15
February 2000
This
morning I brushed my teeth with Tom's
Fennel toothpaste and now I have breath like an old
French drunk. Damn-- that stuff tastes like absinthe.
It even leaves my mouth numb.
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10
February 2000
I
bought a book in the airport because I liked the title,
Wrong Information Is Being Given Out at Princeton.
It was a very good purchase.
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05
February 2000
Last
night we went to The
Nuyorican. I felt like I'd left Manhattan. I didn't
realize how exhausting is the uber-cool world of the
Village and Soho until I felt my jaw unclench over
the course of the evening. I fell into a sleepy sort
of reverie and just let the words wash over me as
I occasionally met the quiet gaze of the woman facing
me. She was tall and thin and her limbs moved relative
to one another in an arresting syncopation... I had
momentarily forgotten how much I miss the other places:
the bar on Burnet where we danced while the seven
old men drank beer in cans and said nothing; Juan
in a Million, where Victor once let me ask for two
tacos just to see the look on my face when Juan and
the waitress came back with my 6-inch high tacos,
each on its own plate; El Nopalito, where we used
to escape from first hour Theology class in high school...
I
finally got around to shopping for and making some
winter clothes. I'm having a nice time buying sweaters
with super-long sleeves and making things that look
like fishing nets to wear. I am satisfying a questionable,
but longstanding need for Concept clothes. That is,
they are fascinating and beautiful and way too artistic
to condescend to flatter my figure. So, I cheerfully
go around looking like a paper bag with streaks of
latex paint on it (sometimes I modify them a bit--
that's where the latex paint comes in), but boy do
I look like a Concept.
Sharon
Wauchob is making some lovely Concepty clothes...
that I can't and / or won't afford.
Original
content is not optional for commerce sites:
First: original content is one of the primary manners
in which online companies attract new customers.
In general, people use the Internet to search for
specific information. Free information. The
more educational and informative a site, the greater
number of potential customers frequent the site
in search of free information.
Secondly, content is one manner in which existing
companies doing business primarily (or entirely)
online can begin to externally define their corporate
culture and offer a community to their present customers.
This type of content is generally more entertainment-oriented
than strictly "informational."
Neither
is the model unidirectional. It is questionable
whether content only sites can exist solely on advertising
revenue.
In general, the subscription-based content model
is successful (profitable) only for: marketing and
demographic data, pornography, and (to some degree)
infomediaries.
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27
January 2000
I
haven't written anything but documentations of precarious
interactions for so long that I don't think I can
write or speak anymore. I am creaky. I have a list
of Stuff to be researched that I have been writing
on my hand every day. First: the
Mole People and company... Do I really have to
say, who cares if it's true? Next-- must find more
of Roberto
Burle Marx's (or EB)
pencil drawings... But I had to settle for Niemeyer
images... Which isn't so bad.
Nothing
to be said.
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12
January 2000
...He
just told me I remind him of Snow White's stepmother.
Are my feelings hurt?
My
father says I should recall even more of Ryan's
Fancy.
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10
January 2000
"We'll
drink and drink and drink to Lily the Pink, the
Pink, the Pink,
The savior of of the human race.
"She invented Medicinal Compound, most efficacious
in every case"
When
I was five, I used to lie on my tummy in front of the
stereo with both the speakers turned in on either side
of my head and listen to the Irish Rovers. It turns
out that I still remember all the words to Lily
the Pink and Nancy
Whiskey and Finnegan's
Wake. However, I just lately figured out what was
meant by "my father, he was orange and my mother,
she was green."
I recall taking it quite literally as a kindergartner...
But all that is nothing compared to the songs
of my birthplace. I was beside myself with glee to find
mention of The
Kelligrews Soiree (scroll down) in E.Annie Proulx's
novel, The
Shipping News...
We
used to bound around the house shrilly piping, "
There'll be pig’s feet, cat’s meat, dumplings boiled
up in a sheet." Not to mention, Jack (who was every
inch a sailor) and Lizer (who was up to her knees in
gravel).
Daniel
Kunitz's article
in Salon on the discussion of beauty. Also, the article
on the CD Universe mess.
Fantastic
Prayers sounds interesting. In fact, it sounds
exactly like what I wish I had time to make...
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09
January 2000
Oh,
I sat up all Friday night sketching and reading the
book
Victor gave me for my birthday. It is an exhaustive
catalogue of the work of the Eames
office. It was a perfect gift. I have been feeling
a bit creatively sluggish lately (working too much),
and this made me happy. I read about making plywood
gliders and radio boxes and slide shows and the organization
of the circus. I sketched modular shelving and image
layouts and bathtubs and information systems and my
own feet... And now I'm looking for images of Harry
Bertoia's jewelry. Apparently he did jewelry only
for family and friends so none of it was ever commercially
produced, hence the difficulty in finding images.
However, I did find a CD
of his sound sculpture music... Anyhow, I decided
it's time to make some stuff that involves risk of
physical injury other than chronic-tennis-elbow-carpal-getting-fat-syndrome
or any of those epicene afflictions associated with
sitting in front of the computer too much. So, I spent
several hours yesterday salaciously ogling materials.
I visited some Portland cement, beeswax, pigments,
oil paints, plaster of Paris, paraffin, resin, clear
resin, and Baltic Birch plywood... However, I made
my way home in the evening with only a roll of newsprint.
I anticlimactically decided it might be a good idea
to plan one project at a time-- for purely financial
considerations... We are still fantasizing about winning
the lottery, but with much less anxiety. I used to
be quite concerned that it was an unrealistic dream
because we've never actually bought tickets. Upon
consideration, I realized that buying the tickets
doesn't perceptibly increase one's chances of winning,
so I've stopped worrying about that and just spend
my time planning how we will spend the money.
I
was talking to an acquaintance today about the political
legacy of modernism. We chatted a bit about the Eamses.
She said she finds them and their work disturbingly
apolitical. I demurred and said that there are a number
of strong political statements inherent in their work.
It turns out that's just what bothers her-- the statements
are inherent in their work rather than the work being
the product of an explicitly defined political agenda.
Additionally, the very ideas of efficiency in mass
production, humble materiality, and broad accommodation
which make (or made) their design work so broadly
accessible (both literally and aesthetically) are
inherently associated with a problematic socio-economic
model...However, I have rarely seen design for living
(elegant problem-solving) successfully done as a political
statement first. That sort of explicit messaging is
often exactly what renders design (or art) inaccessible
to those with whom it is most concerned... Another
problem with the very admirable idea of accessibility
of high design is the immediate dilution of concept--
both as the details that make the solution great are
cut for production reasons and as a complex suite
of ideas is reduced to recognizable gesture (i.e.
fashion). Eventually only the gestures are readable
(collectable), and boy does that make for something
dreadful (e.g. "neomodernism" = a lot of
asterisks and flat roofs). C'est out.
I
still don't have my laundry.
----------------------------------------
07
January 2000
The
word of the day is:
an·thro·poph·a·gous: feeding on human flesh
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05
January 2000
The
first day back to work after the boundless joy of
a week and a half sick in bed. I don't have much of
a voice left, but somehow I had to sit through two
conference calls and walk a copy writer through 48
pages of schematics. I saved what was left of my voice
(but doubtlessly compromised the entire project) by
just nodding into the phone and croaking "sure"
when the client made suggestions. I didn't fare as
well with the copy writer. She's a nice girl and I
didn't think it would be polite to make her guess
the actual content that is suposed to be represented
by the blocks of Catullus
in my schematics. So I talked. Every few minutes my
voice stopped functioning altogether and I had to
clasp my hands and roll my eyes expressively like
Sarah
Berhardt to make my points.
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