On its web site Apple lists over 300 new features that were added to OS X, culminating in the system software update that is 10.5 Leopard.
But when you get down to it, what, exactly is new?
I mean, really, really new?
Time Machine is a nice face on a relatively new way to do backups, but all-in-all it's YABP. (Yet Another Backup Program.)
Spaces is a wonderful addition to my workflow, but virtual desktops have been around for quite a while in the open-source world. Apple simply borrowed the concept.
Notes and to-do lists in Mail? Dare I mention that Outlook has had them for years? (And to be honest, done them better.)
Many of the changes to the dock and desktop are eye-candy. Well done eye-candy to be sure, but eye-candy nonetheless.
Now it's true that Apple has taken many of these concepts, fit them together into a seamless whole, and then polished them until they gleam, but even still those are largely incremental steps.
Evolutionary steps, perhaps... but not revolutionary ones.
And lest you think I'm picking on Apple, I have to say that Microsoft has the same problem.
Vista's sales have been lackluster, primarily because from an end-user perspective it offers little new over XP other than a new coat of paint and some new trim here and there. A budget product, being sold at a premium price.
A few things held promise, like the object-oriented file-system, but those fell by the wayside in the need to ship a product out the door. Any product.
Software upgrades have long been a staple of the computing industry, each version attempting to add new features and to refine existing ones. And doing so all for a minor fee, of course.
But what happens when there are no new features to add?
When you've covered 90% of what people need, and then 95%, and then 99%, what justifies an upgrade?
Microsoft Office is a prime example of this, and has been for the last several versions. After all, how much more functionality does Word need to fulfill its basic role of editing words and creating documents?
As of late the answer has been to bolt more parts onto the core program, adding spelling checkers and grammar checkers, mini-graphics editors, layout capabilities, and more and more templates and photos and clip art.
In fact, it's telling that Microsoft's latest innovation, the ribbon, is touted as existing to make things easier for the user... when in actuality it exists primarily to help manage all of the paraphernalia that's been added to date.
And to rationalize a new release, of course.
But what's next?
Especially in operating systems?
Like Word, just how much more functionality do we need to manage our files and folders?
Again like Word, the answer has been to spread outward and encompass functionality previously relegated to system utilities and third-party applications.
Hence a modern "OS" now ships with backup programs and web and photo browsers and mail and chat software and media players and virtual desktop managers and more. Expanding ever outward.
With little moving inward, to the core.
Which brings us back once more to the original question.
What happens when OS's become feature complete?
Personally, I'm ready for the next revolutionary step in operating systems and user interfaces.
Where is Jeff Hans' virtual multi-touch desktop manager? Where is my Star Trek voice-activated and command-driven operating system?
Where is my Personal Digital Assistant that actually ACTS like a personal assistant?
When can I wake up in the morning and say, "Hal, what's on for today?"
And get an answer.
With dual-processor quad-core computers at our beck and call, is the best we can do still limited to sliding a hockey puck back and forth on our desks?
Steve, if you're listening, I have to tell you that as much as I love OS X, I'm ready to buy a new operating system.
And next time I expect more than a few new system utilities and applications bolted on and covered with a shiny new coat of paint.
You're Apple. You've changed the world before.
Now, go do it again.
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