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October 25, 2002 11:37 AM 

Bad Design

I had blocks just like this when I was a toddler. My mom still keeps them somewhere in the basement. I built so many castles & towers with them, always having a car or a plane crash them down to start again. I was a designer & destroyer at age three!  Well, so was every kid, girls included, in their own way of course.

In kindergarten, after nap time, if we were lucky, we were allowed to go into a dark cave-like appendage of the classroom and pull out hundreds of bigger blocks and build cities.  For some reason, I was the chief designer of those cities.  I clearly remember instructing my team. The Vision was always obvious to me. I was perplexed at having that role. On the playground, I never seemed to transcend beyond the level of bullied participant.  Well, we had no real bullies back then, but kindergarten was entry-level after all.

The industry likes to consider Apple Computer as an innovator in design.  I'm not so sure. I'm sorry to admit this, but I tried to use an Apple Computer only one time -- but I couldn't find the switch to turn it on.  No one at IBM was smart enough to put it on the keyboard.  No one at Apple was smart enough to get the word out that it was on the keyboard.  Of course any Apple geek would think I was just clueless.

 Maybe that's why I never considered buying one of those retro semi-translucent pastel plastic Apples. Can't tell you what they were called -- iMacs maybe.  I think they are off the market. Everyone in the computer industry assumed retro semi-translucent pastel plastic was a good design statement so printers, mice, monitors and god knows what else came out that way. I'm glad that trend has past.  Oh, I'm spending far too much time picking on Apple, but their latest computer looks like a pregnant version of my desk lamp.  I vote Apple as a bad designer in spite of the millions they paid for their designs. I doubt Steve Jobs will care -- he's got other problems.

So critic, what then is a better design for a computer?  Maybe make the boxes really disappear -- they serve no function -- perfect input & output design/function only.  Let's try a ~paradigm rift ~ for a change. 

My sometimes long distance past email buddy, Tom Peters, is keen to design.  "Design is Everything" he states in a book of his that I can no longer find.  I agree, but most people really don't care.  Design is low on their priorities, except for maybe clothes, shoes and cars.  Tom cited Rubbermaid as an innovative design company.  Are they still in business?

IDEO gets all the attention (and money) for their leadership role in great product design.  They hire the best product designers and do fun stuff.  Apple and other top companies hire IDEO.  David Kelley is the founder of IDEO and his bother Tom wrote a somewhat interesting book: The Art of Innovation.  Coincidentally, Tom Peters wrote the Forward to that book.  I'm just now doing a reread.

On page one there is a beautiful color photograph of one of IDEO's pet projects: a shopping cart.  I'll admit it does look pretty darn cool compared to the rusty/squeaky wire mesh models and their molded plastic replacements that I push around.  It even has two cup holders and a scanner!  I wish I could put that photo here, I but I do not have permission to do so.

* * *

Before I critique the shopping cart design, a little sidebar somewhat related to this.  I have only a few pet peeves.  My biggest one goes to drivers that stubbornly stay in the fast lane on the freeway with their cruise control set 1 1/2 MPH above the speed limit.  They are everywhere and I think connected somehow through a collective unconsciousness.  They may even be aliens intent on having us destroy our race through road rage.  More on them at a later date.

A minor peeve has to do with shopping carts and baskets.  Carts are designed to neatly stack  horizontally and baskets are designed to stack vertically - a three-year-old can figure that out.  So why is it when I approach every check-out line there is always a sloppy mismatch of baskets stacked with wire handles in the wrong position?  What's the big deal in stacking them right? And if a shopper is actually courteous enough (it's regional) to push her cart back to the staging area in the parking lot - why can't she make that ever-so-easy final gentle thrust to mate her cart to the others.  It's a good feeling (at least to me).  The design function is met and the skinny high school boy's job is just that much easier.  Well, many pet peeves are a bit odd.

* * *

So getting back to David Kelley's super-cool shopping cart, the obvious design flaw is it doesn't stack!  Imagine the wasted space on just one supermarket lot and multiply that times the tens-of-thousands of supermarkets across the country!  Wal-Mart Super Centers would require shuttle buses.

