Un anno difficile

Mele e appunti

Da tempo, ormai, ho smesso di prendere seriamente gli elenchi di propositi per l’anno nuovo che di solito si stendono in questo periodo. Gli ultimi scritti di questo genere risalgono al dicembre 2008, e se vogliamo, due tra i ‘grandi propositi’ che mi ero prefisso per il 2009 — pulizia virtuale e più scrittura creativa — potrei benissimo rinnovarli per il 2013; gli intenti sono sempre quelli.

Voglio invece pensare ad alta voce e tirare le somme per questo difficile 2012, che mi ha dato senz’altro qualcosa di positivo, ma la sensazione è purtroppo quella di aver chiuso in perdita.

Fra gli elementi positivi c’è senza dubbio il forte ritorno alla scrittura creativa, nel formato che in fondo mi è più congeniale: il racconto breve. Dopo anni di ‘secca’ e di ispirazione che girava a vuoto, mi sono finalmente rimboccato le maniche e ho lanciato un progetto (in lingua inglese) chiamato Minigrooves che mi ha spinto a scrivere in condizioni di rigorosa autodisciplina. Il progetto, partito a metà marzo 2012, è infatti congegnato in questo modo: pubblicazione di due racconti alla settimana, fino ad arrivare a 42 racconti, che compongono un ciclo. Il sistema è paragonabile a una serie televisiva a episodi: due ‘episodi’ a settimana, una ‘stagione’ composta da 42 episodi. Concluso il ciclo, i racconti vengono riuniti in un ebook, da pubblicarsi per esempio sull’iBookstore e sul Kindle Store (e non solo). Pubblicato il primo volume, via con il secondo ciclo, altri 42 racconti, eccetera. Sempre seguendo la similitudine con le serie televisive, l’ebook è l’analogo del DVD/Blu-Ray, che ha senso acquistare anche se si è già seguito il progetto online perché oltre ai racconti già ’emessi’ contiene qualche extra. E poi è un modo pratico per portarsi con sé qualcosa da leggere anche quando non si è davanti al computer. Al momento in cui scrivo, il primo ciclo è concluso e sto preparando l’ebook, che spero di pubblicare presto.

Un altro dettaglio indiscutibilmente positivo sono state le ‘comunicazioni sociali’, da un lato perché mi sembra di aver trovato un ottimo equilibrio fra online e offline, dall’altro molto semplicemente perché ho avuto il piacere di incontrare nuovi interlocutori coi quali ho avuto spesso e volentieri intelligenti scambi di vedute via email o via Twitter. Tutte persone che ringrazio per la loro gentilezza, disponibilità, e volontà di affrontare una discussione in maniera seria e costruttiva.

È l’aspetto strettamente lavorativo a rappresentare la grossa fetta di negatività e di difficoltà di questo 2012 tutto in salita. Non vale la pena, per ora, di entrare nei dettagli, ma diciamo sinteticamente che ho lavorato troppo e guadagnato poco rispetto al tempo e alle energie investite. È stato un anno di bassa marea, e un paio di errori di valutazione durante il cammino non hanno migliorato la situazione. E ci sono stati dei momenti in cui l’angoscia e la preoccupazione per una situazione finanziaria altalenante, precaria e imprevedibile mi hanno lasciato parecchio abbattuto e mi hanno fatto perdere anche quel minimo di entusiasmo necessario per poter affrontare nuovi lavori. Mi hanno anche portato a pensare che forse val la pena investire più risorse nella mia scrittura invece di vivere una situazione che si fa ogni volta più frustrante ed esasperante. È sempre più difficile fare il traduttore freelance con dignità e professionalità, e onestamente non ho l’età, non ho la voglia, e ho sufficiente esperienza per rifiutarmi di fare la macchinetta sottopagata per gente poco seria che ciarla tanto di ‘professionalità’ e poi non si degna nemmeno di pagare le fatture puntualmente.

