bicycles and the third semester

As the first semester of this Design Ethnography program progresses (a bit too rapidly), we are beginning to formulate ideas and concepts for our third semester research projects. The ideas part is easy (there are thousands of things I would like to do), it is choosing one to focus on which is proving rather difficult.

One of the ideas that I have been tossing around is exploring how we can create better alternatives to the automobile. Particularly, I am interested in seeing how we can persuade car-addicted adults to hop back on a bicycle.

Recently, this idea has become much more personal. This past summer, while I was still a NYC resident, a bicycle was my main mode of transportation. From April to September, I used the subway less than 20 times (whereas before I would use it at least once a day). I fell in love with riding in NYC, and during that period I grew to know the city more intimately. I saw new neighborhoods, experienced more "real NYC" events, understood the camaraderie that bicyclists have, and, for the first time in my two years of living there, was finally at peace with the city.

Since coming to Dundee in mid-September, I haven't been on a bike. This changed on the final day of a recent seven-day, three-city journey. I rented a traditional "Dutch Bicycle" and explored the bike-obsessed city of Amsterdam.

For three hours I was Sal Paradise on two wheels. I didn't follow a map, I followed what looked interesting. I became lost, found, and then lost all over again. I explored the "non-touristy" areas of Amsterdam and blended in with locals in the midst of their daily routine. During the three hours I had the bike, I left it only once—to indulge in a Belgian waffle (an addiction I had developed during the trip). It was a beautiful experience and the absolute perfect way to end an amazing journey.

Two thoughts now stand out in my mind.

First, why aren't more cities like Amsterdam? Why do we abandon our bikes once we reach driving age, some of us never getting back on one again? I don't believe it is because of a dislike for the activity—on the contrary, I would wager the most of us have fond memories of riding a bike.

Second, there seems to be a part of the puzzle that is overlooked by many: substituting a bicycle for a car can rejuvenate your sense of discovery. In his book Earth in Mind (a must-read for anybody currently living on Earth), David Orr argues that our sense of discovery is killed during our lifetime, which ends up having a huge impact on how we connect with and treat our planet. On a bicycle this is recharged. You can stop to see something new. You can ride off the beaten path. You are no longer a prisoner in the usual car-ride to wherever it is you are going. You are free.

When I returned my rented bicycle, I let the store clerk know how much fun I had. We chatted about the differences between biking in his city and NYC, and I told him that, as much as I enjoy riding in NYC, I felt more relaxed in Amsterdam. I never once had the feeling that a distracted cabbie could take me down at any moment. I felt respected. His response to this: "here, bike is king".

Can this mindset be cultivated in other areas? Perhaps I should find out.

the trash can project

One of the things that I dislike about blogs (the over/under of how many times that phrase will appear in a post of mine has to be near 300) is that many bloggers view blogging as a substantial form of action. Instead of getting out there and working for a solution, we now sit behind our computers and vent to a bunch of fiber optic cables. Don't believe me? Check around the Internet and you'll see a million "climate change is bad, sustainability is good" blog posts, but hardly any that say "let's create and try out new solutions".

One of the things that I like about blogging (the over/under for that phrase is probably around 3) is that it is a good way of keeping me honest. Instead of just thinking about an idea and letting it float away into the ether without ever doing anything, I can now print the idea here. If I fail to act, I have to answer to the public.

So with those two thoughts in mind, I present to you:

The Trash Can Project

Most of us have heard the Marketing 101 anecdote about grocery stores placing sugary cereals at the eye level of children. Apparently, since the children are face to face with these cereals, they will throw a fit until their adult shopping companion gets so embarrassed that the only recourse is placing that sugary cereal in their cart, putting a smile on both the child's and grocery store owner's faces.

Is there a way we can use similar thinking to reduce the amount of waste we produce? This is what I intend to find out.

In the next few months, pending approval from the university, I will be conducting an experiment where I place as many trash receptacles at eye-level as I can. On these receptacles, I will also place some quick facts or other information about what happens to our waste once it leaves our hand. My hypothesis is simple: having trash cans out of sight makes it mentally easier for us to create waste.

Success of the project will be measured in two ways:

1. Surveys and informal discussions with those who were affected by the experiment, and if/how it changed their actions.
2. A comparison of the amount of waste produced during the experiment vs. the normal amount of waste produced.

We live in a "throwaway culture", where even things like coffee cups and bags—two items with perfectly good non-disposable replacements—are being created for a single use. Now, I realize that our abundance of waste can't be solved by things like this alone. We have to be better consumers—buying natural products that use less packaging, using non-disposable replacements whenever possible, etc. What his experiment will hopefully accomplish is to remind people (including me, a repeat coffee cup offender) that our rubbish does end up somewhere, and we are running out of this "somewhere" space.

