Software engineer Ajitem Sahasrabuddhe recently wrote a 6-post series called “Iron Core” about airline ticketing infrastructure. The entire series is probably too software engineer-y for us, but the third part has some interesting info about a particular 1960s user interface called “cryptic mode”:

Cryptic mode was born from a hard constraint: teletype terminals in the 1960s billed by the character transmitted. Every keystroke cost money. A command that took 50 characters instead of 10 cost five times as much. Commands were compressed to the absolute minimum.

The result is a domain-specific language whose syntax was shaped entirely by economics. AN for Availability Next. SS for Sell Segment. NM for Name. ER for End and Retrieve. No vowels wasted. No words spelled out.

Apparently the official name is “native mode,” but it gained its nickname because… well, see for yourself.

Asking the system for “Availability for Next flight” for February 8, from Nagpur to Delhi, is just 13 characters:

AN08FEBNAGDEL

And the system responds in an equally mysterious way:

** AMADEUS AVAILABILITY - AN ** NAG DEL SU 08FEB 0000
1 AI 416 Z9 C9 D9 Y9 B9 NAG DEL 0840 1030 32A 0
2 AI 416 M9 H9 K9 Q9 T9 NAG DEL 0840 1030 32A 0
3 6E 5317 S9 T9 W9 V9 Q9 NAG DEL 0840 0755 32A 0

With time these commands became wrapped inside more approachable interfaces and GUIs. But they exist under the hood and…

Many experienced travel agents still use it today alongside, and sometimes instead of, web-based agent interfaces such as Amadeus Selling Platform Connect. For a trained operator working a booking-heavy workflow, it is faster than the equivalent graphical interface for the same sequence of operations.

Except today, you get to choose. At the beginning, when “online” didn’t imply internet, and registration computers looked like this, you didn’t have a choice: this was the language you had to fluently write and read.

It makes Unix commands, also intentionally short/​cryptic, look like Microsoft Bob.

In light of a recent Googlebook announcement that uses a mouse wiggle gesture for AI (which to me doesn’t seem like a pleasant interaction), some of us were talking about how, on macOS, mouse wiggle helps you locate the cursor by making it bigger.

I am maybe a sucker for videos and podcasts where people start laughing, but here we go – a very short video about a version of Linux that “does not limit how big your pointer can get if you wiggle the mouse pointer”:

A fascinating 9-minute video from PawelCodeStuff about randomness in the context of computing:

It explains those weird moments where sometimes the computer asks you to wiggle your mouse – to generate unpredictable numbers – although the specifics of what exactly was random in my wiggling was a surprise to me.

There is something poetic about computers yearning for that one thing they can never get – complete unpredictability – and collecting it in a little pool like you would something very precious. Also fascinating that in modern CPUs, there now exist hardware components that gather truly random data from the real world.

While I have never needed true randomness in my design career, knowing how to control pseudorandomness (specifically, how to replay it) has been helpful.

Here’s an example. In my essay about Gorton, there is this interactive bit where you can drag a slider for “messiness.” With regular pseudorandomness, the experience is wiggly and gross:

But when you always restart the prng from the same seed (“the Groundhog Day maneuver”), it feels much better:

The post about Photoshop’s new dialogs traveled through some of the internet’s pipes and alleyways. Michael Tsai has a nice roundup of reactions; let me pick a few things that caught my attention.

1.
Nick Heer at Pixel Envy made a discovery that Photoshop’s new windows are… websites:

Maybe it really is possible to build a web app that feels platform native. But I have never used one — not once — and for this mess to be increasingly used in the industry-standard professional suite of creative tools is maddening.

I think it is possible – especially in the realm of classic form fields – but you really have to care and step up and test and replicate a some stuff that the operating system controls give you for free. (As an example, if the web platform/​Electron don’t give you access to the “keyboard navigation” OS accessibility setting, you’ll need to build a bridge from the OS to pass it through. This is how Figma’s Electron app got haptics, for example.)

It is true that we don’t see that level of effort often. But there are also bad native interfaces, and there might be more; Roger Wong recently made an interesting observation that stuck with me. Emphasis mine:

The mechanism differs but the outcome is the same: the platform stops being a place a designer can rely on. […] [Text user interfaces] are back because the platforms quit, and the curriculum can’t fix that.

I think I agree with this; I’ve felt there haven’t been a lot of improvements in native desktop interfaces recently.

