City of Glass Shards

In our last Unrequired Reading, I noted that Frank “curved metal surfaces” Gehry had been bounced as the architect of the Atlantic Yards (AY) arena project for the Nets, in favor of a design that will shave $150-$200 million from construction costs. At the time, I laughed over the depiction of the new arena design as an “airplane hangar.”

Now NYTimes’ architecture critic Nicolai Ouroussoff — whom I’ve goofed on many a time — offers up a cri de coeur against city politics and real estate development, treating Mr. Gehry’s dismissal by developer Forest City Ratner as a “blow to the art of architecture” and a “shameful betrayal of public trust.”

Architecture, we are being told, is something decorative and expendable, a luxury we can afford only in good times, or if we happen to be very rich. What’s most important is to build, no matter how thoughtless or dehumanizing the results.

Mr. Ouroussoff (the spelling of his name changes from byline to byline, seemingly, so if you look him up, you might try to search a variant spelling with one “s”) twice characterizes the original design for the surrounding AY buildings as evoking tumbling or falling shards of glass, as though that’s a positive thing, while the replacement design for the Nets’ arena by Ellerbe Becket goes within one sentence from “just sits there, adding nothing” to “deadly.” You really need to read it.

What I find sad/funny about this is that Mr. Ouroussoff seems only now to realize that real estate developers (including Forest City Ratner) generally don’t give a crap about architecture. They care about getting land cheap and making lots of money. And speaking of lots. . .

(Don’t get me started on how Mr. Ourousoff’s newspaper managed to demolish numerous businesses in the process of putting up its brand new building, which was developed by . . . Forest City Ratner!)

At one point, Mr. Ourousoff remarks that the abandonment of Mr. Gehry’s design is “the betrayal of a particular community,” but manages throughout the article to skirt the issue of the betrayal (and destruction) of the existing community. After all, it’s a busy intersection and, well . . .

Some people argued that it was overscaled — traffic would be a nightmare — and that it would destroy the character of the neighborhood. But to those of us who defended it, Mr. Gehry’s design was an ingenious solution to a seemingly intractable problem, one that would provide a focal point for an area (and arguably a borough) that could use some cohesion.

To me, it looks like Mr. Gehry was answering a question that no one was really asking. Except Forest City Ratner.

Bonus! I’m reminded of something I read about Donald Trump in the last year or so. An interviewer asked him why he doesn’t commission big-name architects to design really fantastic buildings. He replied (I’m paraphrasing), “Why bother? Between the zoning laws and the activist groups, it all gets stripped down to a big tower anyway.” So he cuts out the middleman and goes right for the big, uninteresting tower.

Double-Bonus! The best website I read about the ongoing disaster of AY is Atlantic Yards Report. And if you’re looking for more examples of what’s lost through NYC’s gentrification, visit Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York.

Triple-Bonus! NYmag.com offers an entertaining distillation of the article!

What It Is: 6/8/09

What I’m reading: Plutarch’s life of Coriolanus, which makes me wonder how good Shakespeare’s play is. There’s a neat passage in this bio that I’ll transcribe and post a little later, about the role of the gods in human action.

What I’m listening to: Joe Jackson’s Night and Day.

What I’m watching: You Don’t Mess With The Zohan, 8 1/2 and M*A*S*H. Yes, I’m all over the place.

What I’m drinking: Plymouth & Q Tonic.

What Rufus is up to: Getting his leg stitched up last Tuesday, having a great folllowup on Friday, making weekend appearances at our local farmers market and our greyhound hike, and inspiring a Philadelphia-based work-related pal to adopt a greyhound! It’s been a busy week!

Where I’m going: Nowhere. See above.

What I’m happy about: Seeing my first Fellini flick and reveling in the gorgeous compositions and the gorgeouser women.

What I’m sad about: That Amy was away this weekend, visiting her family. I wasn’t sad that she was visiting the family, but my anxiety level over taking care of Rufus solo — especially now that he’s going bandageless and I have to pay that much more attention to make sure he doesn’t try to chew his wounds and break his stitches — left me pretty debilitated by Saturday night. And taking him along to Newark Airport to pick up Amy on Sunday wasn’t exactly a picnic, but I couldn’t really leave him alone for 2 hours, even with a muzzle, BiteNot collar, hip-wader, etc. I’d have spent the entire time worried that I’d be coming home to a dog who’d managed to tear up all the hard work the vets have done. Oy. I know this isn’t as stressful as having responsibility for a kid, but it’s still pretty exhausting.

What I’m worried about: Getting my Top Companies profiles written for the July/August ish.

What I’m pondering: Whether any man his age has hair that rivals that of Bjorn Borg.

My New Flailing Technique Is Unstoppable

From the few occasions that I’ve DJ’d, I learned there are 3 surefire things that will get people to dance:

  1. Baby Got Back
  2. You Dropped the Bomb on Me
  3. Virtually anything by Prince

However, when you’re at the, um, Sasquatch Festival (?), it can be a little trickier to start a massive dance party:

But I’m sure it’s more rewarding to get that sorta crowd up and dancing.

Hat tip: Matador Nights.

