Kids and phones and IM and SMS

A colleague was mentioning how his (American) daughters were getting all caught up with Webkinz:

“Webkinz pets are lovable plush pets that each come with a unique Secret Code. With it, you enter Webkinz World where you care for your virtual pet, answer trivia, earn KinzCash, and play the best kids games on the net!”

There’s some IM involved and he said his daughters were nuts over it.

Yes, girls are natural connectors and communicators and love IM.

But, my daughter has no interest in the Web or IM. Y’see, she’s had a mobile since she was 7 and from day-one grokked SMS.

My thought is: How does giving kids mobile phones with SMS change the way they view things like IM? _Especially_ for kids who have never done IM (that’s the spin – SMS kids of today grew up on IM)?

links for 2007-10-24

Tired words: Technology

Haven’t had many tired words lately (though I have had my overload of tired other-things). This one comes from an event I was at where it was way overused.

Technology – I am finding myself less and less a technologist and more and more a story person. I’m not an idiot (you can argue, if you want), I do know my tech. But, I spend more of my time searching for the story behind the solution – how is something used or hacked (as in, unexpected use and why) and how it relates to the person using it. It’s my service mind. Technology is not a thing, but a tool that needs to disappear into the background. At this latest event, I kept telling folks to quit obsessing about the tech and focus on what they want to deliver to the user. The word was repeated so often, like some sort of object, that by the second day it really bugged me. All that repetition suggested to me that ‘technology’ was a place-holder for something that was missing that they couldn’t put a finger on. And it seemed that the tech dominated over the simplest solution (hmm, sounds familiar).

You can review all my previous ‘Tired Words’ here on this page.

Puzzled Monkey

I was waiting for my mates, having a Dinglefoot at the Monkey Puzzle, while a Greek improv band with a bazuki was dancing on the tables.

I, spent from the regular collisions of inanity and insanity by the people I, by necessity, as part of a megacorp and all that implies, must conform to, sat there motionless.

The buzzooki’s mad melody rattled my brain like rocking a baby, mercifully snipping my stupefaction into thousands of cleverly cut shapes of rice paper, dumping them into a toilet and politely flushing them away.

Or might it have been the distraction of a gaggle of giggling girls gamboling in and goggling the Greeks, one of whom, casually held an unlit cigarette in one hand and his ouzo in the other, his head lolling, his feet regularly approaching the edges of the table, only to be pushed back by the bizerkee player, who hardly missed a note?

The pub proprietor approached the Greeks with a frown to curdle fresh milk, his bar rag in one hand and a bill in the other. It seems, the barkeep said, pointing up, back, and around, his Irish accent singing and cupping every ‘r’ gently in a velvety shamrock, that the neighbours were not appreciative of badsucky drilling and middle-age men pulling a Zorba on a peaceful London evening.

The stringéd instrument stopped suddenly enough for everyone to stop talking all at once and look from the Greeks to the keep to the Greeks and back to the keep.

The ciga-Greek finished his ouzo with one gulp and jumped from the table with a flourish and an Opa!, to which the whole bar clapped their hands once and also yelled Opa!. And then with a gentle bow under the scan of the Irish, the Greek said he would acquiesce and would pay the bill and take his bus away with he and his busooqui buddies to another venue, thank you very much, kbai now, and scampered away.

Turning to watch the Irishly scammed Greek table dancing improv bazuki band walk out of the Monkey Puzzle, my mates arrived, finding me sitting with my Dinglefoot, waiting for them.

13oct07

Dedicated and inspired by Don, Wes, Matt, and Ryan.