In the mid-1990s, Apple was losing to Windows 95/98, and after years of falling by the wayside, the team eventually got their priorities in order, and rebooted classic Mac OS into a (I believe generally successful) Aqua. And in later years, Apple as a whole has often been good about creating extra distance from the peloton even if there was no immediate danger of being overtaken.

But not here. Windows lost its way, and perhaps even the memories of the darkness of the 1990s and the revival of the 2000s are now forgotten. Even if Liquid Glass was executed extremely well, macOS would still feel bereft of true evolution and care. I know there have been some slight improvements to window tiling and more recently Spotlight, but little of this betrays urgency or suggests a vision.

Finder feels like it’s been abandoned for over a decade. AirDrop UI is worse in use than many of the file sharing interfaces that came before it. This common UI is stuck in the state of the art of display colour science that is out of the previous century:

Just on the topic that is fresh on my mind: Why does Shortcuts feel like a toy in all the moments it shouldn’t, but few of the moments it should? Why does the keyboard customization situation feels so messy? Or, why are both macOS and iPadOS still stuck in the ancient way of thinking that menu bars contain all the app’s commands, when the modern approach is: it’s command bars that do, with menus containing only a subset? An innovative modern operating system would offer a universal API for command bars that any app that wants one could use – instead, apps invent their own with varying levels of success and UI quality, and automation tools cannot do much since nothing’s compatible. (This in particular is an example of an area where web apps started leading the way.)

These are just some examples that come to mind. It’s true I have admired and been inspired by some work done on Apple TV and the Vision Pro, but we also have to acknowledge that designing for net-new platforms is in many ways easier than for legacy ones.

2.
Back to Photoshop. In the Hacker News thread, at least one person from Adobe dropped in to comment, and one paragraph caught my attention:

These changes were part of the Beta program. As far as I am aware the response there was not on the same level as this blog post.

It’s not my intention to pick on this Adobe employee, and I am not aware of the specific of their beta program (although I have used Photoshop in beta for a few years). But from my experience, this is why beta testing fails in this regard:

• People in beta programs might be more lenient and excited to experiment.
• For obviously broken small UI things, people will be more inclined to think “oh, they will surely take care of that in the polish phase.”
• In general, reports of smaller UI things are less likely than bigger functional bugs like “this is not working” or “this is really slow now.” You really have to encourage and reward and incentivize people to do that, and usually identify the right people first, too.
• Please excuse my directness, but Photoshop’s user interface has felt low-quality for at least a decade now. There are a lot more examples. It’s hard to expect people in the beta to flag small UI stuff – including literal broken windows – when the evidence all around them is that the company doesn’t care.
• Just because we all encounter interfaces doesn’t mean everyone knows how to identify the things and say the words and connect the dots, especially when it comes to generally undefinable and unmeasurable craft. Good UI is deep expertise. Just like you cannot research or data science your way out of fundamentally bad product decision-making process, you also cannot add craft through relying on your users to tell you. You need to foster this on the inside.

3.
Oh, and when I say “broken windows,” I’m not just being cute. Here’s an example of Photoshop’s “explore” halo that occasionally appears on top of another app just because I have Photoshop open underneath. And, there is nothing I can do in Photoshop to get rid of it:

I think there is something fundamentally very broken with Photoshop’s (custom?) window management, seeing how PS windows jump in front of other applications, or how PS breaks other apps’s mouse pointers. But that’s a story for a different post.

The best thing the crypto industry coined might have been the expression “rug pull,” but I’m not happy about that. To me, it perfectly describes how it feels when an app or a website randomly changes your scroll position for no rhyme or reason.

You’ve seen it so many times before:

• you start reading a webpage, but it throws you back to the top when JavaScript finishes loading,
• you start reading a webpage, and ads or other stuff appear and shove you around up and down,
• you press a back button and that goes to the previous page… but to its top, rather than where you actually were,
• you zoom in or out, the position isn’t recalculated properly, and suddenly you see a different part of the page and lose your orientation.

To me, the scroll position is as sacred as the mouse pointer position, given the two are related whether Scroll Lock is around or not: one is you, the other is the world around you.

But there are moments when software scrolling with the user or even for the user is appropriate, and here’s one example:

When you switch tabs, the content below should always scroll to the top, but it doesn’t here.

Here’s an even worse example, also from Settings:

Why should the content scroll to the top here? Because in these situations, the fact that the content container gets reused is just a technical quirk of the implementation. From the user’s perspective, this is all new content, and new content should always start at the top. Otherwise, things will get confusing really fast; imagine it especially in the default configuration without scrollbars, where you might assume result number 6 is the first result, or completely miss the most important, topmost options.