Certe dinamiche mi hanno francamente stancato, così come mi ha stancato sentire giustificazioni come È così dappertutto, sai? o Purtroppo è una prassi diffusa in questo settore. Sapete una cosa? Non è vero. La cafoneria, il pressapochismo, l’accordo non formalizzato, il gioco al ribasso su tariffe e preventivi, i pagamenti alle calende greche… Tutte caratteristiche comuni alla maggior parte dei clienti dell’Europa ‘mediterranea’. Con contatti dei paesi del Nord d’Europa, così come Canada e Stati Uniti, ho potuto constatare una mentalità e un approccio molto molto diversi. Peccato che le occasioni di lavoro con queste persone siano state sporadiche: difficile che ad americani, canadesi, tedeschi e olandesi interessi avere una versione italiana del proprio sito o della documentazione del proprio prodotto (diverso, ma più circoscritto, il discorso localizzazione di applicazioni Mac/iOS).

Purtroppo a volte è in parte colpa del freelance stesso se si vengono a creare situazioni non proprio ideali; si è troppo tolleranti, troppo fiduciosi, troppo flessibili, e si finisce col cedere una parte non indifferente del controllo su un progetto o in una collaborazione. A questo proposito, in maniera indiretta, una lettura che mi ha fatto riflettere è stato un breve post di Steve Corona, dal titolo Electric Toothbrush, in cui ricorda il suo stato d’animo dopo essere stato licenziato dall’azienda dove lavorava prima di mettersi in proprio. E parlando del suo momento ‘eureka’ scrive:

Perché qualcun altro oltre a me dovrebbe avere il controllo totale sulla mia autostima e sulla mia felicità? È stupido. Ed è un errore che si commette per pigrizia, per comodità. È molto più facile dar via il proprio potere, legare il proprio valore a qualche entità esterna, invece di crearlo dall’interno. È tutta pigrizia. Sono stato troppo pigro per prendere il controllo della mia felicità, per crearmela da solo.

Smettete di dar via il vostro potere. È vostro, serve a voi. Non regalatelo al vostro lavoro. Né alla fidanzata. Non datelo a nessuno oltre che a voi stessi.

Il 2012 è stato un anno difficile, e continua a esserlo. Un anno in cui i pochi momenti memorabili sono stati oscurati da più di una batosta. Per il 2013 non ho propositi da scrivere su un pezzo di carta, ma voglio certamente affrontarlo partendo dal suggerimento citato qui sopra.

Felice anno nuovo a tutti.

Experiments in modern tech deprivation

Tech Life

When I commented on Paul Miller’s decision to spend a year without Internet, at the end of my article I wrote:

[…] [P]erhaps Miller’s idea to leave Internet for a year is utter nonsense, because in May 2013 he will just reconnect and within a week he’ll find himself living his online life and online habits exactly as before, and therefore he won’t have solved anything. But his experiment can also serve him to better understand which parts of the Internet are essential to him, which are not exactly so, and which can be entirely eliminated, as indeed he mentioned in his piece. (What’s more, such a period of self-imposed exile may be useful for getting rid of certain conditioned reflexes deriving from our daily interaction with the online world, especially through social networks and related services). Maybe others in Miller’s position would simply need a week or a month offline, but we are all different people and I believe we should respect Miller’s decision, instead of reacting with sarcasm, mockery, or thinking that our methods of experiencing Internet are the best or are applicable to anyone indiscriminately.

Miller hasn’t been the only one giving a shot at what I call ‘experiments in modern tech deprivation’. Other people I know personally did just that in the past. I myself performed a ‘survival experiment’ in 2006, using a PowerBook 5300ce as my only machine (then further updated in 2008). Of the tech writers I follow, two of the most recent examples are Peter Cohen (On the pleasure of using a ‘dumb’ phone) and Stephen Hackett (Hanging up on iPhone), who both decided to quit using their iPhone for a while and went back to using a normal mobile phone of the pre-iPhone era.

Again, people’s reaction towards their choices appears to have been of general criticism. At times with a good dose of accompanying sarcasm. People who don’t understand this kind of experiments simply apply their way of using that same piece of technology and think it has to be the same for everybody, so evidently spending some time without an iPhone (or, in Paul Miller’s case, without Internet) seems to be a crazy, unthinkable option. They view such experiments just as pointless acts of self-deprivation which only add unwanted complications to our otherwise tech-immersed life.

