“Nowadays, it’s just as important for a science building to behave like a skilled party host. Because scientists believe the best ideas originate in casual conversations that occur in hallways and lounges, informal spaces that encourage sociability and serendipitous encounters are crucial.” —
Inga Saffron: Changing Skyline: Biology central | Philadelphia Inquirer | 08/12/2011
Can’t wait to go back and see the inside of this building. Watching it being constructed the past few years, I’m not the biggest fan of the outside, but the concepts behind the whole package are good.
“Make no small plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us.” — Daniel Burnham
“Design is not a form of art, not a form of science, and not a form of management. Design is not applied art, not applied science, and not the same as business practice. It is not the same as invention or creativity in general. Design is not a simple change in practical step-by-step procedures or the use of particular tools. Design is the activity we humans engage in when we are not satisfied with our reality and we decide to intentionally change it. It is an approach that deals with overwhelming complexity, that rely [sic] on judgment as its logic, and that is focused on the creation of the ultimate particular.” — Erik Stolterman
One of the Five Manifestos for Life from Brain Pickings, my new favorite blog of delightfully curated content
“If you’re not disruptive, everything seems to be repeated endlessly - not so much the good things but the bland things - the ordinary things - the weaker things get repeated - the stronger things get suppressed and held down and hidden.” — Robert Adamson via Molly Holzschlag @WhartonWebConf
“While life may imitate art, it’s not necessarily meant to be displayed as such” —
Conceptual Suburbia: A Design Project Descends on Levittown - Allison Arieff - NYTimes.com
Fascinating failure to work with “users”
Dear Google,
I want my screen real estate back. For the past four years I have organized my life with Calendar, and while the new look is generally cleaner, it reduces the area for the main focus of the page — the calendar. The week view on my wee little netbook screen loses an hour of visible time and has thinner day columns.
Normally I wouldn’t be miffed over a few pixels, but one of your key design principles for these changes is
Elasticity: The new design will soon allow you to seamlessly transition from your desktop computer to your mobile phone to your tablet, while keeping a consistent visual experience. We aim to bring you this flexibility without sacrificing style or usefulness.
It’s clear that more emphasis was put on style in this change. I have to wonder where netbooks fall in that classification — we still behave like desktops, but we have similar sized screens to a tablet; did tablets experience this misappropriation of space as well, or are they given a platform-specific design?
The standardized treatment for the search bar struck me as a huge waste of space at first (in 4 years I’ve used calendar search maybe a handful of times), but on comparing to the old version it is only a pixel or two taller; where most of the space is lost is the added padding in and around the navigation bar. Reasonable, but aggravating. It would be nice to be able to collapse the search bar and left sidebar (like you can with Tasks on the right), enabling some sort of “full-screen” view. Also, I never use the “Create” button…and while it may be considered a primary call to action on the page, I resent all the space and emphasis it’s getting. And what’s up with that big margin on the left of everything?
Yours Overcritically,
Jamie
“The librarian isn’t a clerk who happens to work at a library. A librarian is a data hound, a guide, a sherpa and a teacher. The librarian is the interface between reams of data and the untrained but motivated user.” — Seth’s Blog: The future of the library
I went to see the Arctic Monkeys last night, and for the first time waited around after the show for autographs (something I’d never thought to do before). The Sharpie supply in the crowd was impressively low and I only managed to get my ticket signed by the lead singer and bassist, but it was still pretty cool.
One fan had an iPad and got the band to sign using their fingers. They’d never encountered this before and were a little confused at first, but played along. It was a strange sight that got me wondering about the nature and future of keepsakes like autographs in our increasingly digital world. What is so special about getting something signed by an artist? Is it about the changed object you get, or the experience of interacting with someone who is normally out of reach? If it’s about the object, is there something less valuable about a digital signature, with its lack of physicality and reproducibility?
This also came up recently at UX Book Club when I had Indi Young sign my copy of Mental Models, and others had only digital copies of the book and therefore nothing to sign. Could there be some analog* for ebooks, and would it come close to the value we instill in getting a physical book signed?
*pun fully intended
“AIM was also a sliver of who you were. In many ways, it was the internet’s first mainstream social network. AIM profiles were a cocktail of all MySpace’s tacky, inane juices squeezed out, but again, they were personal and public. Blank slates. White boxes. You could make them whatever you wanted—grating, bleeding pink text on black backgrounds, sprawling links, Odyssey-length inside jokes—anything that fit within the 1024 character limit. It was primitive but pioneering.” —
Remember When AOL Instant Messenger Was Our Facebook? - Gizmodo
I grew up on AIM, and this article captures a lot of thoughts I’ve had about it over the years. Oh, nostalgia.