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How Conceptual Metaphors are Stunting Web Innovation

 

How Conceptual Metaphors are Stunting Web Innovation

Posted: 13 Jan 2010 01:49 PM PST

Folders
Venkatesh Rao is a researcher in the Xerox Innovation Group, and the project manager for Trailmeme, a research beta technology that allows users to blaze and follow trails through web content and the Trailmeme for WordPress plugin. He blogs at ribbonfarm.com.

As much as we focus on developing new technologies, it is also essential that we break free of certain metaphors that bind and restrict our thinking about what these technologies can ultimately achieve. The familiar “document” metaphor, among others, has cast a long shadow on how we think about the web, and is standing in the way of some innovation.


The Conceptual Metaphor


Rearview
In his classic study of media theory, Understanding Media, Marshall McLuhan wrote, “We look at the present through a rear-view mirror. We march backwards into the future.”

Consider these terms: page, scroll, file, folder, trash can, bookmark, inbox, email, desktop, library, archive and index. They are all part of the document metaphor, a superset of the “desktop” metaphor. Some elements, such as scroll, desktop and library pre-date the printing press, but all are based on some sort of “marks on paper-like material” reference.

It is important to understand that the document metaphor is more than a UI metaphor. It is in fact a fundamental way of understanding one domain in terms of another. For better or worse, we continue to understand the web in relation to how we understand documents. Unlike figurative metaphors, such as “he was a lion in battle,” which are simple rhetorical statements, conceptual metaphors like document-ness are pre-linguistic, and quietly ubiquitous. They infiltrate how we think about things on a much more basic level.

Did it ever occur to you that the phrase “the stock market is up” is actually a particular spatial metaphor for what is really just a number? As a result, we think of the stock market as a geography, which has non-trivial ramifications for how we make decisions about it.

This is often a good thing — conceptual metaphors can be helpful. In dealing with novel phenomena, we often have no choice but to understand the new in terms of the old, the complex in terms of the primal, the abstract in terms of the tangible (companies often pitch themselves according to this logic, i.e. “we’re like FriendFeed for dating”). Accordingly we often conceive of new features, new business lines, and new market opportunities in the same way.


The Tyranny of the Document Metaphor


Documents

Conceptual metaphors aren’t always a good thing, though, helpful as they may be. A conceptual metaphor enriches your thinking in some directions and impoverishes it in others. It can become a crutch, and a burden.

Consider the terms open and close for digital documents. Serviceable though they were in the early eighties, they make little sense for the live, constantly evolving web “page.” For a rapidly changing page, the pause, play and rewind metaphor borrowed from music player UIs is more appropriate, something the Google Wave team has recognized, for example.

As a technology evolves, the metaphor struggles to keep up. It becomes increasingly strained. McLuhan’s “medium is the message” phenomenon starts to really kick in, as users encounter the limits and biases of the medium.

In the early days of computing, we needed only a few terms, such as click and double-click, to mitigate the deficiencies of the document metaphor. Today, we make new demands of the metaphor every day, and it fails us regularly. Consider the irony of your Twitter home “page” that can “scroll” much faster than you can “read.”

The solution? Look for new conceptual metaphors.


Liberating the web, Conceptually


Stream

Let’s continue with the Twitter example.

The conceptual metaphor of a party, with many overlapping public conversations, works much better than the document metaphor. Sophisticated users keep Twitter in their peripheral vision, where it behaves more like an oral medium that you “listen” to in the background, rather than “seeing” it in the foreground, which the “document” metaphor encourages. Note the deficiencies of the conversation metaphor though: it does not cover the Twitter link economy, or asymmetric following. These are better understood through a “marketplace” metaphor, which, however, downplays the conversational aspects.

Likewise, the metaphor that we currently seem to be embracing for the web is “the stream.”

The emergence of the real-time web has finally precipitated the need for a more dynamic framing, and while the stream is accessible and understandable, it is not without its limitations. The flow of information and our “jumping in and out of the stream” may actually point us in a dangerously passive direction. We may dam a stream, redirect it or harness its power for other uses, but the stream remains a metaphor that emphasizes precisely our inability to control or effectively influence or filter it.

Such are the trade-offs in engineering new metaphors. Google Wave is based on a flux metaphor. YouTube borrows a “channel” metaphor from television. The research project I manage, Xerox Trails, is based on the tricky “trail” (as in hiking) metaphor first proposed by Vannevar Bush in 1945.


Conclusion


Central to all these programs of metaphor re-engineering is a recognition that the hyperlink is the basic building block of the web. Our conceptualization of the web still does not truly reflect its non-sequential, branching texture, created by hyperlinks.

