Snarky Sarah's Simple Blog

in which Sarah attempts to be less snarky and more complex

Too big to tweet, too boring for Facebook

Leave a Comment Posted by on November 29, 2011

Thought #55

Using Facebook as a PSA system is a great idea. It’s cool to see people spreading the word about Amber Alerts and other time-sensitive messages over social media channels. The problem is when the post that the child was found is hidden way below the post that says the child is missing. These actions (the finding and the losing) happen in a chronological order. Therefore the finding should appear at the top of the chronological list. Except Facebook is curating content so that items that meet a set of rules only understandable to Facebook appear at the top of the list. In this case, the losing of the boy generated tons of comments. It was deemed more important and bumped to the top of the list. The finding of the child was met with sighs of relief and fell below the fold.

Thought #54

I like a good curated experience better than the next person. I think that’s why Spotify is not for me. I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl. I have a favorite DJ (John in the Morning on KEXP) and he turns me on to new music. I will take his recommendations and browse the iTunes store and Amazon MP3s (I only buy from Amazon now though—fewer DRM restrictions) and listen to the related artists. I buy what I like, and add the new songs to existing playlists or create new ones. Could I apply that same process to Spotify? Probably. But it feels harder somehow. Like I have less control over the experience and the music. There’s no help there, no recommendations. There’s no process of discovering new things I will like. Maybe there is; at this point, that’s my perception. I do like Turntable though. It’s nice to turn it on to a fun channel and listen to what other like-minded people like. The only thing missing is a Buy button.

Thought #53

Another thing that got me wondering at UI16: the number of people in the room my age or older. I was surprised by the general middle age of the people present. I expected the attendees to trend toward a younger crowd. Was this due to the experience level of the folks in the room? Our familiarity with the sponsor organization? Access to budgets to be at the conferences? Maybe they are learning it all in school while we are learning it on the job. Or was it something else…was it because younger designers know (or think they know) how to design for mobile and handheld devices because they were born with cell phones in their pockets? It’s native to them in a way it cannot be for the rest of us.

Thought #52

At UI16 in Boston last week, I witnessed the second reference to Google+ as a professional network in about three weeks. Statistically speaking, these data are not impressive. But anecdotally, they are interesting. The idea of using Google+ as a collaboration space—a space away from your friends (on Facebook) and away from your resume (on LinkedIn)—within a private networking is fascinating. It’s fun to think geeks and academics have a new place to hang out together and talk about research and writing. I wonder, and kind of hope, it will catch on for this specific purpose. It doesn’t seem like it’s catching on for any other purpose.

Thought #51

Why did they change the shape of the butter? Did the butter just wake up one morning and say, “I need a new look.”? Or did it suddenly realize its past has all been a façade and declare, “Hey, it’s time to face facts people. I’m fat. That’s right…fat…and short. It’s time that I revealed my true fat self. No more tall skinny sticks for me.”

Thought #50

Instead of doing the work that’s causing me stress, I’m stress eating like there’s no tomorrow. Except there is a tomorrow. You know how I know? Client meetings. Lots and lots of client meetings.

Thought #49

I spent 100 bucks at Whole Foods the other day and I feel like I came home with a bag full of bread and cheese. Now my brain is telling me it’s the best damn bread and cheese I’ve ever eaten. Is it really? Or is my noggin trying to avoid the cognitive dissonance associated with spending 100 bucks on bread and cheese? This is my brain. This is my brain on cheese.

Thought #48

NPR referred to this kid as a mastermind. He’s 19. Call me ageist, but that seems a little young to be a mastermind.

Thought #47

Don’t worry, you didn’t miss random thoughts 1-46. I just thought I would start in the middle. And 47 seemed like a good number.

Ok here it is. Once and for all people, lions do not live in the jungle. Tigers live in the jungle. Tigers don’t have spots; they have stripes. Lions are born with spots, but they lose them when they become teenagers. Thank you. That is all.

Random thoughts

Inappropriate Liking

Leave a Comment Posted by on November 22, 2011

On a recent Tuesday morning at UI16 Kevin Hoffman, from Happy Cog, gave a talk on strategies for successful discovery meetings (not as boring as it sounds). As an example, he referenced the work his team recently did for the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. He described the many meetings they facilitated, which ones worked and why. And then without a pause, a beat, or a breath, he asked the crowded room, Does anyone remember that warehouse scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark?

Yes, I thought, but what a strange question. My brain instantly conjured the sight of that vast and gloomy warehouse where the government men leave the Ark of the Covenant to collect dust among thousands upon thousands of unmarked crates and boxes. That’s a real warehouse, Kevin said. It’s in Linthicum, Maryland. It’s where the USHMM stores the artifacts and evidence documenting the Holocaust.

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room. For a second that lasted an eternity, no one moved. No one spoke. No one breathed. And then, Kevin continued speaking. I have no idea what he said next. I missed the next five minutes of his talk while my brain processed this highly affecting and unexpected fact. My thoughts sounded something like this. That can’t be true. Please say that’s not true. I don’t want it to be true. He wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. Oh my god. I wish I didn’t know that. Why don’t more people know that? Everyone should know that. Those crazy Holocaust deniers should know that. That fact—the image in my head right now—would shut them up for good.

As the goose bumps subsided, the thoughts that followed were a jumble. I thought about all the crazy things we learn as Web designers. I was relieved I wasn’t on the project. (Ten minutes earlier I wished I was.) I imagined myself at the discovery meeting or field trip to the warehouse. I imagined myself sobbing uncontrollably. I also thought about how difficult it must be for Kevin to have this knowledge. And I wondered what I would do with it. I would tell everyone I knew. I would work it into every conversation, just as he did, just as I am doing know.

