Checking out the Canary View smart home security camera
The Canary View fits in the lower end of the lineup — below the All-in-One and the Flex. The former is the most equipped Canary while the latter is a modular indoor/outdoor camera.
Design and setup
We love the design of the Canary View. It has an approachable, subtle aesthetic that fits well into a variety of different homes. It is also well built, made mostly of aluminum. A subtle status light emits front eh bottom to give a glow when active that doesn’t scream “security camera.”
Rear of the Canary View smart home camera
A supplied micro USB cable is included along with a custom power brick. The cable is a flat cable which is a nice touch and makes it a bit easier to tuck away.
There are two colorways available — black and graphite.
Touching the top of Canary View to start pairing
Setting up the Canary View was painless and fast — just taking a few moments from within the Canary app. After plugging it in, you put your finger on the top of the Canary for a few moments until the light flashes blue. It then will appear in the app, you confirm the device, and add it to your Wi-Fi network — or connect it over Ethernet. Then just assign a room and you are good to go.
When the app is launched, it takes you to a view with all the cameras in your home. A gaussian-blurred, full-screen image is displayed and you can swipe left and right to go between the “rooms” or cameras you have set up. On any of those rooms, you can tap “Watch Live” to tune in.
Canary app home view with status icons on the bottom
Along the bottom, you have a series of icons for different features. The first is the mode button, to cycle through away mode, home mode, and night mode. The second is the Safety Button which can be used to quickly dispatch emergency services should the need arrive.
Next to the Safety Button are all the users added to your home. Not only do you need to add users for them to be able to access the app, but the Canary will arm and disarm based on whether a user is home or not. A timeline view also shows the mode changes and when specific people come and go from the house.
Of course, like many cameras, there is an optional premium component to Canary.
First — to be clear — Canary is entirely free to use if you so choose. It is still an excellent camera, very fast in response time, and the automatic mode switching works great to prevent errant alerts.
However, if you want to get more from the camera, you can subscribe to the premium plan. Included with that plan is 30 days of video storage (rather than just 24 hours), two-way talk, longer video clips, the aforementioned personal Safety Button, and an extended two-year device warranty.
Canary app timeline which is limited to 24 hours on the free plan
It is quite a bit of extra features, but nothing you can’t live without. Most users don’t need 30 days worth of video storage. If an incident occurs, they can save that specific clip. Only on rare occasions would you need to go back and look at something from two weeks ago.
They do add extra value and I particularly like the Safety Button and two-way talk features. I at one point during my testing saw my dogs ripping into a trash bag I had left at the door. I used the two-way talk to scold them through Canary at which point they stopped and returned to the couch in shame.
Living with a Canary
I’ve been a Canary user since its humble, crowd-funded beginnings using the original all-in-one unit that also bakes in a siren, air quality monitors, as well as other features.
Canary View was a subsequent addition to my existing setup, providing more room coverage easily from within a single app. I’ve always been fond of the Canary app and its quick uptake of new Apple features such as rich notifications.
A Canary righ notification can be played right from the lock screen
When notifications come in, it alerts you as to what kind of motion (general motion versus a person being detected) and will point out said motion with a yellow square. Right from the notification. This is very well done and allows you to quickly and easily see what the intrusion is and if you should be concerned. They can also be played right from the notifications negating the need to jump into the app.
Quick actions include the ability to watch live, bookmark the clip, or to jump into the app.
My dog registering as a person to Canary
In my experience, however, the AI doesn’t quite detect the different kinds of motion correctly. For example, I can’t tell you how many times my dogs were reported as a “person” when they were not people.
The issues that this may or may not cause vary from installation to installation, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker for us in any way. It is something I hope Canary can improve over time.
Another issue that cropped up in my trial, was the Canary’s going offline. The camera dropping off would happen at random and at one point required contact with Canary’s support team who walked me through deactivating and re-adding the Canary to my home.
The re-addition wasn’t a difficult process to do, but you have to re-submit your address and add any members back to the home if you do go through this process. Fortunately, the support team was very fast and helpful —just wish I didn’t have to reach out to them to begin with.
