Contemplative computing may sound like an oxymoron, but it's really quite simple. It's about how to use information technologies and social media so they're not endlessly distracting and demanding, but instead help us be more mindful, focused and creative.
My book on contemplative computing, The Distraction Addiction, was published by Little, Brown and Co. in 2013, and is available in bookstores and online. This 2011 talk is a good introduction to the project and its big ideas.
Buddhify recently conducted a survey of its users to find out why they started meditating. Here are the results:
Notice anything interesting? Nearly 60% said that they were drawn to meditation because of "anxiety and difficult emotions," or the "stresses of everyday life," while only 2.3% mentioned "digital overload" as their reason to start meditating.
Now, I haven’t seen the whole survey, and don’t know exactly how the question was phrased or what responses people could give, but my instinct is that if you’d conducted this survey in 1500, or 300 BCE, you’d have gotten a similar set of responses (though spirituality might have ranked higher, and the idea of “stress” as something we encounter on a daily basis is a fairly new concept).
The other interesting thing is that there’s no indication that Buddhify users see meditation as a tool for productivity enhancement, or a way to become more successful, except perhaps indirectly. Again, it may be that this wasn’t an option in the survey, but after so many critiques of corporate mindfulness, it’s interesting to see that even “dealing with the workplace” ranks lower than “interest in spirituality."
And not to sound like a shill, but the Buddhify app is really great. It’s very much worth trying.
I do a lot of classroom work with students about navigating friendships and social interactions in the digital age. My favorites might be 4th and 5th graders—they are often aware of the problems, and have a genuine desire to come up with solutions. They are kind, creative, and collaborative—a real pleasure!
So how do you tap into that desire?
I conduct a fun exercise in my workshops—I have kids design an app. First, we brainstorm a list of everyday issues with technology. Then I break them into small groups and task them with building a quick prototype of an app that addresses one of the problems we identified.
The result is twofold. Not only do the apps they developed tell us a lot about how kids experience one another and their parents’ communication via devices, but they also help kids think through and understand the issues. Imagine the next time they encounter one of these issue in real life. They will be well equipped to address it—or even avoid it!
In an exercise in which she had kids design apps for managing parents’ smartphone usage, this happened:
Kids understand that smartphone technology—and the connection that comes with it—makes demands on our attention. How many times have you seen a parent focused on the “second screen” while a child tries to get his/her attention? It’s easy to spot when it’s another parent, but be honest—have you done this before? As mindful as I try to be, I know that I am guilty at times. And this is a big issue for kids.
The most common solution to this issue that the kids “designed” was a voice recognition app that temporarily disables the parent’s phone if the child is speaking in the same space. If your child is speaking in proximity to you, it disables texting, social media, and phone calls. If you are talking on the phone, it gives you an indication to end the call.
As I mentioned recently, I think it’s now time to start our conversations with kids and teens about their online lives not with the assumption that they’re all dopamine and hormone-driven zombies whose under-mylenated prefrontal cortexes prevent them from being able to think about the consequences of their actions, nor with the assumption that as "digital natives” they know more than their parents. At least for the wiser (or perhaps simply more privileged) kids, assuming that you can harness their enthusiasm, and show them how to address problems they know they have, may work better.
Annie Murphy Paul has a piece in Slate on counter-marketing campaigns that reduced teen smoking, and how they could serve as a model to help kids become more skeptical and thoughtful about social media and games.
I was unfamiliar with this history, but one of the success stories in efforts to get kids to stop smoking were campaigns that "relied, successfully, on teenagers’ indignation about being exploited by the tobacco companies."
It broadcast commercials—some of them directed by teens—that quoted from tobacco companies’ internal documents, in which executives mused about how to replace the customers who were dying off with a new generation of smokers. And it sent young, attractive staff members into classrooms to deliver an unaccustomed message: “We’re not telling anyone how to live their life. We’re not against smokers or smoking. We're just here to give you information on how tobacco companies are manipulating you.”
So how could we make use of this history?
Let’s allow teenagers to discover (maybe with the help of their peers) that the freedom and autonomy they feel when they’re at the helm of their computers is in many ways an illusion, and let’s help them develop the skeptical, critical stance that would allow them to be truly autonomous users of the Internet. A template for such a project might be the efforts to show young people—especially young women—how magazine editors and advertisers seek to manipulate their sense of what the female body should look like.