Two days later, I posted it to Facebook. I wanted this fact to go out into the world, all 175 of my closest friends and relatives. (Yes, my Facebook friend list is intentionally short.) Here’s the thing though. I didn’t expect the post to generate any sort of conversation. I did not expect a single comment or Like. It’s not the kind of fact that people should Like. And what could my friends say? I didn’t ask a question or leave room for conversation. I just put it out there.

This is what makes the Like button so great—and so inappropriate in this case. It has turned that old adage on its head. We used to say, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.” Now, if you have warm feelings toward a thought or conversation but don’t have anything to say, you can Like it and move on. Conversely, if one of my friends says something of interest, I let it sink into my brain. But I don’t Like it if the content is not likable, i.e, happy, positive, friendly. I also don’t comment on it if the post speaks for itself or if someone else has expressed what I wanted to say. The Like button is to register your approval of the content, not the person posting the content.

Here’s the distinction I am making. Wait, Steve Pordigal said it better than I can. When speaking about culture and cultural norms, he said, there’s a difference between knowing about something and liking it.  By way of example, he projected two photos on the big screen. One was of Julian Assange of WikiLeaks fame, and the other was of pop music sensation Justin Bieber. I recognized the photo of Justin Bieber, but I like Julian Assange. Knowing and liking: not the same thing.

So back to my Holocaust fact: I didn’t expect comments or Likes. It was the kind of post that gives you the shivers. It registers deep in the emotional parts of your brain. And then you move on, because there is nothing likable about it.

Later that evening I received one comment and one Like. The comment was spot on. A friend said, “Wow. Just got the chills reading that!” I replied, “I believe chilling is the right word.” We shared an emotional response. There was nothing else to say. A couple of hours later, one of my crazy aunts Liked the post. And I immediately kicked off a rant in Mr Snarky’s direction that sounded something like this, “How could she…? Doesn’t she…? What the f…?”

The edited version sounds something like this. I have serial Likers in my life. They generally consist of middle age women who love me, who I don’t see very often. They are very well-intentioned, unsophisticated consumers of the Web.

I want them to stop. I want them to cease and desist all this inappropriate liking. Before you think I’m mean, hear me out.

First, Liking a post about the Holocaust—any post, in any context—is totally and completely inappropriate, unless that post says, “Let’s make sure that never happens again.”

Second, the button says, “Like.” Liking expresses a sense of enjoyment. It is not an acknowledgment that you’ve read and understand what I am saying. You are not accepting terms and conditions. You are acknowledging the post as likeable, i.e., favorable, positive, good. It’s not a sarcastic Like; it is not an Ironic Awesome button. It’s for genuine liking. Before clicking Like, I expect you to read the post, let the words register deep in your brain, and let your reaction bubble to the surface. I took the time to write it and put it out there for my Facebook world to read. Please take the time to be thoughtful in your reply. Don’t just hit Like because I posted something on a day that ends in y.

Finally, I know they love me. I wouldn’t be friends with them on Facebook (or at all) if I didn’t know they loved me and reciprocated those feelings. That’s what the Facebook friendship represents: public acknowledgment that they are part of my life, and I like that fact. The Like button is not there to advertise that. It’s for liking a particular post. It says, “I like this specific thing that you said.” It does not say, “I generally approve of everything you say and do.”

In the immortal words of Anonymous (no, not Shakespeare), “hate the game, not the player.” Or in this case, Like the content—if and only if it is likeable—not its contributor.

Sometimes the words matter, UI16 2011 Boston, MA, User experience design ,

Be your own curator. Nobody else is gonna do it for you.

Leave a Comment Posted by on November 17, 2011

In a recent interview with author Jennifer Egan, Tom Ashbrook, host of On Point on NPR, asked the question, Are we living curated lives? With so much of our lives happening in real time, on social media channels that may or may not include privacy walls, are we being our honest selves or are we self-censoring? It’s an interesting question. But a better question is, How can we afford not to?

Between July 2010 and October 2011, we went from “most companies use social media for recruiting” to “91% of Hiring Managers Use Social Networking to Screen.” After calculating for margin of error, ninety-one percent is just about everyone. And this trend is not unique to hiring. The use of social media as a research tool among college admissions boards has doubled in the last year, according to a recent survey. Twenty-four percent of respondents revealed that they use Facebook or other social networking sites to learn about applicants. According to the survey sponsor, Kaplan Test prep, 20% of respondents Google applicants as part of the admissions decision process. The most shocking thing about these numbers (to a hyper-connected individual like me) is how low they are. (It reminds me of Luke W’s statistic that 39% of survey respondents admit to mobile phone usage in the bathroom. Which makes the other 61% liars.) It seems to me that savvy admissions counselors, those most likely to use social networking sites as research tools, are also the ones least likely to admit they are doing it. They don’t want to give away their secrets to prospective applicants. (Which makes this like the worst kept secret in town. We know they are doing it. They know we know. Why the charade?)

And of course dating can kick the butt of all these statistics. With most dating meet-ups happening in virtual territory way before any in-person interaction, can you afford not to Google a potential mate in this day and age? Just today I had lunch with a girlfriend who admitted she checked LinkedIn before emailing a friend of a friend. She was proud of herself; she was being smart.

In the absence of honest information from a friend with good intentions who will probably skew the facts in favor of her recommendations, we rely on self-reported lies from a prospective date. Whoa, that was snarky. My point is matchmakers have their own agendas; we want to see our friends happily matched. And so we tend to stretch the truth a bit to fit our ends. Meanwhile, people in Dating Land need to put their best face forward at all times. That face may be a bit of a mask to make it beyond the screening process. When dating feels more and more like an interview, we resort to the same tactics we use to land a new job. We all do it. I’m just as guilty as the next person. I choose the words on my resume carefully to make myself look good. That’s the point of a resume; to make my professional life look good, especially now that it’s so easy to find on the Web. And that’s why I agreed; LinkedIn was the perfect place for my friend to look for information about her potential date.

