Nuke ‘em! [How to fix the economy and secure US prosperity indefinitely; part 2.]

Part II.

“A crisis, is merely a turning point. A great crisis is merely a great turning point.”

Nathaniel H.M. Lauderdale

It is a matter without debate that the United States Armed Forces excels without equal in resolving disputes. At the time of this writing, its methods of solvency have been limited to a particular spectrum of actions – ones which I’m sure the reader is familiar with, so I’ll not belabor them. At this moment, however, we require of it a somewhat perverse deployment of its skill; one which I aim to persuade you is both within its capabilities and strategically viable: it needs to fix the economy.

To be clear, the role of the military within this plan bear little resemblance to those which reader is already aware of. The myriad crude instruments of physical violence and their accoutrements would serve no purpose. No, what I propose is a repurposing of the existing military infrastructure, or perhaps more accurately, a retargeting of its primary adversary. Beginning immediately, the Commander in Chief should sign into declaration a War on the Economy, and assigning to it a priority of the utmost urgency. I beg the readers indulgence in examining the effects of such an action:

First, we can expect immediate job creation (not to be confused with “work,” as certain inept facsimiles of the new American President have argued). In order to prepare the many factions of the US military for combat against their new foe, huge amounts of private-sector personnel are required. Furthermore, the existing military technology would be futile against an enemy who operates without a physical body; scientists, researchers, and all manner of IT professionals would gain immediate employment and generous funding. In addition, the substantially lower risk of physical injury in combating the Economy would attract untold legions of new recruits, all of whom would shortly thereafter become productive, taxpaying consumers.

Second, the increase in the cumulative amount of directed, cognitive power by the United States would be staggering. The military currently maintains over 1.45 million employees on active duty, with another 1.46 million on reserve. To direct all of those minds toward one, single objective would all but guarantee success. One might be fallaciously assume that only the upper echelons of military personnel – those with the most strategic experience – would be suitable to wage battle on the economy. While those individuals would, of course, be supremely vital for the operation, consider! With hundreds of thousands of individuals at its disposal, the US Armed Forces could implement legions of soldiers to scan micro-segments of the Economy’s actions, each making determinations based on data as well as intuition, something that no software is capable of. Consider similar projects, such as Galaxy Zoo, who utilize a large volume of participants to accomplish a much greater task.

Finally, a War on the Economy represents an investment in the Future of unimaginable worth. I believe the reader will be inclined to agree that these long, rather unsightly skirmishes in distant lands are becoming passé. Without compromising our Orwellian need for War, declaring our primary enemy the Economy directs hundreds of billions of dollars toward controlling the very force which will soon (if not already) be the ultimate territory for conquer. The very notion of a physical war already seems ludicrous, since it would entail little more than an exchange of missile volleys, resulting in complete annihilation. The future of this world isn’t in destruction but allocation. It is by allocation that countries live and breathe, and therefore it is by allocation that they die. The Enemy, the Economy, is the representation of allocation. Its most recent attack on US soil – seizing from millions of innocent citizens the cornerstone of the American Dream, their home – is unforgivable. We must strike back swiftly and decisively with our most powerful force, embrace our economic destiny, and embody the meaning of “change.”

From the eMOTIVe album by A Perfect Circle

Nuke ‘em! [How to fix the economy and secure US prosperity indefinitely; a proposal in two parts.]

Part I.

We just can’t seem to shake this fucker off.

Seriously, a couple Tylenol 350 B’s and a healthy glass of Pinot Fear-mongering, you’d think this whole ‘Economic Crisis’ would have just blown over. Apparently not.

Now we have Obama scolding Congress, Republicans throwing a hissy fit, Dems taking it (as they do), and a ceaseless production of stormy clouds from the Doom and Gloom sector, who seem to be pulling angsty schmucks out of the woodwork faster than CNN can broadcast. But no matter how many experts analyze the comparative benefits of tax cuts versus WPA-style jobs, or whether liquidity pumped directly into the banking system would generate more credit than money given directly to consumers, they all seem to miss one, very obvious solution.

What do we do best?

What does the US government do solidly better than any other country? Blow shit up. In 2005, US military spending was almost as much as the entire rest of the world’s defense spending combined. This year, the D.O.D. has over 650 billion dollars to go shopping with. Whenever a government needs overthrowing, ‘peace’ needs keeping, dictatorships need invading, or some punk-ass little nation needs to be set straight, the World Police have the muscle (though maybe not the will) to take care of it. Now for comparison, Congress is currently clawing out a stimulus bill that we’ll ballpark at costing around one trillion dollars. Hell, as long as we’ve got the credit card out, let’s set it at the upper bound of what’s been suggested: 1.5 trillion dollars. Know how much the USG spends annually on everything? Roughly 3 trillion dollars.