One of the things I’ve recently been impressed with, in my conversations both with students, and with teachers and heads of school, is how thoughtful teens can be about digital distraction, and the place of Snapchat and Yo and other services in their lives. For them, the message that their goodwill is being manipulated, that media and game companies work hard to commoditize their attention, and that if they can’t tell what the product is then they’re the product, seems likely to work.
Of course it won’t work on everyone. But it’s worth a try.
I published a short piece on Medium about digital Sabbaths. I was inspired to write it by Jessica Valenti's entirely unobjectionable piece in The Guardian about how deleting the social media apps from her smartphone gave her a little distance between herself and "being told daily that you're a slut, or a bitch, or that you should be raped all because you had the temerity to have an opinion and a vagina at the same time."
I've been shocked at how much of a difference it's already made. I'm no longer "just checking" to see what people are talking about, only to come across some random person [being offensive].... I've also become less likely to get drawn in to a conversation when I should be eating dinner with my family, or tweeting when I should be relaxing before bed.... My concentration is also on the rise.
The number of negative comments the piece has "inspired" are kind of amazing. And more generally, there's still something about digital detoxes or Sabbaths that inspires a special kind of vitriol.
The Medium piece is based on one of the appendices of my book, with a little updating. I expected the advice "don't talk about the Sabbath" would be out of date by now, but oddly it's even more relevant than ever.
A few days ago, Zócalo Public Square asked me for a short answer to the question, "What do we need to do to help the Internet connect us to others in a more meaningful way?" It was prompted by their recent accouncement that Ethan Zuckerman’s book Rewire was getting their book prize.
Today, my response, along with answers from David Weinberger, Kirsten Foot, and Bradley Fidler, are up. Excellent company to be keeping!
So far, my discussion about the mindful iPhone has focused on things you can do to your phone to make it less distracting, better able to distinguish between important and less important communication, and more protective of your attention. But there are also things you can do to help make you more mindful when using your phone. Of course, the paradox of mindfulness is that you can’t trick yourself into doing it, nor is there a technology that makes you mindful. But there are things you can do to encourage it.
One simple one involves changing your backgrounds and lock screens. Background screens are usually treated as eye candy. But think about how many times a day you see these screens. Every one of those little interactions can be a reminder to, as it were, think differently about your phone, a nudge (as Cass Sunstein and Richard Thaler put it) to get you to your phone a bit more thoughtfully.
What's a nudge? The concept comes from Cass Sunstein and Richard Thaler's book Nudge. There, they talk about two things: choice architectures, and nudges. Choice architectures are things that organize "the context in which people make decisions". We live in worlds saturated with choice architectures: indeed, almost any object that communicates information to users and performs an action in the world – thermostats, gas price signs, credit card statements – is a choice architecture. Systems that present us with easy-to-understand choices that we act on immediately, like traffic lights and street signs, are pretty unambiguous: we understand why it is in our best interest to stop at a red light. Other choice architectures are a little more ambiguous: the effort by social media apps to always deliver push notifications, for example, clearly benefits the company, but you should think about whether it really benefits you.
Nudges are a part of choice architectures. A nudge is "any aspect of the choice architecture that alters people's behavior in a predictable way without forbidding any options or significantly changing their economic incentives". Nudges are most useful for "choices that have delayed effects; those that are difficult, infrequent and offer poor feedback; and those for which the relation between choice and experiences ambiguous". What they love about nudges is that by structuring initial choices wisely, it is possible to play on people’s flawed thinking about the future – in ways that help them reach their goals, and reach better futures. A good example is Save More Tomorrow, a retirement program developed by Thaler that is used by a number of states. With Save More Tomorrow, participants in retirement programs automatically increase their contribution levels every time they get a raise. People are terrible at examining and rebalancing their retirement portfolios (the book has a hilarious example of a Nobel laureate in economics who confesses that, even though he's done important work on financing retirement, hasn't looked at his own portfolio in ages), and increasing your contribution manually feels like you're losing money. A nudge does not try to overcome our reliance on simple rules of thumb, anchoring biases, or our aversion to risk and loss; rather, it exploits them, by setting up a good rule that we can then ignore.