My friend would be remiss if she did not check out this potential date wherever she found information he has posted about himself. If he’s the kind of person who posts the unedited, unvarnished version of his life on the Web, that says a lot about him. That fact alone means something. It can mean different things to different people. It could be a turn off for some and a turn on for others. Whatever it may mean to my friend, surely having that information is better than not having it, right?

So do I think we are—or that we should be—choosing our words carefully when we post them out here? Heck yeah, I do. Am I constantly self-monitoring and filtering? Heck no, I don’t have time for that! Some days I just want to rant, vent, snark, swear, criticize, and complain. Some days I want to sing, praise, applaud, admire, and adore. That fact says something about me. It means different things to different people. I want it to mean different things to different people. Because I mean different things to different people. And because I want to cultivate relationships with people who are attracted to me, personally and professionally. That first impression happens online now. And I want it to be a good one. Therefore I am the curator of my own words and thoughts and deeds. And I am proud of that fact.

Sometimes the words matter, User experience design , ,

Would you like some privacy with that? Meh.

Leave a Comment Posted by on November 13, 2011

During Luke W’s talk at UI16 this week in Boston, he spoke a lot about location-aware services on mobile devices. Changes in technology make building handheld devices faster, better, and cheaper. Luke explained that technology has advanced so far that it’s cheaper to include than leave out wifi antennae in these devices. As a result, we are starting to see products like Amazon’s $79 Kindle, which Luke referred to as a “disposable Web browser.” The proliferation of handheld devices means more GPS-enabled gadgets in our hands, in our pockets, in our purses, and in our backpacks at all times.

He asked the crowd to list our favorite new applications for mobile devices. He wanted to know what amazed us. My answer was simpler than most. I was amazed by others’ responses: Apple’s new app can Find My Friends; Groupon and airlines can scan the bar code on my iPhone as a proof of purchase or boarding pass; Yelp provides a street view of restaurants nearby; banks accept check deposits via pictures taken with a mobile phone; Instapaper allows you to scroll through a book simply by tilting the device; digital snow globes get all shook up using the accelerometer. The list went on for quite some time while many jaws, including mine, dropped in awe.

Luke spoke about an app (I’ve forgotten the name of it) that will text his wife with his location and his estimated time of arrival at home based on current traffic, weather, and road conditions. Most of us smiled and nodded in assent or encouragement. The married people in the room laughed knowingly as he explained he uses this application when he is late for a meeting or late for his wife. And then he went on to note that, for him, this is a great service, as long as he could turn it off [the location-based services / location-aware tracking] when he was doing something he considered private. He raised both hands, tracing quotation marks in the air to punctuate the word “private.” That’s when my jaw really dropped.

I was with him up to the point where he made bunny ears around the word private. A low twitter filled the pause that followed. Strangely that laughter sounded like approval, rather than nervousness or anxiety. I was floored by that. The question that hung in my head was, “When did privacy become a thing we put sarcastic air quotes around?” When did we get sarcastic about, rather than defensive of, our privacy? After all, the expression is “our right to privacy.” At what point did we start taking for granted that we have no privacy rather than taking for granted that our privacy is a right established by the U.S. Supreme Court so long ago that most of us believe it is part of the Constitution?

I don’t have answers to these questions. I suspect it has something to do with cultural shifts, the Freedom of Information Act which recently made public tens of thousands of documents relevant to politics when the Baby Boomers were most politically active (really active, like let’s-get-out-the-vote active, not voting-with-their-money active like they are now), the WikiLeaks scandal, and of course the Patriot Act which allows the government to track your library checkout list. This technology has become so ubiquitous, agencies in the federal government are arguing that they be allowed to track criminal suspects using GPS without a warrant.

Baby Boomers and following generations can use GPS-enabled devices to keep track of their kids at all times. And they are. According to another NPR story, they have been since 2006. And it seems like teenagers everywhere are habituated to and accepting of this behavior from their parents. Kids today (here I go again, dating myself) won’t know what life was like without maps at their fingertips and Foursquare check-ins. Privacy is not a concern for them because they don’t know what it was like before every part of their lives was for public consumption. Every word and action is now just another piece of content on the Internet.

This shift is likely also related to the convenience of these location-based services. In a world full of information (so much to read, so little time) that can leave us all feeling a bit fatigued, it’s nice to know where we are and where we are going and who will be there when we get there. For busy multi-taskers and anybody on the go, we no longer have to plan ahead before leaving the house. We don’t even need the address of that new place in Cambridge in that unfamiliar neighborhood where we hate to drive. Forget about printing directions before we leave the office. (There’s neither ink nor paper in the printer anyway.) Now we have Siri to tell us where the restaurant is and how to get there. She can even send a text message to our dinner date via voice dictation if we’re running late.

And now that I’ve summarized both sides of this argument, I’m going to walk away from it. It’s not like me to ask a question without positing some kind of conclusion in response. But I’m going to do that this time. Mostly because I don’t have a clear position, not yet anyway. And because this Read Write Web article summed it up for me. “Now it’s strange to think that your phone might not know where you are at this very moment.” It’s strange to learn that usage of location-based services among American adults is only at 25%. For now.

UI16 2011 Boston, MA, User experience design , ,

“To thine own self be true,” or be yourself for Halloween

Leave a Comment Posted by on November 2, 2011

Rather than getting dressed up and walking around the neighborhood, blending with children of all ages, reveling in their delights, and soaking up vicarious thrills and chills, I was stuck in class last night. Monday is a school night for me and ditching class for Halloween is a no-no. Mostly because I’m a big nerd, but also because…well, really just because I’m a big nerd.

