My Favorite Tupperware

If you've spoken to me recently, you've probably heard me rail on plastic in some way, be it plastic water bottles, bottled water, plastic in the ocean or the plastic that my body wash comes in. Or the fact that 32% of the St. Louis City waste stream is plastic. But that does not mean that I don't love and appreciate plastic, because I do. Oh yes I do.

There is no denying that plastic has launched us to new places for civilization. And I think it is truly a remarkable material, but that does not mean that it is justified for use in every situation, nor does it mean that its disposibility is a good thing. We have some serious plastic problems, but that's a whole different story.

I really want to talk about one kind of plastic storage container that I love more than any other.

The Ziploc twist-lid tupperwares.

I realize that tupperware is a brand name, but please just go with me on it.

I miraculously inherited these from Maya. Originally, there were 3 small sized ones (pictured here) and 2 large ones (double the height). I started using them because I could fit an entire day worth of food in one of the large ones (4 cups of grains, vegetables and protein). But what really drew me to them was the way that the design solved so many of my fundamental problems with other tupperwares.

One of my biggest tupperware issues is transport of liquid-like food. Fruit, beans, sauces and let's not even start on soup, always leaked out into my backpack from traditional tupperware. The Ziploc containers, however, have a screwtop lid, providing a tighter seal (and an opportunity for me to squeeze them very hard before deciding it was satisfactory). This helps to prevent a lot of the stupid dripping I've experienced in the past. They aren't perfect, and this feature actually makes them relatively difficult to clean (among other cleaning flaws), but it certainly helps. It also helps that the small size is exactly the right size to fit inside Ziploc freezer bags (I do not think this was intentional).

Another big one is the size. I don't exactly eat measured portions, but I like to try to balance how much I eat. Well, these tupperwares are labeled on the side! There are lines that mark out 1 cup and 2 cups (the total volume of the smaller container). That way, I know that I'm eating 1.5 cups of rice, 1 cup of beans and .5 cups of tomatoes. Perfect!

Also, these things are stackable. Despite having easy grip handles (or depressions, more accurately), they fit perfectly inside each other, which helps me store them in my massive tupperware collection.

The downsides are that in the heat, they mold very easily, and when you wash them they have lots of little places to accumulate water, and as a result are constantly spraying your other dry dishes when you put them away.

So what do these tupperware containers say about me? Design must combine the practical and the functional. They solve a basic problem that should be so straightforward for lunch gear (leaking), and address an issue in a very simplistic way that I didn't even know that I wanted to have addressed. Overall, props on a good design to Ziploc. The real question is how much cancer am I getting from microwaving my lunch in them everyday?

My Cellular Unit

One time, Oliver was looking at my phone and he said, to me something along these lines:

"You would have a nokia, you designer."

Despite all the terrible things I think about my current phone, that was a huge compliment. I suppose this actually happened when I still had my previous phone...but they are very similar (except in the design details that are driving this new model into the ground).

Let's get out there to begin with that I own this phone because it is the cheapest one you can get, period. That is the number one reason. The number two reason is that it is not a flip phone, and I do not like flip phones.

But the design reason is because I do not want all those features and crap. If they're not going to work beautifully and elegantly (and really, the only one I've found that I find acceptable is the iPhone, sad to say), I'm not interested. Why would I want a crappy tiny camera? Or a web browser system for a screen that's as big as my thumb? Or any other additional buttons? Or whatever?

So my old phone fit my needs perfectly. It basically had 4 functions: call, text, calendar, alarm. You could change the sound on the alarm, it was easy to use, the buttons had a pleasing response, it didn't break easily but was easy to clean and small to carry around. I didn't have a headset for it but I also had a landline for most of that time, so it was not a serious concern. When that phone pooped out (bastards turned off its software!), I got it's older cousin, as pictured here.

And this phone is not all that I hope that it cracked up to be. The buttons do not have the responsiveness. In fact, it's a struggle to dial on them, even without gloves on (and on a bike with gloves on you might as well kiss your phone call goodbye). It spontaneously hangs up, has backwards features and does weird things like saving your text messages all the time (without you asking), and not allowing you to change the alarm tone. Overall, it's unsatisfactory for me. But, it is the cheapest phone, and it doesn't have all the features I don't want.

