Friday, November 27, 2009
20: stop motion, pt. 2
In continuation of my previous post featuring Target's [obviously] Oren Lavie-inspired commercial, here are a few more stop-motion commercials... but this time, Procter & Gamble and Amazon are the ones who have jumped on the bandwagon. (Okay, so... I know these commercials aren't especially new -- at least, the Bounce Dryer Bar commercial is not -- but to my credit, I've had very little television access for the past 3-1/2 months!)
Sunday, November 1, 2009
19: volvo thinks edward cullen is dreamy
Oh geez. Well, it's about time. With Twilight's ridiculous popularity, I'm actually surprised it didn't happen sooner. What am I talking about, exactly? Volvo, the automobile corporation known for safety, has taken its brand identity to a whole new level by adhering itself -- officially -- to the Twilight phenomenon.
Edward Cullen, the brooding heart-throb vampire in Stephenie Meyer's book series, drives a volvo. Why? Because it's fast and slightly less flashy than, say, his "sister" Rosalie's bright red convertible. And evidently, Volvo is getting a kick out of this, because they've launched a new website called "What Drives Edward" (click). Talk about a co-branding co-op.
Favorite features on the website:
- The description: "There's more to life than a Volvo. There's having the power to keep safe what you hold most dear. That's why you drive one."
- "What Edward drives may soon drive you." Nice.
- "Volvo XC60 as seen in New Moon" and "Volvo C30 as seen in Twilight."
The website also features all of the available New Moon trailers, as well as images of the new car model and promotional shots from the movie. I love this whole thing more than words are able to describe.
And of course, you have to check out the advertisement:
Edward Cullen, the brooding heart-throb vampire in Stephenie Meyer's book series, drives a volvo. Why? Because it's fast and slightly less flashy than, say, his "sister" Rosalie's bright red convertible. And evidently, Volvo is getting a kick out of this, because they've launched a new website called "What Drives Edward" (click). Talk about a co-branding co-op.
Favorite features on the website:
- The description: "There's more to life than a Volvo. There's having the power to keep safe what you hold most dear. That's why you drive one."
- "What Edward drives may soon drive you." Nice.
- "Volvo XC60 as seen in New Moon" and "Volvo C30 as seen in Twilight."
The website also features all of the available New Moon trailers, as well as images of the new car model and promotional shots from the movie. I love this whole thing more than words are able to describe.
And of course, you have to check out the advertisement:
Saturday, October 10, 2009
18: desktop puke
It's been two weeks. I've been busy... I've been sick. Simultaneously. It's kind of sucked. But now I am no longer sick. Still busy, but I'm making space for the world. These are the images that have been reappearing in my mind even when my eyes are closed:
(via Erin Jane Nelson)
(via vacantlots)
(via Maira Kalman)
(via gridlockcaravans)
(via E V △ Y Z)
(via lookatthisfuckingtriangle)
Paper and pen, 35mm film and a hotshoe flash, they're all calling my name... It's almost enough for me to get up and go. Everything I shoot will go in triangles this semester.
In other news, October is hitting me beautifully, overwhelming me with the orange and yellow and clouds and gray. I've learned that when it comes to your surroundings, sometimes you just have to shrink your perspective down to the little details, so that you can properly appreciate the view... and perhaps all the little things that make up a life? Perhaps.
(via Erin Jane Nelson)
(via vacantlots)
(via Maira Kalman)
(via gridlockcaravans)
(via E V △ Y Z)
(via lookatthisfuckingtriangle)
Paper and pen, 35mm film and a hotshoe flash, they're all calling my name... It's almost enough for me to get up and go. Everything I shoot will go in triangles this semester.
In other news, October is hitting me beautifully, overwhelming me with the orange and yellow and clouds and gray. I've learned that when it comes to your surroundings, sometimes you just have to shrink your perspective down to the little details, so that you can properly appreciate the view... and perhaps all the little things that make up a life? Perhaps.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
16: understanding design errors: pesky desk
(Written for Comm 2450)
As we all know, poor design exists everywhere. Sometimes things are designed ugly, which is unfortunate, but still tolerable. Other times, things are just really badly conceptualized, and that is another issue altogether.