Driving home from Harvard Square, I passed several Trick-or-Treaters wandering aimlessly in a sugary daze. Their costumes were great. Silly, obvious, creative, esoteric, nonsensical, and beautiful. It reminded me of a class from a few weeks back. We were discussing Shakespeare (as one is wont to do in a class on Shakespeare). Specifically, we were discussing the concept of character in Shakespeare.

Characters, in Shakespeare’s time, were letters on a page. They were symbols and hieroglyphs. The Bard used the word character as a simile for handwriting. There was no concept of character as we know it, as a person, persona, or personality. There were plays, and there were parts. And there were actors to act them. It’s like that great scene stealing moment in Shakespeare in Love (yes, I am going to make a goofy but apropos pop culture reference) when Ben Afflect (yes, really, Ben Affleck) struts into the theatre and demands, “What is the play, and what is my part?” Plays and parts. “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players.” (Shakespeare said that in As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7.)

Halloween is about parts and playing and costumes. That reminded me of a recent chat with a friend about her daughter playing dress up. We reminisced about our own childhood dress-up days. I remembered walking around in my mother’s high heels, pretending to strut in front of her tall mirror while throwing shawls over my shoulder and wrapping scarves around my neck.

And then we talked about my friend’s new volunteer position, the first formal work she’s done since having two kids. We talked about how strange it was for her to get dressed to go to the opening event in her official capacity. She wanted to make a good impression, one that screamed, “I’m not just a stay-at-home mom! I belong here!” She needed to look smart and artsy, professional but not boring, memorable for the right reasons. I could relate. Every morning I think, Who am I going to be today: artsy, professional, fun, silly, serious, an eclectic combination of those characteristics, or will jeans and a sweater do?

My friend and I talked as most of us talk about our jobs and our lives, our personalities and our roles in terms of the clothes we wear. We claim to put on different hats. They say, The clothes make the man. Dress for the job you want. We don costumes every day. Those costumes reflect our characters. For some people, this is a simple decision: same costume, different day. For others of us, the costume changes with a mood, our plans, with the weather. Some of us dress for whatever role is most important to us on a given day. With so many varying roles to choose from—sister, daughter, friend, neighbor, niece, wing-woman, wife, partner, consultant, designer, godmother, confidante, pal, athlete, scholar, professional—the changes in costume can be more dramatic. Each of these characters has its own wants and needs and ways of expressing itself, making these roles tough to balance in the best of times.

In tough times, when the push and pull of competing roles gets overwhelming, it’s helpful to have a sturdy shoulder to, hmmm, not cry on exactly, but rest on. I took advantage of a friend’s shoulder a few months back. (It was a four funerals and a wedding kind of summer.) The Shoulder I chose was very supportive. It allowed me to play my Needy Friend, Seeking Advice role. As the need passed, I shrugged off the empathy on offer. Summer turned to fall. The weather changed. My wardrobe changed, and so did my attitude. School started anew. When The Shoulder suggested (the very same evening of the lecture on character) that my stress was due to a “situation” that needed to be “resolved” so I could fix the “fragmented aspects” of my life, I realized suddenly that there was nothing to fret over. I thanked The Shoulder for his kindness and explained that I was okay. Better than okay, in fact. I was good. I wasn’t Humpty Dumpty. I didn’t need horses or men or glue to put me back together again. Because nothing was broken. Each role we play is a part of us. I can change my costume and still be me. I bet you can too.

I said to The Shoulder, perhaps it’s best to think of life this way. We are all men and women of parts. The parts are what make us whole.

Random thoughts, Sometimes the words matter

“No he can’t read my poker face”

Leave a Comment Posted by on October 5, 2011

I’ve always known that I have no poker face. This fact is a point of pride for me. Although on the rare occasion when I want to negotiate with a car salesman, I generally end up getting screwed, I appreciate the fact that people almost always know what I’m thinking. (I hope they appreciate it too.) Forget wearing my heart on my sleeve; my feelings are plainly written across my face.

I learned today that I also don’t have the equivalent of an online chat poker face. A witty salesman named Simon—analogies to Simon Says and the Pied Piper are suddenly running through my head—got me to give up some information today that I wanted to keep to myself. It turned out well in the end. But had it gone the other way, I could have learned a very hard lesson about my online privacy.

It all started out as an innocent chat. We were just talking (boy, if I had a nickel for every time I used that line as a teenager…). That’s how it always starts. Just talking. I was researching a merchant account provider for a client’s new ecommerce site. This is a thing I know almost nothing about: the back end of credit card processing for online retailers. And I wasn’t in the mood to talk to a salesperson. So I took advantage of the online chat feature. Simon eagerly popped into that happy little window docked in the corner of my browser. He answered all of my questions and then asked a few of his own. When I asked about higher education discounts, he asked what school I was referring to and what they were selling. I answered the latter question and declined to answer the former. The answer to the product question is digital downloads. Simon understood that I couldn’t divulge the name of my client. And he seemed genuinely interested in the digital downloads.

“Very green,” he typed.

I sent him back a smiley face. He took that as encouragement and buttered me up by asking, “Are you interested in our partner program?” He explained that if my client bought their service, I would get a commission.

I typed, “I think that would violate the terms of my contract with them. And they are a law school, so I probably shouldn’t mess with them. Thanks for asking. But no thanks.”

He laughed in reply and was understanding once again. “We work with lots of universities. You may be able to negotiate discounts with our enterprise team.”

“Great,” I typed. That was helpful information and it got them on my shortlist.