I, however, view them as interesting forays into self-exploration, as a way of challenging our increasing technology-enabled laziness and habits. More moderate critics point out that these experiments have little value (when they’re over, there is an inevitable regression to old habits) and/or they are needlessly drastic, suggesting a more nuanced approach, urging the experimenters to simply actively readjust their abuse of a certain technology or device. “You’re doing this because you can’t control your addiction, you’re poor at self-management, etc.” Perhaps it’s true. And I think Miller, Cohen and Hackett know that, too. Perhaps they are doing what they’re doing out of sheer curiosity. But I like to think that there’s more to it. That what drives these choices is the will of abandoning the ‘first-person’ point of view, so to speak, to take a good look at themselves from outside, out of dissatisfaction with how these technologies and devices are affecting their lives and their ways to be. And by the way, I don’t believe there’s necessarily a regression to old habits once the experiment is over, especially when the experiment does bring a beneficial change in some aspects.

About his experience with a ‘dumb’ phone, Cohen writes:

I don’t have my face stuck in my phone wherever I go, social network or playing games or checking e‑mail. I have better situational awareness. I’m more present. I don’t take pictures of my food before I eat it, or tweet about how delicious this skinny vanilla latte and pumpkin scone are.

I no longer blankly pull out my phone and start fiddling with it mid-conversation with friends. If you do that, by the way, stop. It’s really rude.

[…]

What I discovered is that I just don’t need the level of connectivity I used to assume was a now indispensable part of daily life. If people e‑mail me, they have to wait until I check e‑mail. If people need to get a hold of me, they can, but it better be damned important.

I just don’t want to be tethered to the giant, pulsating übermind of the Internet 24/7 anymore. It was making me dull and more than a bit stupid.

Stephen Hackett admits:

Unlike Paul [Miller]’s adventure, mine could be completed by imposing some will power when it comes to my iPhone. The problem is that five years of reaching in my front right pocket any time I’m free has created a strong habit, and I need to quit cold turkey.

These experiments may be drastic, but that’s exactly the point. As I previously commented, we are all different people and have different methods of dealing with today’s 24/7 connectivity. Some can effectively keep their online and offline activities in a constant, fine-tuned balance. Others are just fine with the information overload and its impact on their habits, and are not even aware of their rudeness when interacting with other people (for them it’s fine to keep the iPhone on at the cinema; to stare at it every 30 seconds while you’re trying to have a conversation with them; to constantly interact with it even when they’re walking around, mindlessly bumping into other people and generally losing awareness of their surroundings; and so on and so forth). Then there are people who know themselves enough to realise that only a drastic approach can have some effect and maybe lead to unexpected discoveries (Cohen: What I discovered is that I just don’t need the level of connectivity I used to assume was a now indispensable part of daily life) and new perspectives, something they may have never realised in the first place without such an experiment.

I’m not saying that these people are better than others or that their methods, while hardcore, are the best. But I defend their choice because it reflects their recognising the need to change something that’s perceived as wrong or excessive. There are people who willfully get rid of their car and shift to cycling or using public transportation as their way of moving around the city, or who sell/give away plenty of their stuff to change to a more responsible, less consumeristic lifestyle, and usually these types of experiments are met with great enthusiasm and encouragement. Why does it have to be any different when someone starts to see his/her iPhone as a symbol of a certain ‘technological pollution’ that’s intoxicating and negatively affecting their lives?

Vanishing emails

Software

I’ve been using Mail.app since Mac OS X 10.3, and I never had problems with it. But in recent times, and in more than one occasion, I happened to lose messages without being able to retrieve them or understand whether they reached my correspondents or not. In both cases I had to wait for a reply to verify if the original message got to its intended destination. In both cases the message was nowhere to be found inside the application.

Case 1

This has happened more often than Case 2. Basically, after sending the message, I can’t find a copy of the message either in Mail’s Sent folder, or on the server’s. This appears to happen sporadically and erratically, and it’s something I have not been able to reproduce. It doesn’t happen with particular accounts, it doesn’t happen with a particular correspondent, the message may or may not have attachments, etc. In short, there are no apparent criteria to establish a priori whether a particular email will be regularly copied in the Sent folder once sent. It happened a few times, randomly, in a totally unpredictable way.

This, of course, is especially an issue with important work-related email. My workaround in these cases is to BCC the email to myself, but the mystery as to why the vanishing takes place remains unsolved. Mail’s Outbox folder appears to be a space that only exists during the short time frame between my hitting ‘Send’ and Mail finishing sending the message (the whoosh).

