explosivity rather than lethargy

I had just finished having a discussion with a fellow classmate in the Baltimore airport about travel horror stories.  We were waiting for our flight back to Boston from Baltimore after spending 4 days at the Usability Professionals’ Assosication Conference, amassing clever SWAG, eating crab cakes and watching card tricks.  The actual conference wasn’t as interesting as the after hour festivities that included that preceding activities (by the way…)  Waiting for our flight to board he told me the horror of his recent trip to Mexico; not only was he traveling with 2 small children, but he was with a group of about 10 people, and were being told that not all of them could board the flight for some reason.  All in all, getting into the faces of the airline personnel, the whole party boarded the flight and enjoyed their time in Mexico.  On the way back, they ran into even more obstacles. 

Recently, my parents had a similar debacle on their way out to see my little sister’s graduation.  As for me, I was counting my blessings that I had yet have an issue with my seat, my flights, or any other traveling situations. 

But then I boarded the plane.  Not only was Air Tran’s kiosk totally NOT user-friendly, (lead me into traps, could not read my credit card, had slow processing times) but someone else was assigned my seat on the flight.  Clutching my boarding pass, I stared at seat 29F, where a young man sat.  Assuming he was some sort of jack ass who wanted the window seat I declared confidently that he was in my seat.  He assured me he was not, and we approached the flight attendant.

She was waif-like, with matte cherry red lipstick that yellowed her teeth, and her thin blond hair was tied back in a black scrunchy.  Clearly she hailed from Charlotte (the origniation of the plane).  She loudly stated that she did not have a seat map for the plane (because us passengers would know what sort of information a seat map contains), clearly taking her frustration out on myself and the other passenger.  Her voice was strained, irritated and scratched above the loud ventilator system of the crubling Air Tran plane.  She asked me to find any other seat and that she would take care of it if she got the chance.  If she got the chance???  So I sat across the aisle at a window seat.  the flight was pretty empty and I ended up with a whole row to myself, not bad for a travel “horror” story.

Moments later, I hear the blustering slurs of a drunken passenger behind me, complaining to another passenger that he hates sitting in the very back of the plane.  The smell of liquor emanating from the seat behind me.  He turned to the flight attendant with the yellowing customer service skills and the antiquated hair accessories; “Dear, I really just hate sitting in the back of planes, don’t you hate having to work the back-end?”  She responded, “Oh it’s not so bad,” the chipper voice that came from her shocked me; it was definitely not the same as the tone she used with the other passenger.

“Ya, ya, I know, I just think it’s so stuffy back here, look, I can barely move my legs,”  he slurred.

“Oh!  Sir, you can’t have that on a plane!” she replied, half laughing, “How’d you even get that on the plane?”  Her tone was scolding, on a part with a kindergarten teacher to a class full of small children who run in the hallways (”now you can’t run in the hallway, you know why?  Because someone might get hurt, mkay?”).

“I just got that at the bar, right outside there, the bar gave it to me, so I took it, I wasn’t done,” he answered.  I realized they were referring to a beer bottle.

“Well sir, that’s a federal offense, you’re not supposed to bring glass onto a plane like that,” still, her voice maintained that delicate chirp, completely lacking in any irritated strain. 

“Okhay, okhay, I’ll finish it,” he gurgled.

“Make it really fast, OK?  We need to boogy if we want to make it on time,” she replied.  I almost gagged.  The passenger next to him promptly got up from his seat and moved to another empty seat a row ahead.  The drunk didn’t seem to care.  I wondered about the flight attendant. 

Why the hell was she putting up with this?  Theories of abusive relationships and wanting all men to love her swirled through my head, my desire to figure out some way to report this situation was soon quelled with my lack of interest.  I sat there with my extra wide bench seat, propped my legs up, and pulled out my USA Today crossword puzzle (courtesy of the Baltimore Marriott Waterfront). 

She took his now empty beer bottle and shoved it into the trash can.

