Thinvisibility: n.

1. Being neither completely visible nor completely invisible.
2. Being a tiny, shiny needle in a haystack of information overload.
3. Being invisible to everyone except data aggregators and digital preservationists such as Google, the Wayback Machine, the NSA, and others.
4. Being invisible to employers, colleges, police, neighbors, friends, exes, stalkers, acquaintances, and others, who are not interested in you, until they are.
5. Being visible.

Too bad that some of the amateurs on the Web don’t have similar class.  Shortly after the bad call, somebody vandalized Joyce’s Wikipedia page to declare he was dead.  That’s just sick.  Yesterday, I saw that Joyce’s name was a trending Twitter topic, but the results were polluted with Twitter spam.

Such online foolishness illustrates what Andrew Keen derided as the “Cult of the Amateur” in his book by the same name.  Keen says:

We — those of us who want to know more about the world, those of us who are the consumers of mainstream culture — are being seduced by the empty promise of the “democratized” media.  For the real consequence of the Web 2.0 revolution is less culture, less reliable news, and a chaos of useless information.  One chilling reality in this brave new digital epoch is the blurring, obfuscation, and even disappearance of truth.

In some ways, the foolishness of Wiki vandals and Twitter spammers provides support for Keen’s observations.  But Keen’s critiques of amateurs are also somewhat overblown.  Keen’s preference for traditional “experts” over Web 2.0 “amateurs” ignores that the distinctions between the two are not always clear.  Indeed, in federal court, the qualification of a witness as an “expert” permitted to provide opinion testimony on “scientific, technical, or other specialized knowledge” is often sharply argued.  Plus, traditional experts are also subject to error, as amply illustrated by Joyce’s bad call.

But Joyce has class, something that doesn’t require, or always come with, expertise.  You either have it or you don’t.

Also, even without a perfect game, Galarraga’s game combined with Joyce’s bad call are the stuff of legend.  As Paul Clemens noted in the New York Times, the replays of the bad call may become “baseball’s Zapruder film.”  Such immediate-legend status is even better illustrated by this exchange between Kevin Costner (Roy) and Rene Russo (Molly) in the classic sports film Tin Cup.  Immediately prior, golfer Roy loses the U.S. Open by massively blowing par by stubbornly refusing to take a lay-up shot on the 18th hole for an easy win.  Instead, he tries (repeatedly) to hit the ball over a long water hazard.  Roy loses the tournament, but wins the hearts of the fans, and of Molly:

Molly: That was incredible! That was the shot of the tournament!

Roy: I just gave away the U.S. Open.

Molly: It doesn’t matter.

Roy: One time in my life I know the safe play to hit and I still…Shit, I still can’t make myself do it.

Molly: It doesn’t matter.

Roy: My whole career, my whole life on the line…I just made a 12 on the last hole of the Open!

Molly: You sure did. It was the greatest 12 of all time. No one’s going to remember the Open 10 years from now, who won…but they’ll remember your 12! My, God, Roy, it was…Well, it’s immortal! I am so proud of you!

Sometimes it’s the ones that get away that are the most memorable.

And here’s another one made using Article III, sections 1 and 2 regarding the courts.

Wordles licensed CC 3.0 Attribution U.S.

Shortly afterward, he received an e-mail message from Comcast, thanking him for the feedback and adding that it was working on a new interactive guide that might “illuminate the issues that you are currently experiencing.”

[He] found it all a bit creepy.  “The rest of his e-mail may as well have read, ‘Big Brother is watching you,’ ” he said.

A woman’s Twitter complaint about Comcast led to a quick but unexpected response:

“It’s one thing to spit vitriol about a company when they can’t hear you,” she said in an interview.  It’s another, she said, when the company replies.  “I immediately backed down and softened my tone when I knew I was talking to a real person.”

I can see why some people might be creeped out by Comcast’s outreach efforts, but they shouldn’t be.   People keep assuming that the relative anonymity of the web will keep their postings effectively invisible.  That’s naive.  There’s nothing anonymous about the Internet when postings are quickly found by those who want to see what you’re doing (such as prosecutors, as Kaimipono Wenger blogged about recently), or by companies who want to know what you’re saying about them.  The sooner people realize that “relative” web anonymity is not really anonymity at all, the more savvy they’ll hopefully become about their online postings.

Plus, done tactfully and personally, direct outreach by companies might be a good thing.  Direct emails?  Sure.  Public comments on blogs or Facebook walls?  Not so good.  It might embarrass already-angry customers and put them on the defensive.  Worse, it might trigger flame wars involving others.  But a direct email is far less confrontational, and far more likely to lead to satisfied, albeit occasionally creeped-out customers.

Here’s the episode Court Martial, first airing Feb. 2, 1967. Kirk’s being court-martialed for the death of a member of his crew.  The most damning evidence is a computer video log that seems to conclusively prove Kirk’s guilt.  The prosecutor says she will present the case as “Kirk vs. The Computer.”

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Enter Kirk’s lawyer, Samuel T. Cogley, who distrusts computers and surrounds himself with his beloved law books.  Around 13 minutes into the episode, you can see Cogley surrounded by what looks like copies of United States Reports and case reporters from West.  (Hmmm.  I wonder what volume Federal Reporter will be up to by the year 2267.  At a new volume every 14 years or so, West should be up to at least F.22d.)

Ultimately, digital skepticism wins the day.  Mr. Spock, believing Kirk to be innocent, tests the ship’s computer.  After winning a seemingly impossible five chess games in a row against the machine, Spock realizes the computer has been altered.  Cogley then moves to present evidence regarding the ship’s computer.  The prosecution objects.  In response, Cogley argues passionately about the importance of not believing digital records blindly:

Cogley: The most devastating witness against my client is not a Human being. It’s a machine, an information system. The computer log of the Enterprise. I ask this court adjourn and reconvene aboard that vessel.

Prosecutor: I protest, Your honor!

Cogley: And I repeat, I speak of rights! A machine has none. A man must. My client has the right to face his accuser, and if you do not grant him that right, you have brought us down to the level of the machine! Indeed, you have elevated that machine above us! I ask that my motion be granted. And more than that, gentlemen. In the name of Humanity, fading in the shadow of the machine, I demand it.  I DEMAND IT!

Cogley and Kirk prevail.  It turns out that the “dead” man was still alive and was trying to get revenge on Kirk for an earlier incident that destroyed his career.  Even in the 23rd century, computers aren’t always right.

According to The Today Show:

The “fire in the hole” prank is popular on YouTube, and even today it’s not hard to find plenty of examples there. But [victim Jessica] Ceponis didn’t know that then; she thought it was a personal attack on her. Then a co-worker told her that it was a video prank that was posted online, first on a prank site and then on YouTube.

Ceponis went from feeling victimized to being very angry. She viewed the video and tracked one of the boys to his MySpace site, where she befriended him. She eventually found out where he lived and called his mother, who gave her the name of the other boy.

Thanks to Ceponis’ detective work, both boys were charged with assault as juveniles and were ordered to perform 100 hours of community service, pay the Taco Bell restaurant where Ceponis worked for the costs of cleaning up the mess, and post an apology video on YouTube.

There’s no doubt that the instant notoriety of YouTube and other Web 2.0 sites can encourage those wanting their 15 minutes of fame.  But it also shows that victims might use those same sites to track down wrongdoers.

What about the shaming aspect of this case, i.e., the mandatory YouTube apology, found here?  I understand why the teens — as juveniles — weren’t ordered to show their names or faces.  But it’s hard to see how anonymous YouTube apologies serve much in the way of either specific or general deterrence.