My roommate Alice thinks that her desk in our shared room in Cascadilla Hall is one very pertinent example of horrible conceptualization. When Alice does work, she's always got books open to her left and right, with handouts, notebooks and papers everywhere in between. However, her desk in Cascadilla makes it hard for her to use all her desk space, in the way that she needs to use it.
Alice: "I wish the space under the desk were bigger. I want to use the entire desk. They give you all this room to work, but since you can't move your chair very far, you can't even use it."
(via Computer Desk Info)
The entire smooth, level, wood surface of the desk affords holding materials and being written on, but the mapping of the desk makes it so that you can't even access that space effectively. The space beneath the desk affords putting your chair and legs into it; but since it's positioned under the right half of the desk, once you're sitting in the way that the design “forces” you to, you realize you can only comfortably access the right side of the desk. You really have to crane your body and neck in order to reach and see whatever notes/textbooks you put on the left side of the desk.
Alice's current solution is simply to move her chair to the center of the desk, even though it doesn't fit. It's not very comfortable, and she resents how the space beneath the desk acts as a "forcing function" that designates the way she manages her workspace. She doesn’t understand why she should have to cater to the design in the first place.
The desk is an everyday object she has to deal with. To the designer, it's probably just a simple, standard dormroom desk, but to Alice, its poor design makes it a hassle to use. There seems to be a gap between the designer's mental model of how the desk should be used, and Alice’s mental model.
However… based on what Donald Norman has to say about designers pleasing their clients (who may or may not be the end users themselves), I suppose this issue of poor design is, in a way, to be expected. From a practical point of view, if they got rid of the drawers and just left an empty space for you to move your chair as you like, students would inevitably complain about not having enough storage space in their desk. If they moved the empty space to the middle and had drawers on either side, the desk would inevitably have to be larger, to accommodate an appropriate drawer size and an appropriate chair size... and let's be real -- buyers for Cornell housing know that if our desks were any bigger, they wouldn't fit in the room at all. Unfortunately, it's just like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
As we all know, poor design exists everywhere. Sometimes things are designed ugly, which is unfortunate, but still tolerable. Other times, things are just really badly conceptualized, and that is another issue altogether.
My roommate Alice thinks that her desk in our shared room in Cascadilla Hall is one very pertinent example of horrible conceptualization. When Alice does work, she's always got books open to her left and right, with handouts, notebooks and papers everywhere in between. However, her desk in Cascadilla makes it hard for her to use all her desk space, in the way that she needs to use it.
Alice: "I wish the space under the desk were bigger. I want to use the entire desk. They give you all this room to work, but since you can't move your chair very far, you can't even use it."
(via Computer Desk Info)
The entire smooth, level, wood surface of the desk affords holding materials and being written on, but the mapping of the desk makes it so that you can't even access that space effectively. The space beneath the desk affords putting your chair and legs into it; but since it's positioned under the right half of the desk, once you're sitting in the way that the design “forces” you to, you realize you can only comfortably access the right side of the desk. You really have to crane your body and neck in order to reach and see whatever notes/textbooks you put on the left side of the desk.
Alice's current solution is simply to move her chair to the center of the desk, even though it doesn't fit. It's not very comfortable, and she resents how the space beneath the desk acts as a "forcing function" that designates the way she manages her workspace. She doesn’t understand why she should have to cater to the design in the first place.
The desk is an everyday object she has to deal with. To the designer, it's probably just a simple, standard dormroom desk, but to Alice, its poor design makes it a hassle to use. There seems to be a gap between the designer's mental model of how the desk should be used, and Alice’s mental model.
However… based on what Donald Norman has to say about designers pleasing their clients (who may or may not be the end users themselves), I suppose this issue of poor design is, in a way, to be expected. From a practical point of view, if they got rid of the drawers and just left an empty space for you to move your chair as you like, students would inevitably complain about not having enough storage space in their desk. If they moved the empty space to the middle and had drawers on either side, the desk would inevitably have to be larger, to accommodate an appropriate drawer size and an appropriate chair size... and let's be real -- buyers for Cornell housing know that if our desks were any bigger, they wouldn't fit in the room at all. Unfortunately, it's just like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
15: let's get physical: white-out vs. the delete key
(Written for a Comm 2450 blog assignment)
Over the past two years, my pencil usage has dropped significantly... These days, the only writing instruments I ever use are black or blue pens. However, seeing as I am a complete neat freak when it comes to taking notes, my exclusive use of ink leaves me in a bit of a mess, making my BIC Wite-Out correction tape an absolute necessity for me.
