Snow’s Return

Snow drifts lazily to the ground out­side, lit sodium orange in the glare of street­lights and the lit-up logo of the self-storage place across the dual car­riage­way.  It set­tles briefly, know­ing all too well that the breeze off the ocean will melt it away before morning.

Some­where a radio is play­ing; frequency-modulated sta­tic over the sleepy drawl of a late-night DJ and the songs of decades long gone.  Noth­ing stirs in the house, just me and the tap-tap-tap of fin­gers on keys.

It is a moment out­side time in a place adrift from the world.

But tomor­row the streets will be clear and the dance will begin again, leav­ing only the trick­les of snow that linger in shad­ows and the end­less radio haze.

 

Snow settling, almost visible

Tiny Works of Design Genius: Food Colouring Bottles

Food Colouring BottlesIn just about every super­mar­ket in the coun­try, and doubt­less oth­ers too, one can buy lit­tle glass bot­tles of liq­uid food colour­ing and essences such as vanilla and almond.  They’re tiny, light, can eas­ily fall out of cup­boards, and can cause per­ma­nent stain­ing if they fall and smash.

Except that… they’re not glass.

They’re plas­tic.

Some­how I have lived out all my life so far con­vinced that these were tiny, frag­ile glass bot­tles that had to be metic­u­lously placed in the cup­board to avoid your floor being per­ma­nently green.  Until, grab­bing a bag of flour from my bak­ing cup­board with­out pay­ing atten­tion, one of these bot­tles fell to the floor — and bounced.

Some­times it’s the sim­plest design deci­sions that can avert dis­as­ter and bring a smile (in this case, of relief) to people’s faces.

 

Whither the Facebook Purge?

The other day, a bout of online drama made me won­der if it wouldn’t be a good idea to make my online activ­i­ties a lit­tle more pri­vate — hide my Twit­ter feed, for exam­ple, and maybe un-friend some peo­ple on Face­book to restrict it to just my “core” friends.

Facebook Friends List

Do I actu­ally want to know what 281 peo­ple are doing?

But in doing so, I thought for prob­a­bly the first time about the direc­tion Face­book has taken with regards to friend­ships and view­ing friends’ updates.

Firstly, unlike Twit­ter, when some­one you know “friends” you on Face­book, the socially accept­able thing to do is to accept.  Rather than say­ing “it’s great that you’re inter­ested in me, but I’m not as inter­ested in you, so I won’t ‘fol­low’ you back,” Face­book man­dates a two-way inter­est.  So if some­one “friends” you, you either have to ignore them (and feel slightly guilty about it) or com­mit your­self to see­ing their updates.

Sec­ondly, Face­book is becom­ing less of a place to catch up with friends, and more of an iden­tity ser­vice (which has been accel­er­ated with the new Time­line pro­files).  Your Face­book pro­file defines you; tells oth­ers who you are and who you know.  This adds to the impe­tus to “friend” peo­ple you don’t really care about that much — you’re not so much express­ing an inter­est in another per­son as defin­ing who you are.  And that, of course, also lum­bers you with look­ing at their updates all the time.

It’s obvi­ous that this is a com­mon issue, and rather than backpedal or restrict the way Face­book wants to take its ser­vice, their response has been to add com­plex fil­ter­ing options that let you block spe­cific users and apps, view only updates from var­i­ous groups, and recently, adding an auto­mated fil­ter that tries to guess which updates you’ll want to see.

Per­son­ally, I pre­fer using Face­book via the API (using Suc­cess­Whale) which avoids the auto­mated fil­ter, but I must still block the updates of peo­ple I don’t care much about man­u­ally.  I’d quite like to cull my Face­book friends list down to just those whose updates I actu­ally care about.  But is doing so a rea­son­able way of reduc­ing my infor­ma­tion over­load — or will­ingly dam­ag­ing an iden­tity that I spent the last four years try­ing to curate?

Towards a Simpler Desktop

In one of my pre­vi­ous blog posts, “Design­ing for Grand­dad”, I exam­ined some of the user inter­face fea­tures that cause my grand­fa­ther issues when using his com­puter, and left a few hang­ing ques­tions as to how we soft­ware design­ers can make our apps less con­fus­ing to the novice com­puter user.

