My new Vonage hardware arrived. I got everything hooked up and proceeded to disconnect our internal home phone wiring from the SBC landline. The phone service was working great. But my tests with ADT failed. Why? With the new cable modem, shouldn’t this problem have been solved? I decided to check the call log on my Vonage account page. Would I see evidence of my security system’s efforts to call the central office?

No such calls had been logged. And this suggested that the home security system was, for whatever reason, unable to pick up the phone line and so much as dial.

I opened up the security system control box. Wires twisted in all directions. I began moving phone pairs around, testing and patching to see where and how I could get a dial tone. I tested numerous scenarios in which the alarm system was explicitly connected to a working dial tone, yet still, the system failed to dial out during testing.

I went back to the Web. And this time, the shadows of confusion began to fade away. First, I was able to identify the name of the tiny patchboard inside the control box. Key fact: this thing was an RJ-31X. And it seemed to be at the center of my troubles.

Then, the eventual discovery of an obscure Web page, “How to Distribute VoIP Throughout a Home,” set me on the home track. As it turned out, the configuration of an RJ-31X was more sophisticated than I had initially understood. Because the alarm system needs the ability to perform a “line seize” when dialing out, the RJ-31X is doing more than just connecting the system to the internal phone loop. It’s connecting to that loop, and it’s connecting to the telco landline. It’s serving as a bridge between the two that can stop the flow of traffic at any given moment.

My newfound obscure Web page brought forth additional revelatory knowledge. In order to get VoIP to work with an RJ-31X jack, one must put the VoIP “telco” on its own line pair and let it hook into the RJ-31X from the other side of the gateway.

This was clearly, obviously, completely, very nearly almost making really good sense. I pulled the nearest phone jack out of the wall and I re-patched one of the two jacks to a brown pair. I plugged the VoIP router into that phone jack. Our home phones no longer worked. Good, exactly what I wanted. The plot had thickened.

I went to the outdoor telco demarcation point — the phone box attached to the side of our house. Wires, and more wires, were exploding in every direction from numerous CAT-5 cables. I sat there patching lines and testing. Identifying dial tone. Connecting one pair to another. Blue to brown. No, green to brown. No brown to black. No. Wait. And then repeating the same cycle inside at the security system control box. Green to yellow. No, green to green. No, brown to blue. Right.

Needless to say, this took awhile. But little by little, the code was being cracked. Piece by piece, the pieces were falling into place. And in the end, VoIP was routed to brown pair which was patched over to blue pair which made its way to the telco side of RJ-31X; internal wiring was routed to blue pair which was patched over to green pair which made its way to the internal side of RJ-31X.

The moment of truth had arrived. The home phones were working. Would ADT? Had civilization actually advanced?

Yes, it had.

I spoke with ADT. I chatted with Vonage. And, of course, I dug around on the Web for any semblance of helpful documentation. All pointed to my one final and certain doom: Security systems and VoIP don’t mix. You lose. Give up and get a “real” landline, they all told me.

I threw in my towel and signed up for SBC service again. We had tried. It had been a valiant effort to step into the brave new world of digital telephony. But it just hadn’t worked out for us.

A few weeks later, after SBC had flipped the switch and welcomed us back, I contacted Vonage to cancel our VoIP account. Oddly enough, I was assisted through the cancellation process by a savvy tech support agent. He began to ask questions about why we were leaving and threw around sophisticated terminology. And there I was — canceling service, and yet with hope rekindled. Could VoIP and ADT indeed live in harmony? But my number was back with SBC. Goodbye, Vonage. Perhaps some other day.

Switching back to SBC brought its own troubles. Lo and behold, the security system didn’t get well again. It continued to chirp and tests of the system failed. I called ADT to request service and they committed to send someone out, free of charge, to correct the issue. The local dispatch office, however, had its own understanding of how things would go. They were convinced that they would charge for the trip and any required parts and time. I found myself very much ready to break contract with ADT, but then I happened to mention the magic acronym: VoIP. “Oh, this problem came about after you used VoIP? I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding! Our visit will be free of charge.” Wow. Case closed. The ADT technician fixed the wiring.

And yet, once again, the relentless burden of the SBC bills started weighing on me. Once again I was handing over vast sums of money each month for services that I knew could be bought up on the cheap with VoIP. I couldn’t tolerate it. I knew that Alexander Graham Bell would have wanted me to innovate and beat the system and find a way to make VoIP and ADT talk to each other. After all, this is the twenty-first century.

Continued in Part Three

But then the original, nagging question returned. Why pay Time Warner Cable the rates they were asking, plus extra for voice mail service, when I could switch to Vonage and get unlimited long distance, plus all the accompanying extras, for a mere $24.95 per month?

