Thinking Inside the Jira Text Box

If you work in or around software development, you might be familiar with Atlassian’s Jira. It’s one of the more popular project management applications out there, especially if you work in a Scrum or Kanban-style agile environment. It’s not just for software, of course—I know IT departments and salespeople that use Jira for tracking task progress. Nothing’s stopping you from using Jira for shepherding your comic book creation process, other than its incredible cost and administrative overhead. I’m a relatively new user to Jira, with a year’s worth of experience under my belt. Before that I used Redmine, Bugzilla, and proprietary bug tracking systems. It’s safe to say that I have some experience with issue tracking platforms.

When I started a new job one year ago, a friend of mine warned me about Jira. He’d gripe about how terrible Jira was and how he hated it. I sort of dismissed his complaints, as he hadn’t been suffering under the terrible weight of Redmine, let alone an inscrutable proprietary system. I thought anything had to be better than the terrible proprietary stuff I endured in the past. So I was willing to give Jira an honest shot. And you know what? I don’t hate it. But I don’t really like it, either, and it’s because it’s a bloated Javascript nightmare. There’s dozens of papercuts in its user experience that gradually scar you over time. And just like a papercut, these flaws aren’t going to kill you—but they’ll slow you down and make you so very angry.

One of the most irritating is some user interface designer’s obsession with dead space. Not white space, that stuff is useful, though sometimes abused. No, I’m talking dead space, which distracts the user and actively interferes with your usage of the product. Take something as simple as a text box. You’d think people would know how to make a text box work, but this one must have slipped by the folks at Atlassian. If you have an instance of Jira, go ahead and open up the new ticket window. You’re looking for a rich text text box in that window, like the one for a description. Here’s an image if you don’t have it in front of you.

So if you saw this text box, where do you think you would click on it to start typing? Would it be inside the outlined area of the text box? Maybe the white space below the toolbar. Both are sensible guesses, but before you give me your answer, step back and think about the question. Remember your past experience with text boxes. Your instinct is that you can click anywhere inside the boundaries and start typing. That’s a good example of Fitt’s Law: “The time to acquire a target is a function of the distance to and size of the target.” Or in other terms, a bigger target is easier to hit. I’m already ignoring several problems in this box, like how there’s no clear separators between the toolbar and the editable text area, or the fact that the buttons aren’t even buttons. For the sake of this post we’ll grant these now common-day “cleanliness” design touches, even though I loathe them. But that’s a rant for another day, so back to the subject at hand. Let’s get back to the original question: where do you click to start typing?

If you answered “anywhere in the text box,” congratulations: you’re wrong. It’s not your fault; you’ve been conditioned to click on the box and start typing since you started using a computer. After all, text boxes have been around since the dawn of the GUI, and they’ve generally worked the same way for decades. It’s a fair and reasonable assumption to make. But that assumption is a trap when it comes to Jira, because you have to click in a very specific region of the text box to start typing. There’s no hint where that region is, other than when your cursor transforms into the I-bar. Take a look at this GIF.

Notice where the cursor transforms from the normal pointer to the I-bar. You can only enter text when the cursor enters this invisible zone that takes up a fraction of the text box! There’s no hint or clue for where this zone is—you have to carefully watch the cursor to know where to type. What looks like a big, appealing target is really just a tiny, hard to click strip.

Earlier I called that area outside the magic zone “dead space.” It’s dead because it does nothing inside the box. That doesn’t mean it lacks purpose—a little bit of white space to separate your text from the boundaries makes it easier to read. From a visual design standpoint, that’s a good thing. But most user experience designers would tell the programmers to make the white space a clickable area! Atlassian’s lack of care inadvertently tricked the user and made their life just a little harder.

Compare this to another product most of us have to endure: Slack. There’s a lot of criticisms I can lob at Slack, but at least they managed to make a functional message box. Compare Slack’s behavior when you click in the message box’s white space.

Slack text box

Clicking anywhere in the text box that isn’t a button makes it ready for text input. There’s a few things I could complain about here—namely, buttons should look like buttons, and I’m not really a fan of the toolbar sandwich. But what makes the toolbar sandwich tolerable is that clicking any place that isn’t a button puts the focus on text entry. The penalty for missing or being a little sloppy isn’t harsh. As soon as your cursor goes over the box, it changes to the I-bar, making it immediately obvious that you can type after clicking. It’s a nice, big target that’s hard to miss. It’s a good example of obeying Fitt’s Law. It’s rare that I tell some other app to be more like Slack, but in this case Jira could be a lot more like Slack.