The iPhone has two screens (or "wallpaper" as they now call it) you can customize: the lock screen, and the home screen. The lock screen is the screen you see when you first bring your iPhone out of sleep mode: it shows the time, the "slide to unlock" bar, and the camera. The home screen is the screen you return to when you press the button on the bottom of the phone: the icons for your other apps are arranged on top of it.
Another feature that turns your iPhone into a filter between you and the world is Do Not Disturb.
When you activate Do Not Disturb (DND), incoming calls, texts, and alerts are silenced. A little crescent moon appears on the iPhone’s status bar (the bar at the top of the phone that shows you the time, battery, wifi and cell signal, etc.) to indicate that the phone is in DND mode.
The downside of DND is that it doesn’t have a feature to set different hours during the week and weekend, nor is it smart enough to communicate with your calendar or other apps. It’s a bit brute force in that respect. However, as a feature that helps you filter out interruptions, it’s very handy. Everyone should use it.
One of my favorite illustrations of the physical nature of our relationship with smartphones, and of the ways that relationship can go awry, is the phenomenon of phantom cell-phone vibration, the feeling that one’s cell phone or pager is buzzing when it’s not.
It sounds weird, but it's also very common. A survey of medical workers at a Boston-area hospital revealed that two-thirds of respondents had experienced phantom cell-phone vibrations (or “ringxiety,” as psychologist David Laramie calls it). People who regularly carry their cell phones in shirt or pants pockets, near the nerve-rich areas of the breast or upper thigh, are most susceptible. So are people who already feel anxious about mising a call. In the Boston hospital, interns, residents and staff were much more likely than senior faculty to feel phantom cell-phone vibrations because, one senior physician explained, “all hell breaks loose” if the students don’t answer their phones; senior staff are less tethered to theirs.
There are a few professions in which you get lots of unpredictable calls, you can't tell in advance which callers are really urgent, and so you can't screen yourself from them; but most of us have lives that are more predictable. Personally, I usually set my phone down on my desk in the office, and rather than have it buzz when it wants to alert me to something, I have the camera flash go off.
Didn't know you could do that? It's not that well-known.
In the last several posts, we saw how to adjust ringtones, text tones, and email alert tones. The idea was twofold: to give your phone a more wide-ranging voice, and to give your phone guidance about who has the right to interrupt you, and who doesn’t. Now we’ll look at another source of irritation and interruption: apps that send you updates.
Apps love to send you notifications. Some of them are kind of pushy about it (as it were).
For example, if you haven't allowed Facebook Messenger to push you notifications, every time you open it shows you a screen with step-by-step instructions to guarantee that "you and your friends will see messages instantly on your phones."
It really wants you to make this your default. The more you interact with it, the more it learns about you—where you are, when you’re messaging, who you’re messaging with.
But in addition to the powerful commercial imperative behind these designs, there’s also a deeper assumption: that connectivity ought to be the default, and that we should always be accessible, no matter what.
This is the kind of thinking that contributes to our state of perpetually-connected distraction. So it's good to fight back against it.
First, check the notifications settings of your apps. To do this, go to Settings > Notification Center. This controls what you see on the lock screen, the notifications center (the thing that appears when when you swipe down from the top of the screen), and notifications-- badges, sounds, previews, etc.-- from individual apps.
If you scroll down past "Access on Lock Screen" "Today View," and "Notifications View," you'll see "Include" and "Don't Include." The former is the list of apps that can send ping you, alert you to changes, etc. In effect, it's the list of apps that have permission to interrupt you.
Is the list longer than you expected? It almost certainly is, because app makers love to be on that list. They think that by shooting you lots of notifications, you'll stay more engaged with them. But do you really need that casual game sending you messages, or real-time social media updates, or news from your Internet radio app? Probably not.
So what's a more sensible set of notifications? You probably want your phone, messages, mail, and calendar to notify you; maybe Skype or some other critical communications tool deserve to be there too. Maybe even Facebook Messenger, if you and your friends use it regularly.
But beyond that, think seriously about whether an app needs to be able to reach out to you, and whether what it has to tell you is worth your attention.
A VIP list in Mail (the iPhones’ default email client) serves the same purpose as Favorites in phone and messaging: it lets you distinguish the people whose messages should get through immediately from the people whose messages can wait until later.
For better or worse, the VIP List in email is not automatically the same as the phone’s Favorites: the fact that they’re even called different things— a rare rift in the Apple space-time continuum of consistent naming— tips you off to the fact that you’ve got to do some extra work to set these up.