What I see as being unique about this particular design is the fact that the things that I don't want define the thing that I do want. I'm looking for simplicity and easy use, and not having features that don't function to their full ability. This is reflected in a lot of my design choices, when I have that opportunity (for example, the tool bar on my computers, which is minimized of clutter to the max for most efficient usage). But here, rather than saying I want this this and this, I say I don't want a camera, a computer or a gps device. It's almost a negative space approach to object programming!

The Long Haul (Trucker)

My bicycle is the single most important object in my life right now. A graduation present from my parents, this was the fourth or fifth bike that I test rode before deciding this was the one I wanted. I was expecting a greater struggle to find what I was looking for, but there was no question that this was exactly the bike I was looking for from the first time I rode it.

A brief history of this bike and me: I was convinced to get on it by a baby-faced employee at Big Shark (who questionably still works there), and rode one that was a little too big. I liked the color, the bar-end shifters, and the way that it rode, but was hesitant about the heavier steel frame and even about the drop handlebars in general. I had ridden my previous bike, a hybrid mountain bike, for nearly 9 years, and was used to being totally upright and not going very fast. This bike is not exactly built for speed, but is a big speed improvement on my previous ride. It is, however, built for moving stuff around, as it's generally recognized as a touring bike for longer rides. The steel frame means that it absorbs bumps better, and it's got nice little long distance features like a built-in rack for extra spokes on the frame.

After test riding it the first time, I went home to think about it. There was another bike I wanted to test ride, but they didn't have a single one even close to my size in the city, so I went back to Big Shark to order the bike in my size. A few weeks later, it arrived. I went down (in the middle of a chaotic day at work) and rode it, and then came back the next day to pick it up and have it fitted. From then on, I've been cruising all over the city (and to Belleville, although not back).

So when I rode over the glass yesterday morning and the hissing came screaming out of my back tire, I almost started crying. It was like dropping a baby. I didn't mean to hurt it, but I had. The sad noise it made all the way to the store in the afternoon was way painful, and I tried to carry it to stop it. When I flatted again in the evening, there was no way I could carry it all the way up Grand to the Metro, so I was stuck listening to the squishing noise all the way home.

The dependence that I feel on my bike was suddenly reversed by the dependence that it has on me. As an object, it is not useful or functional (although it is pretty) unless I'm riding it all the time. Yet, I depend on it so fully that when it flatted in the morning, it took me about 3 minutes to figure out how to get to work (I live 10 minutes walking from my office). I couldn't imagine transporting myself without it.

And this is where the paradigm of my bicycle is so different from that of our society. When so many Americans seem to be grappling with what to do now that their cars are unattainable, I'm back in some kind of "primitive world" where I wonder what to do without a bike. Without, I only have walking (which I hate), the bus (which is slow and doesn't go exactly where I want) or bumming rides (less than ideal). To continue my lifestyle, I rely on my two wheels.

So today, after getting it fixed and rolling again, I biked out to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's to pick some things up, and just to prove that in fact, I was OK and could go where I wanted to. I
don't have any desire to sever my connection to my bicycle, even if it is an unhealthy attachment. It's too useful to me to deny.

In terms of the design of my bike, there are a few features that define it for me. The steel frame, and the brand itself, although I don't like to admit it, are big selling points. I've randomly won all these cool points with real bikers for having this bike with a steel frame and a Surly tag. The frame does serve my purposes exactly—I'm not feeling shock up and down my arms from the relatively nasty roads I ride on. I love the bar-end shifters for the simplicity of their use, and how they make it possible for me to not worry about shifting while breaking (which on the other road bikes were driving me crazy). I love the size and feel of the handlebars in my hand, which fit me exactly (surprisingly since I'm probably one of the smallest riders of this bike). The geometry of the frame and the ability for so many racks both serve me very well.

So, what I get out of this is that one of the objects I'm best defined by is the one that is the most useful to me, and the one that I rely on the most. As a result, I've developed a deep attachment to it and a commitment to it's wellbeing. Hopefully we can avoid more glass in the future...

It's Never Over

Class may have ended, but my infatuation with objects seems to be just beginning.

Yesterday, I blew out the back tire on my bicycle twice on glass—once in the morning, and then again in the evening after I had had it fixed. All day, when I thought about my bike, I felt a physical pain, maybe a greater reaction than one should really feel within normal bounds when associating with an object. Although I don't believe that humans are defined by their objects, or that humanity is defined by objects, I do think they say a lot about us, and that is what I'm most interested in.

So, I've decided to rededicate this blog to a study of objects and how they define me, and how they define others around me. I'm not sure exactly how this will develop, but as I've found with my other blogging projects, I do better if I set tangible goals before I start.