What I didn’t realize was that Simon had me right where he wanted me. And then he pounced. “Can I get your name and email for my boss? So we can send you an email with his contact information.”

I typed my email address and let him know I would have my client contact his boss directly. A split second later, the following words appeared in the popup window. As I read the words, the happy ding sounding the new message suddenly sounded like funeral bells: “if it’s [Acme University] my boss is going to @#$! himself.”

My mind raced. It stopped. It started. How did…What did I…What the f…. With a brief pause for me to giggle and think, Did he really just…? And then back to panicking, Hmmm…Email…Oh, my Web site…Dammit! It took Simon approximately 0.4 seconds to go from my email address to the name of a major university that I work with. Extract the domain name from the email address, put a www in front of it, stick it in a browser, and hit Enter. One click to the About page and there it is.

It took another 0.4 seconds for me to beat myself up and formulate a response. Rather than confirm or deny, I went with the un-denial. I replied, “no comment.”

That earned me another smiley face and a very eager inquiry regarding what other questions he could answer for me. We chatted a bit more and I pondered whether I had done the right thing for my client or if I had been naively duped by a clever 23 year old salesboy. (For the record, I have no idea what Simon looks like, but I’m imagining a young, floppy-haired, techie, hipster who rides a bike to work and listens to bands I’ve never heard of.)

As I write this now, I realize the part that really stings is that I reluctantly learned two lessons I would have preferred to avoid. 1) That my clients really do have legitimate reasons for asking me not to list their names on my Web site. And that they are in fact looking out for their best interests and not in fact trying to screw me out of taking credit for the really good work I do for them. Sigh. And 2) I now know what it feels like to be completely disarmed by some flattery, a little witty banter, and a clever boy with a better online chat poker face than I’ve got.

“You flash that smile and make your clients do what you want them to do, even when you’re wrong,” Best Tech Guy said to me once. “Turnabout is fair play,” Mr. Snarky says to me often. Is it really?

In this case, my openness worked to my client’s advantage. Simon used his powers for good, and his boss offered them a juicy discount. But it could have gone the other way. My inadvertent disclosure could have made the prospective vendor see dollar signs. I would have wasted my client’s time. I could have looked like an ass for recommending a vendor that attempted to overcharge my client with malice aforethought. And it would have been entirely my fault for trusting in all this internet stuff. But hey, I sort of have to, right? I’m adding this to the list of occupational hazards. If I don’t fully embrace the technologies and communities I help design, then I would be a hypocrite who’s not very good at her job.

Don't let it happen to you, Sometimes it's better without the words ,

There’s no place like Back

Leave a Comment Posted by on October 5, 2011

The other night, Mr. Snarky risked invoking my wrath by explaining to me, “You can train yourself…”

Before he got any farther, I demanded, “Did you just say, ‘that’s a training issue’?”

His immediate reply, “Of course not. I’m not stupid.”

All of this was in reference to the way I’ve been using my iPad, and the way I want to be using my iPad. Wait, let me back up a bit more. I admit it; I haven’t had my hands on a lot of tablets. But I can tell you that my iPad 2 has completely assimilated itself into my routine. I can no longer read my New Yorker or rich HTML promotional emails from DailyCandy, Groupon or browse LinkedIn groups without it. And don’t get me started on the Pulse app. I would need a whole ‘nother blog post to describe my love for Pulse. Beyond my iPad, I’ve seen a Kindle from a distance (which looked great). And I played very briefly with an HP TouchPad (which has a way cooler name). My immediate impression of the TouchPad was that the gestures and controls were better. Better in this case equals more intuitive and more in tune with my expectations. Specifically, it has something that feels like a Back button.

The iPad has nothing that feels like a Back button. This is a little confusing because my iPod has a back button. Of course, my iPod also has a dial on it. But my iPad does a whole lot more than my iPod. And it has just one button: one lonely button to control a mini super-computer. I completely understand that I (like most people) do just about all of my browsing—interacting, experiencing, iPading, stuff—inside an app. But I (like most people) have a pretty short attention span, lots of apps, and (most importantly) apps that interact with one another. For instance, I jump from my Mail to my Calendar pretty often. I sometimes go from Mail to Safari to YouTube. I’ve even been known to navigate from Pulse to Safari to YouTube to Twitter all in one go. Pulse to Safari is a path I travel frequently. Getting back is not so easy. There’s no breadcrumb trail, either real or virtual. I have to hit the Home button, remember where I started, and reopen that application. The speed of that journey does not get faster with repetition. Each time I do it, I pause for thought. The act of remembering where I came from slows me down every time.

I want to hit the Home button and go back to the previous application or see all the applications I’m running. I know. I know. If I hit it twice it will pop up that ribbon at the bottom. Why do I have to click twice to go back and once to go home? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Here’s the catch. I probably wouldn’t have a problem with any of this if I didn’t know the following (okay, I would because I am totally OCD about these things, but I might not be ranting about it if I didn’t know the following.) The Touchpad Home button will show me all the open applications with one click. That’s what I want; that makes sense to me.

It’s a very human impulse to want to go back. It’s also very natural to want to go home. Sometimes they are the same place and sometimes they are not. That’s why we have two different buttons for Home and Back in our browser windows. These are conventions so alive in our (real and) computing lives that it seems natural that they should be carried with us wherever we go. It’s baffling to me that we can’t have separate functions for Back and Home in the devices we carry. Apple understood this when they designed the iPod. So why didn’t I get both of these features intuitively integrated into my iPad?

