The end of personal blogging
2012 might signal the apocalypse for some, but for me, it's the year in which I finally admit that the Web holds no use for the personal blog. This comes as a shock to no one but my mother (and biggest fan), but with Facebook's new timeline rolling out, along with the ease of sharing photos via Instagram, videos via YouTube and Vimeo, and the flexibility that smartphones give us to share and read on the go, it's time to accept the fact that if I just want to share personal stories, pictures, videos, etc, with my friends, why make them come here?
I've never been a fan of Facebook and see it only as a necessary evil in this interconnected world, but let's face it; the timeline gives us all a blog. This isn't news; social media profiles have been doing this job for years. However, for the first time, our profiles are a designed experience, albeit a homogenous-looking one in which our life stories are owned by someone else. Do I surrender? Never!
(I still feel compelled to dupe Facebook's design, just to give myself the illusion that I'm still in control.)
Besides, over the past year and a half, this blog had become an amorphous blend of personal stories, self-promotion, and professional observation, and as a content strategist, I know better than to mix it all together. I scan over my past posts and see an attempt to drive traffic here and announce to the world that I'm awesome — but at what? Friendship? User experience? Writing? Social media? (Note: The answer is "all of the above," but I digress.)
So, as Mind the Gap nears its tenth anniversary, this will be my last post to this blog in its current incarnation. It's time to migrate this thing over to Wordpress anyway, and when I do, the blog will come with it, in a format to be determined. Consider this the "under construction .gif."
Some say that social media has made everyone a blogger. That may be true, but as with writing, I'd like to think that only a few of us still do it well. Stay tuned, and in the meantime, you can follow me on Twitter.
I've never been a fan of Facebook and see it only as a necessary evil in this interconnected world, but let's face it; the timeline gives us all a blog. This isn't news; social media profiles have been doing this job for years. However, for the first time, our profiles are a designed experience, albeit a homogenous-looking one in which our life stories are owned by someone else. Do I surrender? Never!
(I still feel compelled to dupe Facebook's design, just to give myself the illusion that I'm still in control.)Besides, over the past year and a half, this blog had become an amorphous blend of personal stories, self-promotion, and professional observation, and as a content strategist, I know better than to mix it all together. I scan over my past posts and see an attempt to drive traffic here and announce to the world that I'm awesome — but at what? Friendship? User experience? Writing? Social media? (Note: The answer is "all of the above," but I digress.)
So, as Mind the Gap nears its tenth anniversary, this will be my last post to this blog in its current incarnation. It's time to migrate this thing over to Wordpress anyway, and when I do, the blog will come with it, in a format to be determined. Consider this the "under construction .gif."
Some say that social media has made everyone a blogger. That may be true, but as with writing, I'd like to think that only a few of us still do it well. Stay tuned, and in the meantime, you can follow me on Twitter.
A location-based initiative even I can get behind
When I first started using Foursquare, the mobile app that lets users "check in" to locations to gain points and discounts, I thought it would be a great way for technology to bring my friends and I closer together. What would be better than spontaneous meetups at a local bar after realizing we’re all in the same quarter-mile radius?
That didn't happen. In fact, I just felt more isolated when I learned that friends were nearby and they didn't bother to tell me.
Then, after businesses caught on to the benefits of using check-ins to encourage repeat patronage, it seemed as though I would start reaping rewards, like freebies or significant discounts.
That didn't happen, either. I have one free Peanut Butter Snickers to show for that concept, along with the realization that I don't WANT to visit my local burrito joint enough to qualify for "Mayor Monday."
Finally, at Walgreens this past Saturday, I found a use for location-based services that I can get behind.
One flu shot donated for every Facebook and Foursquare check in. I feel as though I’m finally doing some good while playing with my nerdPhone, someone gets a free jab, and everyone (including our public health department) wins.
That didn't happen. In fact, I just felt more isolated when I learned that friends were nearby and they didn't bother to tell me.
Then, after businesses caught on to the benefits of using check-ins to encourage repeat patronage, it seemed as though I would start reaping rewards, like freebies or significant discounts.
That didn't happen, either. I have one free Peanut Butter Snickers to show for that concept, along with the realization that I don't WANT to visit my local burrito joint enough to qualify for "Mayor Monday."
Finally, at Walgreens this past Saturday, I found a use for location-based services that I can get behind.