Case 2

It happened only twice, and this is probably reproducible. The circumstances were the same: I’ve finished writing an email that I have to send with one or more attachments. But instead of hitting the Attach button, I accidentally hit Send. In the rush of fixing things, I try to cancel the operation, either by clicking on the small ‘×’ icon near Mail’s activity progress bar in the bottom left corner of the interface, or by pressing the Stop red button in Mail’s activity panel. In both occasions I soon discovered that the message was sent anyway, but I couldn’t find a copy anywhere inside Mail. 

It’s my belief that in cases such as this, the message should be either filed in the Sent folder, or parked in the Outbox folder (made visible). Or a copy of it should remain in the Drafts folder, just in case. In all these occasions I’ve been lucky because the message did reach my correspondents — who were always kind enough to promptly reassure me that they received it without problems. However, I can’t ignore the underlying issue: that there’s no way to tell where the email has gone. As I said, this is a serious problem with work-related communications: 

  • I may write a lengthy response that never reaches my correspondent: if I find out at once, it’s a hassle to have to rewrite the contents of the response from memory. If I don’t find out at once, this surely leads to future misunderstandings (“I never got your message / estimate / invoice” or “You never wrote me explaining the project in detail”, etc.)
  • I may need a record of the whole electronic correspondence, and while an email message may reach my correspondent anyway even when it’s not filed in the Sent folder by Mail, I’d really prefer to store all the emails I’ve written during such correspondence for future reference. (e.g. “As I was telling you in my message from November 11…”, etc.)
  •  

    All in all, I very rarely had problems with email as a communication medium, but it’s rather upsetting that in Mail.app, once a message leaves the Drafts folder, it may disappear in a vacuum for good.

    Briefly, on Instagram

    Tech Life

    I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. When Facebook acquired Instagram I suspected it would come to this, eventually. I remember I stopped posting snaps for a while, then I got sucked in the routine again. I should have stopped for good. Well, the time has come. I’m tired of Instagram. What irked me most of this recent change to the Terms of Service, surprisingly, wasn’t really the change itself, but more how it was handled. 

    A lot of people have written at length about this faux pas on Instagram’s part, so the best I can do is to point to a couple of good reads. First, I really enjoyed Mat Honan’s Why I Quit Instagram, especially when he writes:

    I believe Instagram should be able to make money. Facebook telegraphed that something like this was coming just last week, and my reaction at the time was “good.” I was happy that Instagram had a revenue model. It isn’t a charity. And companies that don’t make money are doomed to fail. Facebook paid a lot of damn money to buy Instagram, and it’s natural to want some return on that.

    Yet I also believe it’s wrong to take people’s photos – out of context – for use in advertisements. With no way to opt out.

    The issue is about more than using photos of my baby daughter, or deceased grandmother, in ads. The greater concern should be that the company would forge ahead with such a plan without offering any other option to the very users and data that built it.

    There are a lot of other ways to make money. Sell an ad in the stream. Sell an ad on individual users’ pages. Sell an ad against search results, and another for tags that relate to upcoming events. Offer “pro” features — like special filters or promoted profiles. I’m no expert here, but I don’t have to be – clearly Systrom and Krieger know how to make a buck.

    Which were exactly my sentiments when I heard about the upcoming changes.

    Instagram responded rather quickly to the situation, trying to clarify and course-correct with their Thank you, and we’re listening piece. Sorry, but in my view, this rushed ‘clarification’ has had the effect of actually muddling things up. And I wasn’t the only one noticing that. Read this great article by Nick Asbury: Instagram didn’t get the tone wrong, because he express my very same thoughts and doubts more briefly and clearly than I could:

    This was the main offending paragraph in the terms and conditions:

    To help us deliver interesting paid or sponsored content or promotions, you agree that a business may pay us to display your username, likeness, photos, in connection with paid or sponsored content or promotions, without any compensation to you.

    There is nothing wrong with the tone of this paragraph. It scores highly on clarity, using plain language, active verbs, personal pronouns (us and you) – all the things writers go on about every day.

    There is a lot wrong with the content of the paragraph, at least according to thousands of Instagram users. But that’s not a language issue – it’s a policy issue. Any writers trying to use this as an example of the importance of ‘tone of voice’ are misinterpreting the problem. To an expert in tone of voice, every problem looks like a tone of voice issue.

    The situation isn’t helped by Instagram’s disingenuous ‘clarification’, which tries to imply that this was all a miscommunication caused by ‘confusing’ language.