To round out my experience, I have one more anecdote about how Canary was able to save the day. My wife and I headed out for a weekend vacation with the dogs on board but leaving the cat and two caged rabbits at home. Not long after we were on the highway, the Canary send us a notification about motion in the living room.
We looked and wrote it off as the cat before we double-took and noticed that it was one of the rabbits that had gotten loose and was running throughout our home. A good friend who worked nearby was able to contain the break-out before Dixie was able to cause too much damage.
The other camera we had in a similar area didn’t pick up on the bunny at all, making us very grateful for Canary.
HomeKit? No such luck.
The rub here is that there is no HomeKit support to speak of. Canary’s history with HomeKit is iffy at best, similar to the Ring saga.
On June 13, 2016, Canary announced with much fanfare just following the WWDC keynote that they’d be supporting HomeKit and would have additional information to share soon. Following that announcement Canary teased a “Plus” version of its camera that would launch following its All-in-One model.
Since then, they’ve released the Flex camera as well as the View camera — the latter which we’ve been reviewing here. Neither model supports HomeKit and apparently won’t be updated to support it either.
It is very disappointing that not only is HomeKit not supported here, but none of the other Canary cameras will either and the Plus camera is still MIA.
We genuinely like the Canary cameras, features, and quality, but as Apple itself is ramping up its HomeKit security camera efforts with the new iCloud video storage and secure HomeKit routers, some of the best security cameras are remaining mum.
Should you buy it
What will ultimately decide whether or not you should buy the Canary View is whether or not HomeKit is a must-have feature. If it is, look elsewhere. Look at the Arlo line or perhaps the Logitech Circle 2.
Canary View smart home security camera
If you don’t need HomeKit though, then the Canary View is a stellar option to pick up.
The design is great, the build quality is fantastic, functionality is top-notch, and if you pick up the premium service for a year the camera is free. You can’t beat that.
If you want a bit more in the feature-department you can also always jump up to the All-in-One unit which packs in even more for only a marginal increase in price.
- Attractive metal design
- AI smarts
- Well-designed app
- Useful premium features
- Great use of Apple rich notifications
- Best features need subscription plan
- No HomeKit support
- AI notifications not always accurate
- During the review the cameras went “offline” and needed re-added
For the Apple user that needs HomeKit, the Canary View is a 2.5 out of 5. If you’re more engrained in other home automation systems, it’s higher, but for the AppleInsider audience, we’ve unfortunately got to stick with that rating.
Rating: 2.5 out of 5
Where to buy
How the Dumb Design of a WWII Plane Led to the Macintosh
The B-17 Flying Fortress rolled off the drawing board and onto the runway in a mere 12 months, just in time to become the fearsome workhorse of the US Air Force during World War II. Its astounding toughness made pilots adore it: The B-17 could roar through angry squalls of shrapnel and bullets, emerging pockmarked…
The B-17 Flying Fortress rolled off the drawing board and onto the runway in a mere 12 months, just in time to become the fearsome workhorse of the US Air Force during World War II. Its astounding toughness made pilots adore it: The B-17 could roar through angry squalls of shrapnel and bullets, emerging pockmarked but still airworthy. It was a symbol of American ingenuity, held aloft by four engines, bristling with a dozen machine guns.
Imagine being a pilot of that mighty plane. You know your primary enemy—the Germans and Japanese in your gunsights. But you have another enemy that you can’t see, and it strikes at the most baffling times. Say you’re easing in for another routine landing. You reach down to deploy your landing gear. Suddenly, you hear the scream of metal tearing into the tarmac. You’re rag-dolling around the cockpit while your plane skitters across the runway. A thought flickers across your mind about the gunners below and the other crew: “Whatever has happened to them now, it’s my fault.” When your plane finally lurches to a halt, you wonder to yourself: “How on earth did my plane just crash when everything was going fine? What have I done?”
For all the triumph of America’s new planes and tanks during World War II, a silent reaper stalked the battlefield: accidental deaths and mysterious crashes that no amount of training ever seemed to fix. And it wasn’t until the end of the war that the Air Force finally resolved to figure out what had happened.
