scintillating bullshit version two

when you put it that way, it makes it ok that the last thing to make me cry was a libxml2 bug

Thu, 16 Apr 2009 00:01:50 -0500

Watched David Foster Wallaces’ interview on Charlie Rose yesterday — for you to see here in the latter half of this. So sad, so eerie, but also still fucking awesome. R: You seem really self-conscious— W: I got news for you. Going on TV makes your self-conscious gland go into high gear. Maybe you’re used to it, but still. Awesome, in the old sense of the word “awesome”. Afterwards, I reread “Good Old Neon” from Oblivion, which is more or less his public suicide note, and it too was so very sad, but so very very awesome, simultaneously, with the simultaneity itself the whole point of it.

So I just had to point that out, how awesome that stuff of his is still. Shit always changes. For example SpeakUp, Armin Vit’s long-running bepixeled design blog, just ceased to exist. I wrote about awesomeness on SpeakUp, back in the 2007 Spring, right after my mom died; I was pretty crazy, during that immediate interval. I am a lot less crazy now.

Sometimes I miss Mr. Wallace the same way I miss my mom. I never met him, or even knew what his voice sounded like before I saw that clip online yesterday, but he exerted an enormous influence on me. A similar thing is true in the case of Mr. Kevin McCormick — the storied Frostbyte — with whom my friendship had more parallels than convergent points. Mom, Wallace, and Frostbyte are gone now, they’re everywhere and nowhere… and that’s cool, I mean that’s incredibly sad but I still want to be them, in a lot of ways. No change there. Seeing that simultaneity is one of the perks of being less crazy.

Yeah so yeah, shit always changes — but it’s nice to be reminded that awesomeness is completely outside the continuum of shit, as it were. Yes.

stars must be my friends to shine for me

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:52:09 -0500

Long time, mon ami. How you livin’? I myself am in Greenpoint, but only for the next week or so, sadly. But let’s get back in touch. I’m looking for good work and also for good times. Double awesome for combinations of the same.

In the meantime, until everything gets settled, here are some of my graphic-design-related oblique strategies:

Delete all of your layers except for your least favorite.
Proof-print using only hand tools.
Convert all metaphors to praximal elements.
Txt a random friend of yours an amusing quote from a movie and use whatever he or she sends back as your greek text.
Beat your laser printer to death with your friends, and replace it with a medium-format inkjet. Use it for at least a week.
Throw a good book out the window.
Blame USPS.
Send your nemesis a copy of your most recent positive review.
Print one proof with all of the colors inverted.
Print one proof with all of the inks dialed down 10 percent.
Eat your lunch on the floor while looking up at your project.
Eat your lunch on the floor while looking up at your project. Just start drinking if lunch is over already.
Redo your gutters.
Subject your spot colors to inquiry.
Do not think in terms of explanations.
Use time like color.
Find an intern to berate, but think better of it at the last minute.
Stay up all night.
Compare what you do when hungry to what you do when fed.
Steal a pattern.
Lie to the next person that walks by you.
Use an Olfa L-2.
Translate the copy to Russian and back.
Buy a steak and cheese sandwich and eat it.
Ignore your health.
Consider tangerines.
Create a superset of your problems.
Look at the proof print on the Brooklyn edge of the East River while the sun sets.
Atomize into praximes.
Switch computers with a friend. Save-as. Fuck the document up royally. Make them do it too. Compare results.
Boxes of the same height look orderly when in a row.
Let your nemesis do the talking for a little while.
Stop being an asshole.
Make an exhaustive list of all of your options. Flush it down the toilet and go with some cheap clip art and Helvetica.
There are things on your page right now that are far stronger than any of your random flashes of inspiration.
Throw the I-Ching with two friends.
Get a divorce.
Commit to systematized passive-agression.
Redraw all the lowercase “s” characters in the lede with a Bic — preferably a blue one stolen from an ingrate.
Hug your mom if you can.
Overprint the next laser proof onto the most interesting thing in your recycle bin.
Use a donut as your crop bars.
Sit very very still for five minutes and try to hear a bird.
Leave your poofs with an animal for a night.
Change your body type style to that which your creepy uncle uses for his RTF email defaults.
Give the finger to at least one animal — preferably a mammal.
Consider what must be changed to avoid reification.
Where you were acting retarded, now act autistic.
Shift your colors in HSL space by a value equal to your latitude.
Do not think about graffiti.
Figure out which designer you are ripping off, and rip off whomever your victim stole from most egregiously.
Your boredom can be mitigated by the sub-rosa addition of dirty words, whereas to amuse your readers, you will need a chihuahua.
Make your color harmonics make someone wince, and dial down from there.
Go to MoMA and pick up an attractive person without once looking at any art.
Hate-fuck your nemesis.
Hire your archenemy.
Get a night job at Krispy Kreme and note how long it takes for your friends to find out. Quit when they do.
Incompletely break the surface of your monitor.
Pick RGB values using your systolic blood pressure at intervals. Use diastolic for CMYK and rectal temperature for HSV.
Use games of Scrabble to understand your own stupidity.
Commit an atypical crime for your socioeconomic profile.
Drunk dials are about as productive as focus groups. They’re also cheaper and more entertaining for everyone.
Some people kill everything they fuck. But most fuck everything they kill.
Write something in the middle of your favorite Niggli book with a Sharpie.
Slowly pour hexachromium into a public toilet. Stop only when you feel truly criminal.
Throw a rolling pin through the front window of Printed Matter.
Use the smallest typographic shifts to turn the worst jokes in the copy into the most base and tasteless statements possible.
Convincingly slip on a banana peel.

Hopefully they can get you out of a jam.

But so yeah. It’s good to sort of be back.

-fish

the final algorithm really isn't that fun to watch

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 13:06:22 -0500

Yo. Remember all those other entries I posted here, where I flippantly ended with “more on this later”?? Well I lied. I want to come clean and tell you about it. The deal is: IT IS MY THESIS SEMESTER. Which I means I spend all my time staying up all night, finding exciting new ways to graphically design things, and also bracing new methods of not throwing up from drinking too much shitty 7-11 coffee.

But so: I love you. And I just wanted to make that clear: it is not because I don’t love you that I don’t post shit here right now. It’s not you, you see… IT IS ME. Yes.

So yeah I’ll pop my head in from time to time, especially when there is some sort of news that might vaguely appeal to people who are not in graduate programs for graphic design. Any real internet-posting activity that I generate will be on GraphicDesignOnAWhiteBackground.com, my thesis site; my thesis-related tumblelog; ffffound — despite its problems, I keep crawling back for more) — and del.icio.us. Other web thingees will get updated as sporadically as this one, I should wager.

