Jesse Taggert

I have mixed feelings about the Kindle. There only 2 benefits that I see with the Kindle. One is the convenience. The convenience to carry multiple books in one small physical space. The convenience of wrapping my arms pretzel-like around and through co-commuters while standing on the Muni and still being able to read the book I’m reading. The other convenience is more fascinating—being able to highlight text and write notes and then have a list of those notes separate from the book, and also the ability to share and, especially, read others’ notes about the same book. Distributed social.

What I don’t like about the Kindle reader is what I have to give up by using it. The ability to insert my finger anywhere in the book and experience it rather than a screen telling me I am 23% complete. I don’t like giving up the ability to generously lend books to friends. I don’t like the idea that who and what and for how long I lend books are mediated by Amazon.com.

I don’t like how library digital books are lent with the same restrictions that paper books have—the model of physical scarcity. I get it. I understand it’s a new frontier and we’re using old forms of reference, so to speak. I wonder what electronic books will be like 5 years from now? 10 years?

I would like to see Kindle’s transmit  what is being read on them to nearby smart-device people as a way to mimic the stalkerish joy of seeing what others are reading around me (on the train, in a cafe, etc)

In the meantime, I own a Kindle. I have a large library of physical books. But moving forward, I’m paralyzed trying to choose between buying a physical book or ordering it on Amazon. I have created a strange amorphous ever-changing hierarchy of how I decide whether to buy the physical or digital manifestation of a book. When I want a simple business book, or a quick read like Tina Fey’s “BossyPants,” I’ll order the digital version. When it’s a book I want to cherish more, or perhaps lend to someone in a very meaningful way, I’ll choose the physical artifact.

People are vocal about the music they listen to, the food they eat, the objects they use, but not so vocal about the causes they support (except for political causes it seems). Why is this? There are excecptions, but I wonder where “supporting a cause” falls into how we share and learn from friends.

When does a one-off donation turn into a relationship? Why does someone decide stop supporting a cause?

I think as a society we are trained to deal in the currency of consumption much more than the currency of cause. I think this is changing though.

Lean startup methodology in aggregate is absurd. If “everyone” creates a shaky minimum viable product that relies on users to “tell them what they want” people are inundated these days with 100’s of unsatisfying user experiences “that will eventually get better.”  It’s asking too much of people. I understand this methodology on a small scale, but not on a large scale.

What do you think?

“While it’s important for a brand to develop something to say, it’s more important to create something that will be heard.”

— David Brier, Fast Company

Why not share the wealth? How much a year would Facebook or advertising companies be paying ME to allow ads to be visible on my page? $100? $5,000? $10,000. Has this idea been posited before? Could it work?