To do that, the Air Force called upon a young psychologist at the Aero Medical Laboratory at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton, Ohio. Paul Fitts was a handsome man with a soft Tennessee drawl, analytically minded but with a shiny wave of Brylcreemed hair, Elvis-like, which projected a certain suave nonconformity. Decades later, he’d become known as one of the Air Force’s great minds, the person tasked with hardest, weirdest problems—such as figuring out why people saw UFOs.
For now though, he was still trying to make his name with a newly minted PhD in experimental psychology. Having an advanced degree in psychology was still a novelty; with that novelty came a certain authority. Fitts was supposed to know how people think. But his true talent is to realize that he doesn’t.
When the thousands of reports about plane crashes landed on Fitts’s desk, he could have easily looked at them and concluded that they were all the pilot’s fault—that these fools should have never been flying at all. That conclusion would have been in keeping with the times. The original incident reports themselves would typically say “pilot error,” and for decades no more explanation was needed. This was, in fact, the cutting edge of psychology at the time. Because so many new draftees were flooding into the armed forces, psychologists had begun to devise aptitude tests that would find the perfect job for every soldier. If a plane crashed, the prevailing assumption was: That person should not have been flying the plane. Or perhaps they should have simply been better trained. It was their fault.
But as Fitts pored over the Air Force’s crash data, he realized that if “accident prone” pilots really were the cause, there would be randomness in what went wrong in the cockpit. These kinds of people would get hung on anything they operated. It was in their nature to take risks, to let their minds wander while landing a plane. But Fitts didn’t see noise; he saw a pattern. And when he went to talk to the people involved about what actually happened, they told of how confused and terrified they’d been, how little they understood in the seconds when death seemed certain.
The examples slid back and forth on a scale of tragedy to tragicomic: pilots who slammed their planes into the ground after misreading a dial; pilots who fell from the sky never knowing which direction was up; the pilots of B-17s who came in for smooth landings and yet somehow never deployed their landing gear. And others still, who got trapped in a maze of absurdity, like the one who, having jumped into a brand-new plane during a bombing raid by the Japanese, found the instruments completely rearranged. Sweaty with stress, unable to think of anything else to do, he simply ran the plane up and down the runway until the attack ended.
Fitts’ data showed that during one 22-month period of the war, the Air Force reported an astounding 457 crashes just like the one in which our imaginary pilot hit the runway thinking everything was fine. But the culprit was maddeningly obvious for anyone with the patience to look. Fitts’ colleague Alfonse Chapanis did the looking. When he started investigating the airplanes themselves, talking to people about them, sitting in the cockpits, he also didn’t see evidence of poor training. He saw, instead, the impossibility of flying these planes at all. Instead of “pilot error,” he saw what he called, for the first time, “designer error.”
The reason why all those pilots were crashing when their B-17s were easing into a landing was that the flaps and landing gear controls looked exactly the same. The pilots were simply reaching for the landing gear, thinking they were ready to land. And instead, they were pulling the wing flaps, slowing their descent, and driving their planes into the ground with the landing gear still tucked in. Chapanis came up with an ingenious solution: He created a system of distinctively shaped knobs and levers that made it easy to distinguish all the controls of the plane merely by feel, so that there’s no chance of confusion even if you’re flying in the dark.
By law, that ingenious bit of design—known as shape coding—still governs landing gear and wing flaps in every airplane today. And the underlying idea is all around you: It’s why the buttons on your videogame controller are differently shaped, with subtle texture differences so you can tell which is which. It’s why the dials and knobs in your car are all slightly different, depending on what they do. And it’s the reason your virtual buttons on your smartphone adhere to a pattern language.
But Chapanis and Fitts were proposing something deeper than a solution for airplane crashes. Faced with the prospect of soldiers losing their lives to poorly designed machinery, they invented a new paradigm for viewing human behavior. That paradigm lies behind the user-friendly world that we live in every day. They realized that it was absurd to train people to operate a machine and assume they would act perfectly under perfect conditions.