Here’s the real kicker, though: Atlassian manages to do this correctly in other parts of Jira! For example, hot zones for comment text fields behave properly. If you create a ticket that has no text in its Description, then edit the ticket, you can click anywhere in the description text box to activate the cursor. There’s even a nice little horizontal line separating the toolbar area from the text box itself!

Editing an already created issue in Jira

It’s these kinds of inconsistencies that really grind users’ gears. A user expects that their applications will work consistently no matter what mode they’re in. Larry Tesler had a NOMODES license plate for a reason. Our job as user experience designers is to eliminate friction and make our users’ lives easier. They shouldn’t have to think about where to click in a text box to start typing. Atlassian, fix your freakin’ text boxes.

Let Macs Control Apple TVs

If you have an Apple TV and an iPhone, you might be familiar with the Apple TV Remote app. It used to be a standalone application until Apple moved its functionality to Control Center in iOS 12. After pairing with the Apple TV, all the functions of your remote control are now available on your iPhone. If you like swiping around to navigate an interface, I suppose you’d like the bigger trackpad surface. It’s also great to have another way to control an Apple TV without shelling out for another remote, just in case that slippery thing goes missing. Or if you just don’t like the “which way is up” Siri remote, that’s fair too.

Remote control is also available on the iPad, and there’s a cut-down version on the Apple Watch too. Even HomePods can control Apple TVs via Siri. But for some reason, Macs can’t remotely control an Apple TV. Macs can’t fast forward, adjust the volume, or queue up the next episode of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Apple has yet to publish a standalone app, menu extra, or control center doohickey that’ll put your Mac in control of your TV. I imagine a Mac wouldn’t be somebody’s primary remote control, but having the ability to send commands from a Mac could be useful in other ways. Imagine Shortcuts remotely controlling your Apple TV.

But that’s not why I want the Remote functionality on my Mac. There’s one feature that puts the iOS remote above a Siri or infrared remote: text entry. If you’ve had the displeasure of entering any kind of text on a TV with a remote control, you’ll know why this feature is helpful. Whether they come in a grid or a line, on-screen keyboards are the most infuriating part of streaming devices and smart TVs. Apple TV’s system-level keyboard used to use the grid-based keyboard until the launch of the Siri remote, which introduced the line-based keyboard. You can still use the grid-based one if you use an infrared remote, but some apps will force line-based input regardless—Netflix, I’m looking at you.

This horizontal nightmare is inflicted not just on Apple TV users, but also Chromecast and Roku owners too.

There’s an escape hatch to this line-and-grid prison if you’ve paired your iPhone or iPad to your Apple TV as a remote. When a text field pops up on screen, you’ll get a notification on your iOS device to enter some text. This text field behaves like any other, and you can type anything into it. Thumboarding on a phone is far quicker than pressing multiple buttons or swiping around using normal remote controls. It took fifteen seconds for me to type five letters using the awful horizontal arrangement. Unlocking my iPhone and using its keyboard cuts that time to two seconds. If you’re already in the Remote app, it’s even faster than that.

This is incredibly useful, and not just for finding the right film for your Friday night Netflix fix—this text field can summon password managers! If you’re like me and have uniquely generated random passwords for every single login—complete with numbers, special characters, and capital letters—entering them with an on-screen keyboard is torture. So it’s super handy to autofill or paste a password from Bitwarden instead of hunting and pecking with an on-screen keyboard! This feature’s been around for three years now on iOS devices, but it’s nowhere in sight for a Mac. People watch TV with their laptops, they AirPlay from laptops to TVs, and there could be TVs in rooms with desktop Macs. Given that Macs can now AirPlay to other Macs in Monterey, the absence of an Apple TV remote on the Mac is glaring.

The Mac OS Now Playing menu extra.

So how would you add this functionality to a Mac?Sure, a standalone application could do the job, but the Mac has many ways to add the controls. Let’s start with the Now Playing menu extra. Introduced in Big Sur, Now Playing is a quick shortcut to control media apps. Why not Apple TVs? Pull down the menu and you could play, pause, or fast forward whatever’s currently playing on any of the Apple TVs on your network. Easy peasy.

But Now Playing is fairly limited in terms of space, and shoving a full remote in there would be overkill. Along with Now Playing, a standalone Remote app can mimic all the functions of the iOS Remote app. Just bring it all over. Want to move through menus with your Mac’s trackpad like the Siri remote? Swipe away! Hate swiping? Use arrow keys or click on the buttons with a mouse! As for keyboard access, the app could show text prompts just like on iOS, but don’t forget about Notification Center. When a text prompt comes up on the Mac, it should be an interactive one that you can type into, just like Messages’ alerts. The next time a password or text prompt shows up, I won’t have to reach for my iPhone again! The lives of multi-screeners who use a TV and laptop at the same time will never be the same again!