For starters, it is physically constrained by the amount of correction tape in the dispenser, 33.3 ft. The correction tape spool cannot rip, either, or else the entire object will no longer function. The actual shape also molds its use. To operate it, the tip has to be held at an angle, with constant pressure applied to it, and on flat paper, as it doesn’t really adhere to plastic or anything particularly textured. Furthermore, once you white-out something, there’s no way to “undo” it, so you have to be sure you want to get rid of the text in the first place.
Defunct BIC Wite-Out tape
Cultural constraints: Our current generation knows the use of correction tape because it's been around for so long -- since the age of typewriters and fax machines. We understand that it’s not meant to be used as actual "tape" to hold things together, nor for entertainment purposes (see video below). It exists to cover up errors made with ink -- mistakes that are otherwise un-erasable. Additionally, culture advises us to use correction tape on white paper, so that it doesn't stand out on the page. Similarly, you also don’t want to use your Wite-Out TOO much because then your paper will look messy and un-presentable.
Wite-Out tape on a fan...?
For those of us who rely primarily on virtual measures for taking notes and writing papers, the "delete" key on keyboards is an alternative method for correcting content.
It is physically constrained by the actual, tangible object itself: The delete button must be pressed down on -- it certainly doesn't afford much else.
From a virtual perspective, however, its use requires that you have a text box open. Otherwise, it won't function like you want (e.g., if you have an Internet window open, and you’re not typing in a text box, but you press the delete key, the Internet window will return to the previous page you were viewing, rather than remove text). Also, the text document cannot be "read-only" -- you need to be able to actually edit it.
Cultural constraints of the delete key include the “delete” label on the key, which explicitly indicates its function -- we understand this meaning through our knowledge of language. From our observations and understandings of culture, we also know that holding down on it allows for a continuous stream of deletion, whereas repeatedly pressing down on it deletes characters individually. We also know not to pound on the delete key over and over, because it makes a racket, and people will stare or find it disruptive (remember the scene in “You’ve Got Mail” where Tom Hanks doesn’t know how to respond to Meg Ryan’s email? He keeps coming up with different things to say, but ends up deleting his emails letter by letter, in annoyance).
Physical constraints as applied to virtual objects are tricky since the actual constraints are themselves only virtual and not self-evident. However, in the virtual world, you have outs that aren’t necessarily present in the physical world. For instance, when you accidentally delete something, you often have the ability to “undo” your action and recover your text, whereas if you accidentally Wite-Out something, you might forget what it is you just corrected, and lose that information forever.
Also, unlike Wite-Out, the delete key allows you to make as many mistakes as you want. The final, clean copy will not expose any of your deletions/mistakes. This influences the way we use each object, because if you’re writing a paper by hand, you’ll probably take more time and care into composing your thoughts, to keep from making mistakes while writing. When typing, though, you’ll probably work more quickly and less watchfully, because you’re under the assumption that you’ll be able to easily alter the text later.
Over the past two years, my pencil usage has dropped significantly... These days, the only writing instruments I ever use are black or blue pens. However, seeing as I am a complete neat freak when it comes to taking notes, my exclusive use of ink leaves me in a bit of a mess, making my BIC Wite-Out correction tape an absolute necessity for me.
For starters, it is physically constrained by the amount of correction tape in the dispenser, 33.3 ft. The correction tape spool cannot rip, either, or else the entire object will no longer function. The actual shape also molds its use. To operate it, the tip has to be held at an angle, with constant pressure applied to it, and on flat paper, as it doesn’t really adhere to plastic or anything particularly textured. Furthermore, once you white-out something, there’s no way to “undo” it, so you have to be sure you want to get rid of the text in the first place.