Instead, designing better machines meant figuring how people acted without thinking, in the fog of everyday life, which might never be perfect. You couldn’t assume humans to be perfectly rational sponges for training. You had to take them as they were: distracted, confused, irrational under duress. Only by imagining them at their most limited could you design machines that wouldn’t fail them.
This new paradigm took root slowly at first. But by 1984—four decades after Chapanis and Fitts conducted their first studies—Apple was touting a computer for the rest of us in one of its first print ads for the Macintosh: “On a particularly bright day in Cupertino, California, some particularly bright engineers had a particularly bright idea: Since computers are so smart, wouldn’t it make sense to teach computers about people, instead of teaching people about computers? So it was that those very engineers worked long days and nights and a few legal holidays, teaching silicon chips all about people. How they make mistakes and change their minds. How they refer to file folders and save old phone numbers. How they labor for their livelihoods, and doodle in their spare time.” (Emphasis mine.) And that easy-to-digest language molded the smartphones and seamless technology we live with today.
Along the long and winding path to a user-friendly world, Fitts and Chapanis laid the most important brick. They realized that as much as humans might learn, they would always be prone to err—and they inevitably brought presuppositions about how things should work to everything they used. This wasn’t something you could teach of existence. In some sense, our limitations and preconceptions are what it means to be human—and only by understanding those presumptions could you design a better world.
Today, this paradigm shift has produced trillions in economic value. We now presume that apps that reorder the entire economy should require no instruction manual at all; some of the most advanced computers ever made now come with only cursory instructions that say little more than “turn it on.” This is one of the great achievements of the last century of technological progress, with a place right alongside GPS, Arpanet, and the personal computer itself.
It’s also an achievement that remains unappreciated because we assume this is the way things should be. But with the assumption that even new technologies need absolutely no explaining comes a dark side: When new gadgets make assumptions about how we behave, they force unseen choices upon us. They don’t merely defer to our desires. They shape them.
User friendliness is simply the fit between the objects around us and the ways we behave. So while we might think that the user-friendly world is one of making user-friendly things, the bigger truth is that design doesn’t rely on artifacts; it relies on our patterns. The truest material for making new things isn’t aluminum or carbon fiber. It’s behavior. And today, our behavior is being shaped and molded in ways both magical and mystifying, precisely because it happens so seamlessly.
I got a taste of this seductive, user-friendly magic recently, when I went to Miami to tour a full-scale replica of Carnival Cruise’s so-called Ocean Medallion experience. I began my tour in a fake living room, with two of the best-looking project staffers pretending to be husband and wife, showing me how the whole thing was supposed to go.
Using the app, you could reserve all your activities way before you boarded the ship. And once on board, all you needed was to carry was a disk the size of a quarter; using that, any one of the 4,000 touchscreens on the ship could beam you personalized information, such which way you needed to go for your next reservation. The experience recalled not just scenes from Her and Minority Report, but computer-science manifestos from the late 1980s that imagined a suite of gadgets that would adapt to who you are, morphing to your needs in the moment.
Behind the curtains, in the makeshift workspace, a giant whiteboard wall was covered with a sprawling map of all the inputs that flow into some 100 different algorithms that crunch every bit of a passenger’s preference behavior to create something called the “Personal Genome.” If Jessica from Dayton wanted sunscreen and a mai tai, she could order them on her phone, and a steward would deliver them in person, anywhere across the sprawling ship.
The server would greet Jessica by name, and maybe ask if she was excited about her kitesurfing lesson. Over dinner, if Jessica wanted to plan an excursion with friends, she could pull up her phone and get recommendations based on the overlapping tastes of the people she was sitting with. If only some people like fitness and others love history, then maybe they’ll all like a walking tour of the market at the next port.
Jessica’s Personal Genome would be recalculated three times a second by 100 different algorithms using millions of data points that encompassed nearly anything she did on the ship: How long she lingered on a recommendation for a sightseeing tour; the options that she didn’t linger on at all; how long she’d actually spent in various parts of the ship; and what’s nearby at that very moment or happening soon. If, while in her room, she had watched one of Carnival’s slickly produced travel shows and seen something about a market tour at one her ports of call, she’d later get a recommendation for that exact same tour when the time was right. “Social engagement is one of the things being calculated, and so is the nuance of the context,” one of the executives giving me the tour said.