Okay, okay—I admit, that’s a bit much. I know this feature won’t change the world, but the whole ethos that Apple is pushing these days is “ecosystem.” Macs should be part of the Apple TV remote ecosystem, just like they’re part of the AirPlay ecosystem. AirPlaying from my laptop to my Apple TV is one of the best ways to work through my daily YouTube queue, and I can pause, rewind, and fast forward using controls on my Mac. That’s been there since day one of AirPlay. Let’s get remote control and text entry on the same level.

Now, I know there’s some workarounds I could use right now. I do have a Bluetooth keyboard paired up with my Apple TV. I think it’s mixed in the drawer of game controllers and miscellaneous games in the entertainment center. But that keyboard can’t autofill passwords, and the goal is to avoid having to use a separate input device. Still, if you want to use one, it’s a valid option. Game controllers can control an Apple TV too, but they’re not that great at text input. Just ask Microsoft, who made an add-on keyboard for Xbox controllers.

“Just pick up your phone!” you say. Well, my phone might be another room. My Mac might be more convenient. Plus, my Mac has a real keyboard, and it’s easier to copy-n-paste passwords with a real pointer and keyboard.

“Use CiderTV or Ezzi Keyboard!” Yes, that’s true. They do exist. But this should be an operating system level feature. These apps also don’t have all the functionality of the Remote app, since they’re just emulating a bluetooth keyboard. Still, they are useful and their developer is filling a nice that Apple seems to be overlooking.

I’ve also been told that Roomie Remote has full support for controlling Apple TVs including text input, but $60/year is pretty steep for just that functionality alone. It looks like a very powerful utility with a lot of functionality, and in that context the $60 is likely justified. But for just reproducing the Apple TV remote app on a Mac, it’s overkill.

So, to Apple, I issue this challenge: let my Mac control an Apple TV. You’ll make a minor inconvenience disappear, and for that I would commend you.

Commodore 64 Highlights - Chips and Bits

As a followup to Computers of Significant History Part One, here’s some of my favorite Commodore 64 software and doodads, in no particular order:

The Print Shop

Partially responsible for me getting into computer graphics.

Partially responsible for me getting into computer graphics.

I’ve written a very long history of The Print Shop and its influence on computing in an episode of Macinography. The Print Shop is a contender for one of the top ten most influential pieces of eight-bit software, and I spent a lot of time making birthday cards and school banners with it.

Castle Wolfenstein

I’m still playing Wolfenstein games to this day. While Wolfenstein 3D and its follow-ups are very different from Silas Warner’s Castle Wolfenstein, this game cemented my ongoing love for the series at a very young age. Its control scheme was somewhat clunky, especially if you had the wrong kind of joystick, but it’s still mostly playable. The game also taught me my first speedrunning trick—you can glitch doors that are near a wall to short-circuit the normal escape route. As far as the plot and bad guys, I had no context for the game’s setting at the time. No one’s teaching a six year old about Nazis. It wasn’t until years later, when Wolfenstein 3D was available on the Super Nintendo, that I started learning about the series’ World War II inspirations.

Kwik-Write!

I used a lot of word processors on the C64, but Kwik-Write is the most memorable because it’s what I used to craft my childhood letters to Nintendo. To their credit, the game counselors at Nintendo answered every single one of them. Alas, all those letters—both to and from Nintendo—are long gone. It was more like a text editor than more powerful WYSIWYG word processors. It let me type words and send them to the printer, and that’s all I wanted. As a grownup, I’d find its limited formatting and lack of spell check infuriating. At least it had copy and paste.

GEOS

Ah, GEOS. Rarely has so much been made with so little power.

Ah, GEOS. Rarely has so much been made with so little power.

The only application in GEOS that I used for any real amount of time was GeoWrite. Since it was a WYSIWYG word processor, it was much more powerful than programs like Kwik-Write or Bank Street Writer, but it was glacially slow. By the time I had learned about fonts and good typography, I had access to better word processing tools at school, like Microsoft Word. But I still wanted to write things at home, and I tried really hard to make GeoWrite my main word processor. The last thing I ever wrote in GeoWrite was an essay for sixth grade history class, about the Rosetta Stone. I only remember this because it was the same day as the debut of the classic Simpsons episode Summer of 4 Ft. 2—May 19, 1996. I took all day slowly writing the essay, in part because I was a procrastinating thirteen-year-old, and in part because GeoWrite was just so sluggish. I barely finished it in time to catch the episode premiere. From that point forward, any papers or correspondence would be written in something more modern, even if it meant staying after school to write them on a Macintosh. In retrospect, I appreciate the ingenuity required to make a GUI that could run on a C64.

