Nice Rack

The Paperback Bookshelf, by Studio Parade

If there is at least one thing that the old-fashioned, physical book has over the various types of e-readers, aside from a few millenniums of existence, it is the bookshelf. This thankless vanguard of intellectual support and storage has been keeping our bound volumes safe for as long as there has been a necessity to have a space to cram texts, parchments and/or papyrus.

Yet, beyond the functionality of the shelf, serving as a place to place our paperbacks, is its legacy as an element of interior design. Whether it’s for the infusion of an eclectic collection of colours in a common area or the development and gradual procurement of a stately library to ensure, and quite obviously assert, one’s intellectual acumen (whether feigned or for real), the bookshelf (presumably loaded with books) is an ancient and essential component of decor.

Of course, there are countless iterations of the bookshelf, from those costing $29.99 at your nearby Ikea, to improvised stacks of anything from milk crates to skateboards. However, the inspiration behind the Paperback Bookshelf, from Dutch-based design firm Studio Parade, is so absolutely simplistic, it borders on ingenious. This minimal shelf simply positions books on their sides and in small stacks. When said aloud, admittedly, it sounds ridiculous that such a thing had to be designed. Yet, when viewed, one has to appreciate the blunt wisdom inherent in the simple desire to see things from a different perspective.

Straight Tacheles

Increasingly, the benefits of urban gentrification are being hailed as hugely important to the cultural development of communities, and broadly, cities. By no means a new, positively received concept, it is certainly one that has powerfully come in vogue within, at least, the past two decades.

Specifically, the reversal of old industrial, or commercial, structures into modern, artistic and cultural hubs is a component of this trend that has proven extremely popular in many municipalities. Immediate examples can be seen in the project properties of Hamilton, Ontario's Imperial Cotton Centre for the Arts; the Cotton Factory and the recently opened Hamilton Hotel, as well as Toronto’s Wychwood Barns, overseen by ArtScape.

However, bucking this trend of renewal, with no less of a creative and cultural vengence, is East-Berlin's Tacheles. This aging commercial complex, has housed, at different points in its long history, an in-door market place, a new-technology showroom, a Nazi prison, a theatre, and low rent housing. During the 1960s and 70s, after decades of consistent and intense usage, Tacheles was evaluated by engineers and ultimately slated to be demolished, a process that was initiated in 1980 and to be completed by 1990.

Yet, in 1990, two months prior to the final detonation which would have leveled the remaining majority of the complex, the artists’ initiative group Kunstlerinitiative Tacheles occupied the building and had it designated a historical site. Upon initiating another engineering survey of the Tacheles, it was found that the complex was, in fact, still sound, despite its semi-demolished appearance.



Since this time, the complex has become officially known as Kunsthaus Tacheles, and has become an art center and nightclub that is a central destination to a number of Berlin’s arts, activist and cultural groups. What is particularly interesting about this is that, unlike the trend of targeted, cultural gentrification, Tacheles' emergence as an arts centre has been a wholly organic one, lead by a gradually developing grassroots arts community.

Moreover, the most interesting facet of the Tacheles is not even necessarily in the groups that it hosts, but rather its manifestation as a gigantic, and continuously evolving, mixed media work of art. Boasting an ever-changing, eclectic array of murals, sculptures and other pieces, the deceptively un-dilapidated Tacheles is less a gentrified example of old into new, than it is fateful study of cultural
(r)evolution.

Albeit, one with an uncertain future.

I, Telenoid

One sometimes wonders if the whole effort to create humanoid robots that will fulfill various household tasks is actually derived out of necessity, or some sort of Popular Science-Fiction/fantasy wish-list. Sure, various types of robotics and machines can, could, and do make our days more convenient, but making it into some sort of cyborg android seems more in line with frivolity than utility.

It is this thought that occurs to me as I look at the Telenoid R1, a nightmarish, android, alien baby with a body like a semi-formed tad-pole. Designed and constructed by roboticist Hiroshi Ishiguro, in collaboration with Osaka University and Advanced Telecommunications Research Institute International, the Telenoid is intended to aid in long-distance communication. Functioning somewhat like a telephone, you speak to the Telenoid, and as the person on the other end of the line replies, the Telenoid program picks up their facial cues and physical language and mimics it.