Defunct BIC Wite-Out tape
Cultural constraints: Our current generation knows the use of correction tape because it's been around for so long -- since the age of typewriters and fax machines. We understand that it’s not meant to be used as actual "tape" to hold things together, nor for entertainment purposes (see video below). It exists to cover up errors made with ink -- mistakes that are otherwise un-erasable. Additionally, culture advises us to use correction tape on white paper, so that it doesn't stand out on the page. Similarly, you also don’t want to use your Wite-Out TOO much because then your paper will look messy and un-presentable.
Wite-Out tape on a fan...?
For those of us who rely primarily on virtual measures for taking notes and writing papers, the "delete" key on keyboards is an alternative method for correcting content.
It is physically constrained by the actual, tangible object itself: The delete button must be pressed down on -- it certainly doesn't afford much else.
From a virtual perspective, however, its use requires that you have a text box open. Otherwise, it won't function like you want (e.g., if you have an Internet window open, and you’re not typing in a text box, but you press the delete key, the Internet window will return to the previous page you were viewing, rather than remove text). Also, the text document cannot be "read-only" -- you need to be able to actually edit it.
Cultural constraints of the delete key include the “delete” label on the key, which explicitly indicates its function -- we understand this meaning through our knowledge of language. From our observations and understandings of culture, we also know that holding down on it allows for a continuous stream of deletion, whereas repeatedly pressing down on it deletes characters individually. We also know not to pound on the delete key over and over, because it makes a racket, and people will stare or find it disruptive (remember the scene in “You’ve Got Mail” where Tom Hanks doesn’t know how to respond to Meg Ryan’s email? He keeps coming up with different things to say, but ends up deleting his emails letter by letter, in annoyance).
Physical constraints as applied to virtual objects are tricky since the actual constraints are themselves only virtual and not self-evident. However, in the virtual world, you have outs that aren’t necessarily present in the physical world. For instance, when you accidentally delete something, you often have the ability to “undo” your action and recover your text, whereas if you accidentally Wite-Out something, you might forget what it is you just corrected, and lose that information forever.
Also, unlike Wite-Out, the delete key allows you to make as many mistakes as you want. The final, clean copy will not expose any of your deletions/mistakes. This influences the way we use each object, because if you’re writing a paper by hand, you’ll probably take more time and care into composing your thoughts, to keep from making mistakes while writing. When typing, though, you’ll probably work more quickly and less watchfully, because you’re under the assumption that you’ll be able to easily alter the text later.
Friday, September 11, 2009
14: artsy-fartsy friday
"Artsy-Fartsy Friday" is an idea taken from Mr. Madden, my former almost-art teacher in high school. Every Friday, he'd show off something "artsy-fartsy" -- his words, not mine -- that he liked. Once, he played a clip from "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (the one where Joel's memory literally starts to crumble); another time, it was an indie musician that he'd found... Basically, the point was to expose us to different artists, styles, concepts, techniques -- you get the picture.
I want to do something similar here. So, for the first Artsy-Fartsy Friday of Father Piñata, I'd like to present to you...
Great Lake Swimmers!
Canada-based Great Lake Swimmers is the brainchild of singer-songwriter Tony Dekker, and could be genre-ly (ha) described as indie/folk rock. To date, the band has released four full-length albums: Great Lake Swimmers (which was recorded in an abandoned grain silo in southern Ontario), Bodies and Minds (recorded in St. Theresa's Church in Ontario), Ongiara (recorded in the Aeolian Hall in Toronto) and Lost Channels (recorded all around the Thousand Islands region in New York, including Singer Castle). All of these albums -- with the exception of Lost Channels, which I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing in its entirety -- are wonderful and very easy to listen to.
Now, reviewing music is not exactly my forte, but I absolutely adore this band, and cannot bear to leave you with simply "indie/folk rock," or "easy to listen to," so I will do my best to elaborate:
Listening to Great Lake Swimmers is like filling your soul with soft, folksy lullabies and simple yet starkly intimate lyrics -- much like waking up to a cloudy day, a cup of coffee and an empty bed. It's the day after your best friend moves away, and you find yourself wandering the neighborhood, looking at things on your own, seeing things you never really saw before. Like drinking chocolate milk and eating a grilled cheese sandwich with Dijon mustard and apple slices. Walking barefoot on carpet and hearing your feet slide across the floor; or perhaps sitting cross-legged on your bed, cutting out construction-paper hearts while the heater is humming behind you...