Books that I’ve started reading and need to finish

Waking up at 10:30 AM on a rainy Sunday morning, slightly sunburned, and mostly dehydrated, I leaped out of bed, threw all my dirty clothes into my laundry basket and darted for the door that leads to the basement.  I need to wash nearly every item in my closet, my sheets, and my towels today.  And living with 5 other people, there’s no real guarantee that I will get that laundry done in the time frame I want.  I should have set my alarm for 6 AM to get first dibs on our facilities.  I listen at the top of the stairs to the basement and hear the churning of soapy water coming from downstairs.  My frantic scrambling was fruitless…someone had beaten me to the punch, and now there was an informal waiting list to access the laundry.  I struck a deal with one of my roommates to mix our whites–you know, so we don’t waste water.  Only three more loads to do after that.

Because I will be sitting around all day in my “laundry day clothes”–a huge CU sweatshirt, blue sweat pants–I figured I would update my blog yet again this week.  This posting is on books that I have started reading since I moved to Boston, but have not quite yet finished for one reason or another.

5.  John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath

I love Steinbeck–and unlike all the other books on this list, I actually could finish it in one sitting, if I had the time.   Last summer, 8 people in my life were reading East of Eden at the same time I was, independently.  We all loved it and formed an informal book club of sorts.  I love the dusty Midwest setting, the tin can coffee and leathery hands in this book.  I’m definitely picking it up again today.

4.  Jose Saramago’s Blindness

My old roommate KC read this book in a night.  She was utterly creeped out by the concept.  I think that’s why I am reluctant to read this book…that and the lack of periods.  The mental challenge of reading run-on sentences brings me back to my French Literature class in college where I had to read a 285-page book without the letter E in it (Perec’s A Void).  The force of having to ramble on run-on sentences is like imagining the characters stumbling around with no guidance, direction, and yet being forced to move forward.  I don’t think my heart could handle that right now!  Maybe once I’ve finished grad school.

3.  Donald Norman’s Emotional Design

To aid in the process of becoming a Usability Specialist, I figured I should pick up some standard literature.  Donald Norman is somewhat of a grandfather in the usability world.  His background in cognitive psychology brought a more theoretical approach to user experience design–something I thoroughly enjoy.  I started reading this book in a non-linear fashion.  I began on page 10, jumped to 94, 103, then 139.  Of the four or so total pages that i read, I most enjoyed the description of “computer rage” and anxiety inducing factors in technology.  Despite the fact that I read this book to supplement my bibliographic stash, I also used it in my Bill Gribbon’s papers (on emotion and web design).

2.  Bodyspace:  Anthropometry, Ergonomics and the Design of Work

My senior year of college was spent measuring Nubian Mummy skulls to once again address the problematic concept of race in biological anthropology.  Inhaling ancient sand and bone flecks aside, I learned a thing or two about craniometry (its sad history, and it’s uses).  My knowledge in craniometry–and the realization that a person’s environment has, to some extent, and influence on their skull–made me interested in anthropometrics.  The idea of measuring the body so that hardware can be better designed to accommodate the body has always interested me.  Unfortunately, i don’t really have the skill sets to do anthropometric studies.  So, I picked up this book.  Written originally in the 1970’s, the first page of the book refers to a “secretary” named ‘Janice’, whom the author calls a “girl.”  I was put off by that, continued reading, and even looked at a chapter on ideal kitchen counter heights.  Turns out my kitchen counter tops are not ideal heights for two of my roommates (one being nearly 7 feet tall, and one being around 5 feet tall).

1.  Jared Diamond’s The Third Chimpanzee

It’s hard for me to fully trust a man who does not grow a mustache.  I like Diamond’s work, but I am having a hard time getting into this one.  I’d rather read Gould for popular non-fiction books of anthropology-related history and concepts.  I will most likely get this one done in the next year.