OK Dave, so I understand that this was an old conceptual thing to demonstrate IDEO's team approach to product design and it was intended for the "end user" i. e. shopper.  It was just a prototype and marketing tool.  Yet I always thought a designer had some responsibility to look at the bigger picture: fit, form, function, environment, cost, durability, usability and so on. 

IDEO's Cart:

My vote:  Nifty-cool new features, bad overall design.  When I see bad design from expert designers, I get annoyed. Yes, perhaps I'm a tad envious of Dave Kelley's success and his really cool design studio in chic Silicon Valley. 

Yes, MY WEB PAGE really sucks, but  p l e a s e  give me some time.  I'm no graphic artist and I'm over forty (web illiterate).  Even though I got a day job, I can't afford to actually pay someone for web design.  I'm really fighting to master Flash MX. 

And yes, electronic gadgetry has come a long way in attracting consumer appeal with some cool design.  Yet bad design still seems to be the norm, even with IDEO and its many competitors at the helm of so many product launches.  Ok, maybe I'm being a bit hard on these guys to but . . .

I just wish it was as easy to find my favorite radio station with my new Ellipse super anti-theft CD/tuner/power amp all-in-one joggle controller as it was with my old standard-issue preset push-button radio.  And as much I love my Epson 785EPX printer with instant memory stick upload,  I have yet only identified the big silver button as the on & off.  I'm afraid to touch the little buttons with the cryptic icons as I can't decipher what they mean.

It's probably a good thing I can't presently afford that new 740i with the 940-function joggle controller.  Next trip to visit mom, I'm reclaiming my blocks.

October 24, 2002 - 2:07 PM

We ask again, why?

   

 

 

 

 

What combination of brain chemical imbalance, deprived environmental conditions and just plain evil would cause a man to act in such a calculated manner? Will we ever find out?  What set him off? Where else did he strike?  And the young accomplice -- too many questions!  Will the media get all the answers before we lose interest? 

Was it a past serial killer that served as "inspiration" or just a bloody B-movie? Will this ugly incident spawn future killers? Terrorist sympathizer or Gulf War Syndrome?  Did the devout nightly attention from Wolf Blizer and his counterparts add to the adrenalin rush, fueling the ego to prompt the next shooting?  Or did they sleep in the car every night, oblivious to TV media?

How many generations will it take for the victim's families to recover?  Was it God that allowed the only child victim to survive? I'm so glad he did survive, in any event.

Today there's a collective sigh-of-relief, but still caution.  Do they really have the right guy?  Comes Monday and we'll all feel safer again, hurling down the beltway in our high-center-of-gravity SUV's at our standard 75 mph (non-gridlock) cruising speed.  The quadruple-air-bag sense of well being will return to all soccer moms and beltway power brokers alike. 

The daily DC auto death toll only makes the Metro Section of the Post.  It doesn't end when a killer is caught, but we seem unaffected anyway.  Hardly anyone reads the Metro, except to check the weather on the back page, and maybe the Obits, if you like that kind of thing.

Recently two honor roll high school students were killed in their car while waiting at a stoplight.  A dump truck driver fell asleep at the wheel.  He is a killer without intent.  That seems to make all the difference in media coverage - two days max in this case.  It makes sense-- killing with intent is unforgivable.  The dump truck driver will live in guilt for life, if he's human. The families of his victims may forgive him in time, if they are human.   These two kids' death were no less tragic than the recent string of random victims, or those of 9/11.  But collectively we have already forget them . . . as we buzz down the beltway, half awake or mindlessly chatting on our wireless. These new killers will have no such forgiveness, ever -- nor should they.  There will never be an answer to as to "why."

At this moment the media is near orgasmic -- doing what they do to "keep us informed."  The story has peaked and "alleged" is an incidental adjective to "killer" in media speak.  Confession or conviction will fix that anyway.