I would like to look at the objects that are most important in my life, and the ones that define me in some way, especially in relationship to their design. I'm seeking to answer the question: what does the design of this object, and my expectations for the design, say about who I am as a person? How does the design affect the individual functionality of the object in terms of MY use as an individual user? I hope to also address these questions for others around me, so this isn't all my objects, all the time.

The goal is two objects a week, and maybe some in between things on the glory of objects. Maybe this will lead me to the direction that I'm looking for in this interest. Who knows?

What is reflected back at you?

"To see is to be seen...everything I see is like an eye, collecting my gaze..." (Elkins, The Object Stares Back)

Through our work with objects this semester, I've become more aware of the specific way that I view every object—as a practical set of choices made by an individual (or group of individuals). All object serve some sort of function, and for me, the joy of objects is deciphering and appreciating those choices, whether they are effective or not. I also discovered that I enjoy observing the progression of these choices through history. These decisions build upon each other and become more honed (and more appropriate) for each situation as progression happens.

One of the field trips that I most enjoyed was to SLAM. Although I had visited the decorative arts section of the museum before, I had not really taken the time to appreciate this part of the museum that I like so much (I love practical objects). What was so striking about this trip was observing the different contexts in which the objects were created, and yet the similarities between the materials and form. This reemphasized the point to me that everything old becomes new again at some point—which ended up being echoed throughout the semester.

At the Campbell house, another trip which I enjoyed significantly, I spent a lot of time looking at the specific decisions made in the decoration and furnishing of the house, especially in the context of what was available to the family at that point in time. I found that there were many uses that were difficult to decipher from form alone, for example, the bells in the kitchen. I was also struck by the physical changes in scale of the objects in the Campbell House in relation to what we consider to be normal scale today. Many of the chairs were much lower to the ground, while much of the artwork was much larger than I anticipated. I wondered if these formal choices were specific, or if they were just style.

I found that when I compared my approach to objects to my classmates approaches that I took a more holistic approach to dealing with them. Rather than just considering the physical object, or the history, or the human affect, I was concerned with the relationship between these, and other , ways of understanding the objects. When we did the group presentations on the fields of study, I was very intrigued by the discussion of philosophy, because that was a way that I had never considered an object. The implications of interactions of objects (especially the -ness of everything in relation to an object) was nearly too much for me to grasp. I was uncomfortable with the metaphysical concept of objects, and wanted to be more grounded again in tangible ideas that I could grapple with using a physical object, like history or even psychology. I was glad that we did not explore this subject much further, because I think I would have been at a loss trying to understand it.

One topic that I also really connected to (because I had many examples of it to work from, I think) was collecting. I spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like for my parents (or I guess myself) to start a museum or an endow a gift of the many specifically collected objects we possess. Reading about the specifics of collection gave me insight into how these collections relate to the greater sphere. I was particularly interested in the concept of in situ collecting—and if putting an object in a collection takes it entirely out of circulation. One thing that I thought about was my father's collection of crazy glasses. He uses them, although they're also a collection. The story behind why he has them is important, but not as important as the formal qualities. The glasses, however, are not in an entirely stationary point in their life cycle. Rather, the experiences that my family creates using those classes becomes part of their story and adds to their history. Maybe if they were in a glass case and were never used, their life would entirely pause, but that is not currently the case.

A question that this brought up for me was about the idea of in situ for the objects, and what makes the appropriate in situ. I wondered how my own belief that all choices about objects are specific decisions influenced how I think about in situ observation. I found that I believe that even though objects may be in an alien use, they are still in a particular situation. One example of this was the clip of antiques roadshow that we watched where there was curio cabinet that had been modified from its original, and was therefore worth less, even though the modifications had happened a long time ago in history. In my opinion, this object should be as valuable, if not more, because of the modifications, which represented particular historical design decisions and added more to the life history of the object. However, this is not the way that the collecting market sees objects. Instead, those decisions are seen as flaws and affronts to the original design. This makes me curious about what happens to objects that are meant to be modified and how their significance or impact relates. For example, if we considered a specific tag wall as an object, it would have been modified and perhaps mutilated from it's original form, but would that make it any less valuable? Is the value in the process, or is the value in the original? This is a question that I continue to grapple with. As a designer, there is a desire to have the value in the original, since that was the concept that you presented and worked on; yet it is simultaneously significant (and even desired) to have the value on the organic modification by the user. These cultural studies of modification are almost more interesting to me than the initial design, because they are more greatly influenced by culture.

