Sounds gross, right?
But here's the story. I get on the "big data" bandwagon.
I develop these nice scalable algorithms for learning from the big data. I test them on data that does not fit in the memory of my personal laptop (otherwise the reviewers for my journal papers do not agree that I am doing GOOD research). I use a cluster for all of this work - which I have spent hours configuring and playing around with.
But then I decide to relocate. With all my tangible possessions. How do I move this large cluster?
Needless to say, I am emotionally attached to it, by now. It was not easy getting it up and running in the first place. Then I did all the dirty data cleaning work on it. That was another 100+ hours of my existence. And now I am facing this scenario -- I do not have the physical space to store the machines; the administrator who spent many sleepless nights with me has decided to take a break.
The research organizations and foundations that helped set up the cluster have not given thought to the problem. They are only concerned with getting useful things out of it still. Once you build an empire, you usually do not want to relocate.
The environmentalists roll their eyes at me. Large scale computing infrastructure in the electronic waste recycling? You serious? Well go find a place to host them.
Yes, true.
Meanwhile, does any one care about what would happen to these large scale repos once no one rides the bandwagon anymore?
I feel like the Lorax in Dr. Seuss's book(http://www.seussville.com/books/book_detail.php?isbn=9780385372022).
The Onceler and the Truffula trees had their way. The Onceler is unrepentant. He defiantly tells the Lorax that he will keep on "biggering" his business, but at that moment one of his machines fells the very last of the Truffula trees. Without raw materials, the factory shuts down. The Lorax says nothing. Just one sad backward glance and disappears behind the smoggy clouds. Where he last stood is a small monument engraved with a single word: "UNLESS". The Onceler ponders the message for years, in solitude.
But here's the story. I get on the "big data" bandwagon.
I develop these nice scalable algorithms for learning from the big data. I test them on data that does not fit in the memory of my personal laptop (otherwise the reviewers for my journal papers do not agree that I am doing GOOD research). I use a cluster for all of this work - which I have spent hours configuring and playing around with.
But then I decide to relocate. With all my tangible possessions. How do I move this large cluster?
Needless to say, I am emotionally attached to it, by now. It was not easy getting it up and running in the first place. Then I did all the dirty data cleaning work on it. That was another 100+ hours of my existence. And now I am facing this scenario -- I do not have the physical space to store the machines; the administrator who spent many sleepless nights with me has decided to take a break.
The research organizations and foundations that helped set up the cluster have not given thought to the problem. They are only concerned with getting useful things out of it still. Once you build an empire, you usually do not want to relocate.
The environmentalists roll their eyes at me. Large scale computing infrastructure in the electronic waste recycling? You serious? Well go find a place to host them.
Yes, true.
Meanwhile, does any one care about what would happen to these large scale repos once no one rides the bandwagon anymore?
I feel like the Lorax in Dr. Seuss's book(http://www.seussville.com/books/book_detail.php?isbn=9780385372022).
The Onceler and the Truffula trees had their way. The Onceler is unrepentant. He defiantly tells the Lorax that he will keep on "biggering" his business, but at that moment one of his machines fells the very last of the Truffula trees. Without raw materials, the factory shuts down. The Lorax says nothing. Just one sad backward glance and disappears behind the smoggy clouds. Where he last stood is a small monument engraved with a single word: "UNLESS". The Onceler ponders the message for years, in solitude.