Soon the media, the pundits, the armchair profilers and cover story photographers will pull up their figurative tents and sat dishes in search for the next event.  Ad sales and cable ratings will be down for a time late next week.  A new reality show season will pick up the slack, no doubt.   I'm glad the armchair generals have fallen from favor for it time.  Hey, election day is coming thank God.  I may go to the pumpkin festival after all.

October 23, 2002 - 8:40 PM

Metamorphous in Flight

 

 

 

 

 

As many-a-young boy, I dreamed of growing up to be a fighter pilot. Of course, I never told anyone that.  Astronauts just didn’t quite make the cut in my young view, even though all of NASA’s launches (at least through Gemini) were conveniently scheduled before my school day started.  Being a “sky pilot,” to quote Eric Burden, just had a bit more magic to it.

Unfortunately adolescence, Led Zeppelin and near-sightedness forced a career path change somewhat early in my development -– Rock Star would have to do, back then anyhow. Maybe I could buy & fly my own jet! Well stardom didn't work either in spite of the fact that my grandfather knew Mr. Fender personally and I saw Led Zep live three times.

On occasion, I have fortune to regain that magical twinge when encountering some chance aeronautical event. A hotshot F-15 pilot doing a near-vertical take-off sends a chill -- that’s a given. A chance encounter to view a passing commercial aircraft going directly opposite your flight path (1000+ mph) is a treat when amongst a cramped grumpy group of co-passengers. Such mundane events, if circumstances are right, seem to have a lasting impact.

In the eighties, I had a house in the hills of Palos Verdes. On a rare clear night from my back yard I could see the flight path into LAX all the way back past San Bernardino. Eight, ten and maybe twelve aircraft in line on a clearly defined seemingly identical vertical descent from a black abyss -- finally dropping out of sight into a glittering LA basin. It is a perpetual event with hardly any of LA’s twelve million inhabitants ever taking notice. Perhaps it was my distinct vantage point, a smog free night, and my third glass of cabernet that made the magic happen.  It held me there for hours.

The V-22 is an odd looking bug-eyed aircraft – dragonfly or pterosaurs-like in appearance -- not stealthy-cool like an F-117 Nighthawk or deathly threatening like a fully armed Apache Longbow.

Today I was on a lunch walk parallel to mid-runway at Pax River when the Osprey took off about fifty yards from me – always a pleasant sight, but somewhat routine since flight-testing resumed.

On this occasion, it did not hover about safely like a dopey helicopter, but went from vertical take-off to full throttle transition airplane mode without hesitation. Witnessing that rare event, at a stone’s-throw distance, gave me a rush second only to that of the pilot -– and a blinding flash of insight as to this aircraft’s Purpose of Being.  It was a Gold Medal Event. There is nothing else like that craft - you hearing me Mr. Aldridge?

October 22, 2002 - 10:06 PM

Dilbert - GS-13 at Your Service

I emailed Scott Adams today (if you do the same, always put the word “Dilbert” in the subject line so his spam-blocker doesn’t bounce your email back). This is nothing new for me, as I always am willing to share my close encounters with clowns-of-the-corporation.  Since "truth is stranger than fiction," Dilbert always must be an easy write.

I still don’t understand why he didn’t develop my ace characters “The Ferret & Hootie" (as in “and the blowfish”). They still work at some unnamed aircraft-maker-to-the-rich-&-powerful.  I must give credit to a friend for the names, but character development was strictly mine, Scott.

As I now have to deal with a new species – civil servants in the DoD -– I thought I might coax Scott into getting Dilbert fired again and then landing a job as a GS-13 Engineer for a soon-to-be canceled military program (most civil servants hit the glass ceiling at that level unless they are really bad or good at playing the game). I could feed Scott months of material (for a percent of the royalties).  Of course we'd all have to get the basics on civil servant speak: the language of Acronyms.  And learn a new monetary system that uses cash of various hues: The Color of Money.
 

