After a hack session until two or three in the morning, there would be a price to pay in the morning. Not even three alarms would wake me and I’d be grumpy all day long. The feature I wrote the evening before didn’t even look that good, so I’d be re-written or removed altogether. Another night wasted.
Remarkably I went through this cycle several times: I saw people programming and thought it looked cool, resolved myself to learn, sought out a book and crashed the moment it got hard.
For a while I thought I didn’t have the right kind of brain for programming. Maybe I needed to be better at math. Maybe I needed to be smarter.
But it turns out that the people trying to teach me were just doing a bad job. Those books that dragged me through a series of structured principles were just bad books. I should have ignored them. I should have just played.
I, like most other gamers, am sick of seeing endless rumours and speculation citing “anonymous sources” or “insiders” with no evidence, no proof, no guarantee that they’ve been fact-checked or can be relied on.
We are happy to visit Disneyland or pay real money for virtual goods because they amuse and delight us. Brands are symbols of experiences, and we have learned not to question brand premiums. Spending $200 for an Armani shirt makes perfect sense because the luxury experience and self-expression create an intangible value beyond the mere cloth.
The point of creating adaptive sites is to create functional (and hopefully optimal) user experiences for a growing number of web-enabled devices and contexts. It’s not because it’s “the right thing to do”. It’s not because it’s fun. It’s not because it’s trendy. It’s not so you can impress your boss by resizing a browser window.