that would get read by 10, 100, 1000, and eventually by up to 10,000+ people at a time. But the excitement was heightened because I knew this would perfectly sync with my busy graduate student schedule.

You make your own schedule

Here and there, I began to work on the site. I’d type a story between classes or when I finished work for the night. In a fleet of passion through my fingers, I’d hammer out intricate articles that were entirely my own desire. As much as I wanted to share my voice with others, I was writing for my own growth, too.

Unlike the Craigslist opportunities or strange side jobs around my college campus, writing online and becoming entrepreneurial allowed me even greater freedom in money-making endeavors. It was far easier to squeeze an hour of work where I could fit it, then worry about someone else’s overlapping or differing schedule. Frankly, it was empowering.

Entrepreneurial success is often predicated on fall back options

Graduate school, work, and my other job account for about 60 to 70 hours of work per week. At times, it was hard to digest how many hours were dedicated to my education. Until this academic year, I considered myself to be lazy. I didn’t want to work all that hard and found any opportunity to waste time.

By creating an outlet for my thoughts and conveniently forming it around my schedule, I kept my prior obligations while starting a new project. My grades and school experience hardly changed; actually, I was more diversified and felt grounded in life because of my entrepreneurial spirit.

Starting a business takes a certain gusto and risk, but having options helped insure against failure. If Frugaling didn’t work out, that would be okay. This wasn’t the only business venture going for me, and I wasn’t putting all my eggs in one basket. The failure of this would simply be a drop in the larger bucket.

Follow these examples to find your own achievement

I’m not alone in starting a business while staying busy. There are a tremendous number of tech titans that took to something on the side, and it turned into their main income. Here are two examples:

Drew Houston, CEO of Dropbox

Houston was searching for a method to avoid the constant need for a flash drive. As a graduate student at MIT, he coded a rough basis for Dropbox.com. Basically, it would allow users to place a file online, and have access anywhere in the world to that same file, as long as there was Internet. Houston met his business partner at MIT and launched the company with the safety net of getting a masters degree from a top-tier institution with massive social connections. If Dropbox had failed, he would still be hirable at some terrific institutions. If it succeeded, he would get the best of both worlds.

Mark Zuckerburg, CEO of Facebook

Zuckerburg’s story is legendary now. Through a series of startups and ideas, Mark created a site that was exclusively for Harvard students. It was originally entitled, “The Facebook.” This elite establishment became the perfect territory to foment incredible demand. From there, Zuckerburg and his partners slowly spread the idea from university to university. The elite model appealed to a variety of people, but if it had failed, he would still be getting a Harvard degree.

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