Yeah. But yeah so right now I do have some possible non-nerd news: I have a show of posters up in the RISD GD gallery, over in the Design Center. The key word here is “possible”: the show is called “Graphics Design in the White Cube”, and consists of posters covered with graphic design theory and criticism, both mine and others. That, actually, is possibly the least non-nerdy premise I could come up with, I know… but the deal is that all gallery patrons (putatively including YOU!) get to WRITE DIRECTLY on many of these posters, with the provided Sharpies. Your bemarkered criticism could be as blunt as the word “NERD” scrawled across my hard work, and I would thank you for it, really.

For reals, tho: people have already scrawled in with all kinds of interesting tidbits… way more than I’ve expected, and I just opened it up last Friday. I realize that saying “hey you should write on the poster!” is potentially a cheezy move — at worst, a cop-out — but it actually seems to be working. Who knew.

So anyway, come by and see! I’ll write more here in the summer, definately, but until then, RISD has my balls, effectively, for a few more weeks. Indeed yes. Until then.

-fish

the conversation's grinding away

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 05:23:31 -0500

Yo. It’s, erm, 2008. Back at school, trying to wrap it all up and get it out the fucking door — “it” being the entirety of my graduate education, of course. You can sort of see what it looks like here; at the moment, there are a billion little unraveling minutiae to be dealt with: bureaucratic, social, financial, emotional, physiological… and of course my struggle to contend with all of them is wonderfully enriched by the overbearing fact that the genesis of each of these dumb little things, originally, was a fuck-up or oversight on my part. Like forgetting to fill out a super-important form, or sleeping through my alarm when I had an important meeting… Blech. It sucks. The whole mess simply will not die quietly, much like a zombie, or the Cloverfield monster. It’s been a rough two months or so.

See why I’ve been keeping my blog-mouth shut?? So. Anyway I will spare you the worst of the retarded gripes. But so, what I have for you is this: last night, I had to do a bunch of writing excercises, and to distract myself late at night, I concocted the following design-music-cosmology system. I’ll dish up more stuff soon, now that classes have started again and I am therefore less droolingly antisocial. Fuck yes.

…

So. LET:

architecture = 80’s pop-rock,
graphic design = hip hop,

THEN:

type design = turntablism,
interior architecture = late 80’s alt-rock,
(… e.g. Atelier van Lieshout = The Pixies)
book design = the Wu-Tang Clan,
poster design = Tupac,
news/editorial design = Biggie,
web design = 50 Cent,
info design = the Ultramagnetic MC’s,
letterpress poster art = Snoop Dogg,

THEREFORE:

Design*Sponge = Russell Simmons.

AND:

urban design and urban planning = 90’s crybaby alt-rock,
contemporary art = American Idol,
furniture design = jazz,
textile design = The cross-genre continuum consisting of everyone ever cited or otherwise referenced by LCD Soundsystem, Mr. Murphy et al and his close associates, and all those who will come after them and rip them off,
apparel design = electroclash.

SO THEN:

package design = the Fugees,
contemporary calligraphy = the Digable Planets,
Felice Varini = Autechre,
exhibit design = Licensed to Ill by the Beastie Boys,

BUT THEN, LET:

structural engineers = rock drummers,
(… e.g. Cecil Balmond = Lars Ulrich, etc)
CAD = MIDI,
O-CAD = MAX/MSP,
BIM and parametric systems = Ableton Live,

THEREFORE:

Frank Gehry = the Postal Service,

AND:

Hektor = Atom and his Package.

FURTHERMORE:

critical theory = reggae,

THEN:

digital ethnography = Shaggy,
contemporary video art = Buju (or maybe Anthony B),
net.art (quote-unquote) = Bob Marley,
architectural theory = Rusted Root (or Dave Matthews, or maybe even 311, or some shit like that),
media theory = Hootie and the Blowfish,
Fluxus = the T-Connection (circa the reign of Kool Herc).

AND THEN:

motion graphics = the Black-Eyed Peas,
just video and film editing = just Fergie,
database design = the Game,
web-nerd non-design stuff = the rest of G-Unit in general,

THUS IT FOLLOWS:

industrial design = delta blues,
magazine design = Octagon-era Kool Keith,
contemporary painting = Will Smith,
contemporary sculpture = Eminem,
Bio-art = Rihanna.

IN CONCLUSION:

DADA = Run-DMC,
surrealism = Check Your Head by the Beastie Boys,
Andy Warhol = Robert Smith,
Marcel Duchamp = Kraftwerk,
Le Corbusier = Paul McCartney,
Robert Moses = John Lennon,
Jane Jacobs = Yoko Ono,
Robert Irwin = Sun-Ra,
Robert Venturi = Led Zeppelin,
Tibor Kalman = Sean Combs,
Benjamin Franklin = Elvis Presley.

ffffinding out

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 08:13:14 -0500

A few months ago, I wrote an article about the collaborative image-bookmarking site ffffound, which ran on SpeakUp and is archived here as part of Writing Design Criticism. My initial assesment of ffffound was super-mega-thumbs-up, but the more I’ve used the site, the more I got kind of bothered by certain fundamental aspects of it. So here’s a devils’-advocate rebuttal to my own article. Indeed.

OK, so: ffffound is to graphic design what Napster was to music. Seriously. Look: I used to blow hundreds of dollars at Other Music and Tower and Satellite and Fat Beats, et al, making my feet sore walking to as many record stores as I could in one fell swoop, all to find that elusive catchy hook or strange beat that I’d overheard someone cooler than me talking about on the train or someshit. But: then came Napster, and its various P2P children and grandchildren, and I didn’t have to leave my seat. Based on the music-snob knowledge I’d already amassed, I could feed the right words into the search engines of the darknet (PDF), and lo: all the music I wanted was just a status bar away.

Now, I go to a record store maybe once a year. Yeah, of course I go to see bands I like whenever I can, and of course I always buy CDs and other merch direct from the table, to assuage the guilt from my gluttony, and to support the music — in that order. I love music with all my heart, and it is that love that keeps this cycle so fantastically well-oiled, throughout all the complex circumlocutions and moralizations that surround the muddled notion of digital copyright infringement.

Similarly (nay, analogously), I used to buy books and read blogs and ferret out design morsels in the library and elsewhere… but now I just look at ffffound. For example: the other day, while I was doing a diagram for a collaborative book my class is putting out on lulu, I skipped through both my personal ffffound archives and those of the ffffound front page, and lasered off about 20 letter-sized images that somehow spoke to what I was doing. Each reflected my idea in some facet of their design — in their type contrasts, maybe, or in their visualization methodology, or in their basic form, or what have you — but they all were from seriously far-flung sources, only temporarily united in the service of my quest only by virtue of their status as ffffound objects.