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It was like having a right-click for the real world. Standing on the mocked-up sundeck, knowing that whatever I wanted would find me, and that whatever I might want would find its way either onto the app or the screens that lit up around the cruise ship as I walked around, it wasn’t hard to see how many other businesses might try to do the same thing. In the era following World War II, the idea that designers could make the world easier to understand was a breakthrough.
But today, “I understand what I should do” has become “I don’t need to think at all.” For businesses, intuitiveness has now become mandatory, because there are fortunes to be made by making things just a tad more frictionless. “One way to view this is creating this kind of frictionless experience is an option. Another way to look at it is that there’s no choice,” said John Padgett, the Carnival executive who had shepherded the Ocean Medallion to life. “For millennials, value is important. But hassle is more important, because the era they’ve grow up in. It’s table stakes. You have to be hassle-free to get them to participate.”
By that logic, the real world was getting to be disappointing when compared with the frictionless ease of this increasingly virtual world. Taken as a whole, Carnival’s vision for seamless customer service that can anticipate your every whim was like an Uber for everything, powered by Netflix recommendations for meatspace. And these are in fact the experiences that many more designers will soon be striving for: invisible, everywhere, perfectly tailored, with no edges between one place and the next. Padgett described this as a “market of one,” in which everything you saw would be only the thing you want.
The Market of One suggests to me a break point in the very idea of user friendliness. When Chapanis and Fitts were laying the seeds of the user-friendly world, they had to find the principles that underlie how we expect the world to behave. They had to preach the idea that products built on our assumptions about how things should work would eventually make even the most complex things easy to understand.
Steve Jobs’ dream of a “bicycle for the mind”—a universal tool that might expand the reach of anyone—has arrived. High technology has made our lives easier; made us better at our jobs, and created jobs that never existed before; it has made the people we care about closer to us. But friction also has value: It’s friction that makes us question whether we do in fact need the thing we want. Friction is the path to introspection. Infinite ease quickly becomes the path of least resistance; it saps our free will, making us submit to someone else’s guess about who we are. We can’t let that pass. We have to become cannier, more critical consumers of the user-friendly world. Otherwise, we risk blundering into more crashes that we’ll only understand after the worst has already happened.
Excerpted from USER FRIENDLY: How the Hidden Rules of Design Are Changing the Way We Live, Work, and Play by Cliff Kuang with Robert Fabricant. Published by MCD, an imprint of Farrar, Straus and Giroux November 19th 2019. Copyright © 2019 by Cliff Kuang and Robert Fabricant. All rights reserved.
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Hackers are stealing and Elon is squealing, but first: a cartoon about subscription dreams.Here’s the news you need to know, in two minutes or less.Want to receive this two-minute roundup as an email every weekday? Sign up here!Today’s NewsMeet the Tesla Cybertruck, Elon Musk’s Ford-fighting pickup truckTesla CEO Elon Musk last night unveiled his newest…
Hackers are stealing and Elon is squealing, but first: a cartoon about subscription dreams.
Here’s the news you need to know, in two minutes or less.
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Meet the Tesla Cybertruck, Elon Musk’s Ford-fighting pickup truck
Tesla CEO Elon Musk last night unveiled his newest baby, an all-electric pickup called the Tesla Cybertruck. He demonstrated that it can take a sledgehammer to the door with nary a scratch, and he also accidentally demonstrated that it can’t take a ball to the window. But behind the showmanship and Elon’s audible disbelief at the onstage mishap is a truck with a 500-mile range and the torque that comes from an electric motor. It represents an important new market expansion for Tesla. Now it just has to actually put the darn thing into production.
1.2 billion records found exposed online in a single server
Hackers have long used stolen personal data to break into accounts and wreak havoc. And a dark web researcher found one data trove sitting exposed on an unsecured server. The 1.2 billion records don’t include passwords, credit card numbers, or Social Security numbers, but they do contain cell phone numbers, social media profiles, and email addresses—a great start for someone trying to steal your identity.
Fast Fact: 2025
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