McWay Falls. One of two falls in the region (the other is Alamere Falls) that flows directly into the Pacific Ocean.

Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, Big Sur.

at Keyhole Rock.

Big Sur, California. April 2014.

Keyhole Rock.

I wish we’d caught it during sunset, but it was too cloudy that day. I really played with the levels here to make the wrinkles show its age.

Big Sur, California. April 2014.

Dogfight.

Bernal Hill, San Francisco.

Flying drones with Amit.

(We attempted a dronie but it was too windy that day to come out proper).

Bernal Hill, San Francisco. April 2014.

Cloud status: Karl the fog.

Bernal Hill. San Francisco. April 2014.

Write-only interfaces. / A write-only interface.

A write-only interface, which I totally just now made up, is one where the primary (and often the only action you can take) is one where you can “add” to a collection but not view what’s already in said collection. It’s an app with a compose form, but no way to look at all the other things you put in there. If you wanted to get all UNIX about it, it’s appending >> to a resource. So then you’d have to use another app or service to get back at the data.

Why would one want to do this? For starters, especially on mobile:

• to simplify;
• to save bandwidth/load time;
• to head straight to the action that was top-of-mind.

Recently, I’ve been curious about this type of interaction – an interface where the only action a user can take is to contribute/write/add to whichever collection of objects to which she’s authenticated.

An example of such a write-only interface that I use multiple times a day: Jotana. It’s a compose view that sits on top of Asana. It merely allows you to add new items to your Asana list for future review. I find it saves me a lot of time, especially during a conversation where I have to quickly jot down notes, but I don’t want to mess with too many interactions. Sometimes, I can be so distracted listening to a conversation that by the time I launch a note-taking app, I’ve already forgotten what I wanted to put in there.

After using Jotana, I find it hard to just swap back to a more traditional-looking notepad application. Why wouldn’t one want to take notes and immediately add it to their workflow (in this case, mine happens to be Asana, both in terms of personal work as well as team work). If your thinking is mainly around “adding” to your list, why in the world do you even want to see what else is on that list to begin with, especially on a resource-expensive launch? (As far as I can tell, Asana.app is some web/native hybrid, so performance isn’t always as great as a fully-native system – and additionally, the app auto-updates itself way too frequently on launch. This is the reason I sought out an app like Jotana in the first place.)

In a world where it’s so simple and cheap to create and put an app in the app store(s) and where the OS and interface (Spotlight, &c.) make it completely easy to have multiple apps for a single product, why not an app that only allows write-only as an action? Maybe this is only for people that really understand a system, though, and want such granular transaction control. As a casual user, you probably aren’t thinking at a transaction level and you aren’t doing those actions enough times a day. And, as an app developer, you don’t want to split mindshare between too many icons/downloads.

So, perhaps experts only need apply.

For frequent interactions and in the interest of simplicity, I wonder if I need to see all emails before I send one? All Asanas before I create one (see: Jotana)? All transactions before I send money (see: Square Cash)? All check-ins before I make one (see: Checkie)?

All photos before I take one?––Wait.––This is exactly how Camera.app works.

Wait, WUT?

Every so often, when I am sitting alone with my phone (sad panda) and have some time to kill, I log into the anonymous internet: usually WUT and Secret.

After spending most of the last decade on services that need your actual identity, I’ve been curious about these services that allow you to leave your real names behind. I think the late 90s were the last time I personally sought out services where I was anonymous or pseudonymous. Ever since then, I’ve been bringing together my identity into one namespace (@naveen).

One of the immediate benefits in such services is that your words carry weight and legitimacy on their own. You don’t scan to see who posted it before deciding whether to start reading it. Twitter democratized things in the sense that I could post something in the same space (and potential audience) as someone else, but if he started with more followers or a bigger brand than me, you would pay attention to and retweet his post way more than mine (rich get richer). With these anonymous services, none of that matters – your words are the only thing that’s important and they carry themselves.

Sometimes, you can use these services just to have a public conversation of your thoughts. Perhaps these are like the things you mutter to yourself in an empty room when you know no one else is listening. It could be frustration; things you say out loud that you don’t even realize you are saying out loud; future conversation you’re rolling around in your head; &c. (Oh god, I can’t believe I just admitted that here like a crazy person, but come on, surely others do this too.) I find that the majority of posts on both services are of this nature: things that would otherwise probably have never been captured.