Figure 1. Some of ffffound’s most popular images.

I pinned them on the wall, sketched a bit, conferred with my colleagues, sketched more, and knocked out the diagram. In the course of all this, I did not pause for a moment and sink into a comfy chair with my well-thumbed edition of The Visual Display of Quantitative Information, nor did I lovingly tease any slowly-oxygenating prints out of my graduated colleagues’ flatfiles, or anything like that. I pretty much stayed in my standard I-am-designing-shit pose, which was: hunched over a computer. Printouts notwithstanding… If I’d had a monitor that was large enough, or if I hadn’t needed to collaborate with my friends in order to do the thing that I was doing, I wouldn’t have even bothered with the lasers (which laserprints — let’s admit it — are totally screentastic in their glossy quick’n’dirtiness).

The point is: ffffound has emerged as a single repository where I can instantly gratify my urge to see new design thingees. I can root through dozens of pieces of other people’s work, with nothing to give me pause, making no payments of any kind, and with no consequence. It was one thing, back in the early days, when the Internet was brand-new… wow! So much design, so much of it from far away, and all right at your fingertips! But you still had to work for it, and engage with your subject matter. To do design research — and I use that term provisionally here — with a computer, you had to balance queries to Corbis with those to Nexis. You had to know when to root through your bookmarks for samples from some weird blog, and when to hit up Flickr or the Prelinger archives, or when to pack it in and buy a fucking stock image of a woman walking along a beach with a sunset.

Or when to stand up from the computer and look in a book. Or when to talk to someone who would know.

Figure 2. Good design. Via ffffound.

Ffffound gives you all that stuff in one place, all conveniently pre-curated by a slaverishly devoted volunteer staff of designers and design fans. You don’t have to have been blessed with one of its coveted invites to subscribe to its main RSS feed, and then there you go: a fountain of fresh design, photography, and art, right there in your feed reader, with new stuff piped in from the zeitgeist minute by minute. Sure, the system hasn’t got any tags or search boxes, yeah, but with a modicum of hunting around, you can find a user whose tastes appeal to your desires, and subscribe to their individual feed. And kablam: their graphic tastes are at your fingertips whenever you like. Ffffound’s look-but-don’t-post invite-only policy promotes a distribution model similar to that which was engendered by Napster and its P2P descendants, in which a small number of taste-making uploaders can distribute a schmorgasboard of content to hordes of downloaders in a vastly asymmetric fashion. But by passing out invitations through the social network of its users, ffffound follows in the footsteps of OiNK (the now-legendary BitTorrnet music hub) in creating a self-reinforcing community standard. Invites only go to those who users think would use ffffound “right”, the nature of which can only be gleaned from observation.

Figure 3. Tips for designers who want to be ffffound. Ripped off from this.

Much as psychoacoustically compressed audio files are delivered minus the grounding context of record packaging and liner notes, images on ffffound are ripped from their context and tossed upon the totalizing non-ground that is the sites’ white background. The “quoted from” link that ffffound furnishes is, in many cases, completely useless — bookmarking an image after going directly to its URL simply renders the “quote” link redundant. Furthermore, if such a directly-posted image is from a site with many users (like flickr, say, or facebook) it is impossible to trace the post back to the page in which it was originally situated. The “quoted from” link is also less than compatible with blogs: if I post to ffffound from a blogs’ front page, and the blogger puts up a few new entries, the originating article will move off of the page. To find the source of the image, then, you’d have to root through the blogs’ archive… a task which ranges from eye-rollingly irritating to nigh-impossible, depending on whose site you’re specifically concerned with.

Figure 4. This image is extremely popular on ffffound (as you can see here)… but the user responsible for the flickr page from which it’s taken seems to have copied it, with no attribution, from this guy. Ffffound’s lack of user control and annotation prevents this fact from being noted within ffffound in any way.

And but so: ffffound users could themselves navigate to the right URLs, only posting images when it is respectful (morally, if not legally) to do so. But they don’t. I know I don’t: when I see an image I like on the internet these days, I almost immediately ask, “is it ffffindable??” I have even caught myself thinking this about actual physical objects I see in real life:

Figure 5. Rrrreal llllife ffffound. It was inevitable.

See, what really drives ffffound, though, is love. I love finding and sharing and swapping and trading ffffound images until I’m swimming in them. We all do. It’s sorta like the card game War, and sorta like going to Printed Matter… sorta del.icio.us and sorta HotOrNot (or, more currently, commandshift3). But I am starting to fear that that love may eventually create something nasty. Ffffound already has climbed to the top of many designers’ bookmark lists; the individuals behind some of the more popular design blogs, like SwissMiss and SpeakUp, have presences on ffffound. Such high-profile endorsement legitimizes ffffound as a resource, and allows visitors to gloss over the complex issues of attribution and intellectual property as they ogle ffffound’s visual schmorgasbord. I fear that with each image we post to it, ffffound gets riper for some sort of reckoning in these perilously unresolved arenas.

Figure 6. Escape, from Mandatory Thinking.

We shall see. Will they add more features? Will they take some away? Will the site remain in beta, or will it open its doors to the public? Will an imitator challenge ffffound’s hegemonous hold on “image bookmarking”? Will such an imitator fall first to legal scuffles? Who the fuck knows. I do not. Yeah.

(Anyway. I’m compiling notes for a longer, non-designy entry about me and my big fat life, but in the meantime, there’s always the tumblelogs, in regular and MFA thesis flavors. Indeed. Salud!

space rocks, and so do you!!

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 05:39:48 -0500

Yo. Before I forget, there are many miscellaneous things you should know. I will now list them.

