First Things First

A few months ago, when I was knee-deep in my “should I or shouldn’t I” grad school crisis, Adbusters and a few other magazines simultaneously published a reprint of First Things First, a manifesto first written by Ken Garland in 1964. First Things First was a call to designers to take responsibility for the role they played in society, and not just idly contribute to the propagation of reckless consumption. It asked designers to make a distinction between design as communication and design as persuasion, and side in favor of using their skills to improve our culture rather than drown it in a deeper sea of crap.

This made a big impact on me, since it was a clear, passionate articulation of problems I’d wrestled with for years as a designer. This was the reason I’d quit or turned down more than one job rather than produce second-rate crap just because it might sell. This was the reason that one of my professors at Pratt consistently made me furious in class for wasting our energy on a project geared toward producing modular, “sell-as-much-as-possible” crap. This was the reason that I’ve never considered working in advertising. This was also the reason I loved working for public television and teaching. I really believe in design’s ability to facilitate learning and understanding, in ways that are explicit as well as implicit. I love typography and design and photography and stuff, and I want to use them for good, not evil.

Naturally, this high-falutin’ approach regularly comes into conflict with my desire to earn a living. I once had to design a kids’ book that was little more than a perverse attempt to move product by cashing in on public-domain ideas. I still cringe when I think about the time I gave telephone software support to what is apparently a cult. It’s an ongoing battle, and one where I’m not always happy with the outcome, but I think it’s worth the effort to try and stick by the ethical approach.

Wired published a great article that hit me in the same way, even though it wasn’t about my field of expertise. Why The Future Doesn’t Need Us was an examination of where the future of robotics, nanotechnology, and genetic engineering might be taking us, and whether or not they posed more of a threat than an ultimate benefit. This wasn’t a reactionary warning from a Luddite; it was written by Bill Joy from Sun, and looked at both sides of the coin. But it made the same call to scientists and engineers that First Things First made to designers: Take responsibility for the things to which you contribute. He points out that Robert Oppenheimer and the scientists of the Manhattan Project learned this lesson later than they wished they had, and that some of today’s technologies pose even greater threats than the Bomb posed.

It wouldn’t be such a bad idea for everyone to ponder the ethics of their careers, now would it? Maybe that tickle in the back of your brain, that aspect of your job that you try not to think about, is something you should think about. Maybe it’s not such a grey area after all. Maybe it’s touch of conscience.

Whine and Boos

Lots of ups and downs this weekend, with the requisite amount of wacky stuff thrown in for good measure. since this is still a family show, I can’t share all the details, natch’. I will say, however, that the new contact-lens-empowered Sparky has reason to think that ditching the glasses wasn’t such a bad idea. If only that would help me land a foxy partner-in-crime instead of quick flings with Williamsburg hipsters or impossibly good-looking actor types. (seriously, it’s been a fun couple of weekends, in that regard.)

Aside from fleeting moments of self-esteem and carnal adventure, this last mopey week made for a pretty mopey weekend. I really want to find a different way to support myself, FAST. I want to be a designer again. selling out was good in concept, but taking the techie route was not the best way to do it. Ironically enough, my years of doing high-end tech work and becoming a print-design whiz are now making it hard for me to find lucrative work. I never wanted to do HTML code-monkey jobs for a living because they were too tedious, and there was always something more interesting to tackle. But now it seems like I have no relevant Web design experience. I guess hand-coding my own web site for four years, just for the fun of it, doesn’t count.

This weekend also had a few more of my musings about how much of a problem I might really have with depression. Am I just lazy, or is it normal to feel overwhelmed by things like returning phone calls or folding laundry or buying groceries? Who can say? The potential is certainly there — my family seems to be chock full of depressive types. Or maybe that’s just the Irish thing: it’s not really a tendency toward substance abuse and moodiness, just good-natured drinkin’ and being taciturn. I have my doubts. (In case you’ve never heard my explanation, that’s the condensed version — minus a lot of the racy details — of why I’m too afraid to start drinkin’ or smokin’.)

And I want to be free of debt so I can do something fun with the money I’m making in the meanwhile. And I want my tonsils removed. And I want to get my driver’s license. And I want a sweetie petunia to call my own. And I want to stop having hypoglycemic blackouts (see, I said it was a wacky weekend) every few years. Whine, whine, whine.

