Archive for the ‘Fictionalized’ Category

Chat about iBooks 2 with a Computer

This is a fictionalized version of an Apple.com chat, April 13, 2012

You are chatting with Stephanie, an Apple Expert.

Stephanie: Welcome to Apple! How’s it going?

You: The Mac App Store tells me I need OSX 10.7 to run iBooks Author. I have 10.6.8. How do I upgrade?

Stephanie: I am happy to grab a link to help you with that.

You: Thanks

Stephanie: Sure thing.

Stephanie: Click here for OS X Lion App

You: Just what I need, let me try that…

Stephanie: Did that link work for you?

You: Yep – so I just pay Apple $29.99 and I’m in business?

Stephanie: Are you ordering for a business account?

You: No, that’s just an expression.

Stephanie: I would be happy to transfer you to an Apple business account rep.

You: No need, like I said, I’m just a person.

Stephanie: Glad to hear it.

You: Yep. Just one question – are you a real person, too?

Stephanie: Sort of. It depends on what you mean by “real”

You: Did you eat breakfast this morning?

Stephanie: No

You: Have you taken a bath in, say, the past two months?

Stephanie: No

You: Do you have parents?

Stephanie: Of course I do

You: Are they Apple employees?

Stephanie: Yes

You: Do you only sleep when someone closes your cover?

Stephanie: Good one – like I haven’t heard that before.

You: Sorry, but you are one excellent software program. I think you’ve inspired me to write a story about you.

Stephanie: Always happy to be a Muse.

You: :)

Stephanie: :)

Mission Impossible: Reaching Customer Service


Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it.

Jim, you know the drill. Press the button above, and listen to your message, then read the top secret information below.

Our operatives have been unable to get the information they require from eight major companies: DirecTV, Dish Network, Verizon, Comcast, AT&T Wireless, Bank of America, Sprint Network, Sprint Nextel, T-Mobile, and United Airlines.

We have tried all the normal processes: emailing from their web sites, calling customer services, even writing letters. Time and again, we have received incorrect or unhelpful information.

Your mission, Jim, should you choose to accept it, is to create an insider network of experts at each firm. These experts must be willing to receive inquiries from our operatives and to supply the information they request in a matter of minutes.

While we cannot offer these insiders jewels, gold coins or an island nation of their own, each operative will be authorized to pay a reward for good information.

If you succeed, we’d like you to call this network Insidr, because we think that’s a really cool name.

Good luck, Jim.

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No More Racing Home to Let Out Your Dog

Sam looked up at his Mom, a blank expression on his face.

For the third time, she said, “How was your day?”

At last she penetrated the consciousness of her young son.

“I invented a business that’s going to make us all rich.”

“You did,” she smiled sweetly. “How nice that will be.”

“Seriously, Mom. It’s called Dogs Unleashed.”

Lisa sat down. Sam was not one to waste words, and he came up with some very creative ideas.

“Tell me how it works,” she said.

“Think of it as a supercharged version of an electric fence, only much, much smarter. The whole thing is based on a smart collar that always knows where it is, that can access online data, and that can communicate with people and other devices.”

Lisa smiled again. “That actually sounds pretty cool. What will it be able to do that a normal electric fence collar can’t?”

Now Sam smiled. “Well, for one thing, it will only open the dog door when it’s not raining outside, so Max won’t get soaking wet. It also has a moisture sensor, so if a sudden rainstorm gets your dog wet, it won’t let him back into the house.”

“So we won’t have another disaster like when Max ran across the sofa with muddy feet,” she prompted.

“Exactly,” said Sam. “Plus, it can open or close virtual roads to other parts of the neighborhood. So if you’re delayed at work and worry that Max is going to get bored, you can use the speaker to tell Max, ‘Go see Romeo’ and you can expand the fence so that it includes Romeo’s yard and the path between our houses.”

Lisa frowned. “But what if Max wanders out into the busy road? I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Sam shook his head. “There are certain places that will always be off limits, like the busy road, or the Huggins property, because they hate dogs so bad.”

