Pet Theory

I was 35 when I started to program. And immediately I loved it. It was as if a part of my brain that had been locked away could suddenly cavort in the broad daylight of ongoing life.

Having developed other skills and burnt though other passions, I was self-conscious about the joys of programming; I wanted to know what this new thing was, and why it thrilled me.

Some joys were not specific to programming per se but would attend the learning of any skill. Obviously, it’s cool to know how to do stuff. I remember vividly the stultification of my three brothers (an accountant, a lawyer, an engineer) when they started their careers, and even more vividly how they slowly got pulled into the details and the drama of their craft. As Moby Dick proved with whole chapters on subjects like stripping of whale carcasses, almost anything can be made intriguing. In the future, maybe bird-watching, souffle and design patterns will each have a cable channel devoted to them.

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When I was a kid, my older brother taught me a few blues chord progressions on the guitar so he could solo soulfully over me. I accepted this division of labor because my deficient sense of rhythm and pitch was immediately, painfully obvious.

I remembered this last week when I hooked up a USB keyboard to my computer and fired up GarageBand, because all of a sudden I had unexpected musical hope.

For me, the program’s killer feature is a graphic view of the notes (each note is an elongated rectangle). When I hit a key, I can really see the note–how high it is, how long I hold it, how it compares to other notes. So far, this goes a decent way towards overcoming my handicaps.

I’m surprised, because what had seemed necessary (my dorky-white-guy fingers pouring out music), seems dramatically less so, because I’ve found an alternate, more visual route to the sound.

I can strike notes, listen with my feelings, adjust the notes (users can change their duration and frequency by dragging them), then start the process over again. Since I just want to compose custom music and sounds for Flash files, that I’ll never perform from a park bench doesn’t bother me.

Think, act, see result, think, act, see result. Etc. A feedback loop is common enough (play, work, learning, interfaces, life) but my little adventure this week definitely brings home the idea that technology keeps changing the prerequisites for entering particular loops.

My soloing older brother is a case in point. He was never good at basic math. So what did he become? A sickeningly rich accountant. Apparently, whatever he does (he’s explained it, but I can’t comprehend), it now requires a different kind of quarter to get the pinball machine lit up and ready to go.

Every since I ordered my MacBook, I’ve been obsessively checking its status through Fedex:

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This spring I went to Rome for my honeymoon (first time to Rome, first time getting married).

There I met an old acquaintance, the Ugly American…and this time, it was me!

Perhaps you’ve met him: he doesn’t bother adapting himself to the locale, he expects everyone to speak English, and when they decline, he thinks increasing his already-loud volume will smooth things over.

He surprised me in Vatican City. We went without a guide, on a lark–a bad idea, as it turned out. We were confused. For instance, in the morning, people line up outside the walled city. There are two lines, one for individuals, one for groups, but it’s not clear which is which. There are no placards, maps, concierges, etc. Inside, the same total lack of hinting holds. There is no way to know that you have go through the Sistine Chapel to get to Saint Peter’s church–unless you already know, of course.

Now, who am I to suggest that the Pope nail up placards on these marble walls? Who am I to expect that I can amble into a 15-centuries-old holy place without any guide and get my bearings?

I must be the Ugly American. I was fuming.

That experience made me re-evaluate the Ugly American. The Ugly American is presumptuous and rude, of course…but anyone truly interested in interface design is in a real sense catering to the Ugly American in all of us.

Why shouldn’t everyone just understand me? Why shouldn’t things just work? Why can’t a single person become a publishing phenomenon? Why not do your banking from the comfort of your den?

“Why not?” A rude question–and sometimes a useful one, too.

I've seen commercials for a new Adam Sandler vehicle, Click. It looks like a comedic work-up of the 3-wishes fairy tale, with reality being paused, played and speeded up like a DVD. The back-flap of my Netflix envelope has a Click ad with the tagline: What if you had a universal remote…that controlled your universe?"

Wow–a major Hollywood comedy that depends on interactive interface for its framing metaphor. I must be blogging on the right topic. Perhaps Uma Thurman will call and ask me to consult for her next project. I'm all ears, Ms. Thurman…

Consider for a moment how different Click is from The Matrix. Clicks sounds like it is centered on USER-control over images of reality, whereas the Matrix centers on SYSTEM-control over the user.

I'd guess that The Matrix is actually the end of the line, culturally, that starts with Hal in 2001, in which computers are viewed with suspicion as alien powers that might invade your life and soul….and that Click represents the start of a new line in tech-featuring movies, in which people are familiar with computers, and indeed see them as tools of pleasure and self-expression.