Thank goodness that despite the moping and the job panic, we finally finished Fragile. My classmates came over Saturday, and we finally assembled the other two copies of our 132-page, handbound, photocollage opus about the rituals of moving. It was nice to have a little reunion now that the semester is so far behind us. Fragile really turned out well, which makes me happy. since we tried to rethink the mechanics of how to go through a book, it could have been a freakin’ disaster. But instead, it rocks. Our professor had some professional photography done of the first copy, so pictures will be forthcoming.

The Mego Years

Made-Over Megos

None of these guys are in my collection anymore. This is a historical photo from the Rhatigan family archives.

It’s all about Mego, baby. As I’ve been putting more stuff up for my big auction on eBay, I realized that I should do a little research about some of the more obscure Mego items I had floating around.

Please tell me you know about the Mego superhero dolls. They were the cornerstone of my childhood, my favorite toys throughout elementary school. Being cursed with an overactive imagination, I refused to play with any of my toys as they characers they were sold as, so I made up all new characters for every onbe of them. What was great about the Mego dolls, aside from their excellent flexibility, was the fact that you could swap around all their costumes and accessories to form exciting new combinations.

Well, when I went hunting around for some background on the Mego dolls, I stumbled onto the motherlode of all Mego sites. I spent hours and hours poking around there, not just looking at the almost complete picture archive of all the dolls, but also checking out the incredible galleries of customized Mego dolls made to look like almost every other comic and sci-fi character around.

Another exciting, one much closer to my own Mego experience was SmallNet, a group of people who’ve transformed their Mego figures onto whole universes of their own characters. “You are big, but we are small!” The photo-documentary of the Rocket to the Roof mission was particularly fun. It produced many smiles here in the Rumpus Room.

Ol’ Blue Eyes

Peripheral vision kicks ass. I finally got contacts this week, and it’s a very startling change. Not only can I see clearly for the first time in months, but I have peripheral vision for the first time in about ten years. That first ride home on the subway was a bit of a sensory overload. Half the shock came from catching my reflection in the window of the train and seeing my face clearly. Yes, my eyes do have a color, a fact not many people notice when my eyes are obscured by glasses. so far, though, focusing on things in the foreground is a real bitch. I hope I get used to that soon.

Life has been pretty slow lately. A shocker, I know. I haven’t been in the best of moods or the best of health (my winter cold finally caught up with me), so I’ve been laying low. I’ve watched a bunch of movies, but I’m sure no one needs to hear more reviews of anything.

Excuses, Excuses

I know I’ve been delinquent with the updates lately, but my latest incarnation as a professional technical writer has been making it very hard for me to come home and type some more. Or at least type anything I have to think about first. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it to anyone, but for the last two months or so at work I’ve been editing, writing, and typesetting a manual for a pretty elaborate piece of software for publishing directories and yellow pages. It’s difficult, to say the least, when only part of the package has a GUI, and the GUI it has needs help. The rest of the system tends to skip the “G” and often dismiss the the comfort level of the “U”. so, at 230 pages and counting, I’m trying to minimize the chaos and actually explain what’s going on. Of course, I’m trying to learn the damn stuff at the same time, which keeps causing minor delays. Sigh…

So that’s starting to sap my energy, but at least it keeps me from griping too much about the latest round of unsuccessful attempts to capture the interest of interesting guys.

Valentine’s Dread

I have a ton of work to do and it’s late and I’m too mopey to do it. But, as with many things, there’s no choice.

2000 HUGS

Happy Fuckin’ Valentine’s Day. sentimental type or not, I hate this day. The pressure is too great, and the reminders to depressing. Screw Cupid, the diaper-wearing freak.

Teeny Tiny Town

It’s a big city, but also a tiny town. I haven’t felt coincidence closing in on me like this since I lived in Boston. It’s been quite a weekend for kookiness in that regard. At least one of those wacky coincidences was fortunate, but I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and my fingers crossed about that one. I believe in the “jinx effect.”

I figured I might find myself a little embarrassed after posting the “Cute Web Boys” list, but strangely enough it hit me from left field, rather than from the li’l cutie I expected to bring it on. I guess this is all part and parcel of being a big dork.

Not much going on, otherwise. Saw Scream 3, which was mostly OK. I had forgotten, though, how much I love Parker Posey. she is soooooooooo brilliant in her own kooky, scene-stealing way.