So I placed my order for Vonage service, got the hardware in the mail, hooked things up, and left Time Warner Cable in the dust.

All was well. VoIP was good. Service was cheap. And then it happened….

Continued in Part Two

You don’t need to own a font to read a book set in Goudy. You don’t need to own Futura to watch a Wes Anderson film. You don’t need to own Times to read the Times. You don’t need to own any fonts to watch television. Why not? Because that would be insane. And yet this same logic doesn’t apply on the internet. Online, a person needs to own a fully licensed version of a font in order to view it in a web browser.

He goes on to outline five steps to font freedom. Not without controversy, perhaps his best thought is to see the classic type forms of history remastered by an open source digital typography project.

Alas, that still leaves us with the challenge of how to get those classic faces distributed to the world in an effective fashion. And then (dare I ask it) — would we like the appearance of the Web if the font floodgates were opened up? Is it perhaps the restraining effect of the limited number of universally-distributed typefaces that ensures some relative degree of readability and usability on the Web?

Sony has announced plans to release the Sony Reader in the United States this spring. Cousin to the more elegant LIBRIé which has been available in Japan since April 2004, the Sony Reader utilizes E Ink Corporation’s groundbreaking electronic ink technology — a system that allows tiny, electrically-charged microcapsules to render text and images on a page. Requiring incredibly little electricity to operate — because it emits no light and uses energy only when the page is refreshed — this new, lightweight, flexible display material will almost certainly bring about dramatic change to numerous industries.

Far more than a mere “new gadget,” what interests me in this matter are the potential long-term effects which will stem from a practical display system which can be refreshed, is electronic, and offers the option of achieving far higher resolutions than the average computer display.

Take, for example, books. Not long ago, e-books were all the rage. They were just one of the many hot-ticket items being sold at the dot-com bubble-bazaar. But they didn’t take, as they were plagued with an onslaught of practical limitations. Usefulness was lacking, with compact devices such as the Palm falling far short of a worthwhile reading experience. And laptops offended in the way that all personal computers have continued to offend: they operate within the lower regions of acceptable display resolution while shooting light at the reader’s quickly-tiring eyes. Bottom line: this isn’t the way we were meant to read.

But today, much is about to change. Imagine an electronic reading experience which is well-nigh indistinguishable from what we know and expect from a newspaper or printed book. The text is crisp and legible at 170 ppi or better. The page size is as familiar as it is functional. And this digital display emits no light — it reflects light, just like the familiar and beloved combination of ink and paper.

Now we have a revolution on our hands. Now we open the floodgates of the digital era upon print media. Now we have the opportunity to explore the long-tail effects of a virtually unlimited production and distribution model, as it applies to the realm of the written word.

And it doesn’t stop there. Already, myriad creative uses are arriving. Ambient Devices is incorporating electronic ink into a new weather device with electronic ink display. Lexar is preparing to release the JumpDrive Mercury, using electronic ink as a sort of on-the-surface storage meter. For the first time ever, flexible and curved digital clocks and wristwatches are being released by Citizen and Seiko. And, to be sure, countless other applications are under development.

Perhaps it won’t be much longer before the breakfast cereal aisle at the local grocery is alive and dancing with dynamic, electronically-driven imagery. Cocoa Puffs as an entertainment device. Now there’s a novel thought.

What I enjoy most about 37signals’ product line is their commitment to maintaining a simple aesthetic. Their products work. They feel right. They’re easy to learn. They’re minimalist at heart. Joy in using a 37signals application, consequently, is inevitable. True, it’ll never compare to a Moleskine — but perhaps it’s today’s closest Web equivalent.

If you haven’t seen what they offer, you should take a moment to check them out. Their flagship application, Basecamp, is nothing short of extraordinary. As thoughtful as it is groundbreaking as it is simple and focused, it’s a whole new Web-friendly way of looking at collaborating to get a job done. And for personal usefulness, there’s the handy Backpack — the simple and approachable personal organization gadget.

The scientists knew that they had created something that would change history, but they weren’t sure how to convey their breakthrough to the public. So they painted numbers on some light bulbs and screwed the resulting “translucent spheres” into ENIAC’s panels. Dynamic, flashy lights would thereafter be associated with the computer in the public mind.

In addition to the ENIAC article and photo gallery, CNET has a series running on first computers with brief recollections from various individuals.

The computer that I regard as “my first” was the company computer at Mt. Shasta Printing Co., which was being managed by my dad. It was an IBM clone with an Intel 8088 chip. It ran MS-DOS and accepted 5¼" floppy disks — both of which required their own sort of art to render functional.

What was your first computer?