    Again, this statement from Instagram has been hailed in various places as a good example of crisis communication – clear and helpful in the way the Ts and Cs weren’t.

    But again, this is completely wrong. The Ts and Cs were absolutely clear, even if their content was controversial.

    By contrast, the ‘clarification’ is slippery, mealy-mouthed and contradictory.

    Analysing the Advertising on Instagram section of the afore-linked ‘clarification’ by Instagram, Nick Asbury writes:

    This sounds pretty good at first – the blunt honesty of ‘Instagram was created to become a business’ (actually a meaningless truism) and ‘To be clear: it is not our intention to sell your photos.’ But there’s some really slippery stuff going on. Note how ‘it is not our intention to sell your photos’ isn’t the same as saying ‘we won’t sell your photos’. Despite the forthrightness of the tone, the message is still unclear – will you or won’t you?

    And that’s the point. Will Instagram sell our photos or not? All this situation keeps sending mixed signals, and it almost feels as if Instagram didn’t really think their strategy through before announcing the changes. Maybe, in classic Facebook style, they thought that most people simply wouldn’t notice or couldn’t be bothered to react or take action, and when things went a bit differently than expected, the backtracking and course-correcting started. But in my view, they just ended up tripping over their shoelaces. And I’m getting tired of these things. I’m getting tired of companies who disrespect their user base with controversial actions and delivering patronising speeches the way politicians do. People made Instagram successful, and this is what they get in return.

    So I’m through with Instagram. As I wrote on The Quillink annotated, I’ll stop uploading photos before the Terms of Service changes take effect, and I’ll limit my use and presence on Instagram to a sort of ‘read only’ mode, by keeping on following my current contacts, and liking and/or commenting their photos, because I respect their will to keep sharing their shots, and many people I follow don’t just upload what they had for breakfast or lunch, but truly amazing photos worth acknowledging.

    As for me, you’ll find me on Flickr, where I’ve always been since 2005. I’ll keep posting a daily photo over at Momentile, and I’ll keep maintaining Type Happens, my (sporadically updated) photoblog on found typography. I still don’t know if I’ll migrate my previously posted Instagrams in a dedicated photo set on Flickr, or if I’ll start a personal Instagram-style photoblog. Anyway, there are so many ways to share our photos out there today. So, bye-bye Instagram.

    My first month on App.net

    Tech Life

    For those of you who still have no idea what App.net (or ADN, short for ‘App Dot Net’) is, head over to its website, where you’ll find a very good brief description: App.net Is an Ad-Free Social Network — It’s your real-time feed, a home for meaningful conversation, where you control your data. Find the apps you love and make App.net your own. Connect, play, and discover. Another, much less fair, description I’ve heard is that App.net is a Twitter clone, only you pay for it instead of it being free. Those who believe this should really read the 7 core values on App.net’s homepage to better understand how the similarities between App.net and Twitter are merely superficial — both platforms feature short status updates and both platforms use the same interaction paradigm among their users (@replies, #hashtags, etc.), for example — but their underlying models couldn’t be more different. We are selling our product, NOT our users, claim App.net’s founders on the homepage, and this is probably the most important reason why I was attracted by App.net in the first place.

    Admittedly, when Dalton Caldwell announced his audacious proposal, I was intrigued but also a bit sceptical about the success of his App.net project. I wanted to be one of the initial backers, but at the time I was experiencing a rather disastrous financial phase, so I had to take a sort of ‘wait and see’ position. When the project took off I was genuinely happy for everybody involved, and eventually joined in.

    My first days on App.net were both very similar and subtly different from my first days on Twitter. As when I started with Twitter, I looked for people I knew, started following them, looked for clients to use on my Mac, iPhone and iPad, and began posting and interacting. The differences are more interesting, though.

    Firstly, when I moved my first steps in Twitter, back in March 2008, I didn’t exactly know what I was doing. Twitter was already 2 years old and a big social network at the time (I’m user No. 14,082,976), and I joined pretty much out of curiosity and because a few people I know and trust were already using it and were praising its coolness + usefulness. But it took time for me to get the hang of it. What catches most Twitter novices unprepared is the apparent lack of ‘reward’: they tentatively post some tweets, or maybe reach out to some acquaintances or some well-known Internet figures, and when they don’t get any response or acknowledgement, they start thinking What am I doing here? What’s the point of this? It’s exactly what happened to me at first. I had to leave for a while, rethink the approach, observe more, re-set the expectations, and then things got better. 