I know this description does little in the realm of "evaluating" Great Lake Swimmers. It doesn't describe the music, or the style, or the words Tony sings... but I figure, hey, if you want straight reviews, you can find them easily enough. Finding visuals, memories, concepts of how things sound, on the other hand... not so easy to come across. And if we're being perfectly honest, sometimes a vision carries more weight than words do. In the words of a couple of Cornell professors, language is complex and constrained by an awful lot of things. And so I leave you with some words, but also with images, sounds and other media to append to your vision of Great Lake Swimmers.
These are the covers of Great Lake Swimmers' four albums. To me, they are quite reminiscent of a high-school geography book. You know, kind of used, worn and torn, creased, crinkled, a little bit of heritage and history. I like how rustic and unassuming they are as a whole, also. Plainly stated, the album art does a great job of accurately representing the sound and feel of the music.
Make your own judgments:
(via NPR's Tiny Desk Concert)
"And the words tumble out of your mouth / like apples from a wild tree. / Mine, they spy out cautiously / like a creature from its cave... / My body aches for you, / and shakes for you, / sways for you, / and dances with your little woman body / long into the evening."
I want to do something similar here. So, for the first Artsy-Fartsy Friday of Father Piñata, I'd like to present to you...
Canada-based Great Lake Swimmers is the brainchild of singer-songwriter Tony Dekker, and could be genre-ly (ha) described as indie/folk rock. To date, the band has released four full-length albums: Great Lake Swimmers (which was recorded in an abandoned grain silo in southern Ontario), Bodies and Minds (recorded in St. Theresa's Church in Ontario), Ongiara (recorded in the Aeolian Hall in Toronto) and Lost Channels (recorded all around the Thousand Islands region in New York, including Singer Castle). All of these albums -- with the exception of Lost Channels, which I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing in its entirety -- are wonderful and very easy to listen to.
Now, reviewing music is not exactly my forte, but I absolutely adore this band, and cannot bear to leave you with simply "indie/folk rock," or "easy to listen to," so I will do my best to elaborate:
Listening to Great Lake Swimmers is like filling your soul with soft, folksy lullabies and simple yet starkly intimate lyrics -- much like waking up to a cloudy day, a cup of coffee and an empty bed. It's the day after your best friend moves away, and you find yourself wandering the neighborhood, looking at things on your own, seeing things you never really saw before. Like drinking chocolate milk and eating a grilled cheese sandwich with Dijon mustard and apple slices. Walking barefoot on carpet and hearing your feet slide across the floor; or perhaps sitting cross-legged on your bed, cutting out construction-paper hearts while the heater is humming behind you...
I know this description does little in the realm of "evaluating" Great Lake Swimmers. It doesn't describe the music, or the style, or the words Tony sings... but I figure, hey, if you want straight reviews, you can find them easily enough. Finding visuals, memories, concepts of how things sound, on the other hand... not so easy to come across. And if we're being perfectly honest, sometimes a vision carries more weight than words do. In the words of a couple of Cornell professors, language is complex and constrained by an awful lot of things. And so I leave you with some words, but also with images, sounds and other media to append to your vision of Great Lake Swimmers.
These are the covers of Great Lake Swimmers' four albums. To me, they are quite reminiscent of a high-school geography book. You know, kind of used, worn and torn, creased, crinkled, a little bit of heritage and history. I like how rustic and unassuming they are as a whole, also. Plainly stated, the album art does a great job of accurately representing the sound and feel of the music.
Make your own judgments:
(via NPR's Tiny Desk Concert)
"And the words tumble out of your mouth / like apples from a wild tree. / Mine, they spy out cautiously / like a creature from its cave... / My body aches for you, / and shakes for you, / sways for you, / and dances with your little woman body / long into the evening."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)