Here’s how you set ringtones and text tones.
The central panel from which you control ringtone, text tone, voice mail, calendar and reminder alerts, and most other sounds is the Sounds panel in Settings.
The Sounds panel is where you can control vibration, ringer and alerts, and change your default sounds and vibrations.
Scroll down a bit to Sounds and Vibration Patterns. Here’s where you'll change your phone's default ringtone, text tone, and new voicemail alert.
Change all three of these— ringtone, text tone, and new voicemail-- to something soft and unobtrusive. This will make those sounds the equivalent of someone catching your attention with a nod when you’re in the middle of a conversation: it signals both interest in talking, and a willingness to wait until you’re finished.
Now, your phone won’t barge into a conversation. It’ll let you know it wants your attention when you have a minute, but it will also signal that whatever it has to share probably isn’t critical.
I've experimented with ambient music, classical, even silence. (Here's why you need that last one. You can always put your phone on vibrate or in silent mode, but if you want to allow calls from family while literally silencing everyone else, this won't work. Instead you need to record a few seconds of silence, and make THAT your default ringtone.) Silence, it turns out, is a bit much for me most of the time, but it can be handy to have.
Setting Favorite Ringtone and Text tones
Unfortunately, there's no one place from which you can manage the ringtones for ALL your Favorites. You have to go one by one to each contact, and set their ringtone and text tone. Here’s how:
Let's get started with the main way your phone communicates with you: through its ringtones.
Your smartphone's ringtones are designed to alert you when you have call, a text, new email, or when it's time to get get up.
Default ringtones are meant to grab your attention as quickly as possible. By design, they're meant to be... well, alarming.
When you have one ringtone, every call is as important as every other: your parents, your acquaintance from work, the nurse at your child's school, the telemarketer and push poller are all on an equal footing.
All appointments are equally important.
All texts arrive with the same frantic breathlessness.
But our phones would be more useful, and our lives would run a little better, if our phones could do a better job of distinguishing between incoming calls, texts and email coming from the people who have the right to interrupt you, and everyone else.
We need the option of having ringtones that are ambient not alarming, quiet rather than insistent. Ringtones shouldn’t just catch our attention: they should communicate information as well.
I'll begin by showing you how to redesign the way your iPhone interacts with you. Going step-by-step through your iPhone's settings, we'll turn the iPhone from a device that is constantly trying to get your attention, to a device that protects your attention.
I'll then show you how to redesign the way you interact with your iPhone. I'll point out the mindless habits many of us fall into with smartphones, and how we can become more aware of them. You'll see how, in the course of interacting with your iPhone, your body comes to treat it as an extension of yourself. The task you face is to turn it from an extension with a mind of its own, a stubborn and willful prosthetic, into one designed to suit your needs.
Along the way, I'll point out some of the subtle and unexpected ways smartphones insinuate themselves in our body schema and minds. We don't just USE smartphones, it turns out: we use them to augment our own abilities, outsource cognitive functions to them, and even become finely attuned to their chirps and needs. It's easy to see these things as odd or signs of addiction, but in fact they reflect Homo sapiens' amazing ability to meld with our technologies, to use them so fluidly and fluently they come to feel like extensions of ourselves.
When we're done, you'll have a better understanding of how our devices make themselves indispensable and impossible to ignore. You'll know how to turn your smartphone into a device that doesn't put the world's distractions and interruptions in the palm of your hand, but keeps them at arm's length. You'll have a device that is mindful of you, so YOU can be more mindful-- of your self, your surroundings, and others.
It's essential to learn how to do this, because while we've only had smartphones for a few years-- the iPhone first came out in 2007-- a new wave of technologies to keep us connected, in touch, and interactive is on the way. Smart watches, natural language interfaces, fitness bracelets, anticipatory computing systems that guess what information you want before you ask for it, augmented reality glasses, and smart clothes are all on store shelves or coming soon. If you think your smartphone is a distraction, think how bad it will be when your email is pushed right into your line of vision, or your watch buzzes every time you a friend checks in on Foursquare. The habits we develop to make our smartphones more mindful can help us keep from losing our minds in a future that threatens to be even more distracting.