    A breath of fresh air

    With App.net, there have been no ‘insertion’ issues at all. Obvious, you’ll say, if it works like Twitter and you’ve been an active Twitter user for more than four years, you’re surely well trained for this. It’s true, but things have been going quite smoothly also because App.net is a different place. With App.net, I have noticed how its core values and fundamental principles also shape the way people use it and behave in it. 

    One unexpected thing that happened just a few days after I joined and started posting/interacting was the amount of strangers who were responding to my posts and following me. I’m not talking big numbers here — I’m not a ‘celebrity’ — but still, when I joined App.net I basically looked for a bunch of people I already knew on Twitter, added them, they added me back, and really, at that point (3 days in) I was expecting just a few interactions with them, nothing more. And then it hit me: one thing I found myself doing more often than not (and probably what these strangers interacting with me were doing as well) was reading the Global timeline, something that never made sense on Twitter because of the sheer amount of its users. But on App.net, a much smaller community, the pace is still slow and manageable. That, and the fact that another (good) thing you can do in App.net is to show mentions directed at users you don’t follow. Which was possible on Twitter, too, before they decided to break how replies worked. Thanks to these factors (small community, manageable Global timeline, ability to see whom those you follow are interacting with), discovering and getting to know new people on App.net is easier.

    Social network? More like community, actually

    But what really stands out, for me, is the atmosphere. So far, it’s probably what I like most of App.net. First of all there’s that different pace I was mentioning before. The feeling is of a quieter place than Twitter, and not only because it’s a much smaller place. People seem more relaxed, friendlier, more willing to engage in long conversations and more willing to include you if you join in a conversation long after it’s started. With Twitter, I think social network; with App.net, I think community. This is the core difference, in my opinion. Two main things drive people towards this behaviour, I believe: the paid membership model, intertwined with ‘the cause’. An App.net member may be a stranger to you, but you’re both on App.net because you both have decided to pay for a better online social experience and because — explicitly or not — you both agree to ‘the cause’, i.e. the set of core values on which the founders chose to build and develop App.net.

    So, when someone starts interacting with you out of the blue, you don’t tend to think Who the hell are you? (as it may happen on Twitter). Instead, you feel like you just moved out of the big city, to a smaller town, and you’re surrounded by friendly neighbours who have come here for the same reasons: to escape the urban alienation, so to speak. Maybe it’s just how I feel about it, but I have the distinct impression that App.net ‘citizens’ see one another under a different light than Twitter users. There’s this ‘let’s build a better place together’ feeling that is a refreshing change from the somewhat jaded atmosphere on Twitter. It leads to a better, more constructive dialogue, not just passing exchanges or quips. 

    Then there’s a technical detail that makes for deeper, clearer conversations: a post on App.net has a limit of 256 characters, not 140. Perhaps it doesn’t look much at first glance, but you have no idea of the difference it makes to have 116 more characters at your disposal. You feel less constrained, and often you can explain better what you think or what you’ve observed. I think this has been a great design choice for App.net.

    Another positive effect of App.net’s paid model is that having to pay, even if it’s as little as $5 per month, is proving to be a rather effective method to keep spam and ‘bot’ accounts at bay, two of the most irritating things I notice on Twitter as a user. So far, I have 29 followers, but they’re all ‘real’ people, not brands or spammers or bots that started following me because I tweeted certain keywords like ‘ebook’, ‘Mac OS X’, ‘iPhone’, ‘translation’, ‘writing’, etc. This helps in making things a lot more relaxed overall. 

    What about Twitter now?

    Since I joined App.net, a few people have asked me whether I’m planning to leave Twitter or not. I have some friends who are positively fed up of Twitter and have gone App.net-only since day one. I really dislike the direction Twitter has taken in recent times, how it has treated third-party developers, how implicitly treats its users, how it’s ruining what both developers and early adopters have made for it and with it. I have always experienced Twitter through the filter of a third-party client (Twitterrific), though, so I can’t really say that my experience interacting with the people I follow and my followers has worsened. So I think I’ll stay both on Twitter and App.net for a while, but the more Twitter keeps messing things up with users and developers, the more I’ll be willing to migrate to App.net completely, using my Twitter account just for announcing new posts in my blogs, and for replying to comments, keeping the interaction to a minimum.