"Vi har for mange systemer" sier du. Er du sikker?

“Vi har altfor mange systemer”

Er du sikker?

@ChristinGorman

“organizations which design systems ... are constrained to produce designs

which are copies of the communication structures of these organizations"

— M. Conway[3]

Brukeren i sentrum

Organisasjonen

Brukeren i sentrum

• Akvakulturregisteret• Ektepaktregisteret• Eco-Management and Audit Scheme (EMAS) • Enhetsregisteret• Foretaksregisteret• Frivillighetsregisteret• Gebyrsentralen• Gjeldsordningsregisteret• Jegerregisteret• Konkursregisteret• Lotteriregisteret• Løsøreregisteret• Oppgaveregisteret• Partiregisteret• Registeret for utøvere av alternativ behandling• Regnskapsregisteret• Reservasjonsregisteret

“Nå skal landbruksdepartementet overta ansvar for jegerregisteret”

public void mottaNySøknad(Søknadsskjema søknad) {

if (søknadFinnesAllerede(søknad.getHovedperson())) { throw new SøknadFinnesAlleredeException(); }

if (!folkeregistrertSammen(søknad.getAllePersoner())) { throw new IkkeBosattSammenException(); }

arkiver(søknad); sendBekreftelsesEpost(søknad.getHovedperson());

}

public void mottaDokument(Dokument dokument) {

regelmotor.valider(dokument); arkiver(dokument); sendBekreftelse(dokument);

}

Bruker Teknologi

Gjenbruk

“entitet”

“dokument”

“vedlegg”

“søker”

“søknadsskjema”

“legeerklæringer”

Å skrive en fortelling

http://greatist.com/sites/default/files/goal-setting-feature.jpg

Helt

Mål

http://steveroesler.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c500653ef01157133743f970c-pi

The Ripped BananaA Short Story by qristin Helen Platt looked at the ripped banana in her hands and felt happy. She walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always loved magical Philadelphia with its mammoth, mighty mountains. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel happy. Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Doris Wishmonger. Doris was a stupid lover with ample eyes and greasy feet. Helen gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was an intelligent, stupid, cocoa drinker with pretty eyes and skinny feet. Her friends saw her as a giant, gorgeous god. Once, she had even saved a steep deaf person that was stuck in a drain. But not even an intelligent person who had once saved a steep deaf person that was stuck in a drain, was prepared for what Doris had in store today. The hail pounded like talking ostriches, making Helen fuzzy. As Helen stepped outside and Doris came closer, she could see the united glint in her eye. Doris glared with all the wrath of 9354 hopeful hurt humming birds. She said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want justice." Helen looked back, even more fuzzy and still fingering the ripped banana. "Doris, I am your father," she replied. They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two dirty, decomposing donkeys cooking at a very optimistic holiday, which had flute music playing in the background and two admirable uncles thinking to the beat. Suddenly, Doris lunged forward and tried to punch Helen in the face. Quickly, Helen grabbed the ripped banana and brought it down on Doris's skull. Doris's ample eyes trembled and her greasy feet wobbled. She looked ambivalent, her emotions raw like a knowing, kindhearted knife. Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Doris Wishmonger was dead. Helen Platt went back inside and made herself a nice mug of cocoa. THE END

Samme hovedpersoner (gjenbruk av data)

✓

Samme bokhandel(felles innlogging til en “appstore”)

✓

Samme tekstmal

(gjenbrukbar applikasjon)

Takk for meg!

@ChristinGorman [email protected]