Can our information technologies protect our attention rather than erode it? Can we use digital devices to help us focus and have more time, rather than be constantly distracted and interrupted? Can we use them to live richer lives, not just faster or more frantic ones?
The answer to all these questions is yes. In my book The Distraction Addiction, I argued that we could learn to use our technologies to help us be more mindful, and practice what I called contemplative computing. By recognizing our tremendous natural-born ability to use technologies to extend our cognitive abilities and memory; by observing how today's technologies do and don't work; and by experimenting with new habits and practices, we can learn to use technologies more wisely, and in ways that make us wiser.
In this book I show how to apply the principles I outline in The Distraction Addiction to one of our most useful yet hard-to-control technologies: our smartphone. I'll show how you can turn your smartphone from a source of interruptions and a device that reflects the interests of software developers and social media companies, to a tool that protects your time and attention and is built around your needs.
The book focuses on one of the most important and addicting smartphones, the iPhone. It draws on my research on contemplative computing, interviews with smartphone users, conversations with app designers, and my own experience as an iPhone user. I've had an iPhone for five years, tried hundreds of apps, and have completely offloaded my memory for phone numbers onto it. (I haven't memorized a phone number-- other than immediate family-- in years.) I love my iPhone. I carry it everywhere. So I need it work well, and work for ME. The problem is, in their default state, smartphones are like smart children.
How are they similar?
The metaphor of smartphones as being like children isn't just a literary conceit. Two decades ago, in their book The Media Equation Stanford professors Byron Reeves and Clifford Nass argued that users treat personal computers like people. Of course, everyone knows that computers don't have feelings or personalities; but after a lifetime of learning social rules, anthropomorphizing animals and complex technologies, and being presented with interfaces designed to appeal to human emotions, it's easy for us to apply the social rules we use with other people to our interactions with computers.
Today, we're too often overindulgent with our smartphones, tolerating their bad behavior and letting them demand too much of us. We deny ourselves the benefits of setting generous but firm boundaries, teaching them to be more helpful and mindful, and giving ourselves some "me" time.
In other words, it's time to help your iPhone grow up, to teach it to stop behaving like a demanding child, and start performing like an executive assistant.
For the last few months I’ve been working off and on on an article about how to make your iPhone more mindful— how to change its various settings to turn it from a device that distracts you and keeps you over-connected, to one that respects your attention, protects your attention, yet keeps you accessible to people who really matter.
Long story short, the article got longer and longer; but it’s not quite a book. Maybe it’ll become an ebook. But I thought I would publish it here and see what feedback I get.
I’ll be publishing it as a serial, with a new section coming out every few days. I hope it’s useful!
This is an interesting concept, especially in an age when 95% of wearables assume that their job is to make you "better" (that is, more) connected, available, notified, and tracked: the Meaning to Pause bracelet.
As the Web site explains,
What if you received a gentle reminder several times throughout the busy day to pause and give special focus and meaning to your thoughts? A quiet moment that does not require significant effort…. If you could pause more during each day and give meaning to that pause… wouldn’t that help you to pay attention to the truly important things in life and the things that matter most?
As wearables go, it's pretty simple: all it does is vibrate every 60 or 90 minutes, reminding you to-- well, do whatever it is you mean to do every 60-90 minutes. It's even simpler than Memi, though both the intention and the aesthetic are somewhat different-- Memi (another project started by two women who worked in advertising and fashion) controls your cellphone's ability to distract you, while this works more like a meditation bell-- its purpose is to recenter you, not block interruptions.
While I finish writing up the notes from my NAIS talk-- I've got deadlines at work, kids' sports practices, and several recent interviews with people who organize digital sabbaths, so it's not as simple a matter as just transcribing what I said in Orlando-- here is a graphic map of the talk.
The full-sized version (which you can actually decipher) is here.
I've been lucky to work with some great graphic recorders, including real giants in the field like Grove Consultants founder David Sibbet, so I know what I'm talking about when I say Alece Birnbach did a great job on this map.
For those of you who speak French, there's a recent article in Le nouvel Observateur about mindfulness in Silicon Valley. I'm quoted at the end:
"Je suis sceptique à l'idée que les grandes sociétés vont changer, leur modèle de business dépend de l'utilisation toujours plus intense des YouTube et autres Google." Profits mis à part, "nous avons passé des générations entières, dans la Silicon Valley, à aller toujours plus vite, et nous avons appliqué cela à nos propres existences. Alors, l'idée qu'une meilleure vie est une vie que l'on vit plus lentement..."
