Well, it’s no Gherkin

I first noticed the Hearst Tower during ferry rides over to NYC about a year ago. Last April, I meandered by the building and snapped some pictures. I thought it was a neat-looking building, especially as it poked out of an existing structure like a giant f***-you:

Hearst Tower

Last November, when I was nearby for the black-tie event where I concluded that I really need to buy myself a tuxedo, I was happy that I’d get the opportunity to see the tower by night.

Boy, was I disappointed. The building was utterly lifeless against the cityscape. Without daylight reflecting off the panes, the structure seemed to flatten, resembling nothing but a standard glass office building, illuminated by fluorescents. I didn’t post — or even bother keeping — the pix I took of it. I was charitable enough to figure I was just missing something. Or maybe I caught it on a bad night.

Not according to Robert Campbell, a fellow at The American Institute of Architects and a critic for the Boston Globe. In Why I Hate the Hearst Tower, starts off by comparing the building to a missile silo, goes on to write,

[N]othing about the Hearst, as seen from outdoors, suggests the possibility of human habitation. It appears to be a cage for a single massive object. [. . .] One of the problems with Modernism, as a stylistic method, is that it tends to ignore the fact that buildings look like other things. And that’s how most people understand them. People say the abstract boxlike shapes of Modernist office towers look like the cartons the real towers came in. The world we live in is a world of resemblances.

and ultimately bashes the heck out of the idea of architecture without context:

[T]he message the Hearst broadcasts to me [is]: that it’s a prototype invented for no particular site or program which was, then, pulled out of its sketchbook and plopped down on this site. Its form not only communicates but insists that it ignores its solar orientation, its site, its Deco footrest, and its internal program of uses. “Put me anywhere, fill me with anything, I’m fine with that,” the tower seems to be telling us. It’s a throwback to Mies [van der Rohe]’s concept of universal space. And let’s remember that Mies’s concept, which worked well at Crown Hall in Chicago, created, in Berlin, an art museum that is as hopelessly impractical as it is handsome.

Give it a read.

Success! I mean, Failure!

Longtime readers know that I like me some failure. But I’m a failure when I measure up to Nathan Rabin. This guy has managed to review more than 100 movie-failures in a year. I’ve been following his My Year of Flops feature for a while, after he caught my attention with he skewered Hudson Hawk, my favorite terrible movie.

You should probably check out his afterword to the whole affair, and then wind your way through some of these amazing writeups. And make sure to spend some time with North. . .

Off-Ledger

My condolences to the family of Heath Ledger, who OD’d earlier today. When Amy first IM’d me about Ledger’s death just before I left the office, I wrote back, “Drugs? Car Accident?” When she said it was the former, I replied, “Retard.”

Once I got home, I checked out the story and it now looks like he committed suicide (subject to change). That got me wondering what’s worse:

  1. the father of a two-year-old child deliberately OD’s, killing himself,
  2. the father of a two-year-old child is so into getting high that he accidentally OD’s, killing himself.

I mean, the result is the same, right? Wealthy, good-looking actor leaves his daughter without a dad.

Tell me whatcha think.

What it is

What I’m reading: John Crowley’s The Solitudes (first in his 4-book Aegypt cycle) and Osamu Tezuka’s Buddha series

What I’m listening to: Angela McCluskey’s The Things We Do

What I’m watching: the first season of The Wire

What I’m drinking: Miller’s gin

What I’m happy about: the Giants reached the Super Bowl

What I’m sad about: the Giants will likely get destroyed in the Super Bowl, similar to their 2000 experience against Baltimore, which Jay Mohr characterized as “like when a white high school team from the suburbs faces a black inner-city school”

What I’m pondering: how to finish writing a post about Charles Schulz that really doesn’t support my initial thesis (that is, how Schulz and Andy Warhol exemplify certain trends in postwar American views of celebrity and art)

Cheap Novelties

Sure, Bobby Fischer’s death got all the press, what with the worldwide reactions and reminiscences of his chess-playing genius, his uncomfortable relationship with celebrity, and his later hatred of Jews. But let’s also take time to mourn Richard Knerr.