As is my unfor­tu­nate habit, I spent some of today check­ing out how work had pro­gressed on the GNOME-shell and Ubuntu Unity desk­top envi­ron­ments.  (I enjoyed the eye candy for around three hours before revert­ing to the UI of least resis­tance.)  Var­i­ous com­plex­i­ties in their inter­faces irri­tate me and seem to have pro­voked the wrath of a com­mu­nity of largely expe­ri­enced com­puter users.  This got me think­ing about how I would go back the other way, and design a desk­top envi­ron­ment for absolute novice com­puter users — one with­out many of the frus­tra­tions of mod­ern software.

 

Gnome-Shell Screenshot

The Gnome-Shell Interface

 

My ideas, roughly dis­tilled into a sort of ‘design man­i­festo’, are:

  1. One activ­ity at a time.  Here I actu­ally agree with Gnome-shell and Unity’s focus on  full-screen appli­ca­tions, avoid­ing unre­lated yet over­lap­ping windows.
  2. Never hide the means to change activ­i­ties.  Both Gnome-shell and Unity hide their appli­ca­tion switcher dur­ing nor­mal use, requir­ing at least a mouse move­ment or a click to get it back.
  3. Don’t change state with mouse posi­tion.  Novice com­puter users often have trou­ble con­trol­ling the mouse.  Unity’s auto-hiding dock and Gnome-shell’s “hot cor­ner” could prove frus­trat­ing, par­tic­u­larly the lat­ter which com­pletely changes the dis­play when hit.
  4. No sys­tem trays.  The dis­tinc­tion between the taskbar and sys­tem tray is not well-defined and can be con­fus­ing.  Gnome-shell is a par­tic­u­larly bad offender here, with not one but two tray-like areas.
  5. No noti­fi­ca­tions (unless they help).  Pop-ups con­fuse and scare novice users.  If at all pos­si­ble, the app should use a sane default rather than ask­ing a ques­tion, and do noth­ing rather than dis­play­ing infor­ma­tion.  If a pop-up does appear, it should be help­ful and clearly worded.
  6. State­less apps and back­ground ser­vices.  The user wants to get their e-mail. Reading e-mail is a legit­i­mate activ­ity, but leav­ing a mail client open so that they are noti­fied of new mail is not.  Use back­ground ser­vices so that it doesn’t mat­ter which apps are running.
  7. Zero tol­er­ance on UI clut­ter.  While UX peo­ple like me may some­times deplore clut­ter and idolise min­i­mal­ism on aes­thetic grounds, for the novice user, every bit of clut­ter is some­thing that they feel like they should know how to use.
  8. Explain things clearly.  Keep words to a min­i­mum, but ensure that the user always feels con­fi­dent that they know what click­ing a given ele­ment will do.
  9. Undo every­where.  Offer an “undo” option wher­ever pos­si­ble.  If you’re deal­ing with small but impor­tant items (such as e-mail), con­sider offer­ing a non-destructive way of get­ting e-mail out of the user’s face — “archive” instead of “delete”.
  10. Use icons and words together.  Novice com­puter users may be young or old, and users of any age may have poor vision or may not speak the lan­guage in which the inter­face was writ­ten.  These may result in users find­ing either icons or words eas­ier to under­stand on a con­trol.  Pro­vid­ing both, by using clear iconog­ra­phy and sim­ple text together, helps to alle­vi­ate this problem.

I’ve mocked up a cou­ple of inter­faces to show a desk­top envi­ron­ment that adheres to these prin­ci­ples.  The first shows the “desk­top”, taskbar and an exam­ple notification:

 

Simple Desktop Environment - Taskbar & Notifications

 

The sec­ond shows the mail app with exam­ple messages:

 

Simple Desktop Environment - E-mail App

 

Is there any­thing you par­tic­u­larly like or hate about the mock­ups or the design prin­ci­ples behind them?  Bear in mind that if you con­sider your­self tech-savvy or a soft­ware designer your­self, you’re prob­a­bly not the tar­get audi­ence for this desk­top envi­ron­ment — pre­tend to be your mother or grand­fa­ther for a minute and see how you feel about the sug­ges­tions I’ve made.

I’m happy to go fur­ther with these designs if you think it’s use­ful, and of course your own ideas and sug­ges­tions are more than wel­come.  The com­ments sec­tion is yours!

For any­one won­der­ing, the mock­ups in this post were gen­er­ated with Mock­ing­bird, an excel­lent UI mock­ing web-app.

Progressiveness and the Tribe

As a for­mer sup­porter of the Lib­eral Democ­rats, I found my sup­port lean­ing toward Labour due to the Lib Dems’ ongo­ing dis­as­trous coali­tion with the Con­ser­v­a­tive party.  But in truth, the Labour party are just a con­ve­nient polit­i­cal marker for some of my opin­ions on eco­nomic and social pol­icy.  What I really care about, I sup­pose, is progress – chang­ing things that are bro­ken, try­ing new ideas until we dis­cover some­thing that makes the coun­try work better.