The new movie theaters in this town are starting to spiral out of control. They’re becoming so large and surreal and disorienting. We saw the movie at the new Loews “E Walk” megaplex in the “New” Times square. Talk about the fucking mall-ification of New York! This was like an indoor version of the Universal studios Theme Park or something. The scale is just big, like you’re an ant in someone’s house, not big and grand and breathtaking, like Grand Central Station. It’s really icky.

Maniacs at Large

I managed to get a seat on a crowded L train while coming home today, so I cracked open the copy of Snow Crash I picked up again today, and happily immersed myself back in Hiro Protagonist’s universe. A little while later, I glance over at the woman sitting next to me, who had been so caught up in something when I boarded the train that she never looked up when we all crowded in around her. I glanced down at the papers she was scribbling on and realized I was next to a bona fide fanatic of some sort.

Well, maybe that’s a bit extreme, but she had filled up a piece of looseleaf with the kind of scrawl usually reserved for manic rantings of the Unabomber variety. Scrawled across the top in big, dark letters were the words “The Birth and Circumcision of Christ,” and then every square millimeter of the page was covered in tight, messy little script, with occasional flares of larger darker phrases. she seemed to copying from — or commenting on — a ragged little booklet that was covered — COVERED — with little notes and different-colored highlighter marks. She was so intense! And suddenly she opened up the binder she was leaning on and I saw that she had at least 150 pages of similar scrawl tucked away! She was a natural born madwoman. It seemed like a Grey Gardens moment waiting to happen.

Or zinester. It all depends on how you channel it.

The Critics Praise Sparky

Fame! Fortune! Well, neither, actually. But it’s cool at least.

Thanks to a well-placed word or two from Jonno, Rumpus Room was picked as “site of the week” by New York’s own free fag rag, HX. (Of course, the issue also came out the day before my ISP shut down my site because of a bill payment problem, but we’ve settled all that now.) Maybe with all the attention I’ll get upgraded to a B-list fag now.

For posterity, here’s the review:

Sparky’s Rumpus Room
www.rumpus.org

We’ve been spending a lot of time in Sparky’s rumpus room lately. Hopefully we’re not overstaying our welcome, because this cute New York City native (yes, Staten Island does count) and self described bon vivant is a hoot to hang with. shake your booty over to Sparky’s cyber-digs and browse his collection of cool street junk, get to know his pals or let lust get the best of you and ogle the random cute guys and hunky cartoon superheroes collated in his galleries. There’s also the obligatory online journal, a photo album and a collection of Sparky’s contributions to various ‘zines and online discussion groups. The whole package is wrapped in a funky design that’s one of the best we’ve seen in a personal homepage. And best of all, Sparky’s single. [Ain’t that the truth – ed.]

Trust me, this won’t go to my head. But maybe I’ll get some out of it. Hee hee hee!

Scholarly Data

Overachiever fails out of grad school! Yes, it’s true. I got my report card from Pratt today, the one with all the classes I decided to blow off as a means of effectively quitting grad school. In a way, it was very cathartic to just let those grades go. I’ve never failed a class before — I’ve never allowed myself to fail a class before. (Considering where I am today, it’s a little funny that my only low grades in high school were for Computer science and Algebra II. so much for my nerd credentials.) It was a good feeling when I realized that a bad transcript wasn’t going to haunt me the rest of my life, not when I’m actually more than capable of learning and doing well on my own. What a revelation: Grades actually ARE just numbers!

For the record:

spring 1999 Courses

Grade

Credits

Typography II

A

3.0

Visual Communications I

F

3.0

Communications Technology I

F

3.0

Corporate Image Planning

A

3.0

Fall 1999 Courses

Grade

Credits

Communications seminar

A

3.0

History of Communications Design

Incomplete

2.0

Cumulative Grade Point Average: 2.0

If you’re familiar with the GradCommD program at Pratt, you’ll notice that I failed my basic requirements but aced all my upper-level courses. Basically, this is because when push came to shove and I still had to work full-time while going to school, I devoted my energy to the more challenging, more interesting stuff and blew off the irritating stuff they made me take. Oops, my bad.

I think I may take a stab at finishing the work for the history class. The professor was a fun old queen who I liked a lot, and who wants me to submit the one paper I finished (on Piet Zwart) to the Pratt library since they don’t have any good reference materials on him. I wouldn’t kill me to write a couple of other small papers over the course of the next few months. After all, I certainly like reading up on designers and whatnot. Maybe I’ll finally write that essay about Art Chantry that I’ve been meaning to for years now. Art Chantry totally saved my life as a designer, but that’s a story for another day…