Do iPhone users stay bin the 'Trough of Disillusionment' until they upgrade to a Windows phone and begin their way up the 'Slope of Enlightenment'?
(Yes, that a Budda-ish head icon)
Analyst outfit Gartner has decided that Big Data hype is so last year and canned its hype cycle for Big Data. In new research titled “The Demise of Big Data, Its Lessons and the State of Things to Come” the firm says “we did it to move the big data discussion past hype and into practice” and also because “Hype Cycles consider …
it is quite amusing that Gartner are going to hype "in memory computing"; ok so memory footprints have got a lot bigger over the years which allows for holding more data in memory, but computations have always taken place in machine registers that access memory rather than slow disks.
Ultimately, if you want to preserve data it has to be stored on non volatile storage and that continues to be the throttle. Sure, solid state helps... But it's a kind of injustice (but inevitable given computing's cycle of fads) to suggest that it's a new trend.
The figure seemed to coalesce out of nothing, out of the air. Anyone or anythingwatching would have needed more than natural senses to have noticed the slow fall of dust spread out over an hour of time and a radial kilometer of the grasslands; that anything out of the ordinary was happening would only have become obvious a little later when an odd sort of wind seemed to stir itself out of the gentle breeze, disturbing the grass on the broad plain and producing what appeared to be a slowly revolving dust devil, whirling quietly in the air and gradually shrinking and tightening and darkening and speeding up until, suddenly, it disappeared, and where it had been there stood what looked like a tall and graceful Chelgrian
female, dressed in the country day clothes of the Given caste.
The first thing she did when she felt she was complete was to crouch down and dig into the earth beneath the grass with her fingers. Her claws slid out, spearing the ground. She ripped out a handful of the soil and grass. She held the handful of earth and vegetation up to her broad, dark nose, and sniffed slowly.
She looped the cloak's tail-loop over her long tawny tail, then turned her face to the wind. She wished that she had chosen a name. If she had she would have spoken it now; voiced it to the clear air like some declaration of intent. But she did not have a name, because she was not what she appeared to be; not a Chelgrian female; not a Chelgrian, not even a biological creature at all. I am a Culture terror weapon, she thought; designed to horrify, warn and instruct at the highest level. A name would have been a lie.
She checked her orders, just to be sure. It was true. She had complete discretion in the manner. A lack of instruction could be interpreted as a quite specific instruction. She could do anything; she was off the leash.
She leant back on her rear legs and brought her arms up to slip them into the glove pouches at the top of her waistcoat, then - with an initial bound very like a pounce - she set off, settling quickly into an easy-looking lope that carried her away across the grass in a series of long, smoothly sinuous bounds that stretched and compressed her powerful back and brought her heavily muscled rear legs and broad midlimb almost together then pushed them flying apart with every surging leap.
She felt the joy of the run and understood the ancient rightness of the wind in her face and fur. To run, to chase, to hunt, to bring down and kill.
The cloak rippled across her back in the slipstream. Her tail flicked from side to side.
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