“So, what; we dissolve the military and take their funding?”

No. We convert it.

(Stay tuned for Part II.)

Cupid’s Power of Deception

While sorting through a stack of supposedly junk mail yesterday, I came across a letter that struck my interest. Though it was addressed to the tell-tale “Current Resident,” the text was handwritten. What’s more, the envelope was the type you’d buy from Hallmark; a subtle pattern, heavy weight, standard dimensions – you get the idea. Though I’d typically toss any mail that begins with “Current Resident,” this time I wasn’t so quick. Maybe someone actually wanted to contact whoever was living in this apartment. Maybe a former resident was writing to tell me about a stash of gold doubloons he had hidden in the walls, which he now needed my help to retrieve. Or perhaps there was some mysterious history to my apartment that a nameless informant would reveal to me.

Nope. It was the phone company. They wanted to wish me a happy Valentine’s day to advertise their new service that I already purchased two months ago. I was had. But how?

Take a look at this letter; the image below is a detail so you can see the minutia of the type:

Obviously, it’s a ‘handwritten’ font. But I didn’t immediately catch it because of the way the letters are written; notice how the ‘8’ has a bit of an ink overlap, and how the ‘9’ is open, slightly hasty. My expectation for handwriting fonts is that, if used commercially, they would be of the utmost legibility. Those little imperfections didn’t trip my BS-At-A-Glance-o-Meter. Also, look at the smearing of the ink on the bottom line; I’m not sure if it was completely intentional, but it looks exactly like someone slid their hand across the just-written ink. The mass-mailing stamp is actually applied instead of just printed, giving the cursory illusion of a ‘real’ stamp, while nowhere on the envelope (save a very subtle watermark on the back) is there a company logo.

This sort of subterfuge is far from unknown in advertising. You may very well have received a similar letter before, or one of it’s myriad brethren: the credit card ‘publishing’ department that uses the official, trusted logo, but that has little or nothing to do with the actual company, the “prize claim” post cards that insist your Final Notification is imminent (“Respond Now!”), the credit applications that stamp “Urgent!!” on the front, or “Time Sensitive Material.” In an architecture review I sat in last week, a student was using fake parking ticket slips (with a couple clever re-wordings) as a vehicle for promoting a community blog. While it would be strictly illegal for a corporation to use State citations to advertise, this most recent, Valentine forgery makes me wonder where it ends.

If, for instance, the handwriting font were made more clever, perhaps incorporating some ‘wobble’ or alternate letter-glyphs to make it appear ‘real’ – even going so far as to have the envelopes hand-written in China – would you open it? Let’s say the snail-mail spam companies get even more astute, and type your full name, maybe even incorporated a couple general, data-mined, targeted details in the letter – how long would it take for you to throw it away? What if it didn’t even culminate in any advertisement at all – just a few friendly lines and a signoff, temporarily setting aside the message for the medium?

Certainly, advertising masquerading in another’s garb is a time-honored tradition, but I wonder about the personal filters we establish in discerning which is which if the masquerade begins to outpace our ability to discern.

An Alternative Graduate Admissions Essay

I’ve been fretting a whole bunch about something lately – namely, grad school admissions. Rationally, I know that it’s out of my hands at this point and there’s nothing more to be done. But a good chunk of my brain is staunchly refusing any such solace; the impending decision taps at my thoughts like a housefly at a closed window. Through all this ‘reflecting,’ though, I’ve had some valuable insights as to what I might do differently… Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the Alternative Grad Admissions Essay:

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Ever since I was quite young, I have wanted to be a designer. The many colors and shapes, the thrill of creation; these are what I enjoy most. It is common knowledge that University of Design is, without contest, the foremost in excellence of all design schools. With unmatched celebrity presence and tuition fees that rival the collective value of a typical American subdivision, one needs only a spreadsheet to know your institution is the most preeminent anywhere. I also understand that, as a prestigious university, only the very best, most talented candidates are allowed entrance to your hallowed halls. I write this essay to tell you that, if you’re looking for a truly outstanding designer, for a prodigy that can be nurtured into a master, for a student of such spectacular caliber that his very pen has the fabled Midas touch, then you should probably set this application aside. But if you’re looking for a moderately intelligent student, one that is capable but not quite brilliant, one versed in the language of design, the you should still set this aside. Seriously.

