Adoption – or the process of getting someone to start (and continue) using your product – is one of the pillars of product success. The subject of many pre-launch conversations, companies launching a new thing out in the world are (usually, and hopefully) keenly aware of the challenge of getting people to start using what they’ve created.

This is especially prevalent on the web, where switching costs are so low. For users, it’s so easy to hit the back button and go to a competitor, that getting people in the door and attached is a key part of grabbing some market share. Seems like common sense, huh?

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Lately, I’ve noticed more and more food truck rallies happening, which is awesome. Here in Tampa, there’s been an explosion of food trucks, and these rallies are a way for them to gain visibility and exposure in a single event.

For those not familiar, here’s how it works (at least, here’s how the ones in Tampa I’ve been to have worked…): a mass of food trucks descends on a location, usually a big parking lot or field. These food trucks line up and open for business, with hoards of people coming out to sample their wares.

The last one I attended in Tampa was great, except for one thing: the experience was terrible.

As I walked around the rally, I was trying to get my head around what made the experience bad. It was in a beautiful area of South Tampa, on a gorgeous day, but there was something that was making it less than ideal.

Then it hit me: food portion sizes. The food portions were too big!

Let me explain: At a food truck rally, the implied goal is to circle a bunch of food trucks to allow attendees to see and taste food from food trucks around the city. The problem is, when you’re serving entree-sized portions, no one samples. At that point, there are at least a couple main issues that make the experience bad:

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I’ve been working on building stuff for the web for about 13 years now, and I’ve finally come to an important conclusion: the web is boring.

When we all started jumping onto the web in the mid-to-late 90s, it was exciting – the new frontier. We rushed through the Dot Com bust, inventing entire new ways of interacting with each other (Myspace, Facebook, Twitter) and creating an entire ecosystem to support our lives that never existed before. From then, up until now, it was pretty exciting.

But now, it’s getting boring. We’ve moved from a pioneering spirit to one full of static and parity. With the economic downturn, companies reduced spending on web-related projects, often stripping them down to merely content repositories and distribution channels.

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Apps. We’re pretty used to them at this point. We interact with apps on our phones on a daily basis. Entire economies in the tech sector have been built around the idea of applications. But it’s just the beginning.

Apps really aren’t anything new, but the idea of a lightweight piece of software that extends the functional possibilities of the device it lives on is remarkably exciting – especially when considered outside of a phone or computer context. For a few years now, we’ve seen a move from computer-based apps to mobile and tablet apps, and with it, an entire new economy has emerged.

Now, think outside these devices. Using the application metaphor – lightweight software applications that extend the functionality of the device they live on – it’s easy to see that applications, and the operating systems that support them, will eventually move more ubiquitously across all consumer devices.

Take your car. Today, cars are still fairly basic: the mechanical components needed to facilitate transport (wheels, engines, etc.), a set of gauges to monitor the operation of those components (speedometer, temperature sensors, oil pressure gauges, etc.) and luxury accessories (radios, padded seats, A/C, etc.). If you think of the car not as a self-contained device, but as a platform or OS, how might applications play a part?

It’s possible you’d have an oil change app, running on the screen mounted in the dash, monitoring oil quality and alerting you to changes in oil chemistry makeup and oil change intervals (complete with in-app advertising for local oil change specials). Or, you might have a weather-aware A/C app, which uses GPS to monitor local weather conditions and adjust internal climate control (and engine efficiency) settings automatically. In a more active sense, you might have a travel companion application that monitors your travel progress, automatically booking hotels and finding food based on user-customizable preferences. These are pretty simple examples, but the point they illustrate is exciting: soon, the car will be a platform for a host of applications that extend the driving experience.

Going inside the house, how about your dishwasher? Can it act as a platform for applications? With an open OS on the machine, a developer might build a water saver app, allowing you to interact with the digital interface to customize your washing cycle. Or, analytics packages might report back on the wash details, including efficiency of cleaning (automatically adjusting for the next load based on an infrared scan of food debris on plates?).

Anything you can think of that has electronic components – cars, dishwashers, coffee machines, TVs(!), stereos, sewing machines, curling irons, watches – can become a platform for applications. All it’ll take is a forward-thinking manufacturer, an easy-to-use OS and development framework, and a marketplace for consuming the apps, and we’ll be there.

The era of the dumb machine is coming to an end. The era of the app – of almost infinitely extensible devices  - is quickly approaching. Better get designing…

Want something to change? Be specific about what it is you don’t like. General statements don’t breed action.

Earlier today, I read a Facebook wall post about “hating corporations”. As I watched the comments unfold, it became clear that the people arguing the point had specific items they didn’t like, whether it’s employee treatment, lobbying, bad customer service, etc. I don’t intend to take a side in this argument, but instead want to point out an observation: your argument is much more powerful when you’re specific.

See, when you say “I hate corporate America”, no one knows what you mean. That phrase – corporate America – is made of so many different components, that it’s ineffective (from a communicative standpoint) to simply call the entire thing vile. When you begin to tease out specific component – “I hate how large companies tend to be less personal to their employees”, “I hate the fact that large companies lobby to gain market share” – you’re now dialed in close enough to enact some kind of meaningful action. Generalities, while emotionally seductive, don’t make good action plans.

The same is true in a business context. Take design: saying “I hate 3 column layouts” or “I can’t stand Android applications” isn’t productive. These statements only entrench a generalist mindset that doesn’t lead to progress – it’s the technology equivalent of prejudice. Saying “3 column layouts are too cluttered for me – I don’t like that the viewer has to navigate three horizontal panes of content simultaneously” is much more productive.  Now you know the problem to solve: manage clutter. (I’m not arguing against 3 column layouts, and in fact, that entire statement I made may be totally false. It’s only an example, so don’t clutter the comments with flames about layouts.)

Here’s the point: if there’s something you don’t like, be specific! Blanket generalized statements – whether in business, design, politics, or anything else – aren’t productive. Yes, they market well, and they fit nicely on bumper stickers, but do better than bumper sticker arguments…argue something worth talking about.