We still haven’t truly understood that click and link are as fundamental today as read and write.

All in all, throwing off that burden is an immensely difficult task. It is much easier to create technology that conforms to dominant metaphors. What we need to do as we enter the third decade of the web, however, is consider what we want the web to be rather than awkwardly fitting that vision into older descriptive paradigms.

We need to finally begin articulating the metaphors that will move us beyond the book, and the document. Understanding the rhetoric of the hyperlink may be the most essential challenge we must meet before we are able to move our thinking forward and accommodate our digital ambitions.

Images courtesy of IconArchive and iStockphotoscherbetkickers and shulz

Everything Old is New Again: Social Media and the Geek Connection

January 13, 2010 by Natania | 0 comments

 

Elendor

Geeks have been using the Internet to meet other geeks, well, since it came around. I remember logging onto the Internet the first time, and I didn’t find information: I found a person. I believe I even corresponded with someone in Australia (this would have been in ‘92, I believe) via short emails on a very antiquated computer. And after a time dabbling in AOL chat rooms (hey, there weren’t a whole lot of options) I discovered Elendor, a Tolkien-based MUSH, or Multi-User Simultaneous Hallucination.

What is a MUSH, you might wonder (well, other than that long acronym)?  Long before the advent of MMORPGs, MUSHes (and MOOs and MUDs) allowed you to play around in a virtual, text-based world with other people. Essentially, that gave people like me license to pretend to be in their favorite books… which made it painfully addicting. But while the primary role of Elendor was to roleplay in the style of J.R.R. Tolkien’s books, it served a very important second purpose for many of us: social interaction.

Though I’m not in contact with everyone from Elendor, there are plenty of people who I still talk with regularly, including my husband. (Yes, the geekiest of geeky love stories happened on that game… but that’s another post altogether—in fact, the reason we started talking had nothing to do with hobbits, and everything to do with They Might Be Giants). Many of my friends from the MUSH are consummate geeks, literary nuts, and generally wonderful eccentrics.

I haven’t signed on to Elendor in years. The last time I tried to log in, I discovered that my characters had been purged (every last hobbit). Honestly, Twitter has replaced MUSHing (and chat in general) for me in a variety of ways, and taking this trip down memory lane made me realize how similar both social networks are. Consider the following:

  • Twitter is notorious for its downtime. Well, in the day, so was Elendor (and many other games). Since Elendor was (and continues to be) free, and hosted at a university, sometimes things just went, well, fail. The game would be down for hours and days, and we’d all be screeching at each other on ICQ until it came up again.
  • Twitter can be organized by hashtags. Elendor had a way to facilitate completely non-RP conversation with a variety of chat channels. Most were public; there were places to sing lyrics, to quote movies, to just fool around and be a total idiot.
  • Twitter is full of geeks. Elendor was no exception.
  • Twitter has a sort of learning curve. Sure, there’s plenty of people who use Twitter that are total idiots. But on the whole, those who work to get something out of Twitter really do. The same went for Elendor. It’s a revolving door of people; someone you get on with extremely well may be gone in a month. There’s no telling.
  • Twitter is really basic. It’s text, with little pictures. Most MUSHes are also extremely basic, just text on a background.
  • Twitter is real-time. People laud Twitter for its immediate news capabilities, but the MUSH was the same way. I’d often find things out on Elendor as it happened. And with players from all around the world, it definitely lent an international spin to things, too.
  • People on Twitter tend to exude a persona. I used to call it a MUSHPersona, back in the day. It’s a way to make a character of yourself, even while OOC. Sometimes more irascible, sometimes more flirtatious–social media of all sorts allows you to create a version of yourself, even if you are being, well, yourself. Having met people both online and IRL with Twitter and Elendor, I can safely say there’s often quite a remarkable distinction.

At any rate, my rather meandering conclusion is that really, even with the Internet, nothing is new. Twitter taps in to a way that people communicate, and have been communicating for a long time. That geeks have been doing it for decades is no surprise!

Have any pre-Twitter social media stories to share? Let us know!

Posted in Culture, Uncategorized, Web | No Comments »

 

Learn to Let Go: How Success Killed Duke Nukem

Illustration: Olly Moss

Illustration: Olly Moss

On the last day, they gathered for a group photo. They were videogame programmers, artists, level builders, artificial-intelligence experts. Their team was — finally — giving up, declaring defeat, and disbanding. So they headed down to the lobby of their building in Garland, Texas, to smile for the camera. They arranged themselves on top of their logo: a 10-foot-wide nuclear-radiation sign, inlaid in the marble floor.