Bryan and I were up very late indeed making and installing the SPACE ROCKS! poster (as you see above), and it would be great if you came! It’s next Saturday at the GSD, and a bunch of graphic designers and artists, etc, will be speaking about SPACE. And how it ROCKS, no doubt… the full info is here. Indeed!
In the course of the making of this poster, I paired Johnston ITC with Mr. Barnbrook’s Bastard Fat, which I am like rilly pleased with in some perverse way. I can’t explain that shit. Rilly, you tell me:

The day after that, though, I got totally busted by the Mason building’s sysadmin for circumventing the school’s print system. He had documentation of how much ink I had (allegedly!) used, down to the microliter or somesuch. So I am now in some serious trouble. Whoops.
I love ffffound. My paean to it has been up on SpeakUp for a little while, so maybe you knew that, but still. It’s fucking awesome. Yeah.
My show went up. I call it “my show”, which is wrong, really; I was one of many many participants in what was the graphic design graduate show, which I curated along with Jerlyn and Hoon. So not at all entirely mine (although I did do the identity posters for it) but in my mind I still call it “my show”, however erroneous that might be. Erm. It was a blast, I’ll have you know, yis.
Through all of these things, I took copious notes on tumblr, where I post both thesis-related and non-thesis-related miscellaneous shit. In the course of our space rocks work bender, Bryan asked me what the value-add of tumblr was, and I described it much as I described ffffound’s allure: more of a value-subtract, really; the lack of control over minutia that you have with most bloggy things (tags, comments, RSS, APIs, etc) make it kind of a pleasure to use. Many of my friends have been using them, because who cares about most blog features? I, for one, could give less of a shit, for the most part, and so yeah hey.
I got the thirty-inch monitor, like finally, and the ipod touch, on an impulse. Laura pointed out that these are exactly the things I’d throw out my window, if I wanted to make a Yaz record… but frankly I like “Situation” and its ilk as they are, for the moment. The one thing I will always go gaga for is a bigger fucking monitor, and I think I can safely say with this one that I’m good for a little while w/r/t monitor envy and whatnot. Ok. Yes!
Looking for thesis advisors. Need to find them, like this week. Can’t I summon my recently graduated friends???? Argh.
Sleep cycle is pretty fucking abnormal. As such I will kill this list now, cuz bleah. But yeah I have to churn out the writing for thesis, so there will be more drivel here soon, I will warn you. Yis!

love ya

-fish

Graphics Design ... WTF?!

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 05:00:43 -0500

Yo. So I realize that I throw the term graphics design around without defining it, and that is bad. I would like to take a momet to point out that graphics design is a separate idea and methodology from graphic design. Although graphics designers frequently utilize tools also employed by graphic designers — most notably Photoshop — the practice of graphics design employs its own unique approach to key sub-disciplines, such as illustration, typography, and composition logic.

I thought the history of the phrase was relatively straightforward and local. To wit: At the beginning of fall semester last year, Sue spotted an 8x10” laser-printed ad with tear-off phone numbers, set in Times New Roman via Microsoft Word, advertising the need for a “graphics designer”. The ad went on to detail a fantastically shitty proposition in which you, the putative graphics designer, would do a fantastic spectrum of horribly grueling work for the company in question. Furthermore, you wouldn’t get paid, but “the work would contribute to your portfolio” or some such nonsense.

Sue plucked this ad from the provence of whatever bulletin board she found it, and stuck it on the interior door of the studio. It was the root cause of a great deal of amusement, and the term has fallen into common parlance around here, generally in reference to ridiculous work or amusing addenda to grad student life. Marcos, for example, is new this year, but he employs the term as fluidly as those who were here last year.

I was wrong about all this. Graphics design is a discipline which is alive and well in a scope that far excedes our studio walls, even now. It exists as a parallel to our practice of graphic design, much like the shadow police agency Phillip K. Dick outlined in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. I present to you the following:

… I was searching flickr for images of Sue’s original find, and I found the above flyer (originally at this source). This unrelated work sums up exactly what ours did, but it comes from a different place and time. Further cursory googling revealed this website.

It is clear from these examples that graphics design is an entity whose evolution is interlocked with graphic design in some sort of unendingly complex 4-dimensional ballet. That one “s” at the end of “graphics” there makes so much of a difference that I had to point it out. So. Now you know. Tell a friend. Yis.

display post script

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 00:06:57 -0500

Yo. So I’ve been meaning to post, really… but I will confess: there have been other distractions in the online world. Why conjure up a full-fledged opinion on something, when you can simply ffffind an image or cough up some wierd shit, with a shrug, and be done with things?

Blech. Really. But the recent show I curated (in association with my esteemed cohorts) got me thinking about some shit. And, you know, I’ve got one million ideas, and they’re each worth one dollar… and so. I will commence posting some in-progress writing stuff at this point, and you, the anonymous internet reader, can have at them as per the conventions of “blog” “postings” and what have you. Here, for starters, is a rebuttal to the canonical Graphic Design in the White Cube essay, by Peter Bil’ak. Currently, I am in the process of designing a six-poster series, typeset with both Bil’ak’s essay and my own commentary, targeted for display in an actual “white cube” gallery as per Mr. Bil’ak’s invocation.

So here you go. More work to follow, yes! Ahem.

GRAPHICS DESIGN IN THE WHITE CUBE: A REBUTTAL

I often hear this essay’s opening statement, assertively definitive as it is, repeated by critics of design exhibitions. It certainly sounds convincing. But upon closer examination, it is far from axiomatic. How, for example, can a poster in a gallery suffer from a lack of context? Your average event poster is emblazoned with typographic information: dates, times, locations, and other ancilliary data are most often integrated with form and composition in such works. Books and other published printed matter also typically display their own metadata throughout their construction, from their spines and covers, through their front matter and running titles. In this way, many archetypical graphic design constructs bring much more contextual information with them than, say, archetypical fine-art constructs such as paintings, etchings, sculpture, and the like.

It is easy to say, “Aha, but graphic design is inherently functional. A poster in a gallery, objectified as it is, is not doing the job for which it was purposed, which is to disseminate its encapsulated information; whereas fine-art work like paintings are at home in the gallery space.”

My response to this kind of comment is twofold. Firstly, the assertion that graphic design is “inherently functional” (or “always to serve a client”, or “for money”, or any of the other permutations of that idea) is false. Graphic design archetypes may have evolved out of the necessities of information storage and transfer, etc, but that does not make all graphic design objects beholden to this ideal. I would, at this point, illustrate this point with fanatical elucidation of some of my favorite graphic practitioners of the past and present, and the work that they do that straddles the false dichotomy of “art” and “design”… but Mr. Bil’ak has done that for me himself, later in his essay.

Figure 1: Graphic design versus art. Can we please not have any further discussion of the matter?

Second: it is easy to forget that most fine-art constructs are descended from equally functional roots. The craft and canon of painting, as we all know, started out as graffiti on cave walls, and it concerned itself with where one might go for some good wooly mammoth. The illustrious evolution of the practice of painting has led it outside the gulag of functional slavery; why is it “fundamentally problematic” to employ the toolset the gallery offers to reconsider graphic work, in the manner in which it is used to reconsider “art”?

One gets the feeling that, in his opening salvo, Mr. Bil’ak was calling out exhibitions comprised of more pragmatic (nay, functional) design material: business cards, letterheads, no-smoking signs, community newsletters, medicine bottle labels… that sort of thing. An exhibition of “graphic design” of this sort would most likely bore me. If poorly considered, such a show might suffer from a lack of critical context.

