Once upon a time, in a major city once more powerful and not so far away, there was a phenomenon among less wealthy citizens: the neighborhood Cadillac. Families would pool their money to buy one car, one VERY NICE car, and work out a shared arrangement for custody. Driving to church, to social functions, around the neighborhood...all could be done in a fine set of wheels, despite an annual income that suggested a midrange used car might be a bit of a stretch.
Zipcar, eat their cooperative exhaust.
Today, "car sharing" is a business, and the emphasis is on eco-friendliness as much as economic feasibility. The neighborhood Caddy was more about reconciling economic reality with the desire for upscale goods. The ZipCar blends eco-consciousness with budget concerns, often with a healthy dollop of the challenges of warehousing a car in a dense urban environment. Either model appeals. Only buying a piece of the cake, rather than the whole, appeals to my share the planet / don't hog / but go ahead and appreciate the finer things in life self.
I like this model for things beyond consumer goods, too. Art...books...music.... The first two can be found in museums and libraries that allow greater distribution of the experience for less cost to the "user." Full ownership is available...for a price.
Music is tricky, of course. What would you "buy"? There aren't too many Habsburgs around these days, employing their own full time musicians and composers. In terms of live music, we consume per performance. And while a performance is "shared" with every member of the audience, seating capacity limits how many "users" or recipients can enjoy a given performance. Recordings were an innovation in access. "Owners" of a given performance can just keep pressing and selling those recordings until the cows come home. (Yes, people from a certain generation took advantage of cassette recorders to make mix tapes for friends or swaps of full album tapes. Most people I knew ended up going out and buying their favorites, because they wanted their own for their collection. Swapping tapes did not curtail any retail urges...though, when we were young and poor, it helped both develop and whet our tastes.)
Perhaps you see where my rambling ruminations are headed.
In perfume, there are practices known as decanting, and splitting. The former run as a business, the latter, as a co-op effort. Call them, if you will, the K-tel car share and the Cadillac. The former buys product, repacks it in smaller amounts, and sells it to willing consumers. One shot at the jukebox, or a few, depending on how many coins you put in. (Oh, rats, I'm muddying the metaphorical waters here. Which I'm going to call my Muddy Waters move for the moment--I can do that, I veered into music, see?--and proceed.) In cars, this single investor model is the ZipCar; they take on the risk, you pay for a certain amount of use. Somebody else invests in the car in the first place, handles distributing the shares of the product, and insures the vehicle.
Splitting with friends is buying a neighborhood Cadillac. You can't afford a full bottle; you're not ready for the commitment; you want the option to drive a Caddy sometimes, but increase your opportunity to drive other models as well. You agree to work with a group of friends to figure out who "hosts," and does the work of distributing the shares. Unlike the decant model, where the purveyor offers a shopping list that you can go to at any time, the split is a one-time dealie. Which will only happen if you can get critical mass for a purchase, and which, once fully spoken for, is no longer going to be available.
There is unrest about decanters, mostly from The Big Companies. This didn't happen in auto world; Ford/ Cadillac/ et al never chased after the neighborhood car arrangements; as far as they were concerned, if the purchase was legitimate, the purchase was a deal. Of course, they didn't worry that once you drove off the lot, you'd alter the vehicle somehow and then drive around in non-genuine product, impugning the quality of the product. (They WOULD, however, chase after you if you didn't pay for your purchase; hence, the glamorous world of the Repo Man.)*
So, are the corporate suits going to come after people who buy a perfume with pooled money and divvy up the goods? If so, this could mean trouble the next time a bunch of teachers gather to unwind and all toss some money on the table to buy, and share, a pizza.
I understand protecting product. You are talking to a person who made her child de-install music sharing software that didn't use appropriate licensing. I am a proponent of intellectual property rights, a person who puts believes artists should be paid for their product.
It just seems to me that, as long as nobody is messing with the art, and the original owner is getting their self-determined price for their product, there's nothing wrong with a purchaser/new owner deciding to share custody.
You can co-own real estate and call it a time share. You can purchase a piece of owning a company and call it a corporate stock. Heck, you can even break up your Aunt Claire's intact set of LuRay dinnerware and sell each piece to the highest bidder.
I plan on purchasing a portion of a Cadillac bottle of perfume. I'm safe, right?
