Author: James J. Farrell
Publisher: Smithsonian Institution
ISBN: 1588344339
Category : Business & Economics
Languages : en
Pages : 381
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Book Description
Loved and hated, visited and avoided, seemingly everywhere yet endlessly the same, malls occupy a special place in American life. What, then, is this invention that evokes such strong and contradictory emotions in Americans? In many ways malls represent the apotheosis of American consumerism, and this synthetic and wide-ranging investigation is an eye-popping tour of American culture's values and beliefs. Like your favorite mall, One Nation under Goods is a browser's paradise, and in order to understand America's culture of consumption you need to make a trip to the mall with Farrell. This lively, fast-paced history of the hidden secrets of the shopping mall explains how retail designers make shopping and goods “irresistible.” Architects, chain stores, and mall owners relax and beguile us into shopping through water fountains, ficus trees, mirrors, and covert security cameras. From food courts and fountains to Santa and security, Farrell explains how malls control their patrons and convince us that shopping is always an enjoyable activity. And most importantly, One Nation Under Goods shows why the mall's ultimate promise of happiness through consumption is largely an illusion. It's all here—for one low price, of course.
Author: Lazlo Ferran
Publisher: Lazlo Ferran
ISBN: 131151189X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 157
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Book Description
The Abba-like cleanness of Stockholm was getting to him. He wanted to piss against a wall. With plenty of drugs, sex and rock and roll; The Ice Boat is a modern rock and roll odyssey. Dave has almost got it all; with a rock star lifestyle, romance and a nice flat in London, he almost has the happiness he has worked for all his life. But his reluctance to compromise in love takes him away from London to disaster in Rio de Janeiro. Losing his identity, and his heart, to a scheming Brazilian siren, he manages to evade the corrupt music biz sharks and ends up living with three prostitutes in Amsterdam. This book navigates the seedy underbelly of the music world like a nuclear submarine; magic mushrooms, cocaine, romantic pornography, pop culture freaks, toilet sex, public sex and laughing in the face of death all put in a glimmering appearance in this edgy, international road thriller. Full of suspense and unresolved emotions, The Ice Boat is a real 20th Century odyssey that will have you laughing and crying. Somewhere between Ken Kesey or Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Nick Kent’s Apathy for the Devil, it’s like a kind of two fingers up to those who mock real creativity and innocence in the performing arts. Includes Chapter One of both the occult thriller Ordo Lupus and the Temple Gate AND Too Bright the Sun. Paperback on Amazon Sample Chapter One “It’s because you are docile,” said Rosa, pulling on a Gitanes. “I know. Well… I’m not docile. I just don’t see the point of conflict. That’s all. I’ve always preferred der harmony,” said Dolores. “Well, the world is not a sweet and beautiful place, darling,” said Rosa. “It’s not as bad as you think it is,” Dolores replied. “Doh. You dreamer.” This annoyed Dolores. “Listen. You think all der men are shit. And you shit on them too.” “I do not!” Rosa replied, indignant. “You do. You screw them all out of more money than they can afford, and you give them less.” “It’s true,” said Rosa, smirking. “They luff it though. They want to be exploited. And anyway, why shouldn’t I exploit them? Men always exploited me, before.” “What happened?” he asked. “Oh. You don’t want to know. I could tell you so many stories.” “Well, tell me one.” “Well, there was this guy… married, okay…” While Rosa talked, Dave’s mind drifted. As usual, somebody had made a spliff from the abundance of grass that seemed to be always available in the flat. They had already smoked it. But the previous night Barbie had returned with a new distraction; acid. Dave had only tried acid once. It had not been a good experience. It had a reputation for being dangerous to the more sensitive individuals. He guessed he was one of those. “I was a student and I thought he loved me,” Rosa began. “I did everything to stop his wife from finding out. I didn’t wear perfume and made sure I didn’t smell too much of soap. I changed der patterns of when we met. Oh, yes, and I checked his clothes for my hairs when he left. I listened when he talked about his wife, and he talked to me about der things at work. We really liked each other…We held hands. And I was just thinking about whether I should ask him to leave her on not, when, one day, he took me out in der car, he said it was a surprise, and stopped at a house. He said ‘This is it.’ And I thought it was a surprise so I went inside. This woman was looking at me, smiling. ‘This is my wife,’ he said. I couldn’t believe it! I think my mouth was actually open. I said, ‘What’s going on?’ and he said his wife and he wanted sex vid me. I told him to, ‘Fuck off!’ and I ran back to the car. I just made him drive me back and I didn’t see him again. Is that weird?” “Yes, it’s weird,” Dave replied. “It’s insidious, though, all this,” she said, indicating the room around her. “What do you mean?” “Well. I get more and more clients wanting me to control them, and now I want to control everything in my life. I don’t think I’m actually like dat, though. It’s just habit.” “Yeah. I’m der same,” said Dolores. “Dave asked me; do I like Bondage, and I said, no. It’s true, I don’t, and I don’t like being abused, or even restrained, but it’s like I am being remoulded. Like a tyre with the tread made one way. I find it easier to go that way now.” Dave smiled. He was hardly listening. He had been impressed, since arriving in Holland, by how good the Dutch were at speaking English. But now he was even shocked. Rosa had used an English word, ‘insidious’, which he didn’t even know the meaning of. He had heard it, but didn’t really know what it meant. His mind was spiraling away, thinking about it and words. Although he wrote songs, and even poetry sometimes, and he was proud of his ability to do so, he had also made a point of not using big words. He said it was snobby, to use big words, and it alienated some of your audience. He also made a point of not looking up words in a dictionary but always finding a simpler word. He had believed that this was just his attempt to communicate better but now he wasn’t so sure. Now, he was thinking that maybe he might have had an aversion to big words for a long time. He also remembered that he had made a point of not reading books for many years, during the period, his teens, when most people are reading a lot of books. “…cynical. What are you Dave? Are you cynical?” asked Dolores. Dave hadn’t been listening. “No, I think I should be more cynical, but unfortunately I don’t think I am – not enough.” In the morning, late, around twelve, when he knew Dolores would be just waking up, he took in some breakfast to her on a tray; toast, marmalade and coffee. She opened her eyes and looked at him from the sheets. “Mm.” “Hi. Brought you breakfast,” he said brightly. “… you old tyre,” he added. She snorted. He meant it as a joke and he could see she thought it was funny. He sat on the bed and after a few minutes, grumpily, she sat up. She yawned and stuck her hands in the air, stretching. She was wearing a blue nightie with delicate little flowers on it. “Thank you,” she said, and smiled. She ate the toast and drank the coffee while they talked, and then lifted the corner of the bed. “Get in,” she said. Then she curled up beneath the covers herself. He put the fire on, moved the tray to the dresser, and climbed into bed beside her. He wriggled a bit and moved his legs around to feel for anything at the bottom of the bed. He half expected a used condom to be there. “Don’t worry. I put on der clean sheets before I go to bed… you should know that; you clean them.” She turned on her side, facing the wall and he fitted into her shape, putting his arm around her waist. He thought she smelled very nice. For a few minutes, he was happy. Then he felt desire creeping over him, making his blood pound. He hesitated for a long while before shifting his hand down over her arse. She made no sound. He lifted up the hem of her nightie, which was near her waist anyway, and slid his hand under her panties so that it lay flat against the flesh of her arse. She made a whimper and for a nervous moment he thought it was in protest. Then he understood that it wasn’t. “That’s nice,” she murmured. He lay like that for what sometimes seemed like forever, and he thought he even fell asleep at one point. He told her about his dream, the tower, and asked her what she thought about it. “I’m not good at analysing dreams, David. Shall I tell you mine?” “Go on then.” “There was dis little seal baby, and I kept trying to catch it, but it was