He might also have to create a few new characters. Why not a Pointy-Eared Colonial? A Dilbert dialog with Testosterone Tom the Test Pilot might prove amusing.  Invisible Ivan could represent that class of civil servant that you never hear about.  As long as there’s budget, they add little value to the organization but religiously perform some useless function to drive up the costs while generating monstrous email attachments in the process.  And they have a job for life - some even get promoted strictly for their sheer ineptness (easier to push 'em up than out).

Come on Scott -- give me a break -– all right -- 10% is my final offer.  There’s blockbuster movie here!

October 21, 2002 - 9:34 PM

Let x=x (not)

No, mine's not quite this bad!

I’ll never have “abs of steel” or grasp jogger mentality.  I discovered, and long since suspected, that there appears to be a direct correlation to my age (in years) and my waistline (in inches). That correlation is one-to-one in real numbers. It seems it's only the waist in my case - otherwise I'm still a skinny guy (makes buying pants that fit impossible).

So, I reasoned that I had better do more than just think about regaining my fitness. I had better be diligent and relentless in doing so, or risk early death or worse -– never having a date again. Today I’m taking a stand – I’m exercising during lunch from this day forth.  This is totally out of character for me -- a behavioral change and maybe even a paradigm shift.  But of course, I’ll do it “my way.”  You won't catch me flailing my arms around in an aerobic huff like so many woman -- they can get away with it.

I was fit in California -– not fit like some big blonde surfer dude -– but fit enough so that some distinguished cardiologist could probably not distinguish my charts from that of the blond dude. So I always blame leaving California as the reason for my current dilemma -– not so much leaving the state but rather its near-perfect climate. All of my long-term migrations out of the Sunshine State have contributed to my suspected mathematical theorem: age in years = waist in inches.

It all boils down to the elements of heat, humidity and sweat. I have a low tolerance for the first two and profusely generate the third when even remotely exposed to the first two. There is (nearly) always some spot in California that is perfect in terms of temperature and humidity. There is rarely, if ever, a “perfect” day, to my standards, that occurs in my recent homes in Florida, Arizona, Alabama, Georgia or Maryland. If Phoenix was “hell-on-earth,” Savannah was “hell-on-earth-with–humidity.” Maryland shares the same miserable summers as Georgia and has a semi-real winter to boot.  How possibly can the inhabitants of the other forty-nine states exist?

“So why don’t you join a gym? – they’re air conditioned.” Well, when I was a young California dude, I had no trouble with that and I did. But I was always intimated by those muscular surfer dudes and never much cared for sharing the hot tub with those fat old farts -– remember this is California and either one of those guys could have ill intent.

Also, I’m an introvert, not a joiner by nature. And worse, I’m an intuitive introvert (curse you Myers-Briggs) and that just makes matters worse. So, I know you don’t understand this, but the only hope to my fitness dilemma is to live in a perfect climate. Too bad the average home in CA has soared to about $350K (and that’s a fixer-upper). Oh how I miss my mountain bike rides on the Monterey Peninsula!

Now, some of the disadvantaged forty-nine states do have windows-of-near-perfect-weather and I MUST take advantage of these rare occurrences until I figure out how to come up with that $350K for a house in a not-so-perfect area of the perfect state. 

So this is my plan until the snow flies or I strike it rich in some manner.  I'll work off my veggie-stuffed turkey with no cheese or mayo sandwich with a brisk walk on the grassy way from Cedar Point past the main runway and the officer's club along the river.  There's always a brisk Chesapeake breeze and a beautiful cross-river view of Calvert Cliffs.   And more: odd sea-going vessels off in the distance on the bay and the company of any number of sea birds (who must think I saved them some of that sandwich).  Today at least six F-18's did touch-and-goes flying directly above me.  Hey, this almost beats California, in fact today it does. At least a few of those joggers have enough sense to take this route -- too bad they're stuck to the asphalt (I think it's a mental thing).

I get back to my truck and notice a distinct elevated pulse,  yet the breeze confined my sweat to only the expected places -- no shower needed (I hope).  Gee, maybe I'll lift some weights tonight.  I also hope that weather window stays open for a time. I think I need to do this about 1,000 more days straight to reverse x=x in real numbers. My birthday's coming up.

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