For those with steamy sunglass lenses

The wall of heat and wet air that’s been tormenting Boston has finally lifted and I can step outside without beads of sweat configuring on my skin and soaking my clothes underneath my purse strap. I hadn’t experienced this kind of stifling climate since I lived in Abu Dhabi. Emerging off the plane, the first night my family arrived, I thought the hot breeze was emanating from the jet engines of the plane, but no, they were in fact the “cool” winds of the Middle East at 11 PM. Luckily, I found a gem in the Bentley parking lot known as the Resident Only garage, where I’m starting to park my silver bullet. They say animals always detect the presence of forbidding environmental/climatic changes, which is why all the pigeons, in addition to the smart Bentley commuters, have taken refuge in this nearly abandoned garage. Had I not started parking there, I would be burning my hands, soaking my back, and not discovering hatched pigeon eggshells right outside of my car door.

The heat aside, I am writing to inform all 3 of my readers that I will be collaborating with 2 of my good friends Martha Kam and Vanessa Battaglia on a project called Left-Field Usability. Because I measured mummy skulls in college, Vanessa studied Nietzsche, and Martha studied the psychology of family relationships, we have decided that our domain knowledge is not all that up-to-par with other HF students who have a background in human computer interaction and the like. However, we have been doing this for a year, and feel it’s time to start ushering other HF folks with marginalized or obscure backgrounds into the field. So, keep your eyes open for Left-Field Usability. Despite the fact that I hate baseball, the name is catchy, and will probably stick.

Just a preview of some of the content one can find in this project: our own anecdotal stories of falling into the lap of user research, and how to develop a cold portfolio from scratch. We’re a crafty group, and we’ve deemed the project “sexy.” We’re hoping it will take off and be the “Boxes and Arrows” to user-centered design.

On that note, I am off to the 2008 UPA Conference next week in Baltimore. I will have some reviews of talks for you all. The mini-UPA we had here a couple weeks ago went extremely well–I got a free shirt from TechSmith that I now use as my running shirt, and I got to see Jared Spool hit on Vanessa. It was a good time.

2007 UPA Salary Survey

Every year the Usability Professionals Association comes out with a salary survey.  And here are the results from 2007.

2007 Salary Survey

I love it

Top 5 interesting things that have happened to me in my recent life:

5. I finished my Quantitative Methods in Usability final a little bit before the actual due date. This is my second stats class based on the application of statistics in another field. I took a class as an undergrad using stats in Anthropology. Now, I know how to use statistics as a method for data analysis in two completely different fields. Awesome.  By the way, if you are at all interested in statistics, I recommend this book:

4.  I’ve been a little sporty lately.  Not only have a joined a group of people (through my friend Martha) to play football on Fridays at Arsenal Park, but I ran 3.5 miles a week or so ago with my friend Vanessa.  Here is the route I took with Vanessa.

3.  I took a little road trip out to visit my friend Elliot in the town of Nyack, NY.  I was incredibly tired that night, having barely slept the night before and then getting lost on the drive down (5 hour trip).  We all spent the evening talking around a fire pit and the next morning eating an extravagant brunch on the main street in Nyack.  This town is so cute!  People were out on the street enjoying the weather, eating on porches and ducking into the small jewellry boutiques.  After brunch, we laid on their front lawn and spent the afternoon sunning–my first tan of the 2008 season!  Unfortunately, I didn’t take any pictures while I was in Nyack, but my jacket still smells like smoke from the fire pit, and the Hudson River Valley is now one of my new favorite places on the East Coast…but I still have yet to explore Maine and Rhode Island.  Here’s an oil painting of a view from 2nd Street in Nyack–similar to the view from 3rd Street where Elliot lives:

2.  I learned about the country of Tuva on the radio this weekend.  I had never even heard of Tuva before, and I thought I was pretty well-educated in world geography.  Specifically, I learned about the Tuvan throat singers (the particular piece–I have been searching for it–was with Tuvan throat singers with a Bulgarian women’s chorus).  Throat singing is just as it sounds–these singers make gutteral throaty monotone sounds in different keys.  It’s haunting and beautiful–easily imagined being sung in such a remote part of the world (southernmost tip of Siberia).  Here is the basis of Tuvan throat singing:

“According to Tuvan animism, the spirituality of mountains and rivers is manifested not only through their physical shape and location but also through the sounds they produce or can be made to produce by human agency. The echo off a cliff, for example, may be imbued with spiritual significance. Animals, too, are said to express spiritual power sonically. Humans can assimilate this power by imitating their sounds.”

