It should be clear from my writing how I feel about software in 2005: it’s atrocious. So nothing infuriates me more than when an interviewer asks me to predict the future, pen in hand, eyes resplendent with visions of computers that do our laundry.

This happened just a couple days ago when a reporter asked me to close my eyes and imagine ten years from now. I closed my eyes and said unequivocally: “We’ll get to the future when we fix the present. Until then, I don’t want to think about it.” He seemed upset with my answer (maybe because the basis of his article was the future of technology) and kept trying to rephrase the question: What’s the next big thing? I continued to stonewall: the next big thing is the one that makes the last big thing usable.

I’m not trying to be stubborn or difficult. I’m just disgusted by the status quo. I’m disgusted by what the average person has to deal with on a day-to-day basis, and I can’t imagine a more irresponsible way to spend my time than to sit around pontificating on how else we can widen the gap between the people who actually understand computers, and everybody else.

Here’s what I mean: put a digital picture and an instant message window side by side and ask Mom to share the picture. Even though the windows are approximately five pixels apart, sharing them is about as intuitive as a W2 form. It’s actually easier to share a picture sitting on a server in China than it is to share your own stuff. And you want me to gush about podcasting?

I expect more developers would be disgusted, too, if they interacted with Normal Human Beings using software on a regular basis. But the emergence of “usability” as a separate industry only insulates them. When I was at Netscape, we engineers would get reports from the user experience team that read like a chronicle of interplanetary travel: “The mantibulator did not conform to User D4’s expectations. User D4 said it always flippled when she wanted it to flapple, and vice-versa.” The reports would then offer a list of recommendations, such as: “Make the mantibulator flapple.”

The problem is that in the comfort of her own home, away from the duplicitous two-way mirrors of the usability lab, User D4—her friends call her Beth Miller, a florist with 2 kids from Ohio—doesn’t express her consternation as: “I’m disappointed that the mantibulator doesn’t flapple.” Instead, it sounds more like: “Why the hell doesn’t this stupid piece of shit work?”

But you never see lines like that in usability reports. And it’s the same story in product reviews, where you’ll find the tamer: “I found the mantibulator to be interesting, but lacking in its flapplability. Two stars.” Why is there this huge disconnect between how Beth really feels and what we, the ones who can make an impact, really say?

Dancing daintily around the issue only gives the software industry a free ride. Take a break from User D4 and spend some time with Beth. Taste her anger, her confusion, her exasperation. Then throw professionalism to the wind and give her a voice.

I have 17,261 e-mails and 200MB of quota from Stanford. Needless to say, I’ve been teetering on the brink of doom for about 3 months and I’m starting to lose the war. If you sent me mail in the last 2-3 weeks and didn’t receive a response, it’s probably being enjoyed by popcorn-wielding members of Stanford’s IT department, and you should probably resend it. Please also comment here so I can gauge the extent of the problem.

If any Stanford faculty is willing to sponsor me for additional quota, please contact me. Otherwise, I could use recommendations for good, cheap IMAP providers. Thanks all.