But all three main par­ties now label them­selves as “Pro­gres­sive”. (I sup­pose “regres­sive” isn’t much of a vote-winner.)  The minor par­ties mostly have lim­ited agen­das that make it impos­si­ble to sup­port them to the exclu­sion of all oth­ers.  Who, then, do I vote for? The truth is prob­a­bly that none of the UK’s polit­i­cal par­ties are as pro­gres­sive as I would like, but more than that — a politi­cian being pro­gres­sive on my behalf isn’t really what I want at all.

I want to design the future.

Then I want to engi­neer the future.

Then I want to sit back and think “bloody hell, we made that.”

That’s what gets me out of bed and halfway across the county five morn­ings a week, what keeps me sketch­ing inter­faces and gets me through design meet­ings, what keeps me cod­ing and sol­der­ing and get­ting cov­ered in grease and salt-spray.

I’m not pre­tend­ing that I could engi­neer the future of this coun­try by myself, or that I should have any more of a say than the other sixty mil­lion of us, but I’d like to at least have some input besides a sim­ple vote.  As far as I’m aware, there exist only two ways of hav­ing this kind of input — sell your soul for a career in pol­i­tics, or be ignored on e-petitions.

All of this leads me to the con­clu­sion that hav­ing our voice heard and our expe­ri­ence utilised on our own terms is not some­thing that a nation state can offer its cit­i­zens.  Our voices are heard and our expe­ri­ence utilised by our fam­i­lies and friends; at our places of work — tribes of a few hun­dred peo­ple at most — but not on a national scale

Is there some use­ful way for cit­i­zens to help engi­neer their future at the state level, or are we rel­e­gated to hav­ing that kind of influ­ence only in our hundred-strong social tribes?  Are there any coun­tries that are sig­nif­i­cantly bet­ter at this than ours, coun­tries that progress with heavy cit­i­zen involve­ment?  Am I dream­ing of an impos­si­ble soci­ety, and most impor­tantly of all, should I go to bed and sleep it off instead of fill­ing the inter­net with my ranting?

Designing for Granddad

Slate’s recent arti­cle, “2011 Was a Ter­ri­ble Year for Tech”, coins the term “mom-bomb” for the moment that tech­nol­ogy jour­nal­ists declare a gad­get so easy-to-use that it is actu­ally use­ful to peo­ple who aren’t tech­nol­ogy journalists:

He begins by prais­ing the gadget’s intu­itive inter­face and its easy setup process, but even­tu­ally he finds that mere descrip­tion doesn’t ade­quately con­vey the product’s momen­tous sim­plic­ity. That’s when he drops the mom bomb: This thing is so easy that even my mom could use it.

I’m blessed with par­ents that, by and large, ‘get’ tech­nol­ogy.  Their VCR never flashed 12:00 (and now they have a DVD recorder); they both have Android phones that they can hap­pily e-mail from.  My grand­par­ents are a dif­fer­ent story, of course.  Two of them have almost never used a com­puter, but my Grand­dad has a nice new shiny one and uses it reg­u­larly.  But as the arti­cle points out, what tech jour­nal­ists and we tech-savvy users think is sim­ple and ‘user-friendly’ often falls far short of the ‘mom (or grand­dad) test’.

A few obser­va­tions spring to mind:

  • Mov­ing pho­tos from a dig­i­tal cam­era to a com­puter is one of the sim­plest tasks non-‘tech-savvy’ users often want to do.  But when you plug in a dig­i­tal cam­era, Win­dows 7 help­fully pops up this dia­log:
    Windows 7 Camera AutoPlay DialogDo I want to “Import Pic­tures and Videos” using Win­dows, or using Win­dows Live Photo Gallery?  What’s the dif­fer­ence?  Do I want to “Copy pic­tures to [my] com­puter”?  Do I want to “Down­load images”? Where will the pho­tos go?  Will they still be on the cam­era?  I just want to see my pho­tos, so I click “Open device to view files”, but what the heck is “DCIM”?
  • I set Google as his browser home­page, and since then, he has been get­ting his news not from the BBC News book­mark I cre­ated, but using the ‘News’ link on Google’s own menu that appears at the top of its pages:

    Google Menu Bar
    …which is great, except that Google can change that menu at any time.  And of course they are doing exactly that:

    New-Look Google Menu
    To my grand­dad, and many other novice inter­net users, the dis­tinc­tion between book­marks — which only change if you want them to — and web page nav­i­ga­tion menus — which can change at the webmaster’s whim — is not nec­es­sar­ily clear.