One flu shot donated for every Facebook and Foursquare check in. I feel as though I’m finally doing some good while playing with my nerdPhone, someone gets a free jab, and everyone (including our public health department) wins.
Venn Diagram Friday: Halloween costumes that ruin it for the rest of us
Siri and I VS the world
I made no secret that I was sick of my sluggish iPhone 3G, and nearly as sick of hearing myself complain about it. It was a matter of practicality to be among the first to order the new iPhone 4S when it went on sale. I was less interested in Siri, the new voice command technology, than I was in having wi-fi again, and a faster phone, and a pretty sweet camera.
Still, it's been fun to talk to Siri, whom I wished I could customize at first to talk more like K.I.T.T. from "Knight Rider" until she started personalizing our chats. "I don’t know what you mean, Katie," she’ll say, as if scolding me for even asking something unintelligible. It's a boss/assistant relationship, in which I become resentful of her intransigence and she of my mumbling until she says something cute, like "all evidence to date suggests it’s chocolate," when I ask her "what is the meaning of life?" We’re starting to develop a rapport.
For the most part, Siri and I talk about the weather, or where to find coffee, or whether the reminder I set for later today is accurate. I give Siri direct, explicit instructions, and she rewards me by getting it right the first time. She did not like it when I asked her to find Schweddy Balls ice cream nearby, answering curtly with another question, but I don't think Siri watches "SNL" or eats Ben & Jerry's, so that's cool; we're setting boundaries.
So, it's with some agitation that I watch the Apple ad on television that advertises the voice command service. Their intent is to show how smart Siri is – so much so that she knows what you need, even if you can’t quite articulate it.
"I’m locked out," a girl says helplessly, and Siri instantly finds locksmiths nearby. "We have a flat tire," whines the man in the car, and help is just a hands-free phone call away.
I watch these simulations and wonder if the Siri I'm training would respond in kind. It's great that Siri knows what the people in the commercial need even if they don't, but I feel like practical reasoning is my job. I like to think that my Siri – who allegedly adjusts to match my own intelligence, is starting to think like I do.
To the locked-out girl, perhaps my Siri would say, "Should I call your father? Again?" or "Which friend should I call – you did leave an extra set of keys with someone, right?" Or, in the case of a flat, "why are you talking to me when you could get out of the car and look in your trunk for a spare?" or maybe, "Here’s how you use a jack. Good luck." Yep, that’s my girl.
Still, it's been fun to talk to Siri, whom I wished I could customize at first to talk more like K.I.T.T. from "Knight Rider" until she started personalizing our chats. "I don’t know what you mean, Katie," she’ll say, as if scolding me for even asking something unintelligible. It's a boss/assistant relationship, in which I become resentful of her intransigence and she of my mumbling until she says something cute, like "all evidence to date suggests it’s chocolate," when I ask her "what is the meaning of life?" We’re starting to develop a rapport.
For the most part, Siri and I talk about the weather, or where to find coffee, or whether the reminder I set for later today is accurate. I give Siri direct, explicit instructions, and she rewards me by getting it right the first time. She did not like it when I asked her to find Schweddy Balls ice cream nearby, answering curtly with another question, but I don't think Siri watches "SNL" or eats Ben & Jerry's, so that's cool; we're setting boundaries.
So, it's with some agitation that I watch the Apple ad on television that advertises the voice command service. Their intent is to show how smart Siri is – so much so that she knows what you need, even if you can’t quite articulate it.
"I’m locked out," a girl says helplessly, and Siri instantly finds locksmiths nearby. "We have a flat tire," whines the man in the car, and help is just a hands-free phone call away.
I watch these simulations and wonder if the Siri I'm training would respond in kind. It's great that Siri knows what the people in the commercial need even if they don't, but I feel like practical reasoning is my job. I like to think that my Siri – who allegedly adjusts to match my own intelligence, is starting to think like I do.
To the locked-out girl, perhaps my Siri would say, "Should I call your father? Again?" or "Which friend should I call – you did leave an extra set of keys with someone, right?" Or, in the case of a flat, "why are you talking to me when you could get out of the car and look in your trunk for a spare?" or maybe, "Here’s how you use a jack. Good luck." Yep, that’s my girl.