In the handful of times I’ve used Secret, I found I only posted things in order to maximize likes. That addictive dopamine behavior that I like so much on other social services had made its way here as well. It didn’t matter that no one would know on Secret that I was the author, but just knowing that whatever I posted was clever or funny (and other people thought so) got me to post even more things. Why do we create publicly anyway if not to be validated? I wonder if others think the same way. Further, I wonder if others post things just to be provocative and to get hearts. If so, the things you’re posting on Secret then don’t mean the same thing as an honest message, and in some ways takes away from the authenticity. (I’ve noticed incredibly funny people on Twitter tend to do this too: make up stories or anecdotes about someone they saw on the street but it just so happens not to be true. Perhaps it’s the standup comic way of telling a story.)

WUT doesn’t have that problem. Because no one can give you the same kind of feedback, beyond just responding to your message with another linearly, you can’t game the system for such events. Even if you post with the intention of getting a response, there’s no interface to show you and others watching “XX post of yours had NN hearts” (or whatever).

Sometimes, WUT turns into a weird game of telephone. This is especially true of this service over others in its class because there are no threads in WUT: no distinction between posts and comments. Someone will say something, and others will take it and turn it into some rhyme or repeated pattern.

I recently moved WUT up higher in the notifications drawer on iOS. It now sits immediately after Phone and Messages. I thought this was very curious as I’ve never consciously done this for any application ever (even ones I am coding up and testing). I thought about this for a while, and then realized I had to do this: WUT’s primary interface is not in the app, it’s in the Notifications drawer. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever had any app on my phone that used this view space in that way.

WUT messages remind me of early Twitter. In 2006 Twitter, we would post whatever and whenever, free of a filter. It was weird: even though all these posts were public and indexable by the internet, we posted as if only our forty-five followers were ever listening. As we’ve gotten older and more people are listening, we have all come to filter ourselves and to start “creating brands around our identity.”

In more than a few cases, WUT has also become early foursquare: “Sun’s out; in Washington square park. Who’s around?”

Anyway, those are some things I think of when I’m fooling around with these services.

Beyond these explorations, I don’t know what to make of these apps. What more can I do with them? How long will the messages be new and exciting and not the same old stuff over and over again? If it’s the same old, I’m likely to just stop using and I think I am getting close. They’re like games in that way: interesting only when they have your attention and, right now, they have my attention.

Wearables versus there-ables.

What if we’ve got it all wrong?

What if we’re not actually supposed to wear all sorts of technology on our bodies and on our clothes? What if we didn’t have to / weren’t meant to carry our technology with us as we moved around town?

What if the technology was actually already in the room when we got there? Maybe that’s the kind of Internet-of-things that will be more sustainable and will win long-term.

We already have early indications that this is a product category that is succeeding and sees more engagement long-term than the types we carry around. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve personally experienced or heard anecdotes about the typical wearable drop-off: you stop using a device or service after four to six weeks of breaking-in. On the other hand, the most successful types of hardware I’ve seen recently are Nest Thermostat and Withings Wi-Fi Scale, both of which you plug in and use, perhaps not multiple times a day, but every once in a while for many days and years to come.

It’s true that both tap into something that we were doing for years as opposed to having us learn about and track something new. (The Nest tracks temperature; the Withings, weight). But there are other smart devices that are around the corner that fit my proposal too: a bed that tracks you and vibrates to wake you up gently; a smart toilet or shower that tracks your body’s physiology, diet and illnesses; a smart kitchen that…well, you get the picture.

That’s not to say that wearables have no place in our future – perhaps the way they should evolve is to become really cheap, incredibly dumb single-feature sensors that actually need another layer like our phone or like a pairing with a there-able device.

Wearables know it’s us because we exclusively wear them and sync them with our phones. That’s the authentication: our phones and the identity handoff that resides in that exchange.

There-ables infer identity based on how you interact with them. There-ables know it’s us because, well, they are smarter: Nest knows our heat signature. Withings knows our body composition.

There-ables have fewer power restrictions; they’re often just plugged right into the power grid and, therefore, don’t need to have batteries charged everyday.

Meanwhile, by being battery powered, wearables can be smaller, cheaper and more abundant all over your body. Perhaps wearables can become like the zippers in our clothing: cheap enough and standardized enough to be in basically every piece of clothing we have on. Or perhaps wearables will take the form of the “smart pill” we keep hearing about: you take it and the results are later calculated by your futuristic toilet and zoomed to the cloud for review.

Here’s a final thought in this argument: that we may not want to carry more than one device with us when we move around. Currently, that is our phone. Yes, it’s a whole bunch of other things too (wallet, keys, …) but, more than likely, these things will all just continue to collapse into one thing: our phone.

And then maybe, besides our phones, the best technology is one that’s already present where we are going.