(Before you ask: Yes, I also see this in Tahoe.)

Randomly found this 2014 Dribbble from Jamie Nicoll and it made me smile:

For context, Save For Web was a popular export function in Photoshop at the peak of its use for web design, but assigned a rather unpleasant ⌘⌥⇧S shortcut. Using it often turned your hand into a… claw of sorts.

There was a Tumblr cataloging real and humorous photos of people pressing Save For Web. You can still find parts of it on Internet Archive, and here are some choice photos:

This is funny, but I actually found it enlightening – and lightly frightening – to ask coworkers how exactly they press common shortcuts like ⌘Z, ⌘C, ⌘V, and so on. There was a lot more variety than I expected.

(My basic heuristics say: three-modifier-key shortcuts should not be assigned to anything used often.)

A fascinating 25-minute video from Mark Brown at Game Maker’s Toolkit about how the team building Grand Theft Auto 3 conquered the technical limitations of PlayStation 2:

How do you squeeze a city that occupies over 50 megabytes into the 32MB memory of the console? You simply do what The Truman Show did, and construct the city around the player as they’re moving around:

This has, as you can expect, a lot of technical and even game-design consequences, and the video goes into a lot of detail on these – including Brown rebuilding the Grand Theft Auto 3 source to visualize things better.

This technique is also used in interface design, for example if you have a really long list of things that would take too much memory or GPU power to render. What the video calls “streaming” is, in the context of UI, often called “virtualization”: instead of having a full long list (or an entire world), you abstract it away – or, virtualize – into something nimbler.

Some of the challenges and techniques used by Grand Theft Auto 3 apply pretty directly here, as well:

• you can use UI skeletons as “low poly” models,
• in some contexts, you can guess the user is more likely to move in one direction (for example, going through fonts in a font picker), and more eagerly preload where they’re going to look next, rather than symmetrically in both directions.

On the other hand, “speedy players” and “pop in” can’t ever be solved because any UI list is random access, and slowing users down is not typically appropriate; better to make loading as pleasant as possible than introduce any roadblocks, even if figurative ones.

Since the early 2000s, Mac OS X had a few orientations of icons depending on whether they were applications, files, utilities and so on:

In 2020, macOS Big Sur unified those styles and made them more iOS-like:

A few years later, Jim Nielsen revisited the icon “Big Sur-ification”, and showed examples of apps that did the transition really well, but also those where the transition felt… lazy, essentially shoving their previous icon into a roundrect.

For those, Nielsen proposes some alternatives that are delightful to see:

The Word/​Excel/PowerPoint/​Outlook explorations are particularly nicely done.

In his latest video, Shelby from Tech Tangents unpacked, installed, and put to use a truly forgotten product: IBM 3119, one of the first consumer flatbed scanners.

The setup was a small nightmare, needing a rare hardware card installed in a specific computer, an ultra-particular combination of two operating systems working in lockstep, and even some careful memory balancing.

Even after all that, a 300dpi page scanner in the late 1980s was still a force to be reckoned with. It’s hard to remember how enormous scanned files were compared to anything else then, even on a black-and-white scanner like this one. The video shows a simple 90-degree image rotation in highest quality requiring over 9 hours, and I believe it.

But deep inside the video, at precisely 19:31, for only ten seconds, something appears that is absolutely worth celebrating. The nascent scanner software has a “curves” feature that allows you to redraw the shades of gray to capture shadows, highlights, and midtones exactly how you want them. Today, the feature would look something like this, with a real-time preview:

There would be absolutely no way to do something like this in the late 1980s, when just rotating an image is an overnight operation, right? And yet:

How was this accomplished? Absolutely brilliantly. Remember the palette swapping technique? Here, the entire screen’s palette is 256 shades of gray. It’s a very particular kind of a linear palette, and so you can easily take that line and… well, turn it into a curve. Since palette swapping happens on the graphic card, it takes as little as one frame of time, allowing for it to react to mouse movements as they happen.

This must have been mind blowing to experience in the moment. Sure, it’s only a preview, and actually applying curves to the image would take many minut—

No. This is a wrong frame of mind. Here’s my hot take: There are moments in software where the preview is more important than the feature following it. That’s because the preview making things faster isn’t just the difference between finishing something sooner or later. It’s a difference of doing something or not doing it at all. Would you even attempt to use curves if each adjustment took minutes or hours, especially in a land without undo?