Mr. Bil’ak then immediately seems to reverse his position, describing as he does the work of Karel Martens, M/M Paris, and other designers who either directly make art, or who make a case for their design working successfully in the gallery context. Mr. Bil’ak’s invocation of these practitioners — and the fact that their work achieves exactly what his bold initial claim decries as “always problematic” — muddies the essays’ thesis far beyond its syntax. Indeed, before long, Mr. Bil’ak trots out the old “what is ‘graphic design’ anyway” chestnut. He dances around the definition, offhandedly citing (and thus summoning the moral authority of) the established history of the Brno International Graphic Design Biennale, but then proceeding to suggest that despite “people[’s] created expectations”, we can “understand ‘graphic design’ … to mean a field in flux”:

Unlike the work of other professionals, the work of a designer is not restricted or defined by its content; in fact designers are trained to accommodate and express various, often contradicting ideas. It is a ghost discipline as Stuart Bailey writes:
‘…graphic design only exists when other subjects exist first. It isn’t an a priori discipline, but a ghost; both a grey area and a meeting point…’ Bailey calls attention to an area that many designers struggle with: the way that they refer to their activity in their field transcends the established notion of its definition.

… this sort of language carefully positions ‘graphic design’ as a mercurial complement to whatever it is that it may be engaging with. I agree with this notion; in fact, it is a very interesting way to talk about how graphic design works. Mr. Bil’ak seems to conclude that graphic work is at odds with exhibition in galleries because of its fluid definition… the tabula rasa of the “white cube” diffuses whatever relevance the graphic work might bring to the table.

BUT, SEE, IT’S NOT LIKE THAT. ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN…

Generally, contemporary art museums exhibit designed elements from the entire spectrum of human cultural production. One can go to the RISD museum, for example, and see recreations of entire 18th- and 19th-century rooms, each chock full of silverware, furniture, glassware, tapestries, and countless other accoutrements. Down the hall from these tableaux are enormous collections of Japanese Noh robes, assemblages of Roman sculptures, surveys of contemporary music videos, and other such disparate specimens… all of which fall under the museums’ aegis, the necessity of their construction notwithstanding. They’re all treated as first-class museum citizens, right up alongside the paintings and installations and other “art” material.

Bil’ak is not talking about museums, though, nor is he discussing exhibition space in general. His argumentative feint about the definition of ‘graphic design’ hides a much larger lexical omission: the definition of what is meant by “white cube”. It sounds self-explanatory, right? I mean, all contemporary galleries are just expressions of this nearly Platonic idealization of exhibition space… right?

The seductive simplicity in Mr. Bil’ak’s employ of the image of a “white cube” masks the very complex set of social, economic, and spatial conditions that are produced by the contemporary gallery as much as they nourish and sustain it. The explication of these dynamics is beyond the scope of this document in a big way — those interested in the minutia of such things will no doubt enjoy Frederic Jameson’s “Postmodernism (or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism)”, if they haven’t already read it — but suffice to say, the notion of a “white cube” is dangerously dismissive.

I don’t even need to dissect the architectural and socioeconomic frameworks in which contemporary gallery space is enmeshed to prove this. Mr. Bi’lak illustrates it himself, if you read the remainder of his essay with care. After positing his definition of ‘graphic design’, Mr. Bi’lak then goes on to describe the conceit for “Graphic Design in the White Cube” [the exhibition] and how it dovetails with the exhibitions put on by renouned practitioners (like M/M Paris) and accomplished curator/authors (like Rick Poynor). Notably, from this point on in the essay, Mr. Bil’ak ceases all references to “white cubes”. While listing his fellow art/design luminaries’ various shows, retrospectives, collaborations, and whatnot, Bil’ak makes reference to specific galleries in specific places. Moreover, he freely invokes larger-scale events, such as biennales, and he includes full-fledged museums alongside contemporary gallery spaces in his enumerations.

Really, at this point, Mr. Bil’ak’s thesis could be restated as something like:

“Exhibitions of vanilla, boring graphic design work — like letterheads and pamphlets — won’t really work in theoretical idealized display space, as alluded to by some contemporary art galleries.”

… which, yeah, I agree with. Beyond that, any issues incumbent in showing graphic design in a gallery are not necessarily systemic: bad work, whether you call it ‘art’ or ‘design’, will not make for a good show. Bad gallery space will likewise negatively affect the shows held within.

And, really, thank god. As Jane Jacobs said in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, “Everything that happens in the world happens at some place.” Many notable practitioners have utilized the unique features of the galleries they have placed their work in. Consider Sarah Sze’s mind-bendingly complex gallery installations, or Yayoi Kusama’s sale of her own work as a protest against the Venice Biennale (which she mentions in this interview), or Jenny Holzer’s employ of the Guggenheim’s spiral as a single long line of text … to say nothing of Matthew Barneys’ subjugation of that same space to his fantasmic whim.

These precedents make Mr. Bil’ak’s proposal for “Graphic Design in the White Cube” [the exhibition] read as anemic at best, and irrelevant at worst; my suspicions of such were confirmed when I saw the documentation of the show. Mr. Bil’ak’s notion of commissioning design work for the gallery implies an opportunity for performance that was squandered, and the posters that the participants ultimately produced are largely unremarkable.

Figure 2. Poster example with process sketches. From Graphic Design in the White Cube, the exhibition.

The posters themselves are displayed alongside process sketches. While I take it the sketches were to provide “context” for the work, their formalized presentation had no analog in the conventions of contemporary gallery space, and as such their presence was at odds with the work they were ostensibly there to support.

Most notably, the gallery the exhibition took place in was not a white cube. There were finished wooden wall panels in some places, and some lighting fixtures were non-trivially ornate. In the documentation photos, at least one curtained floor-to-cieling glass window is visible. If this sounds like a nitpick, I assure you it’s not: Mr. Bil’ak’s fundamental assumption is that his show is specifically designed for the generic non-place of his notional “white cube”. The fact that his chosen exhibit hall deviates nontrivially from this notion is quite telling.

(to complicate matters, “White Cube” is the name of a famous gallery in London, which is the home base of several high-profile YBAs. As far as I can ascertain, Mr. Bil’ak is not referencing White Cube of London at all.)

I would submit that demonstrating graphic design as functioning in a gallery space is unnecessary, because “art” itself is a specialized form of design. I have “art” in “quotes” for a reason: most Westerners have a romanticized idea of “art” as a volatile bromide, concocted of passion and creativity in the name of fundamental human expression. We know this is hardly true, if we think about it, but such is the myth we construct to explain “art”. This myth aligns the contemporary gallery space as a selfless cultural bastion, a la a museum, when in reality a gallery is more akin to a store. (rem koolhaas wryly notes this, and its urbanistic implications, in his essay Delirious No More).