Here is a link to the accompanying article:  The Throat Singers of Tuva.

1.  The semester is almost over, so my relief is making me appreciate the small and simple joys in life such as being able to watch Lost online and being able to wear sandals.  This could have easily been a top 4, but I just felt like bragging about the genius redesign of my closet.  I had to salvage the pieces after a horrifying 3 AM collapse of my clothes rack.  For those of you who don’t know, my current bedroom does not have a closet.  I like to hang up my clothes, so I purchased clothes racks, meant to support a few heavy jackets, not the mass amount of clothing I currently own.  3 AM Wednesday night the entire thing buckled and crashed loudly, jolting me out of bed in fright.  I left my clothes on the floor for the time–having other things to focus on like school.  When I finished my stats final though, I was able to focus on remedying this problem.  So, yay to having time to be able to completely reorganize my closet.  Oh, and I was able to save my broken clothes rack by diagonally crossing the load bearing horizontal bar.  Although I do have to fold half of my t-shirts/tank tops, I didn’t have to drag down this huge and awkward contraption to the side of the road.

homemade iced lattes

There is something about warm weather that makes it OK for me to just roll out of bed and spend the day in public–looking very much like I just rolled out of bed–without worrying about the fact that I look like I just rolled out of bed. All in all, this weekend made me fall in love with Boston all over again–the winter being a trying and depressing experience.  Here is a picture of Boston Common from yesterday, and a photo of a gorgeous tree blossom from my walk down Comm Ave. last week:

hFIDO had it’s first major event this past Thursday–hFIDO Night–which turned out to be much more successful than all of us anticipated. Basically, everything went perfectly…nothing too much to report there except it just reminded me how horrible I am at public speaking, and how red my face gets when I am in front of a crowd of people.

A couple of cool things:

Went and played Frisbee with some of my roommates, and ended up at the Somerville Castle, the site where the first American flag was raised. Interestingly enough, although the Americans though they were sticking it too the British by minimizing the Union Jack, the British, upon seeing the flag waving, thought the Americans were surrendering. This would be a good topic for one of Bill’s papers I’m sure.

Time for me to buckle down and do some work.  I didn’t crack open a single book this weekend, which was kind of refreshing, but today will be simply homework.  I am extremely happy that I don’t have to take any summer courses…

ironing my work shirt

Winter ranting of the shoes I choose to wear…

My advice to those young female urban professionals out there, rushing to catch the T in their New Balance sneakers, heels peeking out of your chocolate brown leather laptop bag: keep the personal flair in your work ensemble. I remember, in the dim time before I bought a car, when I would pack my heels or nice flats, and wear my clunky hiking boots or snow boots during my morning commute. Oftentimes I would get to work and completely forget to change my shoes. Heaven forbid I don’t crank my height up 3 inches once my feet reach the matted carpeting and slippery tiles that make up the Bentley College floor. Interestingly enough, when I didn’t wear my heels to work, I felt like I looked more “on the go” and “young-ish.” There was something about my personal style, rugged-esque, a little torn at the edges, that radiated confidence; a confidence that I could never find wobbling around in whimsical black heels.

One shoe-wear I know not to throw into my laptop bag to be worn at work: sandals. Apparently my feet are vile, should be hidden and offend people within a 300 foot radius. I know I have ugly feet. My three middle toes make a chubby-looking “E,” the kind I used to get commissioned to draw in elementary school for my classmates because I was such a “good draw-rer.” Even if I’ve cleanly manicured my toe nails, and rubbed lotion on my heels, I should still hide my feet because it may remind people of “getting close to taking off their clothes.” It’s simply not professional.

