Beware the Grey Panthers

Last night at dinner, following the Thursday
Berkman meeting, Dave
was commenting on the exotic culture and social habits of programmers
and software developers. Although he has been hanging out with a
lot of programmers lately, the Dowbrigade is in essence an analog
guy. When those goofy gearheads get going with the digital lingo,
they might as well be Shuar tribespeople speaking the Aguaruna
language
along the banks of the Santiago River in the Upper Amazon Basin.
Actually, the Dowbrigade reports feeling more at home among the Shurar
("People")at times than among the collection of strangely developed developers
he has fallen in with lately.

Be that as it may, we asked Dave, who was waxing rather pessimistic
about the state of the industry, what was happening to the
young genius programmers just coming into the game with their brilliant paridigm-busting
epiphanies and limitless post-adolescent energy.  Immediately several
of the greybeards at the table chimed in, almost in unison, "Myth!"

They all agreed, the popular picture of pimply cyber-punks rewriting
the universe was totally a Hollywood invention. "There’s just so much
you have to know," explained Dave, "All of the best software is written
by experienced developers."

The Dowbrigade was crushed.  How could the Iconic Image of Keneau
Reeves as the (now not-so) young genius programmer saving the universe,
not to mention high schoolers reprogramming Defense Department doomsday
programs, young Einstein realizing relativity, and the brute brilliance
of 20-something programmers churning out millions of lines of code in
twisted 96-hour
bursts
of caffeine and testosterone-fueled creativity, not be true? Once again,
reality was rearing its ugly head.

However, the more we thought about it, the more it made sense. For sure
there is an art and aesthetic to programming that must be refined over
years of observation and experimentation. It sort of reminded the Dowbrigade
of his tennis game. Between sets of a savage match with Jon Raisz,
Brookline architect, topographer, high school running mate, and 35-year-running worthy
opponent on the other side of a tennis net, the following hypothetical
was proposed:

If each of the years we had been playing were represented by a separate
clone of each of us, and the 35 Dowbrigades had a tournament, that is
the 15-year-old Dowbrigade vs. the 38-year-old Dowbrigade in the first
round, etc., which version would emerge the eventual winner?

After august and profound consideration we agreed that the current incarnations
would clearly sweep the aggregated younger versions.  The wiles
and deception, spins and misdirection shots, and the accumulated court
sense honed over the years would more than compensate, we decided, for
any minute loss of strength or stamina. Vain self-deception? Well, like
programming, the proof is in the pudding.  See you on the courts.