As such, contemporary practitioners of “art” can be thought of as multimodal designers, who target “white cube” space as they work with it, like a medium in its own right. By “white cube” space, I mean contemporary gallery space as it is regarded by the myth of “art”. While “white cube” space never manifests itself as an architectural ideal — a gallery is always some place — the application of the “art” myth serves to impart some of the non-place attributes of that ideal. As such, “art” practitioners can gear their designs towards a generic gallery context, but they are free to engage their presentational surroundings and create site-specific works.

-fish

CURATORS COME OUT AND PLAAY-AAAY

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 23:13:18 -0500

Yo. We’re having a graphics design gallery show, and I am one of the curators. In this context “curator” does not mean what you think it means, but that notwithstanding, it’s going to be a blast, and I am doing all that I can to assure this putative blastedness comes to fruition. This is the email I sent:

A PSEUDO-LINEAR AMALGAM

of work by GRADUATE-LEVEL members

of the GRAPHIC DESIGN PROGRAM,

on view at the SOL KOFFLER GALLERY

at the RHODE ISLAND SCHOOL OF DESIGN,

from OCTOBER 19th through NOVEMBER 4th,

with an OPENING RECEPTION

to inaugurate things properly

at 7:00 PM on OCTOBER 18th.

Your presence at the reception is HUMBLY REQUESTED.

We will, of course, furnish WINE and CHEESE,

and many of the DESIGNERS THEMSELVES

will available for SCINTILLATING CONVERSATION.

… I would add that the wine and cheese is free, and that the Sol Koffler gallery is to be found at 169 Weybossett street in Providence, and you should fucking be there.

The whole thing is pushing my typical sleep-lite school schedule to the absolute max, so more after the fact. Fuck yes!

-fish

We're talking about the same thing, right?

Fri, 14 Sep 2007 18:43:10 -0500

This Stephanie Seymor S is borrowed, with maximal expressable respect, from M/M.

Hi. I would like to take a moment of my time and yours to discuss something very important to me: the letter S. At the time of writing, I am currently uploading a series of gigantic files to a particularly sluggish web server, and I’ve been working waaaay too hard considering school just started like the day before yesterday — so hey yeah, let’s take a moment, let’s talk S.

See, when I first started drawing Cello 2, the current iteration of the typeface I’m doing for my dear associate Peter Sachon’s putative website, I was using a simple construction logic to generate these pseudo-serif terminals. By matching a simple curve that extended, say, three diagonal points across the grid with a corresponding two-point curve, I could generate modular curves that didn’t appear overwhelmingly robot-tastic … or at least, such was/is my hope. As the sample above may hint at, aligning these curves on the grid can yield anything from exaggeratedly bracketed serif shapes, through to the sort-of freakish alien chunks you see from M/M, to straight-up ball terminals and other such flourishes.

This proved to be a great trick, in this case… almost too great, because it readily yielded like 95% or so of the alphabet, almost as if it were a forgone conclusion. I drew most of it in one shot, on the Amtrak regional from Boston to New York, the day after the Fourth of July. Everything was sort of super easy in those first leadholder-on-Moleskine sketches, but the exceptions to that ease were serious problems. Specifically, I couldn’t get the N and the S to play right with the rest of the system.

I ended up making some exceptions for the N (as you’ll see soon, when I finish Cello 2 and release it bigshot style) but I thought I could outsmart the S situation. Really, I made the classic rookie mistake: the one where you think you know what you’re doing, but really you don’t.

I had noted the manner in which a good deal of serif S’s have their middle bit as thick as their counterpart letters’ vertical bits. And yeah, I am sure there are real terms for these things, but I do not feel like rooting through all of Bringhurst to figure it out… I’ll just show you, instead. Look at Amarillo USAF’s S, versus that of Mr. Crouwel’s Foundry Gridnik:

… I had always thought the Amarillo S made more sense, as it were, until I literally saw the truth about serif S forms with my own two eyes … a nice little nerd-epiphany I came to, incedentally, while staring at a bookmark from St. Mark’s Bookshop which had been set in some thunderously thick-ass bold Bodoni face. I saw that litany of S shapes and realized what is eye-rollingly basic to all you type nerds out there: that our Western Latin S is a compressed version of the German tall S (which you may also recognize as the first half of the ß character).

I know it’s just ravenously naive and sycophantic to point out how fantastic it was to realize this factoid, but fuckin’ A, what do you want? It’s my blog, and so. Really, this blew my mind. It led me to revise Gusset’s S, like so:

… In the case of which, the highlighted shapes were moved down to emphasize the S’s middle. Furthermore, Gusset’s S is the only character in the typeface that contains octagonal shapes that have their longer edges paralell to baseline.

See what I mean?? I had become that guy: the condescending new kid who dispenses pedantry beyond his means. I couldn’t get over it. Here’s an abbreviated chart of the evolutionary course of Cello 2’s tormented S:

… When I say abbreviated, I really mean it: there were a ton of minor variants to all of these, and I spent at least twice as long poking and prodding one ill-concieved S after another as I had designing the remaining entirety of Cello 2’s characters. Eventually I arrived at what I actually believed was the pinnacle of systematized S formalism — the fourth from the left in the above graphic.

WHICH WE ALL CAN SEE IS JUST A SHITTY BODONI KNOCKOFF. When I tried my doomed Pygmalion character out with its peers, I could see that it didn’t work… but I didn’t allow myself to believe it. Really. I know this sounds indulgently retarded and nerdy, but I had a really emotionally charged summer, and I ended up subjugting a lot of my tumult and anguish into letter-drawing. So there you go.

And so: it was an equally revealing thing to come back to the original Cello 2 S. I don’t care what the experts say: I like it in the mix, as it stands. Doing away with the ball terminals proved to be the final touch (and yeah, that is an editorial decision I am going to avoid exploring in any sort of metaphorical way).

So yeah. That’s how it went, and this is how it is… when Peter’s website launches next week, I’ll link you all up in there, and possibly pony up downloadable font files for all this and more. In the meantime, take a look at an S near you… or whatever your favorite letter happens to be. Shit’s crazier than maybe you thought, yeah? Yeah!