Apparently, speaking to the alien from Cocoon, who has inexplicably assumed your friend’s voice, eases the pain of distance more than Skype does. And this is precisely the question, sure the Telenoid is terrifyingly neat, but is it (and would future ancestors of it) be truly more effective at personalizing long distance communication than future incarnations of a service such as Skype? I think, in the future, I would much rather speak to that ridiculous CNN hologram of Will-I-Am, than I would C-3PO with Will-I-Am’s voice.

That is, of course, until Apple gets a hold of it and creates an entirely new, hip, lifestyle changing, tech product, that they tell us we need, the iPerson.

Comedic References Across Time

Having finally caught up to the current season of Mad Men, I found myself struggling to understand, why, in its first episode, Peggy and her new creative department employee keep purring “John” and “Marsha” back and forth to eachother.

After conducting some thorough Googling, I found that what they were doing was carrying on with an inside joke/popular comic reference from the era. This, of course, is not so surprising, but what does make it interesting is that, on the one hand, it further represents the fine toothed comb which the Mad Men creators use to ensure period accuracies, and on the other, it represents a very well placed gimmick by the writing staff to not just portray an organic and realistic workplace, but one that the viewer can also associate with.

The whole “John and Marsha” thing was a skit that satirized soap operas, recorded in 1951 by comedian Stan Freberg. The skit consists of two characters continually repeating each other’s names, a narrative is made out of the overindulged intonation that the actors apply to the speaking of their names, playing on the hammy, melodramatic acting found in soap operas. Though recorded in 1951, the skit would have maintained popularity through Mad Men’s 1964, and even to modern day where it is still occasionally performed.

In regards to how this is clever writing, representing an organic and easily relatable workplace, simply consider, how frequently in a given day (especially in this time of viral videos that are instantaeneously spread through emails and links on Facebook and Twitter accounts) you might repeat fad-like jokes or phrases with co-workers for a comic cathartic release. How many times did you refer to “Charlie bit me,” the grape stomp lady, “I like turtles,” or perhaps deliberately interrupt someone with “I’m really happy for you and Imma let you finish but...”? How often do (did) you reference shows like Simpsons, Saturday Night Live, Seinfeld, Dave Chappelle, Family Guy or even How I Met Your Mother?

Though it was an obscure and out of the blue reference, kudos to the Mad Men writing staff on their insightful attention to detail, as well as effectively illustrating the cross-generational connection inherent in these sorts of workplace comedic quips.

The Wilderness Beyond Boundaries

A couple months ago, Radiohead lead Thom Yorke prophesized the music industry’s imminent and not-too-far-off downfall. The cause of this would be related to reasons that have been heard before, those being primarily the industry’s player’s unwillingness and inability to adapt to more innovative models of distribution, and lack of embracing the possibilities inherent in new technologies. Yorke encouraged young artists not to sign with the sinking ship labels, and instead, explore these new possibilities on their own.

In terms of embracing these new possibilities, artists need to look no further than Arcade Fire. Though still represented under label Merge Records, the band has not been shy about experimenting with everything from distribution to music videos in the lead up to the release of their new album, The Suburbs. Earlier in the summer, the band not only webcast their Madison Square Garden show on YouTube, but had auteur director Terry Gilliam (Brazil, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) direct the project. As well, in terms of the album’s release, aside from traditional methods and among other things, the band also made the songs available to listen in full off their own website.

Now the band has launched one of the most fascinating projects associated with The Suburbs, The Wilderness Downtown, the interactive short-film/Google Chrome and street view project that blasts the boundaries of the traditional music video. Directed by Chris Milk, the video, for the song “We Used to Wait,” prompts the viewer to enter their home address and then proceeds to lead the viewer through an abstract narrative set in their own neighbourhood.

Nearly three months since Yorke’s declaration, the industry still remains standing, but at least bands that matter, like Arcade Fire, are continually testing new waters.