Ghetto Blaster

Here’s another game whose context was completely lost on me as a young child. What can I say, I was five and had no idea about the musical references. All I knew was that it was “the boom box game.” I returned to it over the years, getting better and better at the mechanics, but I never actually finished it. Turns out that was for the best, since the ending’s terrible. Thank God it had one of the best soundtracks ever written for the SID chip—the main theme was a banger. The graphics are very nice too, considering the system’s limitations. I’d take a modern remake of this in a heartbeat.

Tenth Frame and Leader Board

I’m lumping both of these Access Software titles together even though they probably deserve their own entries. They have similar graphical and play styles. These were my dad’s favorite games on the C64. I enjoyed them a lot too—the graphics in Leader Board (and its sequel) were excellent for the time, and there was something fun about printing out your scorecard after a game of bowling in Tenth Frame. All modern golf games owe a debt to Leader Board, which pioneered the dual-meter stroke power system.

Epyx and Quickshot Joysticks

In our household, we had two kinds of joysticks. One was the Epyx 500XJ, and the other was the Spectravideo QuickShot II. The former was designed to be handheld, while the latter attached to the desk via suction cups. Some games just didn’t play well with the Epyx because it required two hands—the aforementioned Castle Wolfenstein was a non-starter—but I don’t think there was anything better for rapid-fire back-and-forth movements required in some titles like Summer Games. The Quickshot wasn’t good for twitchy games, thanks to the longer movements required to engage its microswitches. It had one helpful advantage if you needed to use the keyboard at the same time—the suction cups kept it in one place. Nowadays these joysticks would annoy me due to their terrible build quality. Neither held a candle to an NES pad for responsiveness or toughness.

If you haven’t checked it out already, make sure to read my C64 edition of Computers of Significant History for more Commodore fun..

Welcome to Userlandia

Greetings all, and welcome to Userlandia.

What’s all this, then?

Userlandia is a place for technology from today and yesterday. If you’re an enthusiast user with a curious nature, then you’ll be right at home. It’s also a very flowery way of saying “this is my new blog and podcast project to post about computing and tech.”

What’s the subject matter?

Long-form scripted podcasts. These will be either research or opinion pieces. One episode might be a critical look at an old computer company, the next one might be my thoughts on the current state of word processors. If you want an idea of what they’d be like, you could check out my previous long form series, Macinography, for a preview. There won’t be a set schedule—they’ll be done when they’re done. If you’d rather read than listen, full text versions will also be available.

Occasional live recordings with guests. I’m talking interviews or discussions about specific subjects. Again, no set schedule, but it’s the other prong of the podcast fork.

Written blog posts. Sometimes things aren’t meant for an auditory medium. Maybe it’s a brief subject that would only be a few minutes in a recording and doesn’t make sense as a podcast. So instead they’ll be written posts. An example might be how I resuscitated password-locked Toshiba laptops I found in a thrift store.

Mini-Series. Some episodes will be part of a themed series, and I’m starting with historical reviews of particular models of computers. I can also divide large, expansive topics into smaller chunks so that they don’t get stuck in development hell. The first such example would be a history of expansion slots and their architectures.

Chips and Bits. These are posts (or podcasts, maybe) that are a collection of small thoughts put together in one place. Like a list of my favorite utilities, or suggestions on fixing a piece of software. Maybe it’s the interesting retro things I found at the thrift store, or a possible jumping-off point for something more serious.

Link and Logs. Short posts that are just a link with a comment to something else.

Why Userlandia?

After sifting through a bunch of names, I settled on Userlandia. I originally wanted to call it Computerland as an homage to the old store. But because of domain names and other things, it would have been difficult. After bandying about a few other ideas, I had a thought. I was reading an article about the personification of cities and states. Britannia, Zealandia, Helvetia… even Uncle Sam. That struck me. In most operating systems, there’s a division between the kernel space—reserved for the OS—and the user space, usually referred to as userland. Userland is where all of the regular user services and applications operate.

Thus, I like to think of Userlandia as the personification of the space that users and creators reside in the larger world of technology.

Thank you for reading, and I hope to have more to share with you soon.