I observed an example of this tension that perplexed me at Cahokia, where the mounds (especially Monk's Mound) had changed shape and purpose through the time of the Mississippian civilization in the region. The museum depicted the mounds primarily in one shape, yet there had been many other shapes and layouts. This was addressed through some exhibits, where the progression of development on the mound was charted and explained. As I recall, there wasn’t a particular value assigned to any one configuration, but I wonder if there were arguments or discussions relating to the relevance or importance of one configuration over another. This was also an issue in the Campbell House, since even though the brothers had not changed much since 1885, they must have made some modifications, and it erased a lot of their history to restore the house to it’s original condition, negating all the things that happened in between. This, however, was central to the mission of the Campbell House, where as at Cahokia, the mission was more focused on documenting the entire Mississippian culture, so it would have been incorrect to advocate for one configuration or another. Additional, the Cahokia mounds are still living objects—newly installed stairs, turf grass covers, plaques, and the erosion of weather and humans continually change their shape and their story.

For me, I find tension between the cultural relevance of objects as they were produced and their relevance as useful items that are representative of a culture and significant for certain purposes. As a designer, I want the designer of an object to be always correct, but at the same time, the user is in a way the designer, modifying the object to serve the exact function it needs to serve. The alien use of objects is as significant, if not more significant in their cultural relevance. The decisions that are made regarding objects are to me the central representations of culture and context, and can be read to explain many of these things, at any point in history, be it an object for yesterday or an object from the ancient past.

I look forward to taking my greater understanding of the reading of objects into my work creating and interpreting them. I feel I have a greater grasp on interacting with design decisions, especially pulling from a variety of fields and researching in a variety of contexts, and I look forward to all the objects that will populate the rest of my life.

Mid-Century Modern

I've been working on my CB project (seeing as how the presentation is in nine hours), and I've gotten to look through a lot of books about modern furniture, and I've realized that I love modern furniture. I love the lines, the materials, the form. It's so simple, and yet so elegant. I've always known that I've loved it, but spending several days pouring over books of modern furniture reaffirms that fact.

What this really brings me to in relation to objects is how I judge people who don't furnish their homes with furniture that I would approve of. I don't have many opportunities to interact with purposefully finished homes, mostly just college student apartments, where the furniture choices are more happenstance than purposeful. But, when I come across places that are furnished with highly ornate, almost Chippendale-styled pieces, I tend to perceive them as less progressive and less modern, regardless of the appropriateness of that particular style in context. I am very judgmental towards people with furniture that I find antiquated and unattractive—despite the fact that I recognize that it serves the same function.

The other thing was that I was reminded about design that solves problems—while I was reading through the book Herman Miller: The Purpose of Design, I got very excited about how HM approaches design problems, and the type of problems they could address with furniture. I was reminded of my table that I'm writing about, and how Heywood Wakefield was able to solve problems of availability, affordability and modularity by producing lines that were interchangeable, and being consistent in production quality and in other features such as color. Other issues, such as fitting tables into small spaces, and being able to be flexible in set up, were addressed with features like the strong drop-leafs on my table in particular.

Antiques Roadshow Object

What object would I take to the antiques roadshow?

Well, this is a difficult question for me because I don't really care to take any of my own personal objects to the antiques roadshow. The reasons why I value them are outside the context of knowing what an appraiser has to say about them, although I might be interested to learn the history of the object. But, all of my personal objects I value as a result of their design, functionality or sentimental value. As a result, I'm not interested in their monetary value, and may in fact be concerned that would distract from my actual attraction to them.

This is not the case, however, for objects that belong to my parents. If I had the chance, I would cart all of my dad's collections off to antiques roadshow, especially the beatles memorabilia. He has a very complete (and in someways unique) collection of everything beatles, and I would love to know what is and isn't valuable, and why. A lot of it is pure crap, but some of it is perfectly preserved and carefully handled memorabilia which could have some kind of serious value (especially in a beatles market).

My dad also collects a lot of crap, and I'm sure I will be very curious in 30 years to find out what the significance of all of the decorated glasses and the plastic figurines is to American culture and to the American antiques market. Unearthing the many treasures that belong to my parents will be exciting in the context of an antiques roadshow experience—I'm looking forward to finding out what treasures they've got squirreled away.