I have no idea what that says, but since it's in French it sounds sophisticated. Also, I'm described as a "gourou de la technologie," which I believe means I'm high-tech, but with a thick skin and fleshy fruit. Pretty accurate.
"'Noise is the most impertinent of all forms of interruption,' groused the nineteenth-century German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer. 'It is not only an interruption, but also a disruption of thought.'" So notes Chloe Schama in her New Republic piece explaining "How Silence Became a Luxury Product."
From noise-canceling headphones to the popularity of silent retreats, there has never been quite so great a premium placed on silence. And not only do we value it in a general sense, we’re willing to pay for it. Silence has become the ultimate luxury.
Of course, the battle for quiet-- especially in cities-- has been going on for a long time. What's behind the current rush to quiet? "The modern-day selling of silence," she argues, "seems to have less to do with either global health or the annoyance of a neighbor’s barking dog and more to do with a desire to push back against the gnat-like ticking of technology than anything else."
Technology has both increased our perceived need for silence and created (or at least improved) the means of attaining it. We’re assaulted by incessant technological “noise” and reliant on technology to control it. We’re battered by a ceaseless stream of emails and memos and tweets and status updates, but we plug into the latest iPod to tune it out. Those lightweight noise-cancelling headphones are the product of years of research and refinement. Same with the vacuum cleaner and the uber-quiet Lexus—or so their marketing materials would have you believe.
The piece is well worth reading. For me, it stimulates a couple thoughts-- not criticisms of the article, but rather extensions of its argument.
First, while the latest model of Bose headphones may represent another example of capitalism's effort satisfy the desire of elites for "disconnection," Schama herself cites lots of historical studies that talk about the pursuit of public silence since Greek times. Personally, I might draw a clearer line between past and present, but that's just me.
Second, there's no question that one reason we select technologies to create silence is that the world has genuinely become noisier.
Third and most important, I would argue that while we may look to high-tech solutions to quiet the world or deliver the perfect noise-eliminating or soundproofing hack, what we're really looking for is something different from the complete absence of noise. A quiet environment, we think, will lead to a quiet mind. And that's what we really want.
We don't want the quiet of the world waiting to see what happens next as the tiger crouches or the sniper takes aim. We want psychological stillness, the absence of external interruption, and unbroken time for undisrupted thought.
This is is a state that can be supported by quiet; but there isn't a perfect inverse relationship between decibels on one hand, and concentration or creativity on the other. (The ambient noise in cafes can help some people concentrate, for example.)
In a sense, I'm arguing that "silence" is like calm. In ubicomp research there's a long history of talking about calm as the absence of stimuli, or as a physiological state. I argue that we should think of calm as an active thing, as an expression of skill, as a reward for mastery. (For more on this argument, read this, and this.)
Turning quiet from a spiritual and psychological thing into a technical one also leads us in an impossible direction. Ultimately, even if you eliminate all outside noise, you can still hear your own breathing, and your own heartbeat. You literally cannot have normal hearing and not hear. And believing that you can never get work done unless the world shuts up is a great way of never getting work done.
You can, however, be silent, and practice silence. Schopenhauer was right: noise is a disruptor of thought. But eliminating the worldly "noise" that disrupts us is only half the battle. You also have to deal with the internal noise as well.
I write about people, technology, and the worlds they make.
My book on contemplative computing, The Distraction Addiction, was published by Little, Brown and Company in 2013. (It's been translated into Dutch (as Verslaafd aan afleiding) and Spanish; Russian, Chinese and Korean translations are in the works.)
The Distraction Addiction
My latest book, and the first book from the contemplative computing project. The Distraction Addiction is published by Little, Brown and Co.. It's been widely reviewed and garnered lots of good press. You can find your own copy at your local bookstore, or order it through Barnes & Noble, Amazon (check B&N first, as it's usually cheaper there), or IndieBound.
The Spanish edition
The Dutch edition
Empire and the Sun
My first book, Empire and the Sun: Victorian Solar Eclipse Expeditions, was published with Stanford University Press in 2002 (order via Amazon).
PUBLISHED IN 2012
PUBLISHED IN 2011
PUBLISHED IN 2010
PUBLISHED IN 2009