-fish

I look around most days, I don't even see: things, people, animals... Cars. Trains. Buildings. Yeah, No. I just see waves, really... Like typical sinusoid waveforms, but millions of them, all around, intersecting with each other, in strength and in pain

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 05:14:18 -0500

Good morning. It’s 5:23 AM, and I’m sitting on my friend Jed’s couch in Brooklyn. All sorts of important school shit started to go down today in Providence, but I was privvy to none of it. We had one last frolic out at the beach, this weekend, you see. Just a handful of us, and it was a fantastic last hurrah for the summer. The temperatures were within range, the people were concordant and the relationships could be accurately described by an adjective that means the opposite of “awkward”. I’m sure you just got back to work and so the last thing you need is someone yapping about their complacently happy beach time while you have to fix the TPS reports and whatnot.

But so: I had told fidelity to put a lot of money into my checking account at bank of fucking america. I had issued this order last Thursday, and I’d only done it so late because the FIRST one I did, when I called on Tuesday, didn’t go through at all. But the second proved to be a far more nettlesome thing, really…. the transaction didn’t go through until Monday, so I had to bum cash off my friends and generally be annoying about money, a state of being I detest with the passion of 10,000 supernovae. So but so: on monday, licking my chops to hit the ATM, I check my balance on the intertron, and what is it I see? Why, the fools have executed a WITHDRAWAL and not a deposit. So there is a gigantic number in my bank account as I expected, but it is most unexpectedly red, like straight-up #FF0000, and there is a minus sign next to it.

After much phone-calling and yelling and screaming of “ESCALATE ME NOW!!” and the like, I got one dude to admit that the broker had literally CLICK THE WRONG FUCKING BUTTON. this was a real show-stopper factoid, I have to say… at RPI, I was in charge of the security and proper treatment of lots of peoples’ personal info. I didn’t even touch money stuff with my systems, but believe me, if I had done something like that to even one of my charges’ data, I’d have been super ultra fucking fired. AND BUT SOOOO, these dildos haven’t fixed my fucking shit yet!! I won’t go into all the details, really, but WTF, you can click a mouse and ruin all of my savings at once, but you can’t click it the OTHER way and FIX IT?!?!?! Color me boggled by this shit.

Anyway, I guess the upshot is that I learned a lot of stuff about American financial infrastructure. Did you know that the Federal Reserve closes at 2:30? Maybe. But did you know that most contemporary ACH transfers, while slower than federal wire funds, actually ENCOMPASS a federal wire fund transfer within their transactional boundary? That is fascinating. I learned shit like that, in between breaths while I yelled at bankers. Yes.

Anyway I will be back in PVD soon, and back with the REAL WRITING too (someting more for Ms. Ganssle, yeah!)… in closing, I would like to apologize also for being a shitty communicator this summer. I have a few legit excuses: I couldn’t get GTalk to turn off on my fone for a few weeks, so it only looked like I was giving you the cold, silent finger. Not long after, the fone was lost in entirety while I was riding the infamous cyclone down at coney island. I swear, it was totally in my pocket in what I thought was a secure fashion… I couldn’t have been wronger; the fone was tossed to the breeze, and so I had to upgrade ad-hoc and scramble my contacts together from pieces of paper, and even answer calls with queries like “who is this?” … blech.

So these are my excuses, but fuck them. Soon, we will chat all through the night. It will be wonderful. But before that, I’m going to crash here, and hopefully scrape up enough cash to achieve the requisite fiduciary momentum to leave New York. Fuck yes. Salud!

you can see my house from here

Sun, 12 Aug 2007 18:31:08 -0500

PLEASE NOTE: the following bit contains information about the iphone, including (but not limited to) my opinion about the iphone, thus rendering it of little consequence to basically anyone on Earth.

So I had an iphone, for about 24 hours. The virtual keyboard was a total dealbreaker. Maybe my fingers are too fat, maybe they have been spoiled by the tactile feedback afforded to me by my blackberry… regardless, the iphones’ input method was a dog. I mean yeah, you go to the apple store, you play around with one, and perhaps you think (as I did), “wow, that iphone is quite a sexy litte number”. But the thing did not stand up to actual standard use.

Then also, the whole lack of text-selection and copy-paste, and the interface quirkiness (it’s all very well thought out, as anyone will tell you, but that is exactly the problem: it is well thought out, but that hardly guarantees intuitiveness to anyone who is less than 100% cerebral in the manner in which they use their fingers) and the rather strained ichat metaphor for txting… and, and, and. It’s cute, but it fails. Plus, what is with the email options? It will check for new messages either a) never; b) once every 15 minutes, or c) once every half-hour??? What the fuck am I, twelve years old???? My ugly-ass blackberry (to which I have reverted) gets my email as soon as you fling it at me.

Plus, you know, six hundred dollars is class money.

Yeah so yeah. I didn’t drink no Kool-aid. Just so you know. You wouldn’t think that, necessarily, given that you can’t swing a dead cat in my personal living space without knocking over at least 8 or so apple products, but anyway no. Not this time.

Anyway. It’s been a pretty good summer, despite the fact that I spent most of it completely freaking out and acting generally antisocial. For a while there, I didn’t really want to do anything except draw letters and write code. I was fortunate enough to live near Christian (and indeed I still am, for a few more weeks), cuz he would drag me out and make me drink beers, even when I was maximally clammed up. He would then altruistically permit me to effusively babble on about whatever it was that I was thinking about at the time (usually type design) while graciously and generously not smacking me in the face. Really, I couldn’t ask for much more.

So yeah yeah. A few more projects to wrap up, and then it will be fall. I suppose this was my last “summer break”, but really I had such a blast doing actual work, such that the very idea of a “summer break” is complete moot. I am ready for the REAL WORLD, again; bring it on I say. I do have to get through this nastay thesis thing, and then ok yeah. Yeah! I’ll see you back here next year… you can buy me a beer at Enid’s, and I’ll draw a typeface for you. Yes.

hey there's something I got to tell you, hey but I don't know where to start

Tue, 31 Jul 2007 00:50:15 -0500

Hi. Been making some type. Here’s the ridiculous face I made, just so I could make something and relearn fontlab. Free for you:

… I do welcome your feedback. Of course, I know it’s ridiculous, so refrain from saying “it’s ridiculous”… more awesome would be comments along the lines of “your kerning tables are fucked under OS 10.3” (or what have you). But hey.

Gusset is released under the BigShot License Version 1.0, which is exactly like the MIT license, except that whenever a graphic design bigshot sees something you did with the font, you have to tell me about it. It’s all there in the file, including a list of bigshots. Yes.

Ok. Non-ridiculous stuff (as perhaps this one will be when done) is coming SOON, I swear to jeezus. Yeah!