I’d never heard of Mr. Knerr till I opened the NYTimes on Friday morning, when I learned about the demise of the co-founder of Wham-O. Yes, the man who unleashed the Frisbee, the Super Ball (inspiration for the Super Bowl), the Hula Hoop, and Silly String on an unsuspecting public has shuffled off this mortal Slinky coil.*

I found his obit absolutely fascinating (which is probably a sign that I need to get out more), especially the part where we find out that Wham-O sold 100 million Hula Hoops, but managed to make only $10,000 in profit by fad’s end. And, being a fan of cheap novelties, I chuckled over the penultimate paragraph:

Not all of Mr. Knerr’s brainstorms succeeded. Among them were mail-order mink coats for $9.95, a $119 do-it-yourself bomb shelter and Instant Fish, an African import whose egg-laying ability could not keep up with product orders.

For the rest of the day, I found myself humming Joe Jackson’s “I’m the Man” and wondering if I’d appreciate The Hudsucker Proxy more than I did when I saw it in 1995.

(That’s Mr. Knerr on the right. The NYTimes didn’t provide a photo credit, so I guess I should just write, “Photo: New York Times.”)

* Slinky was not marketed by Wham-O.

Conference Call

As the editor of a (trade) magazine, part of my job involves finding pertinent topics for articles and good writers to cover them. One way to do this is to look through brochures for conferences and call presenters who are speaking on subjects of interest. Sometimes they’ll be able to adapt their presentation into an article. Other times, they have a suggestion for another writer, or are available for an interview on the subject.

And today, this happened:

“Hi, [X], I’m Gil Roth, the editor at Contract Pharma magazine. I was going through the brochure for [conference Y] next week and noticed that you’re speaking on [subject Z]. I was wondering if we could talk about adapting your presentation into an article for an upcoming issue.”

What conference?”

“[Conference Y].”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They have you listed as a ‘distinguished speaker’ and you’re scheduled to speak at 2pm on the second day.”

“Hmm. Where is this conference?”

“[City A]. Ringing any bells?”

“Nope, but at least it’s not far from here. What’s the URL for the conference?”

“[Website B]. But that’s just the main site for the company.”

“I’ll look it up. Next Friday, huh?”

“That’s what the brochure says.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll start adapting my basic presentation.”

“Sure thing!”

Amazingly, I actually did ask him to adapt the presentation into an article for the March issue. And he accepted! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to set up my e-mail to send him a reminder every 36 hours until the deadline. . .

Belichick Chemicals?

Yes, clients occasionally put me up in fancy-pants hotels (where amenities include loaner laptops and goldfish) for press briefings.

Yes, clients occasionally take me out to dinner in fancy-pants restaurants.

No, this hasn’t stopped me from hitting a halal street-meat cart for lamb & chicken rice platter.

* * *

Best line from the press briefings: When asked about about the rigorous process his company has for suppliers of chemical ingredients, one of the VPs told us, “One supplier sent us the chemicals in a cut-off sweatshirt sleeve.”

Evidently, the supplier didn’t want to bother filling out proper certificates or taking care of traceability requirements, so they just . . . wrapped the chemicals in a cut-off sweatshirt sleeve and shipped ’em off to a global provider.

“The supplier was based in an, um, evolving economy,” we were told.

* * *

Here’s a picture from the staircase in the restaurant:

Staircase at Amalia NYC

And here’s a picture of Greene St., running north of Canal:

Scenes from a weekend

Sorry for the lack of a post on Sunday; I did resolve to post something every day, although I didn’t make any resolutions about the quality of those posts.

Anyway, it was a pretty relaxed weekend. Amy & I drove down to Manalapan on Sunday for her friend Naomi’s wedding. It was a traditional Jewish wedding, with various celebrations that I sorta figure were traditional to Russian Jews. I’m sure Amy’ll write about it this week.

Me, I’m gonna send you over to a small set of pix from the weekend, including Santa In Chains:

Santa in Chains

And, for your edification — or your imagination — the secret and partially fictive history of the revolving door.