shlippery, and kept getting away.” “That’s me.” “I think so,” she said. Eventually they had to get up and he had to return to his room to cook and wash. The month of April was more of the same, except warmer. Dolores wouldn’t let him touch any more of the interesting parts of her body but he was happy to have as much as he did. The carpet didn’t arrive and fed up with waiting, she cancelled and ordered carpet from another company. That delivery was also delayed. Bing the Bong put in some more appearances as they gradually smoked their way through the huge bag of grass. Dave had saved nearly one third of the money he needed for the fake passport by working in the bar and mixing for bands, but he was almost permanently tired and had lost some weight as he wasn’t spending anything on non-essential food. He had trimmed his moustache and beard, but not cut them off, and Rosa had trimmed his hair. “There’s a letter for you.” Herman usually called out if there was any mail when one of them passed. Barbie had picked his up and threw it into Dave’s room as she passed. “I’m in a hurry. See you later,” she called. “See ya.” Dave was living like a hermit, or at least some kind of underground creature, moving perpetually in and out of the lines of washing and piles of clothes and only venturing out to shops. He finished folding the pile of washing lying on the bed and sat down to see who the letter was from. It could only be one of a few people; his father, his brother or Anna. They were the only ones with his address. Looking at the writing on the envelope he knew it was his father. He thumbed open the airmail envelope and started reading the neatly written, well-composed letter. Hi Dave. Everything is fine here… It went on to say how much his father missed him, and when was he coming home? It also said that his father was worried about him, and what was the problem with the paperwork; could he help? There was a short paragraph from Ewa at the bottom with some kisses. Dave sighed after reading it. He felt threatened by it and quickly tucked the letter behind some books. He stuck on an Oasis album while he worked; Dolores let him borrow her CD player from time to time and she was away for a few days visiting her Dad. When Barbie came home later she stopped outside his door. “I’ve been on a date! He bought me this.” She pointed at the leather mini-skirt she was wearing, doing a twirl at the same time. “What do you think?” ‘God, she’s a gorgeous woman,’ he thought. He also felt a twinge of jealousy. “Nice,” he said. “Is he rich?” “A bit.” The letter and this both irritated him and he went to bed like a grumpy bear that night. The next day dragged and the next, until the afternoon, when he knew Dolores was due back. When she finally arrived, dragging a suitcase up the stairs along the corridor and into her room, she looked tired and irritable. He left her alone for a while. Later that evening – she had no clients – she came into his room announcing that he should get out more. He didn’t know what had brought it on but he kept quiet. She showed him a magazine with films showing in the cinemas and asked him if he wanted to see a film called ‘Carrington’. He hadn’t heard of it, so she translated the synopsis. “Sounds interesting. Yeah – let’s see it.” It was about the Bloomsbury set of Artists in England, and he could see it would interest him. “Yes. Okay.” “Good.” She left and he idly flicked through the magazine, and found that it also had TV listings, including those for that evening. “Dolores! Dolores!” “What?” he heard, faintly, from her room. “They’ve got ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ on TV!” He got to the TV, switched it on, and tuned to the right channel. It was clearly about one third of the way through but it was such a good film that he wanted her to see it anyway. She stuck her head through the doorway. “What?” “‘2001’ is on.” “What’s that?” “You gotta see it. It’s brilliant, especially the end. I can’t explain it now. Just sit down and watch.” “Okay. Make me a coffee and I’ll watch.” She sounded weary. “But wait!” She returned a few minutes later with a small, plastic bag of something. “What’s that?” Dave asked. He handed her the coffee. “Magic mushrooms,” she replied. She rustled the bag to entice him. “Oh! Nice.” She handed him the bag. He unsealed the top and took out one of the small, cone-topped mushrooms. He held it up gently between his finger and thumb and rotated it: “‘Psilocybe semilanceata’; the most beautiful mushroom in the world! It’s not called Liberty Cap