I know this will annoy me to no end. It’s possible it will annoy me even more in a few weeks as I say the last rites for my Blackberry and switch to a new iPhone 4S. I would take my mobile phone and tablet purchasing power elsewhere, but I don’t have good options. Blackberry’s demise has been written by the Fates via the technology blogs. I could possibly consider one of the new Windows phones. But let’s face it; I probably won’t. No one is building apps for the Touchpad. And don’t even get me started on Android. I’m out of luck. It seems there’s nothing to be done except complain.

Don’t get me wrong; I love my iPad. But it’s an inanimate object. I’m not now, nor was I ever, blind to its faults. And it’s never going to reciprocate my feelings, which is a good thing in theory. That means I should never have to compromise with it. I’m the boss of my iPad. It should do what I want it to do, right? Apparently not. Apparently I need to train myself to do it The iPad Way. I suppose I can live with that. But the fact that I have to train myself means I will love it a little less and be more willing to replace it when something better—more intuitive and fully supported—comes along.

User experience design , , , , , , ,

A short post about recent Facebook changes

Leave a Comment Posted by on September 23, 2011

Updated 9/28/2011

Okay, it’s official. Instead of tuning out the Ticker, I am annoyed by it. And the top posts at the top above the recent posts in my feed? Please just show me everything in order!

The music recommendations are great and the streaming through Spotify et al is a wonder. But so I really need to stream what I am playing in order to get the recommendations?

On the plus side, I did figure out how to turn off the Subscribe feature (I think). Click on your name > click Subscriptions (under your profile photo) and turn off the thing that says Allow Subscriptions. Hope that does what you want it to do.

 

Updated 9/23/2011

Right, it’s the very hyped Ticker. Funny that I did a ton of reading about it and still couldn’t put that together. And I’m still not convinced it makes a ton of sense. Because the Notifications icon will let me know what my Close Friends are up to, it feels like information overload.

And I remembered (sort of) it was Top News and Most Recent. I sort of remembered when the version of Facebook my iPad is loading showed me a hybrid version of the old and new sites this morning. I’m not sure if the updates haven’t spread all the way across the interwebs to my iPad or if I’m seeing a different mobile version. If this is intentional, it’s irritating. Oh well, no way to know I guess.

Still looking forward to the Timeline and Music feature roll outs.

 

Original post 9/23/2011

I love them. And I’m tired of hearing all the griping. Facebook has made several changes this week and plans to continue rolling out new features in the next few weeks. Everybody has an opinion about the latest changes. Most of those opinions seem negative. But I’m not sure why.

Change is good. Some of the changes were forced by the recent launch of Google+ . Those may be the best. The new lists are easy to use and totally intuitive. The split between Top News and Recent…damn it’s been two days and I’ve already forgotten the name of it. See, that right there is an indication that the bifurcated feed never made sense. But I have to admit I have had some twinges—those FOMO pangs. You know, Fear of Missing Out? Because I got so used to clicking between the two to see all my news, I’ve caught myself feeling as though I’m missing something the last day or two. But I’m sure I will be over that in another day or two.

The right column showing all my friends can be hidden forever with a single click, which is terrific because I have no idea what that’s meant to do. However, the mini-feed that now appears over the events, suggested friends, and sponsored links makes no sense at all. It appears to be a cross between my feed and my notifications—and it follows me down the page. I can’t decide if it’s redundant to something else or really helpful. The fact that I can’t figure that out means the feature gets a thumbs down. However, (as oh so helpful Mr. Snarky pointed out) it pushes the ads to the bottom of the page and out of my line of site so that gets a thumbs up.

I’m excited for the roll out of the new social music feature. The only thing left to say is, “Glad the Facebook redesign helped distract you from everything actually wrong with your life.” http://some.ly/nG2jTh via @someecards

Information architecture, User experience design ,

This post is actually, ridiculously, not at all ironically awesome

1 Comment Posted by on September 21, 2011

Confession time: I’m particular about words, and I always have been. I’m an avid reader, and love to write. But I struggle sometimes when I communicate. This may (or may not) be super obvious to the people who know me well. Sometimes when I’m overtired or worn out, I stutter and lose words—that’s how it feels in my head. I attempt to speak, to use the perfect word, but my brain goes dark. There’s a gaping black hole the size and shape of the universe where the word should be. It’s incredibly frustrating, which makes me upset, which worsens the situation. I have taken to calling this condition stress dyslexia.

I bring this up because I was recently catching up on some reading on my iPad. The Dictionary.com app popped up the Word of the Day. It was a word that I knew, but I followed it anyway, just for fun. (Side note, the iPad app is not great, but it’s okay. The Word of the Day push feature works well, but doesn’t automatically update today’s word when you click through.) Beside the definition of the word that I followed (that I cannot recall now), there was an article about dyslexia. Due to my recent obsession with this condition, I gave it a read. It turns out it’s not a retention or memory problem but a problem with recall. Yup. I got that. Nothing wrong with my ability to learn words or my memory. I just can’t conjure the words I need at crucial moments.

Perhaps that’s why I try to be so particular and tend to criticize others’ word choices. (For the record, that’s a reflex, an impulse, and not something I do with malice aforethought or intent to criticize.) For me, writing is easier than speaking. I can take the time to make deliberate word choices and edit those choices. When I’ve had a good night’s sleep, I do ok in person. I am probably never as clear as I think I am except in those rare moments of controlled rage when I manage to say the things I want to say exactly how I mean to say them. Perhaps the adrenaline helps. That seems like a reasonable assumption based on the drugs used to improve kids’ attention spans. (But that’s another tangent or possibly two tangents, not necessarily on the same curve.) I am easily distracted, but that’s not the same as having an attention problem. I don’t think.

Back to bad word choices. My husband and I were recently driving through one of the wealthy Boston suburbs (one of the Ws) and drove past a pack of teenagers waving signs and shouting at passing cars. If you’re thinking car wash, you guessed it. There were easily 12-15 of them on the corner attempting to raise money for a 9-11 memorial. I know that because one of them was holding a sign that said “help impact the 9-11 memorial.” My reaction to this was slow…very, very slow. I mean I’m pretty quick most days, but this was…wow, really? Did they really say that?

Not only is “impact” the most overused word of this and the last few years, but I’m struggling to think of a word that could be less appropriate in the context of a 9-11 memorial. We want to support, build, raise (not raze) a 9-11 memorial. We do not want to have any sort of impact on it whatsoever. We may want to have a positive impact on fundraising efforts, but that is not the same thing, and that’s not what the sign said.

Words can be trendy. I get that. I’m just as guilty of following the trends as the next person. Often those trends relate to slang or neologisms that spread through casual conversations or evolving business practices. All perfectly natural. I am especially prone to overusing slang when my stress dyslexia kicks in. It’s the propagation of misused and meaningless words that I find intolerable.

I blame consultants (like me) for the proliferation of empty jargon. In fact, I had a boss about five or six years ago who used the word impact so frequently, it’s possible that he is Patient Zero for the Impact virus. The fact that this disease has spread among children is a travesty of the highest order in my opinion.

It makes me wonder how this happened. Are their teachers responsible for not teaching them proper grammar? Is it because they are too lazy to understand the difference between affect and effect? Is it not enough for them to affect something or to have an effect on it? Is the physical implication of registering an impact, landing a blow, or creating a crater just too much to resist? Should I be blaming video games?

Seriously, maybe this all stems from kids sitting around too much and not being active enough. They don’t do verbs. They are avatars. In the real world they actually are. They feel compelled to add the “actually.” Perhaps because they spend too much time in virtual reality. This has spread to grown-ups as well. We don’t believe that something has happened unless it has actually happened. Not figuratively. Not basically or generally. It literally, actually happened.

I’m not sure which of these word phenomena I hate more. The effect on our culture is ridiculous. And I mean that in the original definition of the word: deserving of ridicule. In case you’ve forgotten, ridicule is a bad thing, not a good thing (unless you’re from the school of thought that believes any attention is good attention). Calling a thing ridiculous used to be derogatory. Now it’s so bad it’s good. I don’t have a problem with that. Not really. Except when I’m tempted to order the Ridiculous Sundae at Emack & Bolio’s, I want to know if it’s so ridiculous that it’s good or so ridiculous that it’s bad. Is it so yummy and bad for me that I have to have it, or is it so bad for me that I will regret it in the morning? I really need an answer to this question, people. For reals, has anyone tried one? Did it make you sick? Should I run right out and order one now? I need to know so badly, it’s ridiculous.

It bet it’s awesome. That’s traditionally my go-to word. Similar to ridiculous, awesome is a word I use a lot and often mean sarcastically. Even I know it’s difficult to tell when I’m using the word sincerely. And then there was the whole ironic awesome story. This one is worth the digression, trust me…

Mr. Snarky and I were in Seattle for July 4 visiting friends from college and their new baby, SBJ. After SBJ went to bed, our host and hostess invited a crowd of friends over for dinner. As the wine flowed, the conversation turned to Turntable (hah, no pun intended there). Our host was streaming music from the music sharing site, and we were discussing how it worked, specifically the Lame and Awesome buttons. One of the guests made a joke about frequenting a room (the Turntable lingo for a radio station) that occasionally included songs from Journey and REO Speedwagon.

If you’re wondering what’s wrong with that, think of any overplayed song from the early 80s. You’re remembering how much you loved those songs at the time. And you’re secretly thinking they were kind of awesome, right? But something else is happening in the back of your brain. Most of you would be embarrassed to admit that you ever listened to (forget admitting that you liked) those songs when they were current. Just thinking about it makes you cringe, right? Well that’s how the dinner conversation went. After another bottle or three of wine, someone suggested that what Turntable really needs is an Ironic Awesome button for those moments when you just “Can’t Stop Believing.”

We’ve become such a jaded, sarcastic, world-weary society that we don’t want to click Like. We want a Dislike button on Facebook. And we want an Ironic Awesome button on Turntable. We want it so badly that these words had to be spoken later in the evening, “John, you know there’s not really an Ironic Awesome button, right?” John [name changed to protect the gullible] was silent for a spell, and without a hint of embarrassment hung his head in disappointment. I laughed so hard, I cried. It was awesome.

Here’s the catch. There are [actually] things in real life that inspire awe: the Grand Canyon, the Eiffel Tower, Table Mountain. These are things that must be experienced with all of your senses. Watching the Travel Channel on a big screen tellie is not enough. Standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon on a 100 degree day in a spot where you cannot see the other side or the bottom or either end while wondering how long your water will last…standing under the Eiffel Tower and bearing witness to the gray-brown metalwork holding it all up, the three elevators it takes to reach the top, the whirling-vertigo feeling of standing below and craning your neck up, searching for the topmost spire…these things are truly awe inspiring.

Climbing Table Mountain on a summer afternoon in December (Southern-hemisphere summer) thinking of a friend who made it to Cape Town and didn’t do the climb and a friend of a friend who mistook the conditions and was overcome by fast-moving weather that changes in the blink of an eye from clear and dry to heavy and wet with poor visibility and unsafe climbing and dire consequences…these are things that must be experienced firsthand. How else would you appreciate that the walk up is cut into the side of the mountain like a staircase? The steps are [ridiculously] steep, requiring you to reach a hand to the cool, dusty stone and pull yourself up. How else could you grasp the perspective from the top across wild, unfamiliar ocean as the fog rolls in and the temperature drops twenty degrees if you can’t [actually] stand there and feel the breeze on your face? How else would you taste the sea on the wind or register the hue of the water or comprehend the scale of the Cape and its city if you don’t [actually] experience it yourself?