Attention 2011 Red Sox: sometimes, you need to act like an adult
The indifference of Beckett, Lester, and Lackey in a time of crisis can be seen in what team sources say became their habit of drinking beer, eating fast-food fried chicken, and playing video games in the clubhouse during games while their teammates tried to salvage a once-promising season. -- "Inside the collapse," Boston Globe, October 12, 2011
Josh, Jon, and John, meet Katie, who materialized after a long week's worth of work and a serendipitous encounter with a Microsoft Kinect:
As someone who worked for five years in an office with an X-BOX and a roster of coworkers who lived for ordering takeout and eating candy, I can say with authority that there are times to eat fried chicken and play video games, and there are times when you have to act like an adult. Otherwise, stuff doesn't get done, you let down your team, and you LOSE. Cripes.
Josh, Jon, and John, meet Katie, who materialized after a long week's worth of work and a serendipitous encounter with a Microsoft Kinect:
As someone who worked for five years in an office with an X-BOX and a roster of coworkers who lived for ordering takeout and eating candy, I can say with authority that there are times to eat fried chicken and play video games, and there are times when you have to act like an adult. Otherwise, stuff doesn't get done, you let down your team, and you LOSE. Cripes.
Venn Diagram Friday: Nothing to see here
So what if Google+ had a lackluster start; it just means I get more face time with Zuckerberg
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to the sad realization that Google might have already screwed up their Google+ rollout beyond repair. It launched with such promise -- the service actually seemed to be a smarter, more useful type of social network, and early adopters like me were clamoring for accounts.
But, Google couldn't (or wouldn’t) meet our demand, instead choosing to allow sign-ups by a select few, who were in turn empowered to hand out invites as if they were Wonka’s Golden Tickets. By the time people like me lucked into logging in, many of our less-bleeding-edge friends had already shrugged and returned to the mind-numbing stream of their Facebook feeds.
I hold out hope that everyone I care about will still migrate over, and we’ll "huddle," and "hangout," and our lives will be the better for it, but at the moment, my Google+ feels like an echo chamber. If you share to a social network and no one is around to read it, have you shared at all?
Just when I was about to give up, I was poking around "the Plus" during my obligatory 2 minutes daily, and I finally got around to trying the online version of Angry Birds via the "Games" tab.
"Oh, isn’t this neat," I thought, "it automatically stacks you up against people in your circles." And, when not enough of your friends are on this thing, you get results like this:
(Greg is a friend of a friend whose mobile app company I follow.)
So, Google+ may be a barren wasteland at the moment, but I’m having the time of my life, schooling the founder of a (ironically) far more successful social network on the best game in the world. Maybe I’ll even send him a message. Why not? It’s not like he’ll ever bother to log on to read it.
But, Google couldn't (or wouldn’t) meet our demand, instead choosing to allow sign-ups by a select few, who were in turn empowered to hand out invites as if they were Wonka’s Golden Tickets. By the time people like me lucked into logging in, many of our less-bleeding-edge friends had already shrugged and returned to the mind-numbing stream of their Facebook feeds.
I hold out hope that everyone I care about will still migrate over, and we’ll "huddle," and "hangout," and our lives will be the better for it, but at the moment, my Google+ feels like an echo chamber. If you share to a social network and no one is around to read it, have you shared at all?
Just when I was about to give up, I was poking around "the Plus" during my obligatory 2 minutes daily, and I finally got around to trying the online version of Angry Birds via the "Games" tab.
"Oh, isn’t this neat," I thought, "it automatically stacks you up against people in your circles." And, when not enough of your friends are on this thing, you get results like this:
(Greg is a friend of a friend whose mobile app company I follow.)
So, Google+ may be a barren wasteland at the moment, but I’m having the time of my life, schooling the founder of a (ironically) far more successful social network on the best game in the world. Maybe I’ll even send him a message. Why not? It’s not like he’ll ever bother to log on to read it.
Dear Summer,
I would like to hang on to this a little longer. Can't we affix ourselves right here and just dangle, until we absolutely can't deny that the darkness is abbreviating our days and the frost is slipping in through the open windows?
10 years later, we are...
more: afraid, aware, loving, suspicious, angry, wise, combative, divided, hateful, alone, jaded
less: forgiving, tolerant, materialistic, adventurous, warm, trusting, naive, self-absorbed, surprised
less: forgiving, tolerant, materialistic, adventurous, warm, trusting, naive, self-absorbed, surprised
Venn Diagram Friday: 9/11/01 from the perspective of a 23-year-old