for nothing!” “Ha! You sound like one of those nature presenters on TV!” “Ha! Shall we make some tea with them?” “Quick then.” While the film progressed, Dave made some tea with the mushrooms and they both drank it. The film had Dutch subtitles, but the original soundtrack, so he could understand it too. During one of the many slow scenes of the film, Dave spoke up: “I took these before with the band; Stu, Tom and Paul. Great! We were rehearsing in North Wales. It was November but for some reason it was hot and sunny!” While he talked, he sat down to lean against the end of the bed. She moved to sit between his legs so that she could lean on him. “Probably the mushrooms,” she replied. “Shrooms we call ‘em. Yeah! I loved ‘em. It’s a gentle high, and very natural. I felt really joined with nature. We walked along the cliffs and every so often we would go back to the cottage and have the most amazing jams!” “What did you make the jams from? Can you make it with mushrooms?” “Ha! Ha! No, not that sort of jams. Music improvisation is called ‘jamming’.” “Oh! Ha! Okay.” “Wait I feel something. I am gonna roll another spliff.” “I do not like der computers,” she said at the part where HAL plays up. “It’s creepy. Why is he shinging dat song?” Dave had to explain about the song HAL sings. As they reached the climax of the film they were also reaching the climax of their mushroom trip. “Oh God,” Dave yelled. “I forgot, we’ve got to roll a spliff. This bit is so psychedelic. You’ve got to see this.” “Shall I get Bing loaded up?” “Yes. Good idea. I’m not sure if I can do this in time.” Bing was operational in time so they both had a few puffs to get them started. By the time the final sequence was well underway, Dave had a spliff rolled. It was ragged, but serviceable. He lit it and passed it to Dolores. He was already well away, and the colours and sounds were as amazing as ever. “What’s going on? Wow!” she said. The mushrooms made the vivid colourscape jump out of the screen at them. Dolores actually ‘swerved’ to avoid a bright burst of approaching red. “Great innit?” “Fucking hell!” she said. “Fuck!” she added, a few minutes later. London, sex and drugs and rock and roll, comedy, rock star, erotic, romance, rock n’ roll, henry chinaski, inuit, erection, bong, racy, magic mushroom, 420, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Siberia, hashish, ganga, weed, marijuana, acid, spliff, mountain, romantic, pornography, pop culture, philosophy, Charles bukowski, red light district, prostitution, pop culture, freaks, small town, rock odyssey, nick kent, jack Kerouac, ken kesey
Author: Adam Drazin
Publisher: Routledge
ISBN: 1000189775
Category : Social Science
Languages : en
Pages : 297
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Book Description
Materials play a central role in society. Beyond the physical and chemical properties of materials, their cultural properties have often been overlooked in anthropological studies: finished products have been perceived as ‘social’ yet the materials which comprise them are considered ‘raw’ or natural’. The Social Life of Materials proposes a new perspective in this interdisciplinary field. Diverting attention from the consumption of objects, the book looks towards the properties of materials and how these exist through many transformations in a variety of cultural contexts.Human societies have always worked with materials. However, the customs and traditions surrounding this differ according to the place, the time and the material itself. Whether or not the material is man-made, materials are defined by social intervention. Today, these constitute one of the most exciting areas of global scientific research and innovation, harboring the potential to act as key vehicles of change in the world. But this ‘materials revolution’ has complex social implications. Smart materials are designed to anticipate our actions and needs, yet we are increasingly unable to apprehend the composite materials which comprise new products.Bringing together ethnographic studies of cultures from around the world, this collection explores the significance of materials by moving beyond questions of what may be created from them. Instead, the text argues that the materials themselves represent a shifting ground around which relationships, identities and powers are constantly formed and dissolved in the act of making and remaking.
Author: Voltaire
Author: Voltaire
Author: Daniel Deleanu
Author: K.M. Mensvoort
Author: Graeme Were
Author: 
Author: Voltaire
Author: Darrell Gontier