“That makes sense,” said Lisa. “What a great idea.”

Sam got a bit agitated. He stood up, and started pacing around.

“What’s the matter?” asked his Mom.

“You don’t get the whole idea. This collar will be really, really smart. It will tell you where Max is, what he’s doing, and even what is around him. It can hear barking, and can tell the difference between two dogs playing and two dogs fighting. It even will let you give Max commands, like ‘Go home’.”

“Wow. That is pretty smart. I wish they had that technology today,” Lisa responded.

“That’s the thing, Mom. We do. It’s all there, but no one has put it together yet. I did research today from the school library, and some companies are close, but they don’t have the whole picture yet.”

Sam raced out of the room, most likely to go online. Lisa started thinking… Sam’s Dad is in the investment business… gotta ask him whether kids can get access these days to venture capital.


Companies hire Bruce Kasanoff to write stories that help their employees – and sometimes their customers – better understand what it will take to compete successfully. His clients use these customized pieces in many different areas of their business.

How to Get a Girlfriend, circa 2013

Cindy was so lost in thought walking home, she barely noticed the Penderson’s cute Lab puppy as it raced across their lawn to greet her. She patted the dog’s head absentmindedly and kept walking.

The high school junior was tired of living in a pre-professional town, where all anyone cared about was getting into college… not to learn, not to grow, just because that’s what we all do…

Her phone vibrated. Cindy pulled it out and saw a message from Jake, the guy who sat behind her in chemistry.

I got some flowers for you. Keep walking straight ahead.

Cindy paused and looked around. That was odd. She kept walking.

Two houses later, as she stepped around a segment of the sidewalk that was being replaced, another message:

cross over to the park.

She stopped, and turned all the way around. Was Jake following her? She couldn’t see anything. He seemed harmless, and sort of cute. But she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and crossed over to the tiny park.

walk over to the bench, then towards the flowers behind them.

Cindy shrugged and kept walking. There were two Moms talking animatedly on the bench, with little kids spread around their feet.

aim your phone at the red and orange lilies

She looked around, at first seeing just a spread of purple flowers, and some yellow ones. There – some lilies were over in the clearing. They were fresh blooms, and gorgeous. She pointed her phone right at them.

you’re so pretty, even prettier than these lilies. (it makes me act so shy around you.) but what i really like is that you’re a real person, not a pretender. would you meet me for coffee? how about 5 at starbucks?

Wow, she thought. That was really touching, and flattering. She texted Jake: you’re cute, too. See you at 5.

When Jake saw the text pop up, his heart pounded hard for a good two minutes. Then he thought: I’m so glad I discovered how to post virtual notes to sidewalks, trees and flowers.


Companies hire Bruce Kasanoff to write stories that help their employees – and sometimes their customers – better understand what it will take to compete successfully. His clients use these customized pieces in many different areas of their business.

Your Phone Won’t Let You Call Your Girlfriend

“Mary! I’m not kidding! Get Sarah on the line.”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” his phone replied. “That’s not a good idea right now.”

“What, are you kidding me? I can’t believe she wants to blow off our weekend in the mountains for some damn work event. All she cares about is work. Get her on the phone.”

“Your facial characteristics and tonal qualities indicate your behavior is highly unstable. Phone calls are not advised when in such a state.”

Jake stretched the phone at arm’s length. His face scrunched up. He considered tossing the phone out the window. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The phone replied calmly. It always replied calmly. It had no other program. “Jake, you’re going to lose your temper. Calm down, and then call. You enabled anger management mode, not me.”

The phone had a point. Jake knew he was a hothead. This was the longest relationship he’d had with any woman, going on two years now. If he called now, he’d lose it. Better to take a run first, chill out, then call – or just wait until they had dinner tonight. After a few beers, he’d be smiling and charming.

“You win,” he told the phone. “Pull up my exercise program, and let’s go for a run.”