It’s not ironic awesome. It is awesome.

Sometimes the words matter, Things I learned in Africa

I think you’ve caught it in time.

Leave a Comment Posted by on July 22, 2011

After three weekends away and too many late nights at work, I finally decided tonight was the night for watering the garden. It was starting to look extremely droopy, full of unhappy flowers and healthy weeds instead of the other way around. I’m uncertain how the weeds thrive while everything else suffocates in this heat. I guess the plants with the staying power—the ones that grow anywhere in any conditions—eventually win. I’m sure that’s a metaphor for something, but there’s no need to analyze it. That’s just how natural selection works, I guess.

The thing I find even more surprising, no, irritating, no, umm…I don’t know. The thing I notice every summer as if it’s a new phenomenon is how the plants I didn’t plant with my own two hands thrive. The hostas and ferns and creeping ivies come back bigger and better every year. There’s usually something new too, something hidden in the ground making a comeback or something dropping in from a neighbor’s garden.

Speaking of neighbors, my next door neighbor walked down our shared driveway as I was tugging on the hose.

“Isn’t it going to storm tonight?” She asked, while I wrestled with the tangled mess.

I shrugged and said, “It needs it. I neglect it [the garden] because I can’t stand dealing with this hose.”

“You should get one of those rolling things like we have,” she suggested with a nod toward her perfectly coiled water-delivery system.

As we continued chatting, my mind wandered a bit. I pondered why I didn’t get one of those rolling things or make more time for such a simple chore like watering. After all, I did spend nearly two whole weekends purchasing and planting all those flowers. The ones hanging from the trellis have died. The hydrangea is getting too much sun at the back of the house. And someone or something stole the only red tomato my plants have produced so far. The raspberries are great, but that’s because they grow like weeds. Red, ripe, juicy berries are popping up on seemingly lifeless branches. Every other day or so for two to three weeks, I’ve harvested small handfuls, enough to cover my morning granola. Nature is amazing.

So why don’t I put in the effort? For a totally stupid reason: because the hose is a situation. The spigot to turn on the water is at the opposite end of the house from where the water comes out—and in the basement. I have to go down into the basement, walk the length of the house, turn on the water, walk back to the other end of the house, up the stairs, and outside to the hose. Then I have to unravel the hose and drag it from the back of the house (where we have a few fruits and veggies) to the front of the house (where we have copious plants and flowers). Invariably, I then have to walk back along the length of hose and work out the kinks so the water will come out the spray nozzle. Rinse and repeat that last step until the entire garden is soaked.

This evening, my neighbor, Mrs. Green Thumb (not her real name), was strolling by as I stepped out onto the front sidewalk, balancing the hose under one arm and firing it like a canon at the cracked earth beneath my plants.

“Hello!” I greeted her cheerily.

“Oh, good,” she replied.

Her response did not match my greeting in the slightest, but I beamed back a warm smile that matched her own.

“We’ve been away,” I said, to excuse my obviously neglected plants while she stopped to appraise the situation.

“I think you’ve caught it in time,” she nodded her approval.

I nearly dropped the hose to throw my arms around her in gratitude. When it comes to matters of the earth and green, growing things, an endorsement from Mrs. Green Thumb is like a mandate from Mother Nature. I was proud and relieved by her words. I managed to restrain my joy as we chatted a moment longer. Then she walked on.

As I stood under an ever-darkening evening sky, I brooded about how much control I have over what grows. Most days (when I’m in an ever-darkening mood) it seems as though what wants to grow will grow, and what doesn’t won’t. My garden teases me. It gives me a false sense of authority. I can put things in and pull things out. But I can’t choose what will flourish and what will wilt during a week of 90+ degree heat. (That’s in Fahrenheit for any un-American readers.)

Standing in the hot dusk, the warm breeze pushed me around. The wind battered my skin blowing the thick, tight air closer. The cool spray from the hose provided some relief, but I focused the stream on the ground in an attempt not to waste the precious drops. As I concentrated the water and my attention on green leaves, my mind turned to my adventures in Africa. It has been Africa-hot here this week. Zimbabwe in early summer hot.

In Zimbabwe in early summer, Mother Nature performs an awe-inspiring and delightful trick. Barren, lifeless-looking trees sprout delicate, barely-visible spring buds in preparation for the approaching rainy season. Now you’re wondering, What’s so great about that? That’s what happens in spring, right? If creating something out of nothing doesn’t strike you as that amazing, ponder what happens next.

Gaya sends a rain storm, one short rain. The water disappears into hard-packed clay seemingly lost forever. But indeed, that one rain rallies the trees and shrubs to defy months of drought. Dry branches shrug off the dusts of winter. Leaves open. Trees turn green. That one brief rain primes the soil in preparation for rains that are yet to come. The leaves open, against all odds, to catch waters that are two weeks away yet. That one short rain forces the change in season. It gives the African bush the courage to grow and renew itself year after year. A rain storm that quick wouldn’t even register on the radar of a resident of Seattle, London, or Boston. But that storm forces the leaves to open so they can catch the coming storms. Two hot, humid weeks later, the heavens will open and the rains will start in earnest. Life will defeat death this year as it did last year. How the leaves and trees remember that while they sleep through dry and dusty winters may be just another example of natural selection. But it’s a wonderful, beautiful mystery to me.

As the evening light retreated, I pictured viridian Acacia leaves towering above rusty grasses surrounded by pure azure sky. I took my time finishing the watering. And when I was done, I coiled the hose neatly. Just as I finished, the sound of thunder rolled in on the breeze.

Random thoughts, Things I learned in Africa

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