Let’s get something straight. I suck. Hardcore. The full extent of my ineptitude doesn’t even begin to show in my corner-stapled, eight and a half by eleven, Microsoft Word portfolio. Maybe you think that I’m ‘lacking a technical fluency’ but that the work ‘might actually shine through.’ No. Wrong. I couldn’t design the shelves for a linen closet in your grandmothers basement. I couldn’t design 3M’s logo if you opened Illustrator, made a text box, and selected Helvetica Bold for me. My architecture models look like something Robert Stern would make if he were smashed drunk and wearing mittens. My graphic abilities are slightly less developed than the guys who did those drawings at Lascaux. My favorite font is Dingbats.

By all accounts, I shouldn’t be admitted to the University of Design. But I’m writing this to argue that I’m exactly what your institution needs. For one, my work will make everybody else’s better by comparison. I can be like the ugly friend you take to the bar to steer pretty folks your way. And let’s not underestimate the power of a healthy ego boost, courtesy of your neighborhood Awful Design Student. Instructors will appreciate being able to completely neglect me, the hopeless case, allowing them to spend more time with the ‘talented’ students. The financial benefits alone are compelling enough: while I’ll still pay full tuition, I won’t hog any of the coveted Merit Scholarships. Finally, you might think that having someone as incompetent as me graduate with your degree would be a black mark on your reputation, but consider! The hope I would impart to future applicants, that “anyone really can make it” (*wink wink*) would inspire a huge boon in your applications, allowing you to be even more selective than you currently are! I trust I’ve made my case quite convincingly at this point, so I’ll leave it at that. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to seeing you this Fall.

Simulated Mimicry

This past Summer, I had the occasion to visit Moss in New York City. Moss is a high-end design store that is part gallery, part museum, and nothing short of amazing (not to be missed if you’re in NYC). There were two pieces in particular that I thought to be especially telling of our zeitgeist, specifically our understanding of authenticity.

Andrea Salvetti (left) and Maarten Baas (right)

On the left is a table/chair set by Andrea Salvetti called “Fertile Garden,” made from cast aluminum in the shape and texture of an archetypical patio set. The table on the right is by Maarten Baas, titled “Smoke,” and is made from cast resin. You can purchase both on the Moss website (bring your black AmEx card).

I found these items fascinating because of their different approaches to materiality and texture. Their physical proximity is fortunate, because it offers a fruitful comparison: Salvetti’s work maintains the form and construction of its referent with alien material, while Baas’ table gives us the form and appearance of a material we understand (albeit in an unexpected place).

This sort of mimicry is quite common in contemporary design. Increasingly, there seems to be an affection toward objects which are purposefully imbued with borrowed qualities. It would seem that this trend is a direct response to a scattered cultural valuation of what ‘authenticity’ means. For instance; the table I’m sitting at right now is from Ikea, constructed from their signature ‘cardboard core’ boards. The surface is meant to look like a dark-stained wood, but the X-Acto scratches reveal it’s little more than a decal. The two tables in question are approached with the same logic, perverted – they confirm the lack of value and truth of the original, but in accepting that, demarcate the qualities which make the thing itself. Let’s take one more look at the tables:

Andrea Salvetti's "Fertile Garden"

Maarten Baas' "Smoke"

Ok – I lied a little bit about the Baas table; it actually is burnt wood (with clear epoxy coating). But that’s exactly why it’s relevant here – because you can’t tell (see post title).

As an apology, I’ll end with this image taken of the inside of an amazing 3D-printed hanging lamp at Moss.  I got yelled at for taking the picture, so enjoy.

Dante would be proud.

What’s wrong with tracing?

A girl in a poster design class asserted that she didn’t want to just use an image of the earth in her poster about global warming.  Instead she was printing circles using a sliced potato over and over again in the hopes of getting one that resembled the earth.  It would be more direct for her to photoshop a photograph of the earth to have the same qualities as these potato prints than it is for her to continue hoping for chance to intervene but she doesn’t want to do this.  Why?  Because she is enamored with the idea of a completely self-generated creation.

In a time when it is easier than ever to combine a wide range of source material, is there still value in the single author?  The increasing popularity of creative commons licensing would seem to suggest that this is a vanishing notion, and with the single author also goes the original object.  When a composition contains a sourced image which contained a sourced image which contained a sourced image… you get the idea.