  • Even sim­ple mouse com­mands can be unclear and dif­fi­cult.  In the exam­ple above, Google’s instruc­tion to find the new menu is to ‘roll over’ the logo.  When the novice user fig­ures out that means ‘hover the cur­sor over’, they’re greeted with a JavaScript popup which will dis­ap­pear again if their cur­sor acci­den­tally wan­ders too far from the popup.

It’s my fam­ily duty to be tech sup­port, and occa­sion­ally I am called upon to fix things that have actu­ally gone wrong.  But more often than not, I am called upon to try to ratio­nalise a sim­ple task that is unex­pect­edly com­plex to per­form.  This com­plex­ity has usu­ally arisen because the software’s devel­op­ers and most vocal users are so immersed in com­mon UI par­a­digms that they just don’t notice that the com­plex­ity exists.  For the novice user, on the other hand, even your software’s instal­la­tion wiz­ard is com­plex­ity they’d rather not deal with.

The Slate arti­cle is right to cite Facebook’s user inter­face as a par­tic­u­larly oner­ous exam­ple of soft­ware com­plex­ity.  Feeds, live updates, inboxes, hid­den inboxes, walls, pro­files, Time­line, com­ments, likes, tags — some users need and revel in that level of com­plex­ity, but a sig­nif­i­cant num­ber just want to, say, see what their kids are up to.  I’m ner­vous that one day soon, my grand­dad will ask me to set him up with a Face­book account.  I’ll duti­fully com­ply, log him in, and give him this:

Facebook User Interface

 

Where does one even begin?  There are mul­ti­ple feeds, mul­ti­ple menus, pop-up and pop-down boxes.  How do you add one of these “sta­tus” things?  How do you add a friend?  How do I send a mes­sage to some­one?  What’s pub­lic and what’s pri­vate?  Why is there so much stuff?

In the world of User Expe­ri­ence (UX) design, we spend so much time think­ing about how soft­ware will be used and by whom — per­sonas, use cases, red routes and all the rest.  But in the major­ity of soft­ware I see when work­ing with novice users, it seems that either the novice user has not been con­sid­ered, or their per­sona is paid lip ser­vice while the lat­est excit­ingly com­pli­cated new fea­tures are bolted onto the software.

As cre­ators of soft­ware and of user expe­ri­ences, I know we can do bet­ter than this.

Do you have any thoughts on how we can design bet­ter for the novice user?  Just want to vent about an app with a par­tic­u­larly poor UI, or about a rel­a­tive with a par­tic­u­larly poor grasp of com­put­ing?  Fire away in the com­ments below!

2011 in Pictures

Seeking a Final Film Review (by the Numbers)

It’s get­ting on for two years since I first drunk­enly mocked a film in “By the Num­bers” style.  I’m now onto my eighty-third and slowly but surely run­ning out of ideas and inter­est­ing things to mock.  I think a round hun­dred would be a good place to stop, so I’m tak­ing sug­ges­tions as to what the next six­teen films should be, and par­tic­u­larly what I should end on.

A film to end on is par­tic­u­larly trou­ble­some, as I’ve already given one film a rat­ing of neg­a­tive aleph omega, and the review of Drag­onball Evo­lu­tion prob­a­bly marks the apex of the “over 9000″ run­ning joke.  All sug­ges­tions are very much appreciated!

Sug­ges­tions so far have included:

  • The Room (which Dan has been on at me to review for months now)
  • The Princess Bride
  • Plan 9 from Outer Space (often cited as the worst film ever made)
  • Mys­tery Sci­ence The­ater 3000: The Movie (pos­si­bly the most meta choice)

Any more? :)

Rage Against the Council: Why Recycling in Flat Blocks Sucks

A few min­utes ago, I attempted the sim­ple task of tak­ing out a bag full of recy­cling.  Hav­ing cir­cum­nav­i­gated the car that some though­less Mazda-driver saw fit to park in front of the area where our recy­cling bins are kept, I dis­cov­ered this:

Overflowing Recycling BinsNot only is there no way I could fit my recy­cling into these bins, but each and every one — ten in total — is marked with a “Con­t­a­m­i­nated” sticker, mean­ing that the col­lec­tion peo­ple saw some­thing they didn’t like in every bin, and refuse to col­lect any of them until the man­age­ment com­pany of our flat block pays the coun­cil to take them to a land­fill site.