The Undead Book

Books currently "developing character" in my bag: A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole), Chief Culture Officer (Grant McCracken), Wikinomics (Don Tapscott and Anthony D. Williams).

“Death of” media predictions have persisted for some time and in reference to many different types, notes a recent New York Times article. For example, TV was supposed to kill the radio and the movies, and the internet was supposed to kill TV. However, as the article goes on to detail, none of these forms of media have ever truly died, but rather, have evolved to fulfill other roles or, particularly in the case of vinyl, re-emerged to fulfill new niches.

Yet, a question still remains as to how literature will evolve. Certainly we see obvious indications as to the future of non-fiction print, the increasing prevalence of online news sources, the decline of the literal newspaper, the popularity of topical blogs. Such media has well begun carving out its future existence as widely available, short-burst bites of information. Nevertheless, and at least for me, the future of long-form non-fiction and fictional literature remains less certain. I say at least for me because, though some may roll their eyes and say “obviously, they’ll be translated to ebook formats to be read on the iPad or Kindle,” I, honestly, want nothing to do with those formats or products.

Now, I am not saying that the iPad or Kindle are non-functional or pointless products that I would never use, but they are products that I would prefer not to use to engage myself with a book. A couple summers ago I went on a Cross-Canada train trip for roughly a month. Going from Toronto to Vancouver, back to Toronto and then to Halifax with a number of spots in between, takes a lot of days aboard a train, and unless there are Aussies aboard doing it too, reading material becomes your best friend for the long stretches between great views, destinations, arrivals, departures, and daylight.

The novel that most notably accompanied me on this trip was Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. As a piece of literature it provided an amazing escape from train induced boredom (which, despite the views, is bound to happen), but more importantly, as a solitary traveller, it became an appreciated companion. Physically, its appearance and development matched my own, the less I shaved, the more creased its covers became, the more thoughts I had while reading it, the more notes were jotted down inside its cover. It became less a book in my bag than it did a partner, accompanying me on my journey and developing its own character along the way.

It seems unrealistic to me that an iPad or Kindle could ever provide such appreciated (and durable) company. The sterile, glowing screen aside, even if I were to decide to bring one on any form of rugged adventure, I sincerely doubt that I would view a broken or chipped screen as proudly (or, at least, indifferently) as I would a ripped, coffee stained cover.

I guess the point to be made is that literary print, as it exists and has existed for centuries, remains a much more flexible format than those that are vying to be the next link in its evolution. Looking back at the aforementioned examples of TV and Radio, in their evolution their ease of use and application has been increased. Radio has gone from large, immobile, wooden units to personal devices that tune into digital signals (which can also be personalized). TV has gone through very similar transformations. Books, on the other hand, have always been a highly personalized experience (personalization being a decidedly central concern of all media evolution). If anything, those products trying to push the medium forward seem more like a step back. I’d rather lose a single, beat-up paperback worth $10.00, than my entire library contained on a pristine, plastic device worth $500.00 alone.

Of course, and as the article further points out, the real question in literature’s evolution is not necessarily “is the print format dead?” But rather, “is our attention-span?” Certainly, having all your social media available on the same medium as your book is not conducive to dedicated reading time.

So, books, what’s next?

March of the Bags

A new project, by Californian environmental group Heal the Bay, builds a bridge between humourous viral videos and environmental campaign awareness.

The Majestic Plastic Bag is a mockumentary, narrated by Oscar winner Jeremy Irons, that parodies various nature documentaries as it makes believe that plastic bags are an indigenious species of Californian wildlife. The short video details the epic journey of a plastic bag, from the grocery store to its final, migratory home in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, a clump of consumer waste, ranging in size estimates from the state of Texas to the whole of the contintental United States, and located in the North Pacific Ocean.

The film was made to function as a viral video, funny and easily shared, so that it might also raise awareness about the push to have Calfornia's congress pass bill AB 1998, a piece of legislation that would significantly reduce plastic waste (such as banning the use of plastic bags) in the state.