I’m surprised that the obsession has hung on as long as it has, to be honest.  We’ve been debating the importance of the original ever since the advent of photography.  The digital only exacerbates the debate.  Let’s reference this inane video:

Several objects are shown being stolen and then a comparison is drawn to “pirating” films.  But those objects are unique and taking them removes the possibility of their use from the original owner.  Downloading a movie or music or whatever does not produce this criminal result.  Downloading a movie just traces an existing file.  The trace does nothing to diminish the existing.

As artists we become increasingly more concerned with the idea as the original, not the object.  Which is not to say that the object is unimportant.  The object is reality.  There is no reality to the idea without its manifestation.  But the driving idea is what visual culture today depends upon.  So, I say, trace whatever you want as long as you’ve got a good reason.

How Not to Hire Someone

Dear Creative Industry Employers,

It’s a jungle out there right now. You have desperate, job-hungry applicants coming at you left and right. Maybe you don’t want any. Maybe you do and don’t know it. Maybe you’re one of the few places whose clients decided not show up at the financial clusterfuck party, and you are, in fact, looking for new hires. Whoever you are, I’d like to offer a few tips from the perspective of the attacking horde for interacting with (and possibly selecting) one of the barbarian candidates to join the elite ranks of your firm:

1. Always Respond. Always. You know what’s worse than getting no response at all? Nothing. It’s incredibly uncouth and unprofessional to completely ignore correspondence of any kind, and particularly so if the applicant is responding to your job posting. As a firm, it should be considered a compliment that an individual is interested in your work, so you should answer accordingly.

2. Professionalism is a two-way street. If you do reply, good for you – but only if that reply contains more than 5 complete words, is correctly capitalized, and follows other conventions that one would identify as “English.” Twitter haikus and text-message brevities are not appropriate for professional communication. Sound familiar? That’s because it’s the first rule for job-seekers in approaching firms. You should return the favor.

3. Form letters are your friend. Are you just too busy to respond to individual inquiries? Good news! With the advent of modern computation, one can easily craft a polite rejection at a prior date and simply “copy” it in response to new applicants! In fact, it’s possible to have several versions of these “form letters,” which can then be selected and sent out to multiple applicants simultaneously, taking only seconds out of your schedule! While a personal response is generally appreciated, most people understand that a form letter is an acceptable alternative, particularly in these times.

4. Exercise some caution. I received a form letter in response from a very well-known architecture firm recently which said:

“Dear Applicants, Thank you for your interest in working with [Famous Architecture Firm].  Due to the studio’s busy schedule, we apologize for the delay in response.  Currently, we are only accepting resumes in hard copy format through the mail.  If you are chosen for a follow-up interview you will be notified by the studio.  Please do not call, even if you will be visiting [Big City].”

As a form letter, this wasn’t too bad (a little prickly, perhaps), except for that first bit where she wrote “Dear Applicants.” The form letter was sent to about 120 addresses, all of which were visible to each recipient. This would have been easy to avoid, and would have seemed less like the sender were being wholly impersonal and dismissive of these potentially worthy individuals, but instead resulted in alienating and (in some cases) angering their potential hires.

4. How you hire affects who you get. I understand the desire to standardize a hiring process, particularly if you’re a big firm with lots of applicants. But don’t. Seriously. Take a look at the following screenshot from a major design firm’s ‘skill evaluation’ section.

Forms like these are terrible ways to find creative talent.

It was required that applicants use this format to be considered for positions in which they were supposed to be unique, dynamic, and energetic. Ironic? Thought so. Finally, items requirements such as “…must also include a portfolio of work samples that demonstrate your understanding of our reputation” come off and pretentious and are a sure-fire applicant repellent. If you truly want amazing employees, consider carefully your hiring process.

I hope this helps you all navigate through the veritable ocean of job-seeking zombies out there. Remember, if all else fails, you can forward the correspondence to the US Military; at least they’re always looking for new hires.

Object as Image

The outline effect at work to make object appear as image.

Puma’s Pop Art 917 sneakers are an object as image. The first time I saw them it was difficult for my brain to comprehend the three-dimensionality of them and I struggled to see them as other than a painting. This is of course achieved by the heavy black outlines delineating every surface in the same way as that a line drawing constructs the illusion of three-dimensionality. But whereas the drawing is made more 3D, the shoes are made more 2D.

This neat trick seems to me to be partly influenced by the way designers interact with the digital environment. It is now a constant flux between two-dimensionality and three-dimensionality. The computing environment is understood as a tool to model and fabricate the physical environment . The quality of things in the digital (hyper flat, vectorized) gets carried into the physical… becomes even desirable as we strive to make the real match our digital dream.