To videogame fans, that logo is instantly recognizable. It’s the insignia of Duke Nukem 3D, a computer game that revolutionized shoot-’em-up virtual violence in 1996. Featuring a swaggering, steroidal, wisecracking hero, Duke Nukem 3D became one of the top-selling videogames ever, making its creators very wealthy and leaving fans absolutely delirious for a sequel. The team quickly began work on that sequel, Duke Nukem Forever, and it became one of the most hotly anticipated games of all time.

It was never completed. Screenshots and video snippets would leak out every few years, each time whipping fans into a lather — and each time, the game would recede from view. Normally, videogames take two to four years to build; five years is considered worryingly long. But the Duke Nukem Forever team worked for 12 years straight. As one patient fan pointed out, when development on Duke Nukem Forever started, most computers were still using Windows 95, Pixar had made only one movie — Toy Story — and Xbox did not yet exist.

On May 6, 2009, everything ended. Drained of funds after so many years of work, the game’s developer, 3D Realms, told its employees to collect their stuff and put it in boxes. The next week, the company was sued for millions by its publisher for failing to finish the sequel.

Front and center in the photo sits a large guy with a boyish face. You can’t tell from the picture, but he had gotten choked up when he made the announcement. His name is George Broussard, co-owner of 3D Realms and the man who headed the Duke Nukem Forever project for its entire 12-year run. Now 46 years old, he’d spent much of his adult life trying to make a single game, and failed over and over again. What happened to that project has been shrouded in secrecy, and rumors have flown about why Broussard couldn’t manage to finish his life’s work. What went so wrong?

This is what happened.

Broussard would not talk to Wired for this story. He was polite about it, but because his firm is being sued over its failure to complete Duke Nukem Forever, he declined to be interviewed, as did his cofounder and partner, Scott Miller. Broussard also emailed his former employees to warn them not to talk; many refused my requests, often because they remain friends with Broussard. But enough were willing to discuss the game — almost all anonymously — that a picture began to emerge, aided by Broussard’s and Miller’s prodigious postings on discussion boards and a handful of public interviews.

Broussard and Miller met in the late ’70s in Dallas, during Miller’s senior year of high school. They would hang out in the computer lab, programming clunky 2-D and text-adventure games. When Miller was in his twenties, he invented the shareware model of selling games and formed his company, Apogee (which started going by 3D Realms in 1994): He’d break a game into chunks, release it for free on BBSes, get people addicted, and then charge them for the remaining parts. By 1990, he was publishing and marketing titles created by others. He quit his day job and brought Broussard on. They were a study in contrasts: Miller, guarded and quiet, became the savvy business dealer, while Broussard — a voluble, energetic, ponytailed presence who carried around a single notebook as his organizational tool — became the creative impresario, famous for an unerring sense of what was fun. In 1992, the duo published Wolfenstein 3D, created by a then tiny studio called id Software. It was the first game to let players run around a 3-D first-person environment shooting enemies, and it became a breakout hit, selling 200,000 copies. 3D Realms went from being a $25,000-a-month startup to a $200,000-a-month corporation. The realistic, lead-spewing shoot-’em-up was born.

By 1994, Broussard began concocting his own breakout game — one that would upend the conventions of the fledgling genre. Where other titles were gloomy and self-important, his would be brassy, colorful, and funny. Instead of playing as a faceless marine, gamers would play as Duke Nukem, “a combo of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Arnold,” as Broussard described him. Broussard and Miller assembled a seven-person team to build the product. The pair had a knack for discovering talent: One of their recruits was a 17-year-old programmer from Rhode Island — barely out of high school — who created their game engine, the crucial piece of software that displays the 3-D world for the player. After a year and a half of work, Duke Nukem 3D was released online in January 1996.

Sales were explosive. The game was addictively fun and crammed with racy humor, including strippers you could tip (at which point they’d flash their pixelated boobs) and mutant pigs dressed in LAPD-like uniforms. Critics went fairly mad with praise. In most games, the world was static, but Duke Nukem players could interact with objects — they could get Duke to play pool or admire himself in a mirror (”Damn, I’m looking good!” he’d say). The title sold about 3.5 million copies, making Miller and Broussard straightforwardly wealthy.

In April 1997, Broussard announced a follow-up: Duke Nukem Forever, which he promised would outdo the original in humor, interactivity, and fun. The firm set no formal deadline, but Miller predicted the game would be out within about a year, “well before” Christmas 1998. “We see Duke Nukem as a franchise that will be around 30 years from now, like James Bond,” Miller told a gaming site. Broussard compared Duke to Nintendo’s Mario — a character that would star in title after title, year after year.

But the cycle that would demolish Duke Nukem was about to begin.

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