*This altering of product is not to be confused with selling a bunch of Escalades to Houston dealers for one price, to dealers in Dubai for another price, and then the Dubai vehicles ending up cheap in Baton Rouge. Mind you, your Baton Rouge vehicle won't come with the manufacturer's warranty, but if your game...they'll sell. That's grey market, and that's not what the corporations are accusing the decanters of doing.
See more on grey market in the perfume industry in the Feb 2008 Perfumeshrine article "Dirty Secrets of the Grey Market and Fakes," or more reflections on the grey market in this Dec 2009 article from Intellectual Property Watch which takes a look at various laws, trademarks, and the concept of "material difference."
Images from the very cool Shorpy site, which plays with images from Library of Congress, which means you can go to LoC or Shorpy all on your own and enjoy poking around, but should not share or redistribute these images as if *I* offered. I have no rights to give you permission to redistribute them whatsoever or pretend that I do. I love the wording of the LoC Rights section. Straightforward. Clear.
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbors. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Friday, October 9, 2009
Rainy Ruminations
I'm relatively new to my neighborhood. Moved here almost four years ago, but still haven't had the opportunity to connect with many neighbors. Funny, that--"many"--the ones I know by name I could count and sort of need both hands. A few more I know by sight, but I'm pretty sure only one of them realizes I am a neighbor and not a passing through crazy when I smile and wave.
In my last neighborhood, which was urban and rather dense, I could walk around the block and tell you the names of the residents of every house and multi-flat. So you see, the current experience is...different.
All of which is a prelude to what I witnessed today. A moving truck. Again. The third in the past year--the horrible downturn in the real estate market is starting to correct itself, I guess. The house across the street from us actually sat empty for a year. The one next to that on the left was half-occupied, but grown adult children who spent most of their time somewhere else. The house to the right has been lived in, but I never knew by whom.
Until today, and a moving truck that pulled in nice and early.
Just the sight of a truck hauling out has the potential me a little verklempt...lots of moves in my childhood, plus an overactive metaphorical mind. But with moving trucks every few months, and an ambulance that makes regular thrice weekly visits to a house down the street for some sort of transport run--yeah, I get all cycle of life. A bit lonely, and feeling badly for those who will move in, because there no longer is a Welcome Wagon person that comes and greets you like they did when I was a kid.
All of that is prelude. The story is in a single vision. In what happened later.
It's rainy and grey and autumn is descending today with a relenting drumbeat that we should prepare, prepare, prepare for winter. The moving guys start collapsing the loading ramp, clearly preparing the truck for departure. Out walks a woman, of certain age, probably, but rather indeterminate just where in the range. Dark coat and scarf about her head, both clearly protecting her against the elements, and making her visage anything but clear. You can only draw conclusions by her gait. And her gait seems almost sprightly at first, from the rear...she walks up to the truck, gestures to the guys...turns toward the house...and suddenly I see a curve in the spine, a catch in the step. She turns slowly back to the truck, engages in conversation again. I watch in amazement as she shape-shifts from a capable physical appearance to a more frail one. And it continues. Then, in an unpredictable cap to it all, she waves good bye to the car that I know belongs (belonged?) to the house, and gets in the truck cab with the guys. All pull away.
She gets in, and leaves with her belongings, headed to wherever. End of chapter here, however long it was. Methinks much longer than four years, but I'll never know.
I am left yet again with my brain wrapping itself around that image. Wondering how I will be her, when I am her.
***
When it comes to perfume, my brain wraps and wanders and finds itself in the land of vintage perfumes and reformulations. And how while on the one hand, I still feel like the new kid on the block when it comes to being a Perfume Person, I realize I have already been the welcome wagon, as it were, to others who are earlier on the trail than I. I'm not as young nor as inexperienced as I think I am, it seems. That woman getting on the truck? For a moment, she became the current Grand Dame Perfumes, about to move on, no longer accessible. Should I be glad I never really got to know some of those old perfumes? Or more current ones who will obviously need to change to continue to stay in the neighborhood?
I can't really change anything. I'm glad that I got some backstory, glad I always stayed friendly, even if I couldn't spend any meaningful time with them. I did get to know a couple, and whether or not I liked them, they will always inform how I understand the future.
