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In my fantasies of what I want for future computer interfaces, I keep thinking about smart clay. That’s my go-to term for something that doesn’t exist, but that I would really like to exist.

I would like to be able to pick up a lump of clay, mold into the shape of a creature, and then have that creature come to life. The creature should understand, based on the shape I made, that this is its head, that’s an arm, these are its legs.

When I poke in little indentations for the eyes, it then knows how to look at things. If I give it a nice little paunch of a belly, it should waddle appropriately.

And if I make two such creatures out of clay, they will happily play together with each other — and with me.

Is that asking too much?

Eventually this brain/computer interface stuff is going to become practical for millions of people. It’s not going to happen any time soon, but in the longer picture it might be inevitable.

I realize that talking about that now is a little like somebody in 1850 discussing the inevitability of motion pictures. But let’s go ahead and place ourselves in the position of those future people who will take such things for granted.

One outcome of a mature brain/computer interface is that we will all have total recall, should we so wish. Anything we have every seen or heard will be immediately available to us, if we would like to call it back to mind.

And there will probably be a very slick effort-free indexing system that will put to shame the clumsiness of typing keywords into Google. I wonder whether, in the larger scheme of things, this is going to be a good thing or a bad thing.

In a few years, when everyone gets used to wearing those extended reality glasses in public spaces, text will be everywhere. In particular, it will be floating in the air.

Sometimes it will appear very large and looming against the sky. At other times it will show up on a convenient wall.

Then there is the text that will be hovering between you and me during our casual conversation (perhaps when ordering from a restaurant, or spending time together reading an email from Mom). And then there will be text we carry with us, as a personal note or reminder, which nobody else can see.

I wonder what exactly this text will look like. Will it be bright and glowing? Will it look flat or three dimensional? Will preferred fonts be cartoonish or formal? Will it aim to grab our attention, or to blend unobtrusively into our world?

It’s not really a question about technology, but about human preference. So I guess we will need to wait to see what answers will arrive in the laboratory of mass adoption.

Today I helped someone move a refrigerator. It was a nice change from writing computer software.

On the other hand, I started to see similarities. To get the fridge through the door, we needed to partially dismantle it, and then reassemble it again once we were inside. And that process reminded me of some things I’ve done as a programmer.

The step by step process of partially disassembling a machine, and then putting it back together, felt much like things we do all the time as programmers. I was being shown a glimpse into the deeper operational structure of something, starting to see how it is really put together.

When you look at the code written by somebody else, you are basically seeing a machine that they built. In order to work with somebody else’s code, you need to understand that machine, reverse engineer it in your mind, and start using the pieces that they have created.

Seeing these similarities reminds me that there is a universal logic to all mechanisms made by humans. Everytime you get to see a different sort of mechanism, this universal logic becomes a little easier to see.

After an exhausting sequence of deadlines and day-long committee meetings, I am finally enjoying a lazy day off. Much of today has been spent reading Andrew Maynard’s wonderful book Future Rising, which is thoughtful and deep and clever and all-around delightful.

And now that my mind is finally able to relax, I find all sorts of cool ideas for research projects popping into my head. Maybe they were there all along, just waiting for some breathing space that would let them wend their way to the surface.

I’m thinking it might be very productive to take more lazy days off. 🙂

I am on a jury to review computer graphics conference submissions, not for the first time. This year we are doing the entire process on-line.

I have been on this review panel in previous years, and the usual process has been getting on a plane to Chicago and getting put up in a hotel somewhere. Then we spend several days sitting around a large table and going through several hundred submissions together.

To my surprise, I find the on-line version of the process to be much better. There are things that Zoom is better at than real life, and this is one of them.

I think it’s because of the context. When you need to go through a lot of material together, and you need to be thorough, good on-line tools really help the process.

And this year there was a much stronger focus on good on-line tools, for obvious reasons, so everybody became an expert on using them.

In a sense, to compensate for what was missing, we all ended up attaining a kind of shared super power. As they say, necessity is the mother of invention.

I wonder whether we will end up going back to an in-person jury next year. And if we do, will we miss this collective on-line experience?

I recently rewatched Home Alone. This time I was particularly struck by two of the characters — the hapless villains Harry and Marv, memorably played by Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern.

I think it’s because they remind me of two people I have encountered in real life. Both are bad actors, but one is the ill-intentioned and unknowingly incompetent leader of the duo, and the other is the willfully oblivious follower.

Once you encounter people like this in your own world, the underlying dynamics take on new resonance. Which of the two is more culpable — the amoral yet inept cult leader or the morally lazy acolyte?

I’m leaning toward the latter. The former is beyond saving, so there isn’t really much to talk about. The latter can break your heart, because on some level you believe they could do better.

As a university research lab, our Future Reality Lab always needs to keep our focus clear. There are so many cool things we could be working on, but that doesn’t mean we can just do whatever the heck we want.

In everything we do, the driving force can be boiled down to “What question are you asking?” There can be no research without a well-formed question.

Before we think about anything else, we need to think about what question is framing everything we do. If the question is too narrow, it is not interesting. If it is too broad, it is useless.

I know it can sound trite when stated outright, but it is a principle that is worth keeping firmly in mind: There can be no good answers without good questions.

Suppose you received a metaphysical gift of one extra hour a day for a year. That’s it — no extra money or other resources. Just a 25 hour day for the next 365 days.

What would you do with it? Would you invest it in learning a to play a musical instrument, reading a particular set of books, learning a foreign language?

It’s a question worth pondering.

Now let’s take that principle and try applying it to our own non-metaphysically altered reality. Wouldn’t it make sense to set aside one hour from the existing 24 for similar reasons?

Imagine what you could get done with a single dedicated hour every day! I know we don’t usually think about time this way, but maybe we should.

Years ago I met a man who lived in my neighborhood and we got to talking. I learned that he was our area’s representative for Baskin-Robbins ice cream.

I learned from him that people in different regions of the the U.S. have different tastes in ice cream. Taste in Texas and NY are quite different. That did not surprise me.

I asked him whether some U.S. states likes ice cream more than others.

“That’s interesting,” he said, “guess which state has the greatest consumption, per capita, of ice cream?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” I replied.

“Turns out,” he said, “that it’s Alaska.”

Now that surprised me.