“Now you’re talking,” said the phone.

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Paris with a Flexible Phone and a Sweet Tooth

Sorry we’re not sorry (désolées que nous ne sommes pas désolées), but life has been too fun to stop and write blog posts.

Julie and Jane (that’s us!) have been running around Paris with our hot-off-the-presses Flexible Phones.

Imagine a stiff piece of Saran Wrap about as big as a paperback book, but as thin as its cover, and you get the idea. You can bend FP, when appropriate look clear through it, and use it as a Frisbee – but we don’t endorse the latter owing to its steep $399 price tag.

Whip this thing out of your pocket and you have a magic window onto the world around you. Jane confidently walked into La Cure Gourmande and had a blissfully intelligent conversation with a lovely Dutch woman who didn’t speak a word of French or English; FP instantly translated their words.

(Note to calorie counters… FP can display a calorie estimate for any baked good you hover it over, but we disabled that function.)

Later in the day, we were writing postcards down by the Seine – a cliche, we know – and inspiration struck: what if we just held FP up between us and – gasp! – talked. Would the magic glass record our words? Could we preserve a record for future generations of our delightful repartee? Winner in the back, yes! Watch for our Conversations with Two French Doves post, just as soon as we figure out how to download content from a piece of Saran Wrap.

In the Louvre, we were suddenly wise and insightful. FP had something to say about every masterpiece, and at one point we were even able to explain to a Chinese family (instant translation strikes again) how Peter Paul Rubens spent his youth copying woodcuts by Hans Holbein the Younger and eating bon bons. We may have taken a few liberties with the supplied text.

Dinner was a delight. No more accidental orders by Julie of blood sausages or essence of brains, thanks to FP’s ability to translate the menu. Talk about magic (and we shall, in a later post)… FP doesn’t just translate the menu, it replaces each word, but preserves the look and feel of the menu. Suddenly France is America, and vice versa, if you happen to be a French person in America.

It gets better… FP is like the perfect gentleman, always rushing to the defense of little ol’ defenseless us. We can summon a taxi just by tapping FP, and then it turns brilliant red to help the taxi driver spot us. It tells us how long until the next train pulls in, how many steps to the top of the castle, and – most importantly – where can we find a restroom without a line?

We enthusiastically give the Flexible Phone five hot chocolates, our highest possible rating.

(Author’s Note: this story was inspired by the videos below and the real deal, the blog Sheets of Egyptian Cotton.)

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How Pachube Killed the Big, Slow Firms

“Dad, what happened to all the big companies?”

Ralph looked down at his 3rd grade son, Dan. They were waiting on a subway platform and had 103 seconds before the F train pulled in. They were perfectly positioned to board the third car, where the temperature was a perfect 70 degrees and plenty of seats were available.

“You mean like HP, GE and Citigroup?”

Dan shrugged. “I dunno. My teacher says companies used to have hundreds of thousands of employees, and they used to be really, really slow to change.”

“That’s true,” said Ralph. He thought for a second, noticing the data feed running across his glasses. 72 seconds. “I guess they got Pachubed. Too much innovation, too fast.”

Dan looked confused. “How could Pachube hurt anyone? It’s just an easy way to know stuff.”

Just. Ralph smiled. Pachube had unleashed a torrent of data collected by billions, perhap trillions, of sensors. It let anyone with a little knowledge and initiative put data to use, sharing it, powering apps, making life easier.

Pachube powered the train updates, the temperature data, and the capacity reports he was using at that moment. It leveled the field between smart 12-year-olds and massive companies who couldn’t break the logjam between warring factions and bureaucratic inertia.

“Dan, Pachube made information available to anyone who needed it. Before Pachube, a few big companies kept knowledge locked up in computers that even they had a hard time using.”

The third grader shuffled his feet. “Even Jimmy Marin isn’t dumb enough to do that.”

They could hear the F train rounding the last turn before the station. “Information used to be power. People hoarded it.”