I love this preview that hints at what the future will be. I like this clever use of extremely limited technology and tight collaboration between engineering and design. It must have been nice to be in the room whenever someone had the flash of insight to use palette swapping this way.

I have a confession to make. I prefer Apple TV’s 2015 remote:

The remote was universally ridiculed for its “which way is up?” problem – too much vertical symmetry which didn’t give your hand enough cues to know whether you’re picking it up the right way or the wrong way.

Apple tried a half-measure first; in 2017 they broke the symmetry by making the MENU button slightly distinct in visual and tactile ways. Hindsight is 4K, but I don’t think it had a chance of working – the tactile cues were too subtle, and the visual ones do not matter when you’re not looking:

So Apple overshot – the subsequent 2021 edition was a full-measure-and-then-a-half:

The remote shrank the touch surface but otherwise drastically increased the volume, and added four arrows, two new buttons, and a strange iPod-inspired clock wheel interaction on top. And to me it started feeling a bit complicated, inching toward the very TV remotes that earlier designs ridiculed. (It also wasn’t as pleasant to touch, as the buttons feel a bit rougher.)

But the reason I like the 2015 remote is primarily because it introduced one of my favourite gestures in recent history: tap to see progress.

It’s hard to describe how wonderfully light this interaction feels every time I use it. You just tap anywhere on the remote’s top half, you see where you are in the video via a subtle UI, and then wait a few second for it to disappear. After this, doing the same in every other player – YouTube, Netflix, HBO Max, anything on a Mac or even the iPhone – feels clunky and heavy. In many of them, you can’t even see were you are without stopping the video!

It gets better. Tap for the second time, and the elapsed time gets replaced by current time, and the remaining time by what the clock will say whenever you’re done watching. I thought this is delightful and clever, sneaking in clock functionality without showing it all the time.

There is also this really nice gestural separation. When you watch the video, taps and swipes are safe. Anything that is “destructive” – that is, causes the video to stop, or rewind, or fast forward, is on the “click” layer: press stronger on the center to pause, or on either side to move forward or back.

What I’m describing feels mechanically similar to other input devices, but the devil is in the details. On smartphones, everything is a tap, so you don’t really get anything lighter. On a Mac, tap as a gesture could only be available for people who opt in to press to click on their trackpad (like I do) – but the fact that tap is the default for clicking, means that can never realistically happen.

The Apple TV tap feels conceptually like Mac’s hover instead, but so much more pleasant and elegant and simple. (I want to prototype tap on a Mac as a lightweight “explainer,” showing tooltips there instead of on hover.)

To be fair, the tap gesture still exists in the still-current 2021 Apple TV remote, too – but the tap area is much smaller.

And just in case you were curious, these are the first two editions: the 2005 remote – shipped with the iMac, predating Apple TV – and the 2010 remote. (I’m referring to model years, because Apple’s own names are so confusing.)

I don’t have access to Apple’s user feedback, but I guess that Apple’s 2021 design was likely the very right thing to do. But looking at four-and-a-half of these models side by side, I am still in the 2015’s minimalistic, unusual, innovative corner.

On April Fools in 2021, the popular xkcd comic ran Checkbox, which was a Morse code puzzle in disguise. (It’s interesting to see the community trying to figure out what it actually does.)

Engineer Max Goodhart built the front-end and wrote a summary of the whole project:

This year was a doozy. We specced and scrapped several different ideas in the months leading up to today. We finally settled on today’s concept just 3 days ago. The need to do something simple was a really useful constraint, and we leaned into the idea of making something primitive but deep.

The team seems to have had a lot of fun with it, including even JavaScript being encoded in Morse Code (the link in the blog post no longer works, but you can still see it on the Internet Archive).

Goodhart also wrote about the immense challenge of adjusting the Morse tapping speed to the user, which counterintuitively ended up needing… adjusting the user to the speed. But the best part is that the server communications used the Morse code in URLs, as well:

We took great pains to make the API for this project use morse code in the transport. If you take a look at the network inspector, you’ll notice that the URLs requested have morse code in them.

This worked for every combination of letters imaginable, with two oddly specific exceptions: a solitary E, and a solitary I.

I liked this description of what transpired next, which would have made me think I was going insane, too:

Then, an even stranger thing happened. I copied and pasted the correct URL into my browser and pressed Enter, and right before my eyes, it deleted the ”.” from the end of the URL and returned a different result.

I was delighted to discover an answer here, not only because in retrospect it’s such an obvious thing that was staring us all in the face for decades, but also because it has interesting URL construction consequences.