***
That woman stayed in the cold grey drizzle, and made sure everything was okay. Then, rather than turning her back, she stepped up into that big cab and helped drive it away.
She was both old and young.
She was someone.
***
If you've ever seen Bruce Conner's short film "The White Rose," all moody and b&w and Miles as the soundtrack and a moving truck and an artist's major work being cleared out and an empty space left behind--that's how I'm feeling. I am not yet sure how to scent it. Others would, I think, say Mitsouko, or Apres L'Ondee, but to me Mitsouko is reconciliation, and Apres L'Ondee is smiling while you let go.
Oh. Maybe those are good scents. But they didn't feel right until I gave them words. I'm still going to think on that.
In my last neighborhood, which was urban and rather dense, I could walk around the block and tell you the names of the residents of every house and multi-flat. So you see, the current experience is...different.
All of which is a prelude to what I witnessed today. A moving truck. Again. The third in the past year--the horrible downturn in the real estate market is starting to correct itself, I guess. The house across the street from us actually sat empty for a year. The one next to that on the left was half-occupied, but grown adult children who spent most of their time somewhere else. The house to the right has been lived in, but I never knew by whom.
Until today, and a moving truck that pulled in nice and early.
Just the sight of a truck hauling out has the potential me a little verklempt...lots of moves in my childhood, plus an overactive metaphorical mind. But with moving trucks every few months, and an ambulance that makes regular thrice weekly visits to a house down the street for some sort of transport run--yeah, I get all cycle of life. A bit lonely, and feeling badly for those who will move in, because there no longer is a Welcome Wagon person that comes and greets you like they did when I was a kid.
All of that is prelude. The story is in a single vision. In what happened later.
It's rainy and grey and autumn is descending today with a relenting drumbeat that we should prepare, prepare, prepare for winter. The moving guys start collapsing the loading ramp, clearly preparing the truck for departure. Out walks a woman, of certain age, probably, but rather indeterminate just where in the range. Dark coat and scarf about her head, both clearly protecting her against the elements, and making her visage anything but clear. You can only draw conclusions by her gait. And her gait seems almost sprightly at first, from the rear...she walks up to the truck, gestures to the guys...turns toward the house...and suddenly I see a curve in the spine, a catch in the step. She turns slowly back to the truck, engages in conversation again. I watch in amazement as she shape-shifts from a capable physical appearance to a more frail one. And it continues. Then, in an unpredictable cap to it all, she waves good bye to the car that I know belongs (belonged?) to the house, and gets in the truck cab with the guys. All pull away.
She gets in, and leaves with her belongings, headed to wherever. End of chapter here, however long it was. Methinks much longer than four years, but I'll never know.
I am left yet again with my brain wrapping itself around that image. Wondering how I will be her, when I am her.
***
When it comes to perfume, my brain wraps and wanders and finds itself in the land of vintage perfumes and reformulations. And how while on the one hand, I still feel like the new kid on the block when it comes to being a Perfume Person, I realize I have already been the welcome wagon, as it were, to others who are earlier on the trail than I. I'm not as young nor as inexperienced as I think I am, it seems. That woman getting on the truck? For a moment, she became the current Grand Dame Perfumes, about to move on, no longer accessible. Should I be glad I never really got to know some of those old perfumes? Or more current ones who will obviously need to change to continue to stay in the neighborhood?
I can't really change anything. I'm glad that I got some backstory, glad I always stayed friendly, even if I couldn't spend any meaningful time with them. I did get to know a couple, and whether or not I liked them, they will always inform how I understand the future.
***
That woman stayed in the cold grey drizzle, and made sure everything was okay. Then, rather than turning her back, she stepped up into that big cab and helped drive it away.
She was both old and young.
She was someone.
***
If you've ever seen Bruce Conner's short film "The White Rose," all moody and b&w and Miles as the soundtrack and a moving truck and an artist's major work being cleared out and an empty space left behind--that's how I'm feeling. I am not yet sure how to scent it. Others would, I think, say Mitsouko, or Apres L'Ondee, but to me Mitsouko is reconciliation, and Apres L'Ondee is smiling while you let go.
Oh. Maybe those are good scents. But they didn't feel right until I gave them words. I'm still going to think on that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)