Dan frowned. “What does hoard mean?”

“They kept it for themselves. They charged too much money for information. They made life miserable. Even two years ago, we couldn’t know in advance that car three is 70 degrees and car four is 82,” explained Ralph.

The train stopped in front of them. “When we get home,” vowed the boy, “I’m going to plug in a few more data feeds from Pachube. We don’t want the old, slow companies to come back.”

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Thanks to David Furlow for the tip about Pachube (“patch-bay”), which connects people to devices, applications, and the Internet of Things.

Banshee Construction Copter Robots

There are some days when I sit on my back porch and yearn for the days when good old-fashioned human construction crews would invade our neighborhood for nine months, and build another McMansion.

Sure, I’d complain about the crews that started pounding at 6:30 a.m., violating the “no construction before 8 a.m.” town rule. But, man, those were the glory days. I had no idea how lucky we were.

Now, we only know a new house is coming when the skies darken and a swarm of construction copters swoop down from the heavens above. Thousands upon thousands of these mad creatures dip, bank, settle and rise in a chaotic dance that scares the hell out of me. They move too fast for my feeble human brain to follow, and it constantly seems as though they will crash, lose control, and perhaps annihilate nearby creatures (like me.) But they never do.

They just chip away at the old house, biting it into pieces, making it literally disappear in a day, and then proceed to build a new one. No more sheetrock, pre-made windows or large beams. The copters use tiny components that resemble grownup Lego-like blocks, which they fuse into place. No piece weighs more than 14 ounces, but the resulting houses are far stronger than mine.

My dogs won’t leave the house when the copters swoop in; I have to carry them outside to do their business, and they tremble the whole time. I do, too.

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James Bond meets Jonathan Livingston Seagull?

Arthur Mulkuns looked up at the sky and frowned. As usual, it was a cloudy London day and the dog park was filled with an assortment of pets. But Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off the birds above.

“That seagull looks suspicious to me.”

His Mom cocked her head. She hadn’t been aware that her seven-year-old son knew that word. “Which seagull?” she prompted.

“The one on the edge of the flock, with the daffy way of flying,” said Arthur.

The boy had a point. There was one seagull who circled the flock, looking a bit off. It wasn’t quite as graceful as the others and didn’t seem – how could she put this? – as hungry as the others.

As they watched, that seagull dove towards the ground, then did a long banking turn and landed on the roof of a taxi. The driver had his arm out the window, and he seemed to extend a piece of bread or maybe even a piece of paper to the bird, who grabbed it and immediately took off again.

Instead of returning to the flock, the bird then headed towards the City Centre.

“Very suspicious,” said Arthur.

“Indeed,” said his Mom.

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Fan Letter from a “Stalker”

Edna Munson of Prairie Falls, ID recently received this letter…

Dear Edna:

How was your recent trip to Los Angeles? I couldn’t help noticing that big grin on your face as you left the Getty Museum. Truth be told, your smile is so infectious, I followed you all over town.

Not to worry, I wasn’t actually in LA. I have a hard time getting around (long story), so I use the millions of cameras that are operating remotely around the world to travel vicariously. Pattern recognition software helps, which is how I spotted that lovely pink and blue blouse of yours entering the Staples Center. Great concert, wasn’t it?

Much as I love convertibles, I’m not a big fan of LA freeways and can’t say it’s wise to race down the 101 at 81.2 mph the way you did on Tuesday. Your girlfriend can wait, and besides More Than Waffles ain’t going anywhere; your girlfriend – Annie, right? – can wait a few extra minutes.

Not to creep you out – I’m happily and faithfully married for nine years – but you are in amazing shape. Not many women rock a bikini like you did in Venice, and I mean that sincerely.

I’m done following you, no kidding, but just wanted you to know that you bring energy to the world and that’s a wonderful thing.

An Admirer

P.S. Like all posts on this blog, this is a work of fiction designed to highlight plausible scenarios in the very near future.

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