What I am hoping to do is create that second thought, even if it just for a few weeks.

As the project gets going, I will post updates, pictures, and videos. To make it easier to find these posts, I am removing categories for all posts except those regarding specific projects.

dear workspace desigers, i am not a robot

As we continue to design the MDE studio, I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about workspace design. Recently, a New York Times article expressed many of the same ideas and thoughts on what makes for a good workspace as we have discovered through speaking with one another. The article states the main challenge of workspace design is finding a way "to offer flexibility but keep employees feeling connected and engaged."

I am not disputing this fact—it is actually pretty close to the same question we have tangled with in our pursuit of the "perfect workspace". But I can't help think that workspace design is still missing something.

Since returning to school a month ago, I have noticed something interesting about my mindset: I am in a constant state of inspiration and eagerness to learn. When I sit in the library at the Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design, I can't help but be motivated. During the times I find myself fading from the task-at-and, I will wonder the library and browse one of the many visual art publications (last one viewed: Born in the Bronx). This activity recharges my batteries and keeps me focused for another few hours.

In short, the atmosphere of the library, and on a larger scale, the college campus, lights the fire of inspiration. The question is, why do most workspaces ignore this fact?

I have worked in the "typical office", where all you can see is a sea of gray cubicles—a crushingly uninspired atmosphere. This design treats employees like papers in a filing cabinet, and ensures that they hardly ever have to leave "their area". To the higher-ups this means two things: increased productivity and more profit.

This is wrong—we are not robots! Workspaces should invite creativity and promote collaboration. This is not done through meetings where managers extol the virtues of working together or thinking outside of the box. This is done through creating an environment where people can be creative and collaborate. Why not have a room full of materials that stimulate this sense: art supplies, chalkboards, Lego's? Why not have a space full "non-corporate" furniture—couches, arm chairs, pillows, anything with color—where members of different departments can spend a few minutes to re energize? Why not build a library where employees can be inspired by the work of others?

Humans are not meant to sit in the same space for an entire day—especially if they are expected produce great, creative work. We need brainfood and playtime. We need distractions and abstract thought. Most of all, we need human interaction and the space to think and dream up crazy ideas.

This concept isn't new, and it has been applied to workplace exteriors for years. We constantly see beautifully designed buildings being built—which is wonderful. Now it is time to use the same thought and creativity when designing the inside.

what (else) can we learn from the simpsons

During our first session of Design Ethnography 1 a few weeks ago, we were shown an image of "The Homer", a car designed by Homer Simpson to meet every single one of his needs. The lesson here was a simple, but useful one: allowing the voice of the customer to be the only design influence can be dangerous, and sometimes lead to undesirable results.

Fortunately for fans like me, this is not all we can learn from The Simpsons.

When I visit the univeristy gym during the correct hour, every single television propped above a machine is tuned to The Simpsons—it is like there is no alternative. Usually I would think nothing of this besides "this occurs because it is a funny show", but after reading Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, a new reason came to light: the Simpsons are relatable. The show is about a family of four living in the suburbs and going to work and school or keeping a house. Everybody can understand this concept. In a way, watching The Simpsons is a form of ethnography. The way one reacts to the events on the show is similar to the way one will handle similar events in their own life. Sure, The Simpsons use over-the-top examples, but it is done to drive home a message. This is why it is such a brilliant concept—because it is barely a "concept" at all. It is just everyday life.

Or maybe I just like thinking about The Simpsons.

By the way, the book mentioned above, Understanding Comics, is a great read for any design ethnographer. Scott McCloud goes into deep detail to explain why comics are unlike any other form of media. "Closure" in comics—the process that our mind executes to fill in the story between frames—can be a useful tool for an ethnographer: create a fluid story from fragments of information. It is a recommended read—if nothing else, it will be the most unique book you've read lately.

fun with graphs

A week ago I said I would become a dedicated blogger. So far I have let you, the reader at home, down. So that ends today. Expect a blogging revolution.

To start off, here is a graph I sketched today during a period of alternative inspiration (read: procrastination). It attempts to explain the phenomenon of how one's behavior, when introduced into a new environment, becomes less controlled over time.

the first lesson of graffiti is...

It's best to get it right the first time.

"getting visual is habitual"

Inspired by that quote from Gza of the Wu-Tang Clan, I have decided to start a "picture of the day" thing (which won't be daily) as a reminder to keep snapping photos. So here you go, a picture of a red phonebooth on Magdalen Green: