Cassettes

Cassette tapes. I still have many of them stacked neatly on my bookshelf. I like their rectangular cases and the way they open up like little drawers. Taking the cassette out, I hear the sound of loosened tape tinkling against the otherwise empty plastic shell. I like to open and close the case repeatedly, just to hear the sound of the bumps on either side of the outer shell sliding back and forth, into and out of their slots. This is coute, because the mechanism serves its purpose wholly. Its existence catches our attention. Then there is the booklet that comes with every cassette, and which contains all the lyrics of all the songs on that tape. I used to wonder who actually folded those lyrics sheets so that they could fit so perfectly inside, because not every lyric sheet is folded the same way. Whenever I spread out a lyric sheet, I always trace the way the sheet was originally folded. It is fascinating. Back in the day, when my cousin told told me that those two square tabs at the top of a cassette were there to protect it from being recorded over, I immediately went to my cassette collection and took off all the tabs. I felt like I had just discovered another of a cassette’s magical functions, and it led me on a treasure hunt. Cassettes express the detail-orientation of couteness.