Which brings me to the present…

Summer is ere long, and my feet are itching to break free from the oppressive confines of water-proof rubberings and point toed-ness. The thick humid air that will float in, come May (or June…) will drown my feet out of shoes and into sandals. The inevitable will happen: I will insist upon exposing the scariness that are my feet to my colleagues and to clients. My actions will be scorned, people will hang their heads in shame, but I won’t have sweaty smelly feet.

One thing I have learned from working in offices thus far–having worked in coffee shops, restaurants, and labs before this–is that I need to look “professional.” Another thing I have learned is when I keep my personal style, that is when I feel more confident and that is when I am the most productive and less prone to insert the word “like” after every third word in spoken phrases. I may have to take a stand here in the next month or so. No sandals, no me. I just hope I am in my confidence-inducing footwear when I say that, otherwise I will turn bright red and teeter away when I’m told “it’s out of the question.”

“…the unusually permissive atmosphere in the interest of ideas…”

With regard to the elegance of prototypes and machinery we develop to test out ideas, I don’t think the field has come much further than this:

*An early Boston-based usability study

I am really excited.

Earlier this week I was given a sponsorship by Ovo Studios to attend the 2008 Usability Professionals Association Conference in none other than Crabtown, City of Firsts, Mob Town, B-More…yes, the largest city in all of Maryland…Baltimore! Other than checking out all the latest and greatest in the usability world, I intend to peek in on one of the key note speakers Kathy Berke, who will be discussing ethnographic research in user-centered design.

2 years ago, when I was approaching Anthropology professors about a possible thesis topic, I brought up the idea of ethnography in the human factors world to a prof that I thought with whom I would work well. Turns out that most anthropologists do not appreciate human factors folks referring to longitudinal field studies of human behavior as “ethnographies.” I was brutally rebuffed. So, attending this conference, seeing Kathy Berke’s talk, and finally solidifying my academic background with my current career path is going to be quite an experience.

Paint ball welts, peanut butter chips and a brand new box of colored pencils. I would say that Saturday is going to be a swell day.

Current music: Fantasia…the dinosaur part that I always FF through as a little girl, with Igor Stravinsky.

Top three

1.  My good friend James Stewart came up to Boston for a week or so for a visit.  He has visited Boston before, and loved it so much he just had to come back.  We checked out Beantown amidst a pleasant winter storm, walking everywhere until our jeans were wet up to our knees.  We even made it out to Jamaica Plain, where we went to a sparsely attended tour of the Sam Adams brewery.  At the end of the tour, our lovely guide presented a new “ergonomically designed” glass developed by “Sam Adams scientists.”  This new glass is meant to bring back a culture to beer drinking, not unlike that of wine connoisseur-ing.  I personally just think it’s easier to hold.  The lip curls out so that if you’ve had a few and can’t perfectly target your mouth to the rim of the glass, it won’t matter.  The lower portion, where the hand is placed, has thicker glass so the beer doesn’t warm up from your body heat.  The bulbous top over the slender bottom resembles stemware, but is also meant to give you a better grip as you walk around, beer in hand.  Kudos Jim Koch.

2.  Following your dreams.  My buddy Brandon Meyers handed me a manuscript of his writing in the Spring of 2007.  This manuscript is now being sold in book form in the Boulder Bookstore.  Check it out in the young adult section.

3.  Looking tired, professional, and slightly orange, I am now an official Interaction Design Intern at Autodesk’s Waltham office.  That’s a lot of capitalized words in a row.  Day’s 1 and 2 behind me, I look forward to many more days of sitting in Bodyspace-designed desk chairs and eating lunch with my awesome boss Chauncey Wilson.  I am thrilled to be working here, and hope it will be a great and rewarding experience for everyone involved.

Hello…Friend?

The title of this post sums it all up. For who so happens upon this blog, you must know one thing about me: my name is NOT user-friendly. My mom and dad decided not only to torture me as a kid with bad home-made haircuts and Target brand sneakers, but they gave me a ten letter name that starts with the most foreign letter in the English language: Z.

