Some formats are just the perfect, appealing size. Like paper espresso cups. They're just a lovely size. I might collect them. They always remind me of minidiscs. Minidisc was a great format - the right size, weight and feel for a slab of music. Shame they aren't more use for something now. There must be something good you could do with minidiscs.
On Saturday 25th of October one of the most entirely good things I've heard of is going to happen. DS:London is organising a world record attempt - they want to get 500+ people in one room, all playing DS at the same time. It's part of the London Games Festival Fringe, with donations going to Children In Need. Me and Arthur are both already overexcited.
After my adventure with my phone I've got all excited about customising high tech things in low tech ways. And for ages I've been trying to make my Mac more useful for taking notes / to dos. The problem is, that whenever you remember something to do you have to switch it on, power it up, find the application, and then the moment's gone. And I can never find my notebook when I want it. So last night I attacked my mac with some blackboard paint, and this morning it's suddenly way more useful. I've gained a whole other display.
I guess you could do the same thing by just writing on it with whiteboard pens but that doesn't seem as interesting and there's something very satisfying about crossing off a to do by licking your finger and smearing it out.
Iain introduced me to the brilliant photojojo a little while back. And their recent piece on polaroid reminded me to remind you that you should have a play with some sort of polaroid format before they all go away. It's the most fun I've ever had with a camera, and probably the best pictures, mostly because of the unpredictable joy of the format. And once it's gone it's gone. Sure Fuji or someone will keep making film but it won't quite be the same will it?
I've always liked Centrepoint. It may be because I have incredibly coarse architectural sensibilities and only ever think something's good if it looks like Gerry Anderson might have had a hand in it. It's looking particularly fine at the moment because it's exposed at the back due to some demolition work.
Apart from the proudly slabby way it looks, and the fact it's one of the few tall buildings in Central London, it's surrounded by pleasing atmos and conspiracy. It was empty for years when it opened, due to a shady/savvy real estate deal, which led to suspicions it doubled as a government nuclear shelter. It sits squat in the middle of St Giles which is the area of central London no-one's ever heard of but which is drenched in virulent and violent history so It's the kind of place yer Sinclairs and Ackroyds are keen on.
And it's fascinating because at street level it's a disaster, a horrible mash of bus-stops, cross-roads, traffic lights and a Thunderbirds-ish 60s sculpture in a litter-magnet pond. This seems to be a result of the above shady/savvy real estate deal.
And, in the basement, in the nasty subways under the traffic, leading to Tottenham Court Road tube, there's a brilliant snooker club where you can waste away a skiving afternoon.
Whenever we play that game where you fantasise about your dream home, I always mention Centrepoint. I'd dearly love a Tracy Family / James Bond penthouse pad on the top. Perhaps with a helipad. Certainly with a speed elevator down to the snooker club. And with speed-dial to Orbital, Foyles, Flat White and Argos. It seems though that I am to be thwarted; there's going to be a new private member's club called Paramount on the top two floors. I've never seen the point of such clubs, but in this context it makes sense. The perfect location, brilliant views, the right architectural atmospherics for swankery, a good place for a restaurant. I wonder if they'd let me live there. Just occasionally.
I bought this tankbook at Magma yesterday. Interesting thing. Cigarettes are such nasty and disagreeable things (especially now all the smokers have been forced outside where you can't avoid them) but all the ephemera and packaging is so good. It's one of the iconic highly-designable shapes like the 12-inch record sleeve. I guess it's good because it's relatively cheap, simple and easy to change (some of it at least), it's thoroughly tested in the real world, millions of times a day and the design clearly matters; it has a significant impact on the horrible business of selling the things. Things that really matter to an industry tend to get better.
Tank have got the fetishistic aspects right, the little bits of fiddling you want to do; including the gold strip to remove the cellophane and the foil inside.
The book itself is a little disappointing when you get it out, but I guess they've got to save money somewhere. It's perfectly readable though, which is the important thing.
I like this idea a lot. There's nothing more terrifying than being stuck somewhere with nothing to read so having something with you all the time is a nice backstop. And, since the cigarette pack form is so nicely evolved it's good to see it being used as a force for good. It makes you wonder why other things haven't evolved towards the cigarette pack shape.
Would CD cases or minidisc packs have been more popular if they'd been more like cigarette packs? Could someone learn from the sociability of pack-sharing. Sweets manufacturers maybe? MP3 players have gotten too small to be cigarette-pack substitutes. Maybe they should get bigger again, but have a hard core around a softer exterior. It's not just the shape and size it's also the malleability. I guess that's what we're doing when we put things in MP3 cases. Phones are the obvious parallel, but is there a phone that's very ciggy-pack-like? Not sure.
It's also about what seems natural and right in pockets, they presumably co-evolved with cigarettes. I love pockets. Anyway.
My field notes arrived from Coudal today. Lovely things.
I like that thought. That's probably why I take notes too.
But this bit's the best bit. A detailed and comprehensive review of the decisions and materials that went into making this little book. It makes you realise it's not all simple and obvious, it makes you think about the content and production of the thing and that's something we're increasingly going to have to do. Adding information to physical goods (in a non-digital proto-spime kind of way) is a good habit to get into.
My new t-shirts arrived yesterday. One for each day of the week. Away with choice. No more analysis paralysis in the morning. You can get yours from the splendid Typotheque. I wander if this counts as part of Dear Ada's Perfect Uniform project.
(This blog seems to be turning into a Christmas gift guide. First the Howies/Velo-Re belt, now these.)