The car equivalent of the smiley face- pared down to bare essentials.

(image via ErasmusPC)

Artist Julian Opie’s blue Honda seems sprung from the confines of the screen onto the street and achieves the same effect as the Puma sneakers. In this instance the digital correlation is clear; the car possesses the simplified polygons and hyper-flat colors of a primitive digital model.

Do-It-Yourself

A while back on Boing Boing, this record cover was posted, mainly for (I’m guessing) the humor in assuming that there could be a particular music associated with the activity of “doing something yourself,” as well as the rather dated apparel and setting depicted. While I certainly enjoyed those aspects, I think there are elements of the image far more fascinating, and worth examining.

The image, first off, struck me as similar to religious or spiritual imagery; the type that’s supposed to carry much more significance that one initially expects. Though I doubt that the photographer had any more intention than getting a well-composed shot for the cover of a record, there are a number of peculiarities I noticed:

1. The thin façade of domesticity The “toolkit” hung from the pegboard only has three wrenches – and not even three sequential wrenches! It seems to be a sort of work room, but has very few of the trappings. There’s no suggestion of utility, only image.

2. The window The view from these folks’ workroom is unusually idyllic – by today’s standards. This sort of park community that is depicted was a typical aspiration for families of the time, during the burgeoning “suburban” movement. You can see why it would be appealing – mostly trees, few houses.

3. The lighting Within the image (that is, in the ‘workroom’) one clearly sees an overhead light – but it’s not on. Neither does the light come through the window at all (since, of course, it’s not a real window). Instead, the scene is eerily lit from what seems to be a single bright spotlight to the right of the camera, casting harsh shadows against the wall and producing an uneasy effect.

4. The composition While the depiction of a typical nuclear family certainly contains the ‘appropriate’ elements, something’s off about the composition; notice where the focal point of the image is – almost exactly on the empty stool. We’re meant to see the two entities; the woman, sitting calmly in the chair sewing, and the men, building away at some incomplete contraption. The camera is situated to have us look directly into the corner, though, where the empty stool divides the image, and (with help from the lighting department) seems to embody a certain lonely sentiment.

5. Where’s the music? I find this to be the most fascinating of all: there isn’t any suggestion of music being played – not even a hint! This leads to one of two conclusions: either the Joneses have an appreciation for good acoustics and have placed their speakers outside our frame of view (which could be true; they might also be dancing a bit!), or they can’t possibly be listening to the record because they are not part of the world in which the record exists. That is to say, since they’re shown on the cover of the record, they only ‘exist’ as a snapshot of that reality, and are exclusive of the record, itself.

As a concluding note, I’d also like to point out that aside for the quality of the photograph, this image would be perfect for next month’s issue of Make: magazine (no association with Make2D); the clothing and furniture styles are just about spot-on for the contemporary do-it-yourself-er.

Preamble to the Blog

Hello!

For my officious first entry on Make2D, I can’t think of anything more appropriate than to sketch out my vision for this small corner of the blog universe, and seeing as how it’s unlikely to ever be read at all, this will more or less be my personal “Blog Construction Document.”

I’ve given this a bit of thought, since I wouldn’t want to screw up my first attempt (what with all the effort of thinking up a good name) and have to start a new one simply because of an ill-conceived start. I’ll start with the things I think it shouldn’t be, because that’s convenient:

1. This isn’t LiveJournal. You don’t care what I ate for breakfast, the little doodle on my Visa statement is not profound, Michigan football isn’t very important (especially right now).

2. I can call my friends. While blogs like go go skooter are positively wonderful, I don’t feel the need (nor do I have the concentration) to Twitter-ize my life to a cohort of personal friends.

3. Boing Boing, et al. have the market covered. There’s no way I could possibly be relevant or novel enough to consistently bring fresh content about even a small segment of a single industry, so that’s pretty much not in the cards.

That said, the general focus of this blog is going to be (for those not savvy enough to have inferred by the title) design and criticality. In short, I’m going to shoot for a sort of “ffffound with writing,” a selection of thought-out or semi-thought-out observations on things related to or relevant to the design world, ranging from personal projects to contemporary art and architecture, etc. Though I don’t have high expectations for readership, I hope to appeal to at least some meager audience, perhaps generating dialog here and there, but if nothing else, have an online catalog of thoughts and ideas. My partner, Hattie, will hopefully concur with these directions, and we’ll be up and running in no time.

Until then, thanks for reading.