-fish

statistically improbable decision matrix of fun

Tue, 17 Jul 2007 22:15:33 -0500

I have a chronic and long-standing hatred and contempt for my own work. It’s endemic to the profession, generally… like the common cold of design. Or really, any field where making things out of ideas is the stock and trade.

But so: my dear friend GAC, if you don’t know him, is a supremely excellent photographer based in PHL. He can really point a camera at stuff, and he can really whip a llama’s ass with a belt. After I fretted publicly about not having decent photos of my design crapola, he suggested that he might assuage my stated disparity, and we hatched a plan. We had a raucous 24-hour work-bender-photoshoot, some of the results of which you see here.

But yeah: so it’s really really really fucking nice to see someone else seeing your stuff. Whatever one might say about the stuff in question (and a lot of this is debatably not even “my stuff”), it feels SO GOOD to see it from a point of view that is somehow liberated from your own weatherbeaten prism. Like an eyeball massage or someshit. Yes.

Anyway. I’m just sayin’. Wanted to share and all. You should do this, really, if you’re stuck: have your friend do your portfolio, and do theirs in return. It’ll be awesome.

And yeah I’m sure you already know all this shit already, but I am nothing if not grotesquely naive. I mean, I got swindled out of my gizmos by a pituitary mutant. So you probably saw it all coming a mile away. C’est la guerre, no? Yis!

A MIDGET STOLE MY OSCILLOSCOPE.

Tue, 10 Jul 2007 17:59:37 -0500

The title here is true, and this is a true story. I used to love nooling around with electronics. It didn’t matter what, as long as it was “electronics”, and “noodling”. This was when I was between, like, 6 and 12 years of age, mostly. I would gather junk TVs and stereos in my basement “workshop” and dissect them. I didn’t really know what I was doing; the best I could do was make funny noise come out of speakers, or make the lights light up on some component thing. I found old telephones especially entertaining, because of the easy-to-decode colored wiring and such.

So but yeah. I had a friend named Ara Kenian. He was my first nerd buddy, in retrospect; he would come over and we’d rewire things together. He was much better at that stuff than I was (I think he eventually went to MIT for engineering, or somesuch) and we’d have a lot of fun, because he’d try to establish some legit project for us to work on, and I would fuck it up egregiously, and so we’d degenerate into nonsensical babble, which I guess is what you do when you are a poorly socialized nerd child, as we both most definately were. Yeah.

Here, in fact, is an example of how nerdy I was at the time: when I got my allowance, I would take it to the local hardware store, and buy needlenose pliers, or cable TV connectors, or shit like that. Not candy, or whatever it was that you normal 8-year-olds blew your allowance on. I bought electronic parts. That’s how I usually put it: parts. As in, Mom, I cleaned up my whole room, can I go to Mass Hardware and get some parts now, pleeeaase?? It was kind of ridiculous.

If I was a really really good kid, and did everything I was supposed to, and I was really lucky, I would get a trip to the dumpsters behind the Sony service center. That was a special treat for me, maybe once every two months I’d get to go.

But yeah, so at one point I got an oscilloscope. Oscilloscopes like the one I am talking about looked like this:

… I am sure that these days, you go and get some $40 USB dongle thing, and then pow, your computer can do everything an old-skool oscilloscope could do, AND MORE. But in those days, oscilloscopes were still pretty much the shit. You could literally SEE what was going on in your wires, basically, and this was the missing piece of the puzzle for me to actually do some sort of actual electronics stuff. I was very excited.

But what happened was this: the next time I was at Mass Hardware blowing my allowance on parts, I ran into an apparently like-minded individual. I struck up some sort of conversation with this guy, Joe, who appeared to be my age, and who was also there with his mom, on a quest for parts. At least, he appeared to be my age, but he kept saying that he was 15, even though he was my height, which was short for an 8-year-old I think. So we were talking about parts and electronics and other such shit, and I mentioned (no doubt with pride) that I had an oscilloscope.

It was shortly after this that he invitied me to his house, which was coincedentally located not two blocks away from my house. He was charming and friendly, but most importantly, he said I could come and take as many parts from his basement workshop.

After somehow winning my mom over to this idea, I went over to Joe’s. I was, quite frankly bowled over: while my parents had confined my workshop to a small corner of our basement, Joe had clearly taken over the entirety of his, much to the audiable chagrin of his mom. Joe, in fact, was constantly quibbling with her, and would occasionally use his parts as weapons: he had constructed a bunch of ridiculously overpowered amplifiers, whose sole employ seemed to be the squelching of his mom’s aggrivated comments. So we tromped around through the basement, through canyons formed of shelves of parts, past workbenches covered with floral masses of wires, and under enormous subwoofers hung from the raw joists in the cieling with spare wires. And Joe had a big paper bag, into which he would throw all manner of interesting parts.

“Vacuum tubes? Sure, have a bunch!”

“You want this power supply? Here, have a power supply. It’s brand new, works, yeah. Take it!”

“Here, I can give you these phone bells. Oh, you like phone parts? I have more of them in this box. Go ahead!”

It was my dream come true. It did not bother me that Joe would occasionally put down his boxes of parts, and grab around me for a hug, saying things like “It’s great to have met you, buddy pal.” Nor did I find his mom’s squalking protests at all amiss; after all, we both giggled when the speaker noise overpowered her. But I do remember him saying, about a third of the way through, “So I’ll bring these over, and trade you for the oscilloscope, right, buddy?” And although that was a big deal, definately, I assumed that I had promised him such, and I nodded enthusiastically.

And that’s what happened. He came over, and left me with the parts, and asbsconded with my oscilloscope. After he left, I realized that the trade was hardly equitable, and that he had clearly got the better part of the deal. But that was okay, even, right? I mean, he was my new friend, and I’d get to play with the oscilloscope over at his workplace, just like he could play with my all my phone stuff and my nonsensically reconfigured tape decks. Right?

But so: Two days later, Joe rang my doorbell unexpectedly. He didn’t say much. I let him in, and he went right down to my basement workshop. He packed up most of the parts he’d left me with, including the power supply and the totally awesome vacuum tubes, and left without saying goodbye.

And I knew then that I would NEVAR SEE HIM, OR MY OSCILLOSCOPE, AGAIN!!!! (sob)

So there you have it: a midget stole my oscilloscope. I think Ara came over after that, and we laughed it off and built something baroque and nonfunctional out of the leftovers. And then I forgot about the entire episode until like a year ago, when I somehow drunkenly recounted this story for some friends, and my pal Jed shouted, “A midget stole your oscilloscope!” And so. I don’t mind using the offensive term “midget” vis a vis this guy, because he is a dirty thief and a manipulator of children. Yeah!