I wonder how modern “makers of things” understand how the “end-of-life product lifecycle” determines value, loyalty, and beauty? Do they account for the “end of life” experience of their products? Putting down Old Yeller (G5) this last week was an emotional experience. I have a 9-year old computer that I recently gutted, taking the first step to transform it into a nano-reef tank. I didn’t kill it because it didn’t work anymore – it ran just fine. My G5 lasted so long that I could no longer update it or run current software on it.

I spent a week in Switzerland last month for work – walking by shops, eating on it’s streets, and working in a building that overlooked a cobblestone plaza. In my off hours, I found myself wandering the streets exploring my surroundings. Upon arrival, I quickly became impressed with the strong quality of human scale that existed in the city where I was living. Everything from the streets, building size, and landmarks resonated an existence in harmony with the people that lived there. This is what I describe as human scale – a design quality of an experience, system, or device that expresses a strong sense of the creator’s own scale as a limiting constraint of development.

I wonder where we all went wrong – thinking that computers and making programs and services was really to help people, when it just doesn’t seem like it turned out that way. I used to be able to remember my best friends’ phone numbers. I could dial their digits in the dark. Now, I can’t contact a single person more than 4 blocks away if I don’t have a computer! Amid the cell phones loosing connection, and microwaves blinking with the wrong time, I recently found a silver lining in my computer world.