Zarlashtah, which means “Golden Twig” was always slaughtered growing up. Teachers awkwardly stumbling over the three messy syllables of my name, staring at the class roster for minutes on end, faces contorted in confusion, wondering why any parents would play such a cruel joke on their child. I was trained from a very young age to know when my name would be called on the first day in class. I was always after Lucero, when a deafening silence would be broken with stuttering “Zar…Zar…lash…sh…sh…wow, this one’s a doozy,” In frustration I usually blurted out my execrable name, only to draw more unneeded attention to it.

My name is a very traditional Pashtun name. My grandfather was apparently in love with a Zarlashtah–a young tribal woman who lived in the mountains of Afghanistan. Her beauty and strength mystified him enough that he regaled of her for many years that followed. My name also resemebles that of Zarathustra, the Avestan prophet and religious poet, whose work is the basis of Zoroastrianism.

My family, every couple of years, takes a trip to California. Every time we’d go I would always come down with the weirdest ailment. On our trip in 2003, I teleported back to 1820, contracted Scarlet Fever, and ended up on antibiotics for the first time in my life. If you know me, you know that I am one of four sisters, of which I am the third. If you also know your Louisa May Alcott, you may recall that the third daughter Beth March contracted Scarlet Fever as well. Now, why didn’t my parents name me Beth?

Back to the topic at hand. Another one of these trips, my family went to Universal Studios during the time that Rob Zombie was producing “House of 1,000 Corpses.” No Zombie sightings led us to wait in line for 2 and a half muggy hours for the E.T. ride. Now I must admit that the Universal Studios patrons attempted to make waiting in line for this ride as pleasant as possible. After a winding outdoor wait, that shuffles people like cattle through lanes divided by oily black bars, we’re brought into a forest not unlike the forest from the movie, with Styrofoam trees and the movie’s theme incessantly tickling our ears.

Near the end of the wait, when families are divided into groups and the single riders can finally be pinpointed, you are required to give a teenage attendant your name. Unenthusiastic, and perched in a worn office chair, they simply ask “name?” To which your typical Betsy and John would simply reply. As it neared my turn, I began to get a little bit nervous, as none of the other riders were spelling out their names. They would simply say them, and move on. My little sister, Sara went ahead of me, so did my mother Linda. And all of a sudden, it was me who was saying my name, spewing the mish mash of letters into the attendants ear.

Automatically I began to spell my name as well “Z A R…” But I was interrupted with a terse “Thank you,” so I ceded my spelling reluctantly, took my “access card” from the attendant, and continued to the ride. Nervous, passing all possibilities in my head as to why my name was required to get on the ride, I mounted the unmovable bicycle and the ride jolted to a start.

Having never been able to sit through the whole movie, the E.T. ride was expectedly uneventful and jerky. The squeaking of the rides mechanism took away from the allure of riding through a night sky with an alien tucked in your bicycle basket. The faint wails of small children terrified of heights echoed in the huge warehouse Universal had converted into a ride. The tameness of the ride caused me to seek out any flaws I could see in the paint job, and also to tease my sisters who had a very different relationship with Stephen Spielberg’s 80’s blockbusters than I did.

As the ride came to a close, I noticed that a mechanical voice was speaking to the riders. It was clearly E.T. and he was thanking all of us for giving him a lift to safety. “Thank you Claire,” it said. “Thank you Jason.” I gripped the handle bars, willing the machine to say my name correctly. Suddenly it was my turn.

“Thank you…Friend,” E. T. uttered hesitantly. An eruption of laughter from my family behind me as E. T. easily pronounced their monosyllabic names. E. T. had failed me once again, and so had my name.

People always wondered why I have cut my name down to sound like an Anime heroine. Well, there you have it. That’s why, because if E. T., a seemingly more intellectual and superior being than ourselves can’t pronounce it, then there must be something wrong with its design. As a usability expert in training, I decided to put aside my ego and make my name more user friendly.