This left me with two options — dump my recy­cling (in its non-recyclable bin-bag) on the ground and hope that some­one help­fully puts it in a recy­cling bin once they are emp­tied, or the only real­is­tic option: put them straight in the rub­bish bins myself, imme­di­ately wast­ing all the effort my fam­ily put into sep­a­rat­ing them from non-recyclable waste.

Contaminated Container StickerNow I spent a year of my life work­ing on tech­nol­ogy for Mate­r­ial Recla­ma­tion Facil­i­ties — the big sort­ing depots where your recy­cling ends up.  For bet­ter or worse (it’s a weird thing to be geeky about) I know exactly what can and can­not be recy­cled locally, what hap­pens to it when it is, and what hap­pens to any “con­t­a­m­i­na­tion” that makes it through. For my sins, I even know what all the num­bered codes on plas­tic bot­tles mean.  The net result is that my fam­ily and I are metic­u­lous about what gets put out for recy­cling.  I would hap­pily bet that none of the con­t­a­m­i­na­tion is our fault.

But this isn’t a “boo-hoo, I have to pay and it’s not my fault” rant.  The fact of the mat­ter is, I live in a block of 93 flats.  Some­one in one of those flats is going to be too lazy to sort their recy­cling or take it out of plas­tic bags.  Some­one is going to be unable to read the signs, or just to not care.  Prob­a­bly not just “some­one” but quite a lot of peo­ple.  It’s unavoidable.

The coun­cil sys­tem is sim­ply bro­ken for large flat blocks.

If a sin­gle fam­ily house gets their bin marked as “con­t­a­m­i­nated” and has to pay to have it taken away, maybe they’ll learn.  But given human nature, a block of 93 flats is always going to have con­t­a­m­i­nated bins, every sin­gle week.

Either the process needs to change, col­lec­tors need to be more tol­er­ant of con­t­a­m­i­na­tion, or else there’s no point giv­ing us recy­cling bins at all.  Just let us put it all out for rub­bish and damn the envi­ron­ment, because that’s what hap­pens now, only right now it takes much longer and costs us all a lot more money.

Of Software and Magic

Light­ning crack­les through my hind-brain, adeno­sine recep­tors light­ing up in sequence as caf­feine mol­e­cules fin­ish their long jour­ney from the hill­sides of South Amer­ica to the grey mass of pro­teins from which spawn con­scious­ness. My eyes open wider, and with them my mind. Fin­gers flicker and dance across the keys of mankind’s most arcane device. Thoughts, ideas, visions flash across my mind, pat­terns form­ing for just mil­lisec­onds. Then they explode through neural path­ways, twist­ing and con­tort­ing mus­cles that touch keys across the tiny por­tion of the real world that is still required for man and machine to work in har­mony. Then on again, elec­tri­cal pulses once more, com­plet­ing the jour­ney from pat­tern in flesh to pat­tern in silicon.

In another time and place, per­haps I would have been a shaman, ingest­ing pow­ders of strange jun­gle plants to achieve the same state beyond mere con­scious­ness, the same abil­ity to com­mu­ni­cate with the world, that I now achieve with caf­feine and a key­board. For the cre­ation of soft­ware is unlike any art or act of engi­neer­ing that came before it, and at times it bor­ders on magical.

The carpenter’s and the artist’s work both begin with an idea in their mind, but the end prod­uct of each one’s endeav­our is a real, tan­gi­ble object. What’s more, the carpenter’s chisel marks and the artist’s brush strokes become part of the work itself, for­ever a sign that human effort cre­ated it. But not so the magic of the pro­gram­mer. We have min­imised our tools as far as we can, allow­ing fin­gers to dash across keys as fast as our mus­cles allow, and still we yearn to do away with them entirely. Like the Chi to a T’ai Chi prac­ti­cioner, the key­board to us is a lim­i­ta­tion on the speed we can trans­late thought into real­ity, and the more we min­imise it, the more effec­tive we are.

At the end of the craft of soft­ware, there is no fin­ished item that can be picked up, exam­ined for work­man­ship, burnt to ash. There is just a pat­tern of mag­netic domains on a disk some­where, an elec­tro­mag­netic pat­tern the mir­ror twin of the elec­tro­mag­netic pat­tern in a brain that spawned it. By using a strange tool and a bizarre lan­guage which few under­stand, we take the pat­terns in our heads and over­lay them on the world as pure infor­ma­tion, pure pattern-stuff.

And that, dear friends, is noth­ing more or less than the prac­tice of magic.