The Ambassador

Ru & I made a surprise appearance at our Sunday greyhound hike, so he could sniff hello with the other greys and I could get out of the house for a little while. He was happy to see other dogs and to get affection and attention from all the other owners. I was happy to talk to people, as I’m going crazy here at home.

A few of them had seen the horrible photo of his leg 1 week after the attack, while some of others knew they wouldn’t be able to handle such a gory sight. They all dished the stories about how their greys managed to rip out stitches from past injuries, and were happy to see how well Ru’s wounds were healing, less than a week after surgery. One of the owners told me about how she made a flak-vest for her grey, to keep him from going after stitches on the middle of his back.

Once we got home, I opened my work e-mail and discovered that one of the PR guys I work with is going to adopt a grey this week! He and his wife had been thinking of getting a dog for a while, he told me. Between the various pictures of Rufus that I’ve run in my magazine’s From the Editor page, and the story of Ru’s injuries he heard after the BIO show, they decided to contact their local greyhound rescue group. They’re picking up their 2-year-old male this Thursday, after getting assurances that he’ll be okay around their two cats.

He lives in Philadelphia, so I told him that we’ll have to meet halfway in September, at the big greyhound picnic in Bridgewater, NJ!

Here are the pix he sent over of his soon-to-be fur-kid:

grey1

grey2

I like his dainty, cross-front-legged stance. Very coquettish.

And, just to tug on your heartstrings a little more, here’s a pic of The Ambassador from yesterday afternoon, hanging out down in my library:

Family Affair

This piece by baseball player Doug Glanville on how little players know about their teammates’ lives reminded me of the story about how Michael Jordan was shocked to discover that his teammate Steve Kerr’s father had been shot to death, albeit under much different circumstances than Jordan’s dad’s shooting death (PLO vs. two of the dumbest criminals ever).

I can’t recall if Jordan learned about that common bond before or after punching Kerr in the face during practice for guarding him too tightly.

A stitch in Ru

About one hour after I posted that item on how great Rufus’ bandages were holding up, they began their pilgrimage  down his leg. Still, this wrap lasted nearly 48 hours after his Tuesday surgery, which saved me a ton of aggravation.

We went down for a 1pm followup and rebandage today. Both our lead vet (Dr. A) and the vet who handled Rufus’ first operation (Dr. R) came in to check him out. Dr. A cut off the failing bandages, carefully peeled the tape from Rufus’ tender skin, and announced, “WOW! He’s healing great!”

He assumed that some of the stitches would have torn by now, either through Rufus’ attempts at getting to them or just through his regular activity. I didn’t tell them that I’ve been on 24-hour alert, zooming into action the moment I hear the jangle of the metal tags on Rufus’ collar. But I did let them know that, while I let Ru walk down the stairs because he knows to keep from using that leg, I still carry him up the stairs as well as into the car. I figure the strain of that motion, where he pushes off with both rear legs, is more likely to cause the stitches to tear, especially with the double-leap he’d have to do in order to climb our stairs. Dr. R was glad that I wasn’t making little exceptions and taking shortcuts.

Then Dr. A said, “Well, it looks like we’re done with bandages!”

“Excuse me?” I said, shocked and already making a mental inventory of the self-adhering bandages, gauze wraps, sterile pads and other accoutrements that we’ve stockpiled.

“He’s healing so well, I don’t think he needs the bandages anymore. As long as you can keep him from reaching back there and chewing on his stitches, he should be fine till we take them out in a week or so.”

Dr. R added that she couldn’t believe how much better his skin was than when she performed the first surgery, a day after the attack. “There really wasn’t much skin to work with,” she said, “but this looks great.”

Dr. A recommended we pick up a compression wrap of some kind that can slide over the leg to protect it from Ru’s compulsive grooming, but said that his sweatshirt-cum-hip-wader was a good setup to keep the area covered. They still want us to keep Ru’s activity restricted — yard-only bathroom breaks, with no full walkies — but felt that it would be fine for Ru to promenade tomorrow morning at the farmer’s market.

Rufus, meanwhile, is simply thankful that there’s no more medical tape involved.

And, once again, the exam room turned into the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera, as virtually every employee of the animal hospital came in to say hello to Rufus, give him some rubbies and scratchies, and get a look at his big, heart-melting eyes.

Did he use Krazy Glue?

No Rufus news since our last update, except to note that the bandages our vet applied after Ru’s surgery on Tuesday are still holding up! This is a great relief to me, as a big source of my consternation and anxiety during this episode has been the need to constantly reapply bandages and figure out how to keep both of Ru’s wounds covered and protected.

Last night, Nancy, one of the people from Greyhound Friends NJ who helped us adopt Rufus, stopped by to drop off a cage-type muzzle for Rufus, and also to see how he’s doing. She brought Cali, her grey-girl, along. Ru was happy to make Cali’s acquaintance, but he spent most of his time leaning against Nancy and getting rubs & scratches. And a couple of times, he simply wedged himself between Nancy and her old girl, so he could get himself a little extra love.

Today, he’s pretty much just zonked out on his bed in my home office while I do research for my July/August issue. I let him walk down the stairs on his own, because he keeps from using that